Signal was weak as the storm fought the satellites. He didn’t expect an answer, but this time, on the second static-filled ring, he heard her voice.

‘Hello, Cab.’

He almost forgot to say anything. Then he recovered. ‘The storm’s bad. Are you safe?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you alone?’

God, what a stupid thing to say. He could hear her smile. ‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?’

‘I have no interest in Caprice Dean,’ he said.

‘Liar.’

‘Well, I have interest, but I’m taking your advice to heart.’

‘Good.’

She was quiet and far away. The storm felt as if it were coming between them. He expected the call to drop and split them apart. He felt the physical distance and the desire for her body; it had been weeks since they’d made love. More than that, he felt ungrounded without her.

‘Where are you?’ she asked. ‘At Tarla’s place?’

‘No, I’m in Lake Wales.’

‘Because of Diane Fairmont?’

‘Yes.’

Her words broke up. He held the phone near the window. ‘What? I didn’t hear that.’

‘I asked if you’d found out anything.’

‘Only that you were right. I’m swimming with sharks.’

‘Well, your teeth are pretty sharp, too,’ Lala said. ‘I should know.’

Cab grinned. ‘Nice memory for a man alone in a motel room. Tarla says we should try phone sex.’

‘Yes, because sexual suggestions from your mother really turn me on.’

‘You, too?’

He heard her laugh. He could always make her laugh. Then, as the silence drew out, he remembered where he was. ‘Honestly?’ he told her. ‘I’m worried.’

‘About what?’

‘I have this feeling that the past is about to repeat itself, and I’m not going to be able to stop it.’

She didn’t answer. He thought he’d lost her again. He wondered if she realized he’d been drinking.

‘Lala?’

‘Cab, if you find anything at all, I want you to call me.’

He was surprised by the intensity in her voice. ‘I haven’t. I have puzzle pieces that don’t fit together. I have motives layered upon motives. None of it tells me who really killed Birch Fairmont. None of it tells me whether Diane is really in jeopardy.’

He waited for an answer, but didn’t get one.

‘I’m not working for Caprice anymore,’ he went on. ‘I want to know what’s going on, but I can’t do that with politicians trying to manipulate me.’

‘I know how you feel. Really, I do.’

‘Caprice wasn’t happy. I think she wanted a detective boy-toy.’

He heard her laugh again. ‘I hope you didn’t quit because of me.’

‘Partly.’

‘I feel guilty about that. I don’t own you.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘I do have a problem, though.’

The static swallowed her voice again. When she spoke, she said, ‘What problem?’

‘I’m anticipating the return of Catch-a-Cab Bolton.’