‘I’m not big on trusting anyone in politics,’ Cab said. ‘That doesn’t mean she’s not in danger.’

Warren leaned back against the bench. ‘Maybe, maybe not. I’ll leave that in your hands. If you ask me, the whole thing is probably a political ploy.’

‘But?’ he asked, hearing the man’s hesitation.

‘But let’s face it. Common Way has bought itself a lot of friends over the years. They’ve bought a lot of enemies, too.’

*

Do you know her, Detective?

We’ve met.

Ten years ago.

The campaign had been in its infancy when Cab visited his mother while she was staying with Diane at Birch Fairmont’s estate in Lake Wales. All of the political activity was happening elsewhere around the state. Cab never met Lyle Piper or Caprice Dean while he was there. He never saw Birch Fairmont that week in June. He was twenty-five years old, and his life was over.

He’d come from Barcelona, after the killing of Vivian Frost, after the internal security investigation that was kept tightly under wraps. No one wanted Cab or his story in the spotlight. His world had come to an end that summer, but he’d said nothing to Tarla, nothing to anyone, about what had happened. It was the beginning of his game of hopscotch, moving from place to place, jumping from job to job.

His mother had known that something was wrong, but she’d been unable to pry the truth out of him. In reality, she hadn’t tried hard. She’d been busy filming television commercials, bolstering her millions with advertising sponsorships in anticipation of her retirement. Selling out, as she cheerfully put it. She’d been away most days, tramping around the orange groves with film crews.

Cab stayed at Diane’s house, tunneling inside himself. He’d spent the days reliving his time abroad, his relationship with Vivian, the things they’d said to each other, the lies she’d told. He’d been looking for an escape.

That was when Diane found him.

Diane, who was living in her own kind of hell with Birch.

There were nasty rumors.

Cab sat in his candy-red Corvette outside the radio station, and he remembered that week with more clarity than he wanted. It was a vivid week in a vivid, terrible year. They’d spent hours together. He’d listened to Diane talk about her life, the struggles with her son Drew, Birch’s affairs. She was depressed. She was lonely. He was riven with guilt. They were primed for a mistake.