“I still dream about it sometimes,” she admitted. “Hitting kickers, that’s a trick, and doing rails. I miss the adrenaline, being really good at something.” She shrugged. “Anyway, most women peak at this sport in their twenties. So my competitive days are gone.”

She pointedly closed the door on the room and her past.

He followed her back to the living room. “This room reminds me of one of those old movies,” Jonah said, running his hand over the curved back of the rattan settee.

“This was all the original furniture my grandparents had in here,” she said. “After my grandmother died, Dad put it all in storage because he was renting the house out.”

“I can’t even imagine what a house like this would rent for now,” he said.

“I don’t think the rent was very high. The same tenant, some old dude named Leonard, lived here for cheap because Dad didn’t want to spend a lot of money on maintenance. When I moved in, it was a dump.”

“You could have fooled me,” Jonah said.

“Fresh paint and sweat equity,” Drue said.

“How old is this place?” he asked.

“Late 1950s?” she guessed. “My grandfather built it himself, with scrap lumber and stuff he scrounged from construction sites around Ybor City. According to my mom, it took him years to finish building it, because he paid cash for everything.”

“So, you’re part Cuban?”

“On my mom’s side.”

“I wondered where you got your olive skin and dark hair.” He touched a lock of hair that had come unfastened from her ponytail.

Drue felt a tiny spark travel down her spine. Her face flushed beet red. The front door opened then, and Ben stepped inside.

“Lunch is here,” he announced. “Burgers for everybody.”

“I’ll get the table cleared off and we can eat here,” Drue said, shoving her scribbled index cards into a file folder.

“What are you working on?” Ben asked, opening the bag and distributing foil-wrapped burgers. He glanced down at the folder and the scattered pages of notes.

“Nothing,” she said hastily.

“You brought a case home, didn’t you?” Jonah said, his tone teasing.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I know you guys warned me not to, but it’s that criminal negligence case against the Gulf Vista. The housekeeper who was beaten and strangled. Jazmin Mayes.”

Ben’s eyes widened. “Oh shit. You’re going rogue? That’s a terrible idea.”

“I gotta agree with Ben,” Jonah said. “It’s been two years. Zee looked at that case backwards and forwards. There’s nothing there.”

“Yes, there is,” Drue insisted. “I know there is. I’ve read the case file. I’ve talked to the mother again. I’ve even been to the hotel and checked out the laundry room where Jazmin was killed.”

Ben sipped his beer. “When was this?”