“I’m out with my family,” Carrigan said. It sounded like he had his jaw, that one I’d licked and nipped not twenty-four hours before, clenched. “Make it fast.”

On my desk, one of our photographs stared up at me. I could’ve been a human blow-up doll for all the expression on my face. I flipped the photograph over. “It’s my ex. He’s been driving by my house again. I don’t know what to do.” I quickened my breath. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

Carrigan lowered his voice. “Christ, why are you calling me? Try the police.”

“Please,” I said, letting my voice crack around the s. “I’m so scared, I don’t know what to do. They won’t believe me. They say they can’t do anything because it’s a public street.”

Silence. I held my breath. Then: “What do you need me to do?”

“Tomorrow,” I said. “Meet me tomorrow afternoon. Around three. That’s usually when he shows up.”

“Tomorrow? There’s no way—”

I dropped my voice out of the breathy, virginal register I’d been copping, and the relief was immediate, like unzipping a too-tight dress. “Meet me tomorrow with fifty thousand dollars, or else the Friday papers will have photos of you and me doing a dirty tango on my couch. Although I think the ones where you’re holding me might be worse. They don’t make you look very . . . married. How do you think your prospective constituents would like that? Three generations of Angelenos and adultery.” A thick, stunned silence on the other line.

I heard Carrigan say to someone, muffled like he had his hand over the mouthpiece: “I’ll be right back, don’t wait for me.” The shuffling of a phone being moved to another room. Then: “What did you say?”

They never believed you, not the first time you said it. Always thought they could change your mind, charm you back into bed. Like it was something you’d thought up that moment, on a whim.

“Are you seriously trying to—”

“I’m not trying to. I am. It’s nothing personal,” I assured him. “But that’s the way it is.”

“Goddammit, who in the hell do you think—”

“I think my favorite is the finisher,” I said brightly. “My poor dress will never be the same, but it’s actually quite a beautiful shot.” I paused. “If you will.”

“Hold on one goddamn second,” Carrigan snarled into the phone, and I could hear his huffing breath. I couldn’t tell if it was anger or if he was pacing. “How do I even know you have these photographs?”

“That’s really a risk you’re willing to take, baby?”

“Do you know who my father-in-law is? You think he doesn’t have connections with the LAPD?”