“The coffee shop’s security was down for maintenance. The footage we grabbed from the shop across the street showed him intercept the kid who originally left with the order. The lens was dirty, the view fairly obstructed but we got lucky. There was a moment we had a clear shot and one of my guys was able to enhance the image enough. Between that and your description, I may have something for you.”

“Go on.”

“I’d prefer to confirm before I tell you.”

“Just tell me. You can confirm after.”

“Does the name Vincent Douglas ring any bells for you?”

My heart stops.

“Judge?”

“What did you say?”

“Douglas. Vincent Douglas.”

No. It can't be.

“I’m guessing from that silence it does.”

“Possibly.” I clear my throat. “Does he have family?”

“I haven’t dug too deep. I was waiting on confirmation first.”

“Dig. I need to know if he has family. A female relative. A wife maybe or a sister.”

“I can do that. Shouldn’t be hard to find.”

I already know the answer. It’s the only thing that makes sense. It’s one of the things that had caught my attention when that man had walked into the shop. Something about him was strangely familiar. I hadn’t been able to place it then but now, fuck. He’d looked at Mercedes and me with hate in his eyes. It had been so strange and out of place, but now it makes perfect sense.

The courtesan who had poisoned Santiago, whom Mercedes killed, I vaguely remember her from the Cat House from years ago. She’d always struck me as off. And the only reason I know her name is because of what Mercedes did. Because the name of that woman was Lana Douglas. And it would explain the threatening texts.

But Ezra Moore doesn’t know anything about Lana Douglas’s death. All he’ll find is a missing woman.

“Judge? You still there?”

“Yeah, sorry. How is my brother?”

“Better. The doctor was right. He’d been injected with a cocktail containing enough fentanyl to kill a horse. He administered Narcan, which reversed the overdose. But Theron has a drug problem. You should think about what you want to do. He won’t be able to walk away from this. He’ll need professional help.”

“Rehab?”

“Yes. I can take care of it if you need me to. I know a very good, very discreet facility.”

“Where?”

“Just outside of Santa Barbara.”

Santa Barbara. Good. Far enough away that I won’t have to worry about him coming near Mercedes as I deal with this other mess. “Do it. Anything on the men who attacked him?”

“Still working on that.”

“Jesus. What a fucking week.”

“I’ll let you know about Vincent Douglas as soon as I can.”

“Thank you.”

There’s a pause. “Just one thing. Your brother is asking to see you.”