Connor’s eyes flitted nervously between her face and the gun.

“The killer is dead,” he said. “All the evidence points to the man you knew as Tony Shaw being guilty.”

“Bullshit,” she said again. “What evidence? Just because a guy skips town, he has to be guilty?”

Connor said, “I know it’s hard for you to believe the man you loved, the man who raised you as his daughter, could be capable of such a thing. But look at the facts, what we know for sure. There was no sign of forced entry. Rob Young had a key to the house. Eleanor had poured two glasses of wine, indicating she knew her killer. His boss, Ace Freeman, told police Rob Young was planning to go to Eleanor’s house after his shift finished around midnight. Instead, he split town the night his girlfriend was murdered to go on a ‘planned’ trip no one, other than the McCools, knew anything about. You seriously believe he’s innocent?”

“I knew Tony better than anyone. He wasn’t a murderer.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

Jessica had heard enough. She pushed herself away from the desk and headed for the door. She reached for the doorknob and then paused. Turned back to Connor.

“These past few days, there were times when your truck wasn’t parked in the lot,” she said. “I assumed you were out chasing stories or interviewing folks for one of your articles. Where were you?”

“I was working on other cases.”

“You weren’t worried about me leaving town again while you were out on one of these jobs?”

Connor couldn’t look her in the eye.

The realization of what he’d done hit Jessica like a wrecking ball.

“You asshole.”

She threw open the door and marched toward her truck.

“Jessica . . .”

She heard Connor scurrying after her. He stood in the doorway and watched as she ran her hand along the underside of the Silverado. Under the front fender, then the rear. Her fingers closed around a small plastic square, and she ripped it free. A magnetic GPS tracker the length and width of a credit card and around an inch thick.

Jessica held it up for Connor to see. “You have got to be kidding me.” She dropped the GPS tracker to the blacktop and showed him the gun.

Connor held his hands up. “Whoa, what’re you doing?”

Jessica ignored him. She flipped the Glock around so she was holding it by its stubby barrel, crouched down, and used the grip to smash the tracker into a dozen splintered pieces. She went into her own room and picked up her bag and car keys. Then she pulled open the driver’s side door of the truck, climbed behind the wheel, and started the engine.

Connor was still standing, motionless, in the doorway of his own room.

Jessica buzzed down the window. “Don’t even think about following me this time.”

29 JESSICA

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