Looking at the photo now, Jessica knew she couldn’t discard Tony the same way she had Pamela Arnold. She returned the picture to the wallet.

If she was right about the identity of her biological father, the man couldn’t possibly have killed Eleanor Lavelle. And Jessica could think of no one else who would have had the means or the motive other than Tony Shaw. She believed Darla Kennedy had called it right when she guessed Tony had snapped after being pushed too far by Eleanor.

Maybe he’d finally had enough of her. Maybe what had begun as a confrontation over her plans to leave town had ended badly. Jessica didn’t doubt for a minute that Tony Shaw had spent the rest of his life regretting his actions that night.

His words came back to her now.

Not everything’s black and white in this world, Jess. Sometimes good people make mistakes. Sometimes innocent folk are locked up for things they didn’t do. And sometimes, the really bad ones never have to pay for what they’ve done.

Maybe the guilt had gnawed away at him so badly, the fear of being discovered had been so intense, it had all contributed to his premature death. Someone with an undiagnosed heart condition like his, Jessica figured there was only so much extreme stress the organ would be able to take before giving out completely in the end.

But despite the dark, violent secrets of his past, she knew Tony Shaw had been a good man deep down. Jessica had never once been scared of him, never had any reason to be. He had never raised a hand to her. She couldn’t even recall a time when he had so much as raised his voice. She knew he had loved her like she was his own daughter. Just as she knew she would always love him. Their genetic makeup may have been totally different, but he would always be her dad. That would never change.

What had changed was that after two years of thinking she was completely and utterly alone in the world, Jessica now knew she wasn’t. She didn’t have to be on her own. Maybe she did have a reason to stand still, to stay in the City of Angels. A reason that had nothing to do with Matt Connor.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the rumble of an engine. The beam of a car’s headlights swept across the dark rectangle of the window. Jessica heard the engine cut out, followed by the dull thunk of a car door slamming. Footsteps muffled by rainfall. A soft knock at the door.

She threw back what was left of the Scotch and stood. Smoothed down her dress and checked in the mirror to make sure there were no lipstick marks on her teeth. Wobbly legs carried her to the door, the boot heels echoing against the wooden floor.