They stood there in silence for a few moments. Just the sound of the wind rustling through the trees and the flapping of hummingbird wings overhead.

Then Connor said, “I’m so sorry, Jessica.”

“You were just doing your job.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. When it all went down. I was so convinced Rob Young was our guy I didn’t even realize how much danger you were in. I should have been there.”

Connor had made a return visit to the Tahiti Club Sunday night, off the clock this time. Drinking double bourbons and enjoying the entertainment, while Catherine Tavernier was trying to slice Jessica’s throat open. But she didn’t blame him. She blamed herself. Jessica had been as blind to the truth as he had been. Even more so, in fact. After all, she was the one who had invited a killer into what was effectively her home.

Just like Eleanor had done twenty-five years earlier.

Jessica said, “Seriously, don’t beat yourself up about it. You know if I was mad at you, I’d have hit you already, right?”

He grinned, then reached out his hand for her own and held on to it gently. “Will I see you again?”

Jessica looked down at their fingers laced together. Just like they’d been outside the strip bar. She untangled her hand from his and stood on tiptoes and kissed him softly on the cheek. “Take care of yourself, Connor. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

She climbed into the truck. She had Jason Pryce to thank for delivering the Silverado and her suitcase to the hospital. Jessica also had the detective to thank for having such a good aim with a Beretta 92FS. A couple of inches the other way and it could have been her brains splattered all over Hopper’s retro wallpaper.

She backed out of the parking lot. Didn’t look back at Connor.

Jessica had one more thing to take care of before she left the City of Angels for good.

38 PRYCE

38

PRYCE

Officially, Pryce was on paid administrative leave while the IAD investigated the shooting. But according to Grayling, it had been a good kill. She assured him the investigation would be nothing more than a box-checking exercise and should be completed within a matter of days.

Unofficially, Pryce needed to understand the reasons behind Catherine Tavernier’s brutal slaughter of Amy Ong before waiting for his return to full duty to be rubber-stamped.

He crossed the lobby of the Bel Air hotel and headed for the lounge area. In the far corner sat a man on his own. Pryce hoped he would provide some of those answers, although David Fenton looked like he was trying to find some answers of his own at the bottom of the whiskey glass he was staring into.