Jessica turned to face him. “No, I haven’t, have I? My client is Alicia Lavelle.”

She watched Holliday’s mouth drop open as she closed the door behind her.

Back in room 5, Jessica locked the door and slid the security chain in place.

Just in case.

14 JESSICA

14

JESSICA

Friday morning.

The motel room was warm and bright. Not yet nine a.m. but already the day was shaping up to be hot and heavy. It was officially early fall, but summer wasn’t letting go just yet.

Jessica sat up and sipped some water from a glass on the nightstand. Her mouth felt like it was filled with cotton balls, but she’d mostly escaped a repeat of the previous day’s hangover, despite last night’s liquor.

Instead of throbbing pain, her head was filled with questions.

For the last forty-eight hours, they’d mostly been about the woman who could be her mother. She knew she was avoiding the ones about the man who was supposed to be her father.

The shower was still on the cold setting when she stepped into the stall. Jessica left it as it was and emerged feeling refreshed and invigorated. She dressed in denim cutoffs, a white T-shirt, and tennis shoes. After applying some makeup and finger combing her still-damp hair, she checked her reflection in the mirror. She looked okay, if a little tired.

The coffee maker was still on the closet shelf. Jessica pulled it down, set it on the desk, and got a pot going. The most recent number in the call list on her cell phone was for the switchboard at the LAPD’s Hollywood Station. She hit redial and asked to speak to Pryce. She drank black coffee and waited for the inevitable invitation to leave yet another message. After a few moments of being on hold, she heard some beeps and clicks as the call was transferred, and then a man’s voice came on the line.

“This is Pryce.”

Jessica was so surprised to finally reach the detective that she realized she hadn’t properly prepared what she wanted to say to him. So she just said, “Good morning, Detective Pryce. My name is Jessica Shaw.”

A pause. Then, “How can I help you, Ms. Shaw?”

“I left a couple of messages for you yesterday.”

“My apologies. I have a stack of messages on my desk I’m still trying to catch up on. Was your call regarding a case?”

“No, it’s a personal matter, actually. I believe you knew my father, Tony Shaw.”

Another pause. “I’m sorry—I don’t recognize the name.”

Pryce’s voice sounded strained, or maybe it was her imagination. After all, she didn’t even know the guy.