Marissa touched up her lipstick. “Time’s up. What did you see during lunch?”

I stared out at the busy street ahead and asked the One who had all the answers to guide me. “The use of your first name, dress, and appearance show Feng is aware of who you are. You met him originally in a professional setting, but it moved into a personal relationship. Too soon to tell if he initiated the pursuit or if you saw a benefit in manipulating him for personal gain.

“He has feelings for you that extend beyond the title of his mistress or living together. He wants to own you, and marriage accomplishes his need to control and possess. You play into his affections and lead him on. Might even marry him if he can keep you entertained. But he’s smart, and you have to be careful.

“His dark side can be dangerous. He’s introduced you to someone powerful who could add dollars and possibly a safety net to your investments. He flinched when you asked if this man planned to be in San Francisco, as though he suspects a rival. I sincerely doubt Feng is in the restaurant business, most likely a cover.” I took a deep breath. “How’s my analysis?”

A full twenty seconds passed before she spoke. “You’ve had an excellent teacher.”

Marissa drove home in a brooding mood I hadn’t seen in years.

68

DENTON

Patience wasn’t a virtue in my agent’s dossier, and the following Friday found me missing Shelby, aching to hear her voice instead of anticipating a text.

After Randy Hughes had suffered a heart attack, he spent three days in the hospital, then voluntarily checked himself into an alcohol detox center not far from Valleysburg. At the residential facility, trained professionals had designed a program uniquely for him to heal his mind and body. By forming new habits, Randy had the opportunity to step back into life with a solid support system. My thoughts for him were noble, and before putting God as a priority, I might not have hoped for his rehabilitation.

But would he agree to see me today after spending a few days in the program?

Inside the rehab office, I stated my purpose, displayed my FBI creds, and requested to see Randy. I waited at a table in a spring-flowering courtyard beneath a canopied table. Red pentas and purple petunias exploded into color alongside a white stone. As a kid, I’d pulled weeds from my grandparents’ flower beds with those same plants and colors. I relaxed a bit.

Over thirty minutes later, Randy greeted me without the typical scowl. He’d lost weight, and his skin color reflected a well-paved road to good health, providing he didn’t take detours.

“Thanks for seeing me,” I said. “They must be treating you right.”

“Better than I deserve. Haven’t felt this good in a long time.” He nodded at my crutches. “Fall off Big Red?”

“A truck ran me off the road.”

“Familiar story. Get the plates?”