“I’m not suggesting you pool resources,” Bruyn said. “But your sister deserves the best investigation possible, which means as many investigators as possible. You can both have a go.”

I could tell Kennedy didn’t like that. If he made Bruyn choose, I knew who’d lose.

“How’s your car doing?” I said.

“What?” Kennedy said.

“Your car. Is it fixed?”

“No, but even if it doesn’t get repaired, I can rent one, so if you’re suggesting I’m lacking transportation—”

“Let me take another shot at it. If I can’t fix your car in one hour, I’ll leave.”

He eyed me. He hated reducing this to a wager, but I hadn’t made much headway the last time. Finally he tossed me the keys.

“SHE NEEDS THE oil topped off,” I said an hour later as the car purred beside me. “And the driver’s side rear tire is a little low. Otherwise, you’re good to go. And, apparently, I’m good to stay—on the case.”

“Hold on.”

He took the car for a spin around the lot. And I do mean a spin, driving like he was on a race circuit. I was impressed. I could say I was surprised, too, but I’d seen the modifications he’d had done. Michael Kennedy might act like a guy who’d never take a hairpin curve at sixty miles an hour, but his car said otherwise.

He stopped beside me and rolled down the window. “Funny, seems you had a lot more trouble with it earlier.”

“Yes. I was faking you out. I’m psychic. I knew you were Claire’s cop brother and I knew I’d need to make this bet to stay on the case. Impressing a hot guy is great, but keeping a case I really want is much better motivation.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, frowning, as he replayed what I just said. He busied himself adjusting the mirror, then cleared his throat.

“I don’t like this, Ms. Levine. Solving my sister’s murder is not—”

“—a game to you. I know. And it’s not to me either. It’s a job. Yes, I’m young. No, I don’t have your experience. But solving this will go a long way toward cementing my reputation, so I’m not going to screw it up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have leads to pursue, as I’m sure you do. Let’s just try not to trip over each other chasing them.”

I MADE IT to the sidewalk when my phone chirped, telling me I had a text.

It was from Adam. He’d sent it while I’d been busy with Kennedy’s car.

No call. No txt. U alive?

I sent a text. Sry. Working.

The reply came back before I could even close my phone.

Can I help? Rsrch? Bkgrd chk?