“The first time or the second time?”

“Huh?”

“Did you tell Crow the first time you hooked up-the time you fucked it up and he left you-or when he took you back?”

Whitney must be hurt if she was going out of her way to remind Tess of past mistakes.

“The first time. In fact, I told him before we slept together.”

“You are easy. I mean, I always knew you were a first-date kind of girl, but I didn’t know you gave everything up so readily.”

“Look, I’ll tell you the whole story right now if you like. But don’t argue with me, say it couldn’t have been that way, or tell me I must be mistaken.”

“I don’t argue-”

Tess held up her palm. “You’re arguing now.”

Whitney settled back, as close to contrite as she could ever be.

“Remember Jonathan Ross?”

“Speaking of being promiscuous-you slept with him even after you stopped dating.”

“Thanks for reminding me. Remember how he died?”

“He was hit by a car.”

“Luisa’s husband, Seamon, arranged that. Jonathan was getting too close to uncovering a true scandal. The O’Neals had paid a man already on Death Row to confess to a murder their son had committed. A go-between was used, a lawyer, so the killer never knew which prominent family he was helping. But there was money in it, which went to his mother. He also assumed his ”sponsors’ would keep him from being executed.“

“Did they?”

“He got two extensions before he was put to death last fall. Tucker Fauquier.”

“The psychopath who wanted to kill a boy in every county, but only made it as far as the Bay Bridge?”

“The very same.”

“And he never knew about the O’Neals’ involvement?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

Whitney was thinking, chin cupped in her hand. “Could anyone else know about all this?”

“Possibly. But I don’t see how. Seamon O’Neal, Tucker Fauquier, his mom, the lawyer who made the deal-they’re all dead. As far as I know, Luisa and I were the only two people left on earth who knew this story.”

“And Crow,” Whitney reminded Tess.

“And Crow.”

“I always hoped you talked about me when I wasn’t around.” Crow slid into the booth alongside Tess and, with one easy gesture, dropped her gun into her lap as he squeezed her left thigh. She looked down and almost laughed out loud when she realized he had wrapped the gun in a dish towel.

“That’s why it took me so long to get over here. I couldn’t figure out how I was supposed to transport it. You may have a license to carry, but I don’t, and I had these visions of me being jacked up on Cold Spring Lane. But I loaded it, per your instructions So.” He surveyed the bustling coffee shop. “A little heist? You picked a good day to knock over the Grind. They do a lot of cash business on a Saturday.”

His light mood disappeared when Tess told him everything that had happened that morning.

“You’ve got to go to the police, Tess. I don’t care what she said. You can at least call someone you trust, Detective Tull in homicide. This guy wants to kill you.”

“Not necessarily,” she said, echoing the words on Luisa’s pad. “Besides, how’s he going to get to me? His pattern is to insert himself into women’s lives, establish himself as the perfect boyfriend, the one who picks up the pieces left behind by some asshole. I already have the perfect boyfriend.”

The compliment did not soothe Crow. “You’ve got to call the state police.”

“And tell them-”

“Everything.”

Tess knew the advice was right and prudent. Truly, Crow cared only about her and her safety. That was the problem. She wasn’t the only person in the world. She had to protect herself, but there were others who had to be protected as well. Whitney, Crow, her parents. Luisa’s daughter. A man who would kill a woman just to make a point would kill anyone. She wouldn’t be safe from him until she knew who he was and why he did what he did.

“Luisa believes that if this man knows she spoke to me, he’ll kill her daughter.”

“You can’t think about that.”

“I have to think about that.” The gun was still in her lap, hidden in the folds of the dish towel, a black-and-white gingham print. Seeing that dish towel from her own kitchen made Tess long for everything ordinary in her life, everything she had taken for granted when she awoke this morning: her dogs, her bed, the view from her deck, her toothbrush. The happy sensation of coming home at the end of the day and pouring a glass of wine. A life without fear.

Where was he? Who was he? Had they met? Exchanged a few words?

“He’ll kill anyone, for any reason. He killed Julie for me.”

Whitney nodded, but Crow was confused.

“You didn’t want Julie dead,” he said. “She was just a pathetic junkie who tried to shake you down for a few bucks. Why would you care what happened to her?”

“No. He killed Julie because he knew the investigation had stalled, that I was no longer a part of it. He killed a woman to get my attention.”

“She was on his list,” Whitney pointed out. “Perhaps he always intended to kill her. As Luisa said, ”Nothing is random.“ ”

“Point taken. But if I go to the state police and Luisa’s daughter out in Chicago ends up dead, how do I justify that? She’s a mother. Whatever her parents have done-whatever her brother did-she’s innocent.”

“How will he know if you talk to the police?” Crow asked.

“I don’t know. He seems to know everything else about me. He knew how to get to me-how to use Luisa to set up a project that would be irresistible to me. How to get me to put the pieces together.”

“But he’s dead,” Whitney said. “The wreckage of the boat was found. They’re looking at bodies, trying to make a match.”

“Sometimes,” Tess said, “a John Doe is simply a John Doe. People drown, they don’t get identified. Who’s to say our guy didn’t catch a break?”

“Yes, but you’re assuming the only person who could know these five names is the killer himself. What if there are two killers, the man who killed Tiffani and Lucy and a second man, who had entirely different reasons for killing Julie Carter, Hazel Ligetti, and Michael Shaw. Those murders all happened after the apparent suicide, right? And they’re nothing like the first two.”

Tess rubbed her forehead. “My brain hurts.”

“My soul hurts,” Crow said. “I think I’m going to be sick. I’ve never felt so helpless.”

They sat in glum silence, coffee growing cold, muffin untouched. Together, the three could usually figure anything out. Like Dorothy’s companions through Oz, they were three incompletes who made a whole. Crow was all heart, like the Tin Man. Whitney was their Scarecrow, but more like the version in the book, the one whose head was filled with needles and pins so he might be sharp.

This left Tess, by default, to be the Cowardly Lion, the one who marched forward into battle, bitching and moaning from fear all the while. She was afraid. She had no illusions about herself. If she had a choice, she wouldn’t fight this fight.

It would have been nice, having a choice.