A warning bell sounded. “What job?”

He listened while she told him about the vet tech position. “Will you make more money than you do now?”

“No, and I’ll have to work longer hours.”

He was missing something here. “Then why would you be interested?”

Whitney angled herself sideways so she was facing him. An intense expression charged with excitement lit up her face. “I’d planned to attend veterinary school before I met Ryan. I’d been accepted at UC Davis.”

Adam knew the University of California at Davis had a topnotch veterinary school. Being accepted to such a prestigious program was quite an honor.

“Instead of going, I married Ryan and helped put him through medical school. I’d like to give it another shot. If I take night classes I can reapply and I may have a chance of being accepted. Working with a veterinarian will give me practical experience.”

“If they give you a good recommendation, that would help.”

“It won’t hurt. I have to give it a try. I don’t want to wake up one day and find myself saying I wish…I want to know I gave it my best.”

He had to admire her courage and sense of purpose. His life had once had direction and purpose, too, but that was before his stint in Iraq. He’d wanted to go into corporate security. Now he’d lost his moorings. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. But sure as hell, sitting on his ass, guarding rich people’s homes wasn’t what he had in mind.

“What was being a detective like?” Whitney asked.

“Nothing like what I imagined. Nothing.” He turned onto the highway. “You’re probably smart to work at a vet’s. I wish I’d had the opportunity to get a close-up view of detective work before I committed myself.”

“You didn’t like it.”

“I enjoyed helping people, but too much time goes into paperwork and homicides linked to drug deals.”

She didn’t comment, but then, what could she say? The average person had no idea what went on behind the scenes at the police station.

Whitney finally spoke. “My mother used to say that as long as there was a demand, drugs would be a problem.”

“I couldn’t agree more, but drug use is rampant in our society. It brings in big money and that corrupts even the most well-meaning people.”

“Didn’t you work on any interesting murder cases?”

“Not really. Most homicides are easy to solve. The perp is usually someone the victim knows. Killers rarely strike victims at random.”

“There’s a reason behind every crime, I guess,” Whitney said. “Like the firebomb. Someone didn’t just drive down the street and pick out the cottage because it was cute. Someone deliberately went there to kill Miranda.”

“True, and this case is more challenging than most of those I worked while I was still on the force.”

What also made this more interesting was Whitney. He’d never been personally involved before. In one way it bothered him, because being too close meant you might miss an important clue. But in another way, it gave him a sense of control. He doubted Dudley “The Dud” Romberg had interviewed Jared Cabral yet. Hell, for all he knew, Romberg hadn’t discovered Miranda had worked at Saffron Blue.

He realized Whitey had stopped talking and was gazing out the window again. “What do you plan to do with your business?”

She slowly turned to face him. “I know there are other pet concierges in the area. I’m going to ask at Dog Diva tomorrow. That’s the groomer. Dan’s the best in the area, and he really cares about his dogs. If he recommends someone, I’ll interview them and see.”

“Sounds like a good plan. What about Lexi?”

“They said I could bring her to work. She’ll be a calming influence on the dogs, the way she is on walks. Many animals are terrified of the vet. Dr. Robinson brings in her Lab and there’s a parrot in the waiting room to help the pets chill. I think Lexi will like it.”

Adam had no doubt the dog would be fine, but he didn’t care for this new turn of events. Long hours. Living far away from him. He wondered how much he would see of Whitney. Not nearly enough.

He knew he was falling for her. Hell, he might even be in love with her. It had all happened so quickly that he hadn’t had time to evaluate the situation. Maybe he didn’t need time. Hadn’t his brush with death taught him anything? Life could end in a heartbeat. Couldn’t you fall in love just as fast?

Still, it was best not to plunge headlong into anything. There was stress and pressure and even danger all around. Give this relationship time and space, he told himself.

They pulled into Saffron Blue’s half-full parking lot. A hulking guy in a neon-yellow shirt guarded the entrance. Later there would be a line and the bouncer would keep order until there was space inside the club for the men waiting.

“Does the club really need a bouncer that mean-looking?” Whitney asked.

“If guys are thinking about fighting, the bouncer intimidates them. Staff wear bright yellow because it’s easy to spot in the dark. But that’s not why he’s at the door.” He parked at the far end of the lot to be near the back of the building. “When strip joints first opened, law enforcement was under big-time pressure to shut them down. An easy way is to enforce fire regulations that limit the number of people in the club. The bouncer keeps count-on a clicker or, if he’s good like Cabral’s bouncers, in his head.”

“Clever idea. The bouncer serves a dual purpose.”

“Right. Give the credit to Jared Cabral’s father. He was the first club owner in SoCal to use a bouncer to regulate the count.” He put the car in Park and swiveled in his seat to face Whitney. “We’re going around to the backstage entrance. With luck, Crystal Burkhart isn’t performing yet. If she is, we’ll have to wait until she takes a break.”

They went around back where there were several doors. Adam led her up to the center one with a card-key slot above the knob. He rapped on the door.

“Yeah?” A burly guy in a bright yellow T-shirt stuck his head out the door.

“We need to see Crystal Burkhart,” Adam told him.

“Go in the front and pay.” He started to slam the door, but Adam held on to the knob.

“I’m her cousin,” Whitney piped up, surprising Adam. “There’s been a death in the family.” The guy hesitated. “I really need to speak to her. It’ll just take a few minutes.”

He glared at Whitney but his stare crumpled when tears jumped into her eyes. Damn, she was good.

“Aah, okay. But make it quick. The rapper’s bangin’ the shoe-” he checked his watch “-in fifteen.”

He led them down a brightly lit hall that smelled of burgers on the grill. Adam figured the vents from the kitchen leaked a bit. To his right were a series of doors. Each had a name slot on it. By simply writing a name on a piece of paper and sliding it into the holder, the name could be changed by each dancer.

“Bangin’ the shoe?” Whitney whispered.

“The bar is horseshoe-shaped. They bang-dance-on it.”

The guy halted in front of a door and knocked, calling, “Yo, Candy, your cousin’s here.”

Adam read the plate on the door: Candy Rapper. Instead of being hand-written, this one had been engraved on a brass nameplate. Evidently, she’d worked here long enough to have a permanent nameplate inscribed for herself. Someone down the long hall yelled at the guy who’d let them in, and he hustled away from them.

The door swung open. “Cousin? What-” The woman’s bright pink mouth gaped open when she spotted them. “Who in hell-”

“Please, we need to talk to you,” Whitney said. “Are you Crystal Burkhart?”

The woman nodded and her eyes narrowed. She was dressed in baggy jeans big enough to house five women at once and a huge shirt underneath a XXXL denim vest. Obviously, her shtick was to pretend to be a street rapper. Layers of oversize, ugly gangsta clothing concealed a stripper’s hot bod.

“I’m Miranda Marshall’s cousin.”