The voice wasn’t Sophie’s. The world slipped and spun, palm trees going sideways as his knees went weak.

“Television is predictable because it’s written by guys like you.”

“I swear to god,” Daniel blurted, “if you—”

“ ‘—hurt her, I’ll kill you.’ See what I mean? I don’t even need you for this conversation. I may as well be talking to myself. In fact, I think I will. ‘Gosh, self. Do you think it’s a wise idea to fuck around?’ ‘You know what, self? I don’t think that’s smart at all. I think I should just pay the man. Otherwise, who knows what he’ll do.’ ”

“Bennett—”

“Seems you still don’t get the point. So let me underscore it. Denslow and Levering.”

“What? I don’t—”

“Be talking at you.”

“No, wait, Bennett, please, I’m sorry, we’ll—”

The line went dead. Daniel stood in the parking lot under the darkening sky, his mouth open, a silent phone to his ear. From the pier he could hear the sound of laughter. The air smelled like corn dogs and exhaust.

“Honey?” Laney looked across the Cruiser at him, her eyes wide. She rocked back and forth like a wobbling doll. “What happened?”

Daniel lowered the phone. Made himself swallow. His throat like sandpaper. A snatch of music came from somewhere. “Sophie,” he said. “He found Sophie.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did— Did you talk to her? Is she . . .” Laney trailed off.

He shook his head. His mind whizzed and whirled in conflicting directions. He had to help Sophie. He had to call the police. It was a trap. It didn’t matter. She was dead. She might need help. “Denslow and Levering. He said Denslow and Levering. I don’t know where that is. Do you?”

Laney paled. “By UCLA. It’s where Charles lives.”

“Who?”

“Charles. The man Sophie’s seeing. He’s a law professor. We went over there for dinner a month ago.”

Of course. It made sense. Where would Sophie go on a moment’s notice? Somewhere that seemed safe. Not her office, not a hotel. Her boyfriend’s house.

And somehow Bennett had found out where he lived. “We have to go.”

“Wait. What if Bennett is—”

“I don’t care.” He circled the car, held out his hand. “I’ll drive.”

“This could be a trap.”

“You think I don’t know that?” His face felt rubbery, his hands wooden. “We can’t just leave her.”

For a moment, he thought Laney was going to argue. Then she dropped the keys in his hand. “Let’s go.”

5

The two-mile drive took forever. He avoided the highway, kept to back streets, Laney throwing out directions when he wasn’t certain. Rush hour, and the streets were snarled with L.A.’s famous traffic. A sea of brake lights in every direction. The ride was a nightmare of stop and go. He cut through parking lots, sped around cars, ran yellows and soft reds. Horns shrieked and lights flashed and he didn’t give a damn.

This is your fault.

He’d underestimated Bennett. Even after everything Laney had told him, Daniel had forgotten that the man stayed in the shadows, that he preferred end runs to charges down the middle. That he would never just walk into a situation someone else controlled. He would redirect it. Find leverage.

Blood on your hands, Daniel. Blood on your soul.

It was twilight by the time they made it. On the surface, the neighborhood seemed idyllic. Beautiful homes, beautiful trees, beautiful people walking beautiful dogs. They made it to Levering first, followed the winding curves up to the intersection.

“That one.” Laney gestured to a Spanish-style house set back from the corner. She looked around. “It doesn’t look like anything’s happened.”

“Maybe he was bluffing.”

She bit her lip, didn’t respond.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “I’m thinking it too. But if she’s in there, and she needs help . . .”

“What do you want to do?”

He looked over. “Your gun.”

“Your gun.” She pulled it out. “Here.”

It had been three thousand miles and another life since the Glock he’d found in the glove box. But it felt just as good, just as right, to take the Sig Sauer in his hand. He ejected the round from the chamber, popped the magazine, reinserted the round, racked the slide, switched the safety off.

Look at you. But then, you probably learned for your writing. Probably fired off hundreds of rounds—at paper targets.

“Okay. Wait here.”

“What?”

“If there’s any problem, call the police.”

She shook her head. “No way. This is not a woolly mammoth situation.”

“Laney—”

She pushed open the passenger door and started down the sidewalk. Grimacing, he followed. The thrum of traffic sounded from the 405 to the west. Somewhere, someone started a leaf blower. His heart banged two beats for every footstep.

Laney started up the front path. He thought of arguing, couldn’t see a better way. If Bennett was here, there would be no safe or secret way in. And no time to waste.

Daniel reached for the front, twisted the handle. Unlocked. Holding his gun low and out, he pushed open the door.

The hallway was dark. He didn’t wait for his eyes to adjust, just went in before Laney could, the gun held in front of him. Trying to remember every maneuver he’d ever seen on a cop show. Stay calm. Don’t shoot just because something moves.

His breath sounded loud. Laney stepped in behind him, shut the door. The click of the latch made him jump. He took a step, and then another. The place seemed familiar, though he couldn’t remember how.

A clatter came from down the hall.

Daniel was running before he realized it, charging past the staircase, through the living room, gun up and sweeping, vision blurring. Light fell through an archway. The room beyond had a tile floor, and he saw a baker’s rack with an array of pans. There was another sound, something he couldn’t place, and he spun around the corner, staying low, praying for he didn’t know what, that she would be okay, that Bennett would appear in his sights, that—

The first thing he saw was the cat. It was tubby and mottled orange and sitting on the counter. A container of cooking tools had been knocked over beside it, and the cat was swatting at a spatula.