She studied the photograph.

“So?” he prompted. “Have you ever seen him before?”

“No.”

“Is he what you expected?”

“Not really. He’s losing his hair.”

“You can tell in that picture?” he asked, surprised.

“I used to be a hairstylist.” She held the photograph closer. “He seems to have a nice physique, though.”

“Classic short man’s complex, trying to compensate with muscle mass for what he lacks in height.”

She didn’t respond to his comment. “Emily is beautiful.”

Bitterness overwhelmed him. “Was beautiful,” he corrected.

Jane hadn’t said anything about Colton, but Sebastian guessed she was studying the similarities between them. His son had looked so much like him, except he’d had his mother’s light-colored eyes.

Grabbing the photograph before she could mention it, Sebastian shoved it back in the jockey box. He didn’t want to talk about Colton. Not with a virtual stranger. And not with anyone who was close to him, either. That was the real reason Constance was moving on. He hadn’t been able to include her in what he was suffering. He’d withdrawn.

Fortunately, Jane said nothing. She watched the green rolling hills between Sacramento and Ione fly past her window-or stared at nothing, he couldn’t tell which-but she gave him some space and for that he was grateful.

Several minutes later, she resumed the conversation, and her question had nothing to do with the photograph he’d shown her. “What about the five hundred thousand dollars you mentioned? Where’d that come from?”

The money he could talk about. He’d been talking about it since Malcolm’s escape. It was the strongest proof that Malcolm was still alive. “That was Emily’s. She’d gotten an insurance settlement a few months before and cashed the check. She was saving it to build a new life for her and Colton. At least, that’s what she told me. But after the funerals were over and we went to clean the house, the key to the safety-deposit box was there but the money wasn’t.”

“Maybe she moved it.”

“Where? There was no record of it ever going into any of their accounts. And if she was ready to invest it, she would’ve asked for my help. I’m an investment banker. She mentioned doing something with it once, but Malcolm put a quick stop to my involvement. He said he didn’t trust me, and he accused us of having an affair.”

“More smoke and mirrors?”

“A way to make sure the money wasn’t tied up when he made his getaway.”

“Malcolm traded his profession, his family, his whole life for an amount that might last him five years-if he lives modestly?”

“People have killed for much less,” Sebastian said quietly.

“Usually those people are on drugs or looking for the money to get high. They’re not thinking straight. This was planned. Was he in debt?”

For someone who’d seemed a little out of her element when they were at the office, Jane was actually pretty savvy. She came across as sort of tough, certainly more streetwise than the typical middle-class white woman. Sebastian respected that. “Deeply. He probably wanted her to bail him out, but she wouldn’t do it. As I said, she planned to use her money to leave him and start over. Not only would he lose her, he’d have no insurance settlement to avoid financial ruin.”

“A major embarrassment, to say the least.”

“Exactly. But if he killed his wife and stepson and faked his own death, he could take the money, escape punishment and evade his creditors without ever having to face the people he’d hurt.”

“A good plan, provided you’re a monster,” she said. “So what kind of debts did he have?”

According to GPS, they’d already driven eighteen miles on CA-14. Sebastian slowed, looking for Ione Road. “His credit cards were maxed out, and he’d pulled all the equity from their house so it was way overmortgaged. He’d borrowed from his parents, his brother, his best friend. He’d even drained his retirement account.”

“Where was the money going?”

“Sports gambling. That’s all I can figure. I’m guessing he kept chasing his losses. I think he was even placing bets online.”

“Online gambling’s illegal, isn’t it?”

“Depends on the state. There’s only been one guy I’m aware of who’s been prosecuted for placing bets online. He paid a five-hundred-dollar fine, but his winnings were over one hundred thousand dollars, so I doubt he minded too much.”

“Did you tell the police about Malcolm’s financial situation?”

“Since he admitted to having financial problems in his suicide note, they weren’t overly concerned.” He shot her a glance. “But they didn’t meet the shady character who showed up at the house one night while I was there.”

“A loan shark?”

Sebastian found their turn. According to GPS they had another five miles before the next one. “He claimed to be a friend, said Malcolm owed him money. Apparently, he’d missed the piece in the paper announcing the death of the whole family. Or he was coming by to pick the bones.”

“What was his name?”

“Johnny DiMiglio. At least, that’s the name he gave me.”

“Did you tell him you thought Malcolm was alive?”

“I did. I was hoping he’d go after him. It would’ve saved me a lot of time and trouble.”

“But that didn’t happen.”

“I haven’t seen or heard from DiMiglio since. He probably figured he’d spend more to find Malcolm than he’d lose by letting it go.” Lord knows Sebastian had lost enough.

“Bottom line, Malcolm thought he had nothing to lose by murdering Emily and Colton and everything to gain.”

“That’s my guess.”

She adjusted her seat belt. “Now I know why you’re doing what you’re doing.”

He felt his eyebrows go up.

“I’d be doing the same thing,” she said.

There was no time to respond. They’d reached their destination.

Jane’s stomach muscles tightened with trepidation as Sebastian pulled to the side of the road, next to a canal, a good distance from the lonely rambler that matched the address Detective Willis had given her. They’d already driven by the house twice. Located at the edge of town, it sat on a large square lot that was mostly mud, thanks to a lack of landscaping and plenty of rainy weather. A dated Volkswagen Beetle, dented and rusted with a flat tire, took refuge beneath the attached metal carport.

The place wasn’t much to look at. If Wesley Boss was Malcolm Turner, he certainly hadn’t spent much of Emily’s insurance settlement on lodging. But Ione encompassed such a hodgepodge of housing styles that such a dilapidated ranch house didn’t surprise Jane. The thousand or so households in the area straddled a wide range of styles and incomes-everything from broken-down trailers to a handful of high-end mansions overlooking Lake Comanche.

“What I don’t understand is why there’s no deputy around,” she said. “We couldn’t have beaten him here. We had to drive all the way from Sacramento.”

That was the second time she’d mentioned it, and the second time Sebastian ignored her. Reaching under his seat, he retrieved a handgun and got out of the car. He didn’t seem to care about the deputy. He cared only about finding his man. But what would happen then? He couldn’t arrest Wesley Boss or Malcolm Turner or whoever the guy was.

“This can’t be good,” she breathed. She had her 9mm in her purse. She’d taken it out of her bottom desk drawer before leaving the office, but she was still very conscious of the fact that she hadn’t received her license to carry concealed. And Sebastian was from New York. Even if he had a license, California law didn’t recognize CCW licenses issued in other states.

“One way or another, we’re going to get into trouble. Where’s the damn sheriff’s deputy?” she asked again, only this time she was talking to herself. Sebastian was halfway to the house, keeping low to the ground and using every tree or bush he could for cover.