Did they have to do this? “I don’t want to hurt you even more by talking about another woman.”

“Just tell me where you met her.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “She works for The Last Stand, okay? It’s a victims’ charity here in Sacramento. She’s helping me search for Malcolm.”

“So that’s where I went wrong. I should’ve flown out there and proved my devotion by dedicating my life to your investigation.”

He wanted to hang up, to silence her with the simple push of a button. But they’d been together for a long time, and as he’d told her, he felt the breakup was more his fault than hers. The least he could do was make sure it ended well. “Stop the sarcasm, Connie. I never expected you to fly out here. I’m not holding it against you that you didn’t. Jane’s been through a lot. I’ve been through a lot. We have some common ground. That’s all. Somehow we…fit. At least for now.”

“I was such a fool,” she said.

He winced at the sob in her voice. “You weren’t a fool.”

“Anyone who loves you is a fool!” she spat and disconnected.

Sebastian shoved his phone in his pocket. “Shit!” He had so much adrenaline charging through him that it was fifteen minutes before he could settle down enough to think. Then, trying to forget that he’d just hurt the woman who’d been waiting for him for a year, he logged on to his computer.

There was another e-mail waiting for him-from Malcolm.

What? You don’t have anything to say? You can’t even respond?

Sebastian wanted to respond. He wanted to tell him to set Latisha free, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Sebastian was also tempted to tell Malcolm what a sick son of a bitch he was for doing what he’d done to Marcie. But that would only let Malcolm know how squarely he’d hit his target, and Sebastian refused to give him that satisfaction.

Forgoing all the accusations and recriminations that churned in his head, he wrote the one thing that really mattered.

You said it all. It’s you or me.

“Glib asshole,” Malcolm muttered.

“What is it?” Latisha asked.

He glanced over at the table, where she was eating the chocolate he’d purchased when they’d gone grocery shopping this morning. Latisha seemed to believe what he’d told her about the murder of his family. He supposed it didn’t hurt that he’d been a cop. That provided him with a certain amount of credibility. But he hadn’t expected to find her sympathy so irresistible. He was growing more and more certain that he wanted to keep her forever. “The man who killed my wife and son,” he said. “He’s answering the e-mail I sent him before we went to the store. He’s taunting me.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he thinks he can get away with it.”

She seemed to consider his response. “What will you do when you catch up with him?”

Kill him like he deserved. But he couldn’t say that. Not to Latisha. He was still trying to reassure her that he wasn’t guilty of her sister’s murder. Her youth and naiveté worked in his favor, but she was brighter than a lot of girls her age. “Make sure he goes to prison.”

“It’s so sad that no one believes you, that you can’t convince the other officers that he’s alive. You shouldn’t have to do this all alone.”

He smiled to himself. “DNA is powerful evidence.” Lord, didn’t he know it. “And unfortunately the DNA evidence suggests Sebastian’s dead.”

“You’ll get him.”

“Damn right I will.”

“Are we still going to watch the movie we rented?” she asked.

Now that he no longer had a relationship with Mary, he had nothing better to do. He was just getting up from his chair when he got a new message. Pausing to check what had come in, he was surprised to see an e-mail from Constance.

If he’d ever doubted that Mary had been working with Sebastian, this was proof. Constance had the same e-mail address as before; he recognized it from the various communications they’d had regarding Colton. But his address was new, something he’d created after moving to Sacramento. She could only have gotten it from Mary through Sebastian.

“Damn her,” he muttered, thinking about Mary. He’d expected so much more from her.

He clicked on the message and scanned the contents.

He’s not sleeping with Mary. He’s with a woman named Jane, a victims’ advocate from a charity there in Sacramento called The Last Stand. It sounds as if she’s helping him find you. It sounds as if they’re close.

Confused, he read those lines again. “What? Why the hell would she tell me that?”

“Tell you what?” Latisha asked.

“Nothing.” He considered the possibilities, but it didn’t take long to decide on the most likely scenario. Sebastian had dumped the proud Constance Sherwood for another woman, and she wanted revenge.

What an unlikely ally. He couldn’t help laughing at this fortuitous turn of events.

“Wes? What about the movie?” Latisha asked.

“Be there in a minute,” he told her. “Go ahead and start it without me.” Settling back in his chair, he opened his Internet browser and did a search for The Last Stand.

In seconds he had a picture of the building that housed the charity, their mission statement and what he’d been looking for all along-their address. Now he just needed to figure out what he was going to do with Latisha while he was gone.

Rocking back, he glanced around the kitchen and spotted the sack of groceries they’d purchased, still sitting on the counter. Latisha had put away the perishable items, but there were a few things in the sack-one of which was a bottle of rum.

“How’s the movie?” he called out.

“Good,” she replied. “You done? You coming?”

Letting his computer hibernate, he poured them each a glass of rum and Coke. He wished he’d thought to drop by the Red Room Motel off Stockton Boulevard on their way home. He’d met a dealer there who’d give him a good price on some speed. That’d be quicker to use, more fun. But he was all out.

The alcohol would have to do.

“Want a drink?” He carried the glasses into the living room, then went back for the bottles.

Latisha watched him. “What’s all this?”

“Rum and Coke.”

“I’ve never had rum and Coke. Gloria doesn’t let us drink.”

“It doesn’t hurt if you only do it once in a while.” He handed her a glass. “Come on, I’m in the mood to celebrate.”

“What are we celebrating?” she asked.

“You,” he said. Then he toasted their upcoming marriage, his love for her, their odd meeting, her willingness to trust him, her forgiveness, her beauty. Before long, she was so drunk she could hardly stand up.

“Latisha’s alive!” Gloria screeched.

It was late afternoon, but Jane had just arrived at the office. Dropping her purse and her briefcase on the floor in the reception area, she gripped the phone tighter. She’d expected a far different greeting when she’d answered this call. “How do you know?”

“I just got an e-mail from her.”

“You’re sure it’s her?”

“It came from her account. She’s the only one who’d know the password. It has to be her.”

Jane didn’t see how it could be anyone else. Not unless Latisha had shared her password. “I guess so.” She hoped so. “What did she say?”

“She say she fine. She don’t want me to worry ’bout her. She say she comin’ home in two weeks.”

The oddity of the message pierced through Jane’s elation. “Two weeks? Did she mention how or why?”

“No.”

What was going on? Malcolm couldn’t afford to let Latisha go. If they ever caught him-and they would-she’d be a witness for the prosecution. “Did she give you any clue about her location or surroundings?”

“No,” Gloria said, but the lack of answers didn’t seem to dampen her relief and excitement. She wanted to believe what she’d read, wanted to believe it so badly she wouldn’t look any deeper. “Hallelujah! She alive! She’ll be comin’ home soon.”