Her phone rang.

She nearly jumped out of the driver’s seat, then settled herself when she saw Jenna’s name.

Swiping the screen, she turned her phone on speaker, then pulled over near a park and cut the engine.

“Hey girl,” Jenna said. “I’ve got what you’re looking for.”

“Tell me,” she said breathlessly.

“So, eighteen years ago, one was owned by a family named Stefano,” Jenna said, and Sophie cringed, squeezing her eyes shut at that name—the name she knew belonged to the shooter. “The second was a rental. Owned by a guy named Carlos Nelson at the time. But he didn’t live there. He rented it to his two cousins, T.J. Nelson and Kenny Nelson.”

“T.J. and Kenny Nelson,” Sophie repeated, as if she could decode the names by saying them out loud.

But they meant nothing to her.

Of course they meant nothing to her. She wasn’t investigating a crime. She wasn’t the detective. She wasn’t the victim’s family.

She was, however, the woman stuck between the two.

After she said goodbye to Jenna, she didn’t move. She stayed behind the wheel of her parked car, staring ahead at the swing-set, the world around her fading as she realized that she had the names of the two men John could be looking for in the murder of Ryan’s father nearly twenty years ago.

Ryan had no idea he’d been holding onto evidence all these years. He’d thought his mother had given him a memento, a symbol of her hopes and dreams for safekeeping. Instead she’d asked him to hide something that was clearly evidence, and managed to do it without anyone being the wiser.

Her insides roiled. Her head pounded with frustration and so much aching sadness. But underneath that storm of emotions was another one, rising up. Excitement. She had something in her hands that might help solve the murder.

The trouble was she was stuck, and Sophie understood precisely why she’d been so consumed with the need to keep herself busy for the last hour.

She didn’t know who to tell first.

Her head told her John. Her heart said she should call the man who’d given her the clue he didn’t even know he had.

She tossed her phone in the backseat and headed home.

Chapter Thirty-Three

She wasn’t herself. Hadn’t been all night. Ryan wanted to figure out why, and to make it better if he could.

“Is it that guy?”

Sophie knit her brows and shot him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“Is that why you’re so tense tonight?”

He squeezed her shoulder, then travelled to her neck, gently massaging. “The guy who wanted to set you up with his grandson. The reason you invited me in the first place,” he reminded her, as he tried to work the knots of tension from her neck and shoulders. “Is he why you’re so tense?”

“No.” She shook her head quickly. Then she nodded just as vigorously. “I mean yes. That must be it. Or it’s just that I want this whole event to go well.”

“It’s going great,” he reassured her as they stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching the guests mingling and chatting, enjoying hors d’oeuvres that fancy waiters and waitresses offered on trays as they circled. The huge ballroom glittered in the glow of boat-sized chandeliers. A four-piece orchestra played soft classical music from the stage as guests filtered in. “Or do you want me to make you feel better? Sneak into the fancy bathroom for a quickie?” he suggested in a low voice.

She seized up and spun around. “No. I can’t do that,” she said sharply.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey. Don’t bite. I’ve just never seen you so nervous. I want to help. I know this event is important to you.”

She breathed erratically then waved her hand in front of her face as if she felt faint. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just…”

But she didn’t finish her sentence.

He eyed her up and down as if he could somehow figure out what was wrong with his normally polished, poised, and outgoing Sophie. She handled crowds with aplomb. She was unflappable, so it was odd to see her off her game.

On the surface, she was as impeccable as always. She looked extraordinary tonight in a violet dress that hugged her curves, a teardrop necklace that nestled between her breasts, and sheer black stockings that he’d peeked at earlier, when he’d tugged up her skirt in the town car on the ride over to see how far up they went—all the way to the lace tops at her thighs. God, there was little better on a woman than thigh-high stockings. Her blonde hair was twisted high on her head, with loose curls framing her face.

He parked his hands on her shoulders. “Breathe, beautiful. Everything here is perfect, including you,” he said, then turned her around to let her soak in the room and all the guests—the glitterati of the city mingling and talking. Many of Ryan’s clients were here, from casino owners to his new White Box clients. He recognized plenty of familiar faces, too, from the mayor, to a popular magician, to a big-time high roller. Even his brother Colin was here, though he was busy chatting with a pretty brunette at the bar. Sophie’s brother John was somewhere among the guests. Ryan had said a quick hello earlier, and it hadn’t been as uncomfortable as he’d expected it to be. Maybe John didn’t hate him.

Sophie bit her lip, then words seemed to tumble out, laced with guilt. “I just feel bad because I couldn’t make the pattern,” she said, fiddling with a bracelet on her wrist.

He made a scoffing sound. “That’s what’s upsetting you?”

“I tried,” she said apologetically. “It was too complicated.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s sweet that you even offered.”

“I did try. I tried so hard.” Her voice sounded as if it was about to break. Then suddenly she plastered on a huge smile as an older man with gray hair strode up to them.

“Clyde Graser,” he said to Ryan, holding out a hand, and Ryan spent the next few minutes chatting with the man who was in some way responsible for this incredible woman and him growing even closer. If Clyde hadn’t pressured Sophie, she might not have asked him to the event tonight. And knowing they had this date had pushed them faster into each other’s arms.

But then, Ryan also believed that he and Sophie were an inevitability. Funny, because he’d never been one to put any stock in fate and love. But he did now, and if this man in front of him played a role in driving him closer to the woman he loved, then he deserved his gratitude, even if it was veiled in the guise of something else.

“I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for the community center. It means so much to so many people,” Ryan said.

Then Sophie remarked that it was nearly time to bring Clyde on stage with the center director, so Ryan said goodbye to the two of them.

He turned around to look for Colin, but once again his younger brother was quite busy with the brunette.

* * *

Sure, there were other people here. Quite possibly Colin should talk to them. Maybe even interact with his brother Ryan. But Elle hadn’t slipped away from him yet, so he remained at the bar with her, club soda in his hand, a glass of water in hers.

“Did you get the new ink you were talking about?” she asked.

“I did. I’m close to the ten percent mark now,” Colin said, not looking away from her, because how could he? He hadn’t seen her dressed to the nines before, and she was jaw-droppingly stunning in her evening finery. But then, she was hot-as-sin in the jeans, short-sleeve blouses, and the little flat shoes she wore on the days he saw her at the community center, so he wasn’t surprised. This dress though—he was sure it had been painted onto her lush figure.

He wanted to tear it off.

She laughed. “No way are you that covered in tattoos,” she said, calling him on his fib. She was right—he wasn’t ten percent slathered in ink. He had plenty though, and she was an admitted tattoo junkie. Inked herself, the back of her neck boasted a line of sparrows. He’d kissed those birds a few times. Not enough as far as he was concerned.