“I’d like to have an alert sent out,” she said, “to anyone who purchased a single-family home in the last nine months within a five-mile radius of either attack, warning of possible home invasion threats, and suggest they change their alarm codes.”

  Ryan looked at her as if he wasn’t sure how best to respond. “Jessie,” he finally said, “you know we can’t do that. It would set off a panic. That could be hundreds of homes.”

  “Maybe not,” she countered. “We could have Jamil do a search. It’s not that big a community. Maybe it’s only dozens of sales during that time.”

  “Either way, we’re not calling a large group of citizens and telling them that they are so vulnerable in their own homes that they have to change their alarm codes. They’ll freak out. We could end up with neighbors shooting each other because they looked suspicious when they were just getting the newspaper. Plus, we don’t even know how the killer is getting access to the alarm codes. What if this person got the new ones too? Then changing them is pointless. It’s just not practical. No way Decker would approve it. What I can do is recommend increased patrols for the area.”

  Jessie knew he was right. She hadn’t ever really expected him to sign onto the plan, but the idea that she was just sitting here at home, unable to do anything proactive when this killer was out and about, was infuriating.

  “The patrols are good,” she said in resignation. “And as long as you’re asking Decker for them, you should warn him about some trouble brewing in his backyard.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She proceeded to tell him about what she learned from medical examiner Cheryl Gallagher, including a city councilmember’s attempt to coerce her into claiming Decker inappropriately showed favoritism to HSS.

  “I’ll let him know,” Ryan promised. “I doubt it will come as a surprise to him. He knows some of them have been gunning for him.”

  “How did he do today in his testimony?” Jessie asked.

  “From what I hear, he held up pretty well,” Ryan said. “Plus, there’s real momentum for him to become permanent chief now. He’s got a solid record to stand on. The rank and file love him. The mayor is behind him. Any councilmembers looking for dirt at this point seem pretty desperate, in my opinion. I mean, you know the guy. He’s frickin’ incorruptible.”

  “I wish I was as confident as you that he’s going to be okay,” Jessie said.

  “You’ve got enough on your plate. Don’t add another item that you can’t control to the mix,” he said before smiling awkwardly. “Speaking of things on your plate, did you happen to give any more thought to the last name question I mentioned this morning?”

  For a second, Jessie had no idea what he was talking about. And when she remembered, she realized that it had completely slipped her mind. Whether that was by accident or some subconscious design, she couldn’t say.

  “I’m sorry, Ryan,” she admitted, “but I can honestly say that I have given it almost no more thought.”

  “That’s okay,” he said quickly, “don’t worry about it.”

  “Now I feel bad,” she replied.

  “Don’t,” he insisted. “I was just checking. It’s no big deal.”

  “I apologize, but it’s been a lot with this case. Plus, did I mention that Jamil is acting funny? And these headaches. I mean, why the hell haven’t we heard from Dr. Varma?”

  “Hey,” Ryan said softly, “it’s okay. She said she’d call this week. It’s still only Tuesday. There’s still lots of time. And I didn’t mean to rile you up with my question. I tell you what—why don’t you go take a nice, long shower and change into something comfy? I’ll go grab Hannah and guilt her into helping me make something for dinner. By the time you come back out, it’ll be waiting for you. How does that sound?”

  Despite the throbbing in her head, Jessie forced a smile. “That sounds nice,” she said.

  And it did. She gave him another kiss and walked down the hall to the bedroom, telling herself that a shower and a meal would ease the pain in her head, the unsettling sense that bad things were imminent, and the feeling that she was powerless to stop any of them.

  ***

  They were all at the foot of her bed, whispering. She didn’t recognize the voices at first because they were overlapping, cascading into each other, and making it impossible to understand what any one person said. Finally, she raised her head off her pillow, looked up, and saw them there in the dark.

  Dr. Priya Varma, tall and coolly elegant, was standing off to the left, in her lab coat, holding a clipboard and scribbling notes on her chart. Next to her was Callum Reid, retired LAPD detective, his slight potbelly cresting over his belt. He looked worried as he adjusted his black-framed glasses and conferred with the doctor, who pointed out something on the chart.

  On the other side of him was Andy Robinson. She was staring down disapprovingly, in silent judgment over Jessie’s choice to use her teenage trauma against her. Her blonde hair was cut and styled to frame her face, and especially her crooked half-smile, just so. She had a nice tan. Her deep, penetrating, blue eyes still had the bright twinkle and playful sharpness that was her most arresting feature. She was wearing a black cocktail dress and high heels, the same dress she’d worn the night she kidnapped Jessie at her wedding.

  That detail was what ultimately tipped off Jessie that this was a dream, not the certainty that Callum would never stand next to Andy without putting cuffs on her, or the more glaring fact that both Andy and Callum were dead.

  But even once she was aware that none of this was real, Jessie couldn’t seem to rouse herself from the nightmare. Instead, she let her head fall back on the pillow and listened as the three of them continued to murmur quietly about her future.

  They didn’t sound optimistic.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  She wasn’t drunk.

  Despite what her work friend, Liza, had said when they left the bar, Lauren Pastorini was at most mildly buzzed. But just to be on the safe side, she decided to take a rideshare home.

  She could have walked the short distance, but not at this hour and not in this neighborhood. It was both a blessing and a curse to have her condo and her job within about a mile of each other and to have some of the coolest bars and restaurants scattered along the route they shared.

  The curse was that there really was no excuse for being late for work, and no one felt bad if she had to stick around a little longer than others at the end of the day. It’s not like she had to battle terrible traffic to get home.

  The blessings were numerous. One was that her commute, door to door, was about eleven minutes. That included the time required to drive to Sovereign Studios, park in the garage adjacent to the studio, walk through security, then along the backlot street the legendary building where her production company was located.

  Another blessing was that the Mexican joint that she was currently being driven away from, Marie’s El Barro Restaurant, had some of the best margaritas she’d had north of the border, and she’d done a lot of taste tests. And since she was a regular, the staff tended not to skimp on the tequila.

  But because Marie’s was on Melrose, just north of the invisible line that divided the sketchy part of Hollywood from the more upscale Hancock Park, where she lived, it was inadvisable to make the ten-minute walk to Kensington Green Living, especially at 11:44 at night.

  Looking at the time, it occurred to Lauren that every minute of extra sleep she could get might help. After months of working with a pair of writers to hone their screenplay about a secret romance between astronauts on a mission to Saturn, it was finally ready to pitch to talent.

  The three of them had a big meeting early tomorrow morning with a star who could guarantee a studio greenlight if he signed on. Maybe that’s why, against her better judgement, she’d had that second, buzz-inducing margarita. She was feeling the stress.

  But now, she needed some shuteye. The driver pulled up in front of her building, and she got out quick, suddenly deciding that it was essential that she be in bed with the lights out by midnight. She key-carded herself through the doors, hurried through the lobby, and got in the elevator, hitting the button for the fourth floor.

  Luckily, at this hour, there was no one else around, and she zipped right up. She took her shoes off before the elevator doors opened and hustled down the hall, careful not to trip on the ridiculously thick carpet. That was one of the many—sometimes too many—accoutrements of Kensington Green, her exclusive condo complex.

  When she first moved in, she’d been impressed by the laundry list of amenities they had. Not only were they situated next door to a country club, with views of the golf course, but they also had an on-site concierge, both an indoor and outdoor pool, multiple hot tubs, a fire pit, a rooftop tanning terrace, a 24-hour fitness center, a sauna, and even their own dog park, which didn’t do her much good but was still pretty cool. At the time Lauren bought her two-bedroom unit, Kensington Green seemed like it would be one endless party. And since she was young, single, and hot, she figured she had to spend all that film production executive money somehow.

  But after living here for four months, some of the features had already gotten to be a bit old. The concierge in the lobby was always up in everyone’s business, relentlessly trying to get them to sign up for this event or that social club. The outdoor pool was too cold, and the indoor pool smelled funny.

  It seemed like the cleaning crew was always running a vacuum cleaner near her, no matter where Lauren was. The hallway light sconces, meant to look old-world Hollywood, were so heavy and difficult to remove that when a light burned out, it often took days to replace them. And this damn, thick carpet sometimes felt like quicksand, always about to drown her as she walked to her unit.

  Lauren unlocked her door and moved over to the alarm panel to punch in her security code. Once that was done, she locked the door again and moved swiftly to the bedroom to start peeling off her work clothes. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 11:48.

  She tried to calculate what she had left to do tonight and whether she could be under the covers before the clock struck midnight. She still had to change into her night clothes, wash her face, and go the bathroom. Plus, she should probably go to the kitchen and grab a big glass of water to keep beside the bed before turning on the security alarm for the night. She didn’t want to deal with cottonmouth at three in the morning.

  The thought of that made her change plans. Now in just her bra and underwear, she headed back out to the kitchen to get some water. She would chug a big glass of it first to pre-hydrate ASAP, then pour another one for the middle of the night.

  As she filled up the glass, using the filtered water from the refrigerator, she looked out at her living room. It was a mess, with clothes and scripts lying everywhere. She also realized, belatedly, that her curtains were open, and that anyone in the high-rise building across the street who was awake and so inclined, could get a nice eyeful if they wanted.

  If they did, she couldn’t help but note proudly that they’d be lucky. Lauren did a half turn, checking herself out in the reflection of the window. Her black hair brushed against her bare, ivory shoulders. Just like every other part of her body, the shoulders were well-toned.

  After struggling with her weight through much of high school and college, she’d made a commitment to herself in the spring of her senior to turn things around. She started running twice a week, went to the on-campus gym three days a week to do weight training, and while there, became addicted to the rowing machine. She cut out sweets completely and limited alcohol to one night a week. Within six months, she’d lost over twenty pounds and actually felt comfortable wearing a bikini to the beach.

  In the six years since then, she’d managed to keep the weight off and replace her cravings for junk food with an equally powerful desire to be the producer of an Oscar-winning film before she turned thirty. She still had fun and had gone on more than a few dates with up-and-coming actors, many of whom clearly liked the way she looked in a tight dress, but she never lost sight of the ultimate prize.

  Except, that is, for maybe fifteen minutes tonight when she succumbed to that second margarita. The reality of that decision made Lauren immediately stop with the self-admiration. She was tempted to go over and close the curtains but decided that would cost her valuable time. If she wanted to get to bed quick, it was easier to just turn off the light.

  She chugged the water, put the glass down, and went over to the front door to turn off the main lights and activate the alarm for the evening. She flicked off the overheads, leaving only the kitchen light illuminated. She opened the alarm panel and was about to punch in the code when she thought she saw something off to the left, in the area of the coat closet.

  She turned that way, and for a moment, she thought that she was drunker than she had realized. Because it looked like there was a shadow, a ghost of some kind, moving quickly toward her. But in a flash, that delusion disappeared, as the shadow came into the light, and it became clear that it was a person coming at her, one wearing all black, including a black ski mask and black gloves.

  Lauren felt her entire body explode with fear as she opened her mouth to scream. But before any sound could escape her lips, the black-clad person slammed into her, smashing her into the wall next to the door. She felt all the air leave her lungs as her legs gave out, and she slumped down.

  But the black-clad person yanked her up. She was face to face with the person, but her eyes were watering, and she couldn’t see anything clearly. And then, before she knew what was happening, the person’s gloved hands were around her neck, squeezing, their fingers tightening like ten little vises.

  Lauren didn’t understand what was happening or why. She didn’t have time to process how everything that had seemed so important in her world just moments earlier would be gone in a matter of seconds. Her killer never said a word or gave any indication that they noticed her fluttering eyes or her desperate, final gasps.

  When those gloved hands finally let go of her neck and she dropped heavily to the ground, Lauren was long past hearing the security alarm being turned back on or the door closing. She lay there silently, alone in her condo, with the kitchen light casting its distant light on her half-naked body.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Ryan held out as long as he could.

  He didn’t ask until they were almost to the station, but eventually his curiosity got the better of him, and he couldn’t help himself.

  “So, I know you slept terribly,” he said, “but somehow you still seem to be in a surprisingly chipper mood. I don’t want to say anything to upset that, but do you care to tell me why?”

  Jessie looked over at him from the passenger seat with the half-smile that had been glued to her face for most of the morning. “It’s pretty simple,” she told him. “No calls during the night. No calls this morning. That means no new dead body. I was worried that this killer might accelerate their timetable for a new victim, but maybe I was being paranoid. Ellie Hill’s murder was Saturday night. Kim Carrigan’s was yesterday, on Tuesday morning. That’s two and a half days in between. If that pattern holds, we might have until tomorrow night. That gives us a decent window to dredge up some new leads before another attack.”

  “I hope the window holds,” Ryan said, not wanting to puncture her balloon, though he wasn’t as optimistic that they would get that long. “Part of me was wishing you’d say that you’re smiling because your head feels fantastic today.”

  Jessie shrugged. “Fantastic might be overstating it,” she said, “but it’s definitely better than last night. I really think I might have just been overtired. I mean, I did get headaches before the concussion, too, you know. It doesn’t automatically have to mean my head isn’t right.”

  “Fair enough,” Ryan said, not wanting to say anything to get Jessie out of her good mood. “Speaking of heads that aren’t right, last night you mentioned something about Jamil acting funny. I let it go because you seemed a little swamped in the moment, but considering that I’m his supervisor, do you want to fill me in on what you meant?”

  Jessie’s pursed lips suggested that she was having second thoughts about mentioning the researcher in the first place. It took a few seconds for her to reply. “You know, now that I think about it, it was probably nothing. He was most likely just having a bad day. Just because he’s a genius doesn’t mean he’s not allowed an occasional bout of surliness, right?”

  “Are you sure that’s all it is?” Ryan pressed as he made the last turn before they reached the police station garage.

  “I’ll let you know if it’s not,” Jessie assured him before quickly shifting topics. “Don’t forget to tell Decker about what Cheryl Gallagher said.”

  “I won’t,” he assured her. “I have a meeting with him at nine, and I’ll bring it up then. By the way, don’t think I didn’t notice how clumsily you tried to switch away from discussing Jamil. All that does is make me more suspicious, you know.”

  Jessie gave him her patented, faux-offended look before replying, “Speaking of discussing things, I know you want an answer on that last name change thing—”

  Ryan laughed at the clunkiness of her second effort to change the subject. “My mother wants an answer, not me,” he corrected. “I want to be crystal clear on that point. And ‘speaking of discussing things?’ I think that’s the worst segue I’ve ever heard.”

  Jessie’s offended look looked borderline real this time.

  “As I was saying,” she replied sharply, “I know you want an answer on that last name change thing, and I don’t have one for you yet, but I have been mulling over another name-related idea that that I wanted run by you—”

  Ryan’s cell phone rang. He glanced down and saw that the call was from Susannah Valentine. A sinking feeling filled his gut. It was 7:54 a.m., and they were less than a minute from the station. Detective Valentine knew that they never arrived after 8 a.m. If she was calling him on his cell anyway, it couldn’t be good news. He picked up and put it on speaker.

 

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