She was thinking about staying in bed all day when her cell phone rang. Afraid it might be Jonah—she definitely wasn’t ready to talk to him, not in this condition—she supported her pounding head with one hand while reaching for her phone.

She didn’t recognize the number.

Curious, she answered, and tried not to sound as under the weather as she felt. “Hello?”

“Francesca? This is Paris.”

Stifling a groan, Francesca managed to prop herself up. She couldn’t imagine why Paris would be calling her, but she wanted to find out. “What can I do for you?”

“Dean isn’t as innocent as he’d like you to believe,” she announced.

Had Elaine’s choice upset Paris enough that she was now willing to share details about her brother? Something that might break the case?

Regretting her alcohol binge even more, Francesca pressed two fingers to her temple. “Why do you say that?”

“He killed all those women in Dead Mule Canyon. I know he did.”

Fortunately, Francesca’s high level of interest helped override her physical distress. “How do you know?”

“I have proof.”

At this, Francesca scrambled off the bed. But she’d moved too quickly and her vision dimmed to black; she had to double over to avoid passing out. “What kind of proof?”

“I’ll show you. Can you meet me?”

“Where?”

“Halfway?

“You mean somewhere along Interstate 10?”

“No. Dean might be coming to look for me.”

Taking a deep breath, she slowly stood. “In what car?”

“He takes my parents’ sometimes.”

“But what are the chances he’d find you on such a busy thoroughfare?”

“I don’t want to risk it. Now that I’ve got what I got, I’m scared of him. I’d rather he didn’t know we’ve talked. He’ll tell my parents, and they may not like it. They’ve protected him his whole life.”

What had she discovered? Physical evidence? “Where, then?”

“I was thinking Wickenburg.”

Francesca had never been to Wickenburg, but she’d lived in Arizona long enough to know it was an old mining town. They wouldn’t have much trouble meeting each other in such a small place. “Fine. Is there a Starbucks?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll call you once I arrive. Then we can pick a more specific location. Are you bringing that guy with you? What’s his name?”

“Jonah? No. Do you want me to?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. This isn’t easy for me. Dean’s my brother, after all. It’s not like I want a big audience.”

“I understand.”

“See you soon.”

“I’ll be there.” Tossing her phone aside, Francesca dragged herself to the kitchen, where she downed a couple of painkillers before heading to the bathroom. Once she was out of the shower and dressed, she considered calling Jonah or Finch to let them know about this latest development. But after the way she’d behaved last night she was reluctant to speak to Jonah. It was probably her turn to apologize. And she was afraid calling Finch would blow her rendezvous with Paris. He might mention it to Hunsacker, who’d could pass the information on to Butch, who could act to squash the idea. There was no way he’d want to help her.

She decided to call Finch when she had Paris’s “proof” in her hands, which would also give her time to figure out how to approach Jonah.

In a further attempt to ease the jackhammer in her head, she put on her sunglasses. Then she found her keys and hurried out the door.

The little Jonah had slept had been in the Jeep Cherokee he’d rented, which he’d parked a mile or so away from the salvage yard after driving back from Chandler last night. He’d spent most of his time watching the house and drafting Lori’s character reference on his laptop. He’d finally realized he didn’t have the right to hope Francesca would ever forgive him if he couldn’t forgive Lori, so he’d just e-mailed it—

He sat up. Something was wrong…

Grabbing his binoculars, he took a closer look at Butch’s house. With Dean being released from jail and Paris charged with manslaughter and subsequently posting bail, he hadn’t expected Butch or Dean to be active. They’d gotten in late. But he hadn’t been willing to bet Francesca’s life on that, either. Regardless of how she felt about him, he still loved her, and if he couldn’t stay with her to keep her safe, he’d protect her some other way, even if it meant watching Butch and Dean until he could determine, for sure, that they weren’t a threat to her anymore.

Now he was glad he’d made that commitment….

Although the results of his surveillance had been un-remarkable until several minutes ago, when he’d seen Paris drive off, that no longer held true. There weren’t a lot of people moving around, but the way Butch came in and out of the house, making several trips to his truck and pacing the front yard, reminded Jonah of an anthill after a stick had been jammed into it. Butch seemed to be reacting to a recent and rather upsetting change. But what?

The binoculars revealed him unshowered and un-shaven, an intense expression on his face and his cell phone jammed against his ear. He hung up, dialed again, hung up and threw his phone. Then he raked his fingers through his hair, recovered his phone and had to replace the battery that’d gone flying when it hit the ground. A second later he got into his truck and drove away.

Debating whether to follow him or take advantage of his absence by talking to Dean or Elaine, Jonah decided to try the house.

Once Butch was out of sight, he drove closer and went to the door.

Dean answered. Judging by the hair sticking up on one side, he’d just rolled out of bed. “Hey there! What’s going on?” he asked as if they were now good friends.

Jonah glanced in the direction Butch had gone, toward town. “That’s what I want to know.”

“Excuse me?”

“What’s up with Butch this morning?”

Dean didn’t seem to realize Jonah had been watching the house. Apparently, he assumed Jonah had tried to speak with Butch and been rebuffed. “Who knows?” he said with a shrug. “But don’t let it bother you. He can get like that sometimes.”

“He didn’t say anything before he left?”

A wry smile curved Dean’s lips. “Does ‘fuck’ or ‘damn’ count?”




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