Max studied him for a long moment, the kind of searching look that measured the seriousness of a request by the expression on the face making it. Whatever he spotted in Alex’s eyes must have been enough, because he gave a single nod.
“I’ll make some calls tomorrow morning,” Max said. “Name?”
“Beck Serra.”
Max didn’t react, which told Alex he didn’t recognize it. That was fine. He would soon enough. Alex reached for the fresh beer Max had brought him, twisted the cap off, and took a long drink.
He’d give Max the full context over breakfast tomorrow, everything he knew about Serra’s history with Kinsley, the Gantz trial coverage, the wedge it had driven between Kinsley and her father, and the journalist’s persistent interest in cases connected to his partner.
For now, the name was enough to get things moving.
17
Kinsley Aspen
July
Thursday, 8:38 am
Kinsley stood in the quiet lobby of Bell Architectural Design, her gaze fixed on a bold sketch of the high school stadium that dominated the wall opposite the reception desk. The drawing was more than just impressive. It revealed Richard Bell’s attention to detail, each line deliberate, every shadow and highlight placed with the kind of precision that turned a building into a statement. The rendering made the structure look both monumental and inviting, a neat trick that required an architect who understood how to manipulate perception.
A man who could manage that kind of accuracy in his professional work might also be skilled at managing other areas of his life. Areas like concealing an affair, maintaining a public image, or controlling the narrative around his daughter’s death.
Close to two years ago, Kinsley had genuinely believed that not everyone was capable of murder. She had viewed the worldthrough a lens tinted by hope and maybe a measure of naivety that had no business surviving as long as it had in someone who carried a badge. That belief had unraveled with a single gunshot on a dark road outside Fallbrook, and it hadn’t reassembled itself since.
She knew now, with a certainty that sat in her bones like a cold she couldn’t shake, that anyone was capable of killing under the right circumstances. The question was never whether a person could do it. The question was what it would take to push them there.
A surge of impatience cut through her thoughts, directed mostly at herself but partly at the receptionist who had disappeared down the hallway over five minutes ago. It wouldn’t surprise her if Paul Fisher sent the woman back with instructions to schedule a meeting through his attorney. Richard had almost certainly warned his partner about the investigation, and a man like Fisher would have spent the intervening hours deciding exactly how much to reveal and how much to withhold.
Her phone vibrated in the pocket of her blazer, pulling her attention from the hallway. She expected to see Toby’s name on the screen, probably with an update on the school search or a question about the transcription schedule. Instead, Olivia’s name appeared, and Kinsley’s pulse quickened. Her sister rarely called outside their scheduled Thursday family dinners, and the fact that she was reaching out now, on a weekday morning when she should have been seeing patients at the clinic, meant something was wrong.
“Everything okay?” Kinsley answered, unable to keep the concern from her voice.
“You tell me,” Olivia replied impatiently. “What’s going on with Noah?”
Kinsley’s heart rate spiked. She turned away from the receptionist’s desk and crossed to the window overlookingdowntown Fallbrook, putting as much distance as the lobby would allow between herself and the front desk in case the receptionist returned.
The twins had always shared a connection that defied easy explanation. Growing up, Noah and Olivia finished each other’s sentences, reacted to the same joke at the same moment, and sensed when the other was upset from across the house. It had been fascinating and occasionally unsettling to witness, and it was the last thing she needed right now.
“What do you mean?” Kinsley asked, working to keep her voice light. “Has he said something?”
“He doesn’t have to.” Olivia’s voice softened slightly, though the concern beneath it didn’t diminish. “He’s barely responding to texts, and when he does, it’s one-word answers. No details, no follow-ups, nothing. That’s not Noah. Something is wrong, Kin. I can feel it.”
Kinsley’s shoulders tightened as she considered her response. The truth, that Noah had helped her conceal the killing of Calvin Gantz and was carrying the weight of that secret alongside her, would never see the light of day. She stepped into what had become a disturbingly familiar role over the past week. A liar who loved the people she was lying to.
“I think Noah is just stressed about taking time off for Dad’s birthday next month,” Kinsley managed to say without stuttering. The lie tasted bitter in her mouth, the same bitterness she’d tasted when she’d deflected Dylan’s questions on the porch and dodged Alex’s concern over the phone. Each lie was a small corrosion, and the accumulation of them was wearing away at something she used to trust in herself. “You know how he gets about work. And with the Vikings preseason game on top of that, trying to coordinate the schedules...”
The silence on the other end stretched long enough that Kinsley wondered if she’d lost the connection. Sheconsidered mentioning Dylan’s news about the farm to steer the conversation somewhere safer, but that wasn’t fair to her brother. It was his surprise to share with the family, and she wouldn’t take that from him. After what felt like a full minute, Olivia sighed, seemingly accepting the explanation at face value, though the sigh itself carried a note of reluctance that suggested she wasn’t fully convinced.
“If I’m being honest, I’m stressed about the additional time off, too,” Olivia admitted after what sounded like a sip of coffee. “I’ve arranged for another pediatrician to cover the two weeks Mom wants the family to spend up at the cabin, but there’s no way that Ben and I can attend the preseason game. The timing just doesn’t work.”
“That was short notice, wasn’t it?” Kinsley murmured, closing her eyes and willing the conversation to end before Olivia circled back to Noah. “Listen, I know plenty of people who would jump at the chance for four tickets.”
“I’ll tell Dad tonight over dinner. As for Noah, just keep an eye on him, okay?” Olivia’s tone suggested she remained unconvinced by Kinsley’s deflection, even if she was choosing not to push it for now. “I can’t shake this feeling, Kin. It’s like when he broke his arm in tenth grade. I felt it before Mom even called to tell us.”
“I will,” Kinsley promised, and she hated how easily the words came. The lie required almost no effort anymore, and that ease frightened her more than the lie itself. The sound of footsteps approaching from the hallway caught her attention. She turned to find the receptionist returning, with a polite expression of expectation. “I have to go. I’ll talk to you tonight.”
Kinsley ended the call before Olivia could respond and pocketed her phone. The residue of shame the conversation left behind wasn’t going to wash off anytime soon, but she couldn’tafford to carry it into the next room. She needed to be sharp, focused, and entirely present for what was about to happen.
