Medea. Frankie remembers the textbook she saw on Taryn’s kitchen countertop with a woman’s face on the cover, her mouth open in a fearsome roar, her hair an angry corona of flames. She cannot remember the details of the myth or what drove Medea to vengeance; she knows only that the name itself carries echoes of violence.

She types the name Medea into Google and clicks on the first link. What appears is not the monstrous face from Taryn’s textbook. This Medea is a golden-haired beauty in a flowing gown.

Medea, depicted in many stories as a sorceress, is a prominent figure in the myth of Jason and the Argonauts.

“Hey, Mom, we’re heading out now.”

Frankie turns to look at her daughter Gabby and frowns at the short skirt and daringly low-cut blouse. “Are you really going out looking like that?”

“I swear, you say that every single time.”

“Because you’re dressed like that every single time.”

“And nothing bad has ever happened to us.”

“Yet.”

Gabby laughs. “You never take off the badge, do you?” She gives her mom a wave. “We’ll be fine. Don’t wait up.”

“You know, I’ve seen what happens to girls who get careless.”

“There are two of us, Mom.”

“There are two boys too.”

“We always look out for each other. And we know all those cool self-defense moves you taught us, remember?” Gabby gives the air a vicious karate chop. “Don’t worry, these guys are okay.”

Frankie sighs and takes off her glasses. “How do you know they are?”

“You’ve gotta stop ragging on about musicians. They’re totally focused on their careers, and you should see the great gigs they’ve already lined up this year.”

“Oh, honey. You could both do so much better than those boys.”

“Ha! I bet Granny said the same thing to you about Daddy.”

If only she did, thinks Frankie. If only someone had warned her about the man she was about to marry. Frankie has never told her daughters the truth about their father, and she never will. Let them go on believing in the daddy they loved, the daddy whose stature has only grown in their memories since his death three years ago. As much as Frankie wants to grab her girls by their shoulders and warn them, Don’t make my mistake—don’t fall for a man who’ll break your heart, the truth about their father will only hurt them.

The laptop screen catches Gabby’s eye, and she asks: “Why are you reading about Medea?”

“It’s for a case I’m investigating.”

“I hope it’s nothing like what Medea did.”

Frankie looks at her daughter in surprise. “You know the myth?”

“Oh, sure. We read the play in Honors English, and it stuck with me, you know? How far a woman will go to get her revenge.”

“What happens?”

“You know the story of Jason and the Argonauts? Well, Medea falls in love with Jason and helps him steal the Golden Fleece. She even kills her own brother so that Jason can make his escape. They sail off together, get married, and have kids. But then Jason turns into a real dick. He deserts her and marries another woman. Medea’s so pissed off she murders his new bride. Then to really get back at Jason, she stabs their own kids to death.”

“Hey, Gabby?” Sibyl calls out from the foyer. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

“Wait,” says Frankie. “What happens to Medea?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Gabby pauses in the doorway and looks back at her mother. “Some god takes her up in his magic chariot and whisks her off to safety.” She waves. “Night, Mom.”

Frankie hears her daughters clack out of the house in their high heels, and the front door thumps shut. She looks once again at the laptop screen, where the image of golden-haired Medea glows, a beauty in a flowing gown. Only then does she notice what is clutched in Medea’s hand.

A knife, dripping with the blood of her own children.

The ringing of her cell phone makes her jump. She glances down at the caller ID and answers: “Hey, Mac.”

“You ready for some good news?”

“Always.”

“Verizon just delivered. They can’t locate Taryn Moore’s phone, which means it’s either been destroyed or it’s turned off. But they did give us her call log, her text messages. Everything.”

“And?”

“You’re gonna love who shows up on that log.”

CHAPTER 40

FRANKIE

Professor Jack Dorian is wearing a game face, but Frankie can see the man is nervous, as well he should be. If he knew what they knew, he’d be halfway to Mexico by now. With a tight smile, he ushers the two detectives into his office and closes the door.

“I’m surprised you’re back to see me so soon,” he says. “I thought you’d completed the investigation.”

“As it turns out, we’re just getting started,” says Frankie as she and Mac sit down.

“Oh?” Dorian’s fingers briefly twitch into a claw on the desk. It is just a split-second spasm, but it’s a clue she doesn’t miss.

“New evidence has come up that points in a different direction.” Frankie is enjoying this. Enjoying the pleasure of turning the screws on him and seeing the glint of fear in his eyes.

“New evidence?” he finally manages to ask.

“We didn’t tell you what turned up at her autopsy. A little surprise. Taryn Moore was pregnant.”

He doesn’t respond, but the color of his face says it all. It is the ashen gray of panic.

“Did you know she was pregnant, Professor Dorian?”

He gives a stunned shake of the head. “Why would I?”

“We thought you might, since you were her adviser. And according to Cody Atwood, you and Taryn had a very close relationship.”

“An academic relationship. It doesn’t mean she shared details of her personal life with me. Kids have their own circle of friends. Most of the time, we adults are peripheral to their worlds. They hardly register what we do or say or think.”

He is rambling, filling the silence to disguise his fear, but she sees the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, hears the rising pitch of his voice. She says, “We’re trying to find out who the father is. DNA is still pending, but we’ll learn the answer eventually.”

“She, uh, did have that boyfriend.”

“Liam Reilly insists the baby isn’t his.”

“Can you be sure he’s telling the truth?”

“He said they broke up months ago, before this pregnancy would have been conceived.” She lets the silence stretch on, lets him twist in the wind for a moment. “Do you have any idea who the father might be?”

Dorian gives a helpless shrug. “I don’t understand why you’re asking me.”

“Because her pregnancy may be relevant to the investigation.”

“Last week, you seemed to believe it was suicide.”

“Last week, we didn’t have a record of her text messages.” She pauses to let that sink in, and she sees his face snap taut. He doesn’t say a word; he is paralyzed, unable to stop this freight train that is now barreling straight toward him.

“We know about your affair with Taryn Moore,” she says.

The breath whooshes out of him. He slumps forward and drops his head in his hands, his fingers buried like claws in his hair. For a moment Frankie worries that he might drop dead of a heart attack right before their eyes.

“Professor Dorian?” she says.

“It was a mistake,” he groans. “A huge, horrible mistake.”

“I would have to agree.”

“I swear to you, this never happened with any other student. She was the only one. I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Are you saying she seduced you? That it’s her fault?”

“No. No, I have no excuse at all, except . . .” He raises his head and meets her gaze with a look of abject misery. “She needed someone to care about her, someone who’d value her. I was the person she turned to. She was brilliant. And beautiful. And so desperately hungry for love.” He pauses. “I guess I needed someone too.”

“And your wife? How does she fit into the equation?”

Pain contorts his face. “Maggie doesn’t deserve this. It’s my fault, all mine.”

“So you admit having the affair.”

“Yes.”

“And are you the father of Taryn’s child?”

He sighs. “Yes, it could be mine.”

“DNA will prove it, one way or another. Just as it will prove you were in the victim’s apartment, where you had sexual relations.” At his puzzled look, she says: “We found semen on her sofa. Yours, I assume?”

He winces but does not deny it.

Satisfied, Frankie looks at Mac. You can take it from here.

“Where were you last Friday night, Professor Dorian?” he asks.

“Friday night . . .”

“The night Taryn Moore died.”

In an instant, the conversation has shifted, and not just because Mac is now the one asking the questions. Dorian’s head jerks up. He knows that things are about to get worse for him. Much worse.

“I’ve already answered that question. I told you, I was home that night.”

“What did you do that night?”

“We had Maggie’s father over for dinner.”

“Do you remember what you ate?”

“Yes, because I cooked it. We had pasta with a veal sauce.”

“And after dinner? What did you do?”

“After Charlie left, I went to bed early, because I was exhausted. And I, uh, had an upset stomach.”

“Did you stay in bed?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation.

“All night?”

“Yes.”

“Or did you get up sometime that night while your wife was sleeping? Did you slip out of the house and drive to Taryn Moore’s apartment?”