“I don’t know yet,” she said, her look daring him to judge her. When he didn’t, she added, “He was always the kind who would call a woman ‘hon,’ but he was never this offsides. Maybe he’ll calm down when the divorce stuff does? Or when he gets an actual girlfriend. For now I’m trying to stay out of his way. But if it gets worse . . .”

“If it gets worse, what?” Marshall tried to keep the same tone, but her temper sparked.

“Oh, what do you know about it?”

“Nothing,” he said, holding up his hands. “All I mean is, if it gets worse, I saw what I saw. And I’ll back you, whatever you decide.”

“And get fired with me? That sounds chummy,” she said.

He shrugged. “I’ll land okay. You have more to lose than me. To be honest, though, you need a better witness. Someone with more juice.”

Bree had that juice, and she’d seen Spence harassing Gabrielle in the Orchid Center. That felt like it was a thousand years ago, and it was moot now. Spence would not be bothering Gabrielle, or any woman, ever again.

Marshall looked at Adam, the liar, who’d expected to recognize the woman in Marshall’s final picture. He could feel sorry for a guy whose child was missing and still think him an asshole. His years as a cop had taught him how. Awful things happened to shitty people all the time.

The thing he couldn’t figure here was Trey. When he added Spence and this guy with his too-young second wife up to everything the mother had said about her daughter, it felt like simple math. It would be, if Trey were not in the equation.

At least his mind was open now. He’d wasted so much time looking for a lawsuit.

Bree leaned over the sofa, all fury, her voice a hoarse whisper. “What did you do?”

Here was bad cop. That made him good cop. The “we’re all boys together” approach had felt like it was working, so he said, “Don’t overreact, Bree. He’s worried. I get it. He didn’t want to say anything in front of his wife, but he’s got no reason not to talk to us now. He wants to find his son.” He turned to Adam, commiserating and kind. “When I said I had a picture of a woman, you expected to see someone other than the old lady we showed you. Someone younger, yes? Probably this woman’s daughter. Who?”

Adam flinched, surprised. He wasn’t used to being read so easily. “I never said any of that.”

“Sure you did,” Marshall said, still chummy. Adam’s gaze slid sideways to his wife. She was motionless, her breathing light and shallow.

“Who did you hurt?” Bree demanded, ice.

“No one,” he said, fast enough for it to have the ring of truth. Conviction in his tone. Interesting. Bree looked unconvinced, and he came back even harder, and still, Marshall thought, truthful. “I didn’t hurt anyone.”

“Then who has a grievance?” Marshall asked. “Fair or not. Just give us the name. It could lead us to your son. You remembered a face. You have a person in your head. Give her to us.”

That was the right question. Asked the right way. It was like steaming oysters. He could feel Adam popping open.

“Lexie Pine.” It was practically a whisper.

He heard Bree’s sharp inhale, saw hope igniting her features. He felt it, too. This was a toehold. Not the mother’s name, no, but he really did think now that Adam had expected to see the daughter’s face looking out at him from the photo Marshall had shown him. If Lexie Pine was the daughter, then all they had to do was find her and take her, and they would own the mother.

Marshall was very good at finding people. If he thought of it as an arrest, then he was very good at taking people, too.

“Good,” he said.

Adam touched his arm, rushing in with a defense. “But it can’t be related. It was her idea. Lexie Pine can’t be connected to . . .” His voice faltered. “To my son.”

“Who’s Lexa Pin?” It was Kelly. Against all odds her eyes were open. “Who did you hurt?” A slurred echo of Bree. “Did you do this? Is it because of you?”

“Jesus, now look!” Adam hissed at Bree, and then to his wife, he said, “Of course not. I didn’t do anything. These people are insane.”

Kelly struggled to sit up, eyes blazing, hands curled into claws that scrabbled feebly at her husband’s chest. “Who’s Luxie Pime?”

“Please leave,” Adam Wilkerson told them, catching her wrists. “I need to see to my wife.”

Kelly was still trying to claw at him, held fast by her husband. Bree looked ready to leap in and help her.

Marshall jumped up and caught Bree by the arm, hauling her back toward the foyer, though part of him wanted to get out of the way and let these mothers rip Adam Wilkerson to flinders. “Let’s go.”

“The hell,” she said, pulling.

“Bree. No time. We have what we need.”

A name. A state. A location. Even an exact year for the inciting incident, since Trey and Spencer had been seniors when this worm was a pledge. Marshall could find Lexie Pine, no doubt. The only question was, could he find her fast enough? He had no more time to waste here.

“I’m going to call the cops if you don’t leave,” Adam snapped. He was still awkwardly wrestling Kelly. She was floppy and slow, fighting at him as if she were underwater.

Bree breathed in sharp, but Marshall held his eyes. “I don’t think you will call the cops.”

They stared each other down. Adam had been so self-righteous when he’d told his wife, “I didn’t do anything.” But Adam’s gaze dropped first.

“Just go!” he said. They did. They were almost through the doorway when he added, “But you will tell us what you find?”

This guy was such a weasel. He was only now considering what it would mean if the name helped after all. That they might find his son.

It was only for Kelly’s sake that Marshall answered. They would never find good news for her, but they could perhaps give her a measure of peace. Her husband’s question had stopped her underwater battling. She sagged in his hands, her chalky face turned toward them.

“Yes,” Marshall said, just as Bree said, “Of course we will.”

As they let themselves out, they could hear Kelly braying at her husband, ungainly and unsober. “What did you do? What did you do? What did you do?”