There is silence for a moment, and then he says, “All right. But it’s coming whether we want it to or not.”

I know that. I do. But for a few more hours I want to hold tight to the illusion.

And maybe, if I wish hard enough and hold Jackson tight enough, I can make the fantasy real.

nine

As police stations go, it probably doesn’t get much better than the Beverly Hills Police Department. I’m no expert, but I’ve watched enough cop shows to know that most police stations sport walls with dull gray paint that probably used to be white, Plexiglas barriers that are so clouded they’re no longer transparent, and lots and lots of faded, crumpled notices tacked to walls.

Not so this station. I’m sitting on a polished wooden bench in a long hallway. It’s not travertine tile, but the flooring is clean and polished. For that matter, everything is clean and shiny, from the building to the people who work here. And right now, I’m focusing way, way too much on all of it. Because if I spend my time noticing the way the light from the window makes a geometric pattern when it hits the opposite wall, then maybe I won’t completely freak out about the fact that Jackson has been in an interview room with Harriet and two detectives for almost an hour.

They’d arrived before I did at eight this morning. Jackson had told me not to come. “You can’t go into the interview, so you’ll be sitting by yourself worrying. Go to work. Do something. Don’t think about it. And I’ll be with you before you realize any time has passed at all.”

It was a great plan in theory, and when Jackson dropped me by my condo on his way to Beverly Hills, I was totally on board. But then my car decided it had other plans, and I ended up on Rexford Drive at the art deco–inspired building.

Now I’m doing exactly what Jackson said I would be doing—worrying instead of working.

And, yes, I know that he won’t be saying anything except, “On the advice of my attorney, I refuse to answer,” yada yada yada. But what if they arrest him? What if the last moments he had free were last night?

What if today is the day that I lose him?

I pull out my phone to call Cass, but on Mondays she doesn’t open the studio until two, and so she tends to sleep in. I know she won’t mind if I wake her, especially under the circumstances, but she and Siobhan haven’t been back together that long, and I hate to interrupt. Especially since I’m so happy that Siobhan is back in Cass’s life—and Zee is so very out of it.

I stroke my thumb idly over the surface of my phone, debating. But in the end I slide it back into my purse. I’m a big girl, after all. I can go it alone.

Oh, god.

Those words slice through me, because I do not want to go it alone. Not now in this hallway and certainly not for the rest of my life.

Breathe. Just breathe.

I do, and that’s my mantra for about ten minutes—just breathe. But as each minute ticks by, my fear is ratcheting up, too. And when I can’t stand it anymore, I yank my phone out of my purse and am just about to dial when I hear my name from the wrong end of the hallway.

I glance automatically toward the doors through which I expect Jackson to emerge. He’s not there, of course, and when I turn in the other direction, I see Orlando McKee striding toward me.

“Ollie?”

Ollie works as an associate at Bender Twain, but I can’t imagine why he’s here. I leap to my feet, suddenly panicked. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I haven’t heard a thing. Nikki asked me to come.”

“Really?”

I must sound as astounded as I feel, because he laughs. “I guess Damien told her you weren’t at the office, and she figured you were here. Worried. So she called me.”

“That’s incredibly sweet.” I’m genuinely touched. I like Nikki a lot, and we’ve become friends, but in the grand scheme of things we still don’t know each other that well—the only truly close friend I’ve ever had is Cass. But I think it’s a friendship worth working on, and the simple fact that she sent Ollie to hold my hand tells me that she feels the same way.

“How’s Cass?” he asks. “Has she decided what she’s going to do?”

“She wants to go forward,” I say, referring to Cass’s plan to franchise Totally Tattoo. “I’m sure she’ll call you soon about the next step, but right now she’s in that blissful new relationship stage. Renewed, actually, but why split hairs?”

“Good for her. I hope it sticks.”

Since I happen to know that his attempts to renew a relationship were less than successful, I change the subject. “I’m having drinks with her and my brother tomorrow night. I’ll tell her you said hi. Maybe that’ll nudge her.”