“I knew it. That asshole.” Michael looked at Jack even though he was obviously speaking of Frank. He wrinkled his nose like he’d smelled sour milk. “Did he want money again? I’ve told you to keep away from him.”

“I was staying away. He came after me. And I didn’t get a chance to find out what he wanted.” Lacey’s words trailed off as she noticed Jack’s frozen expression. She followed his gaze. He’d just seen Michael’s coffee mug, which read “Michael.”

“You’ve told me to stay away from lots of people, Michael.” She tilted her head a tiny notch toward Jack.

“Yeah, you’re great at taking suggestions.”

Jack snorted in his coffee, and Michael glared at him. “You don’t agree?”

“She doesn’t listen to anybody. She does whatever she pleases, not thinking about what’s safest for her.”

Now both men turned to glower at her. They’d found a common ground and had united in worrying about her safety.

She looked at Michael and changed the subject. “I thought you were going to Mount Junction.”

“I’m headed to the airport in a couple of hours. I just wanted to be sure you were OK first.” Michael drained his cup and set it on the counter, his name deliberately facing Jack.

“Did you tell him about the video?” Jack scowled at the mug.

Lacey inhaled her mouthful of coffee and briefly choked. She’d actually forgotten the video in the events of last night.

“What video?”

Lacey told him the details, thankful she’d left the DVD at the police station. She knew Michael was going to demand to see it. She didn’t think she could stomach watching it again.

“Where is it? Do you still have it?”

Did she know this man or what?

“I left it with—”

“I’ve got a copy on disc,” Jack spoke up.

Lacey stared at Jack. When did he copy it? He shrugged at her. “Detective Lusco had made copies before we even watched it. I asked for one.”

“I want to see it,” Michael asserted.

Jack hopped up and headed for the TV in the adjacent family room.

Oh, God. Lacey dragged her feet, following him. She couldn’t watch again.

Jack popped the disc in her DVD player as she slowly sat on the couch. Michael planted himself beside her and sat with his arms resting on his thighs, concentrating on the screen. Jack sat on her other side in the exact same posture.

“Wait.” Jack put a hand on her arm. “You sure you want to see this again?”

Lacey shot off the couch. “No, actually I don’t want to see it. I’ll wait in the kitchen.”

She busied herself in the kitchen, putting coffee cups away and wiping down counters that didn’t need it. Anything to keep her mind from picturing what was on that disc.

“Jesus Christ.”

She flinched at Michael’s curse from the living room. An image of Suzanne’s pregnant stomach flooded her and tears started to burn. She sniffed, rubbing at an invisible spot on her stove. What had Suzanne gone through back then? Horrors, she knew. Horrors she didn’t want to picture.

“Oh, give me a fucking break.”

What? Why was Michael…

Footsteps pounded toward her front door, and Lacey stepped into the living room just in time to see Michael step outside. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes grim. “Stay safe, Lace.” And closed the door behind him.

Jack sat on the couch, still watching the disc. On the TV screen, she saw Jack slam her truck door.

Aha. Michael had seen the kiss.

She marched over to Jack, hands on her hips, glaring. He had no idea what kind of friendship she had with Michael.

“You are such a jerk.” She stated the words firmly in Jack’s face.

“I didn’t know he was going to react like that,” Jack said. “But I’m not upset he saw it.”

He really did look sincere, but Lacey shook her head at him and dashed after Michael.

By 8:00 a.m., Detective Callahan had been hard at work for two hours. He slammed down the receiver at his desk, another dead end. The man he’d been trying to locate had died in a hunting accident two years ago, and Mason had just upset the widow by asking to speak to him. He scowled at his list. He needed to run his list of contacts through some sort of death records before he made calls. It would be the polite thing to do. If he could figure out how to do it. Computers and he didn’t mesh well together.

Mason was checking every cellmate or close associate DeCosta had in and outside prison, trying to find out whom DeCosta possibly had confided in. Maybe he’d revealed his hunting or killing techniques, or hinted at someone who would be willing to avenge his life sentences. Anything that would point them in the direction of another killer. So far, Mason was striking out. Ray was in charge of finding DeCosta’s family; hopefully, he was having more luck.

He rubbed his eyes, tired of staring at the list. What a bunch of losers. The majority of the men were serving time. Several had been released from prison only to end up back in within a year. Each phone conversation had gone like this:

“You’re a cop? Why the fuck do you think I’d tell you anything?”

Or a rendition of the same and then slam the phone.

One prisoner had been interested in talking. From his breathy voice and overuse of the word “fabulous,” Mason had inferred the man was a flamer with a major crush on DeCosta. He’d blathered on and on how he’d admired the man and how ecstatic he’d been when they were assigned as cellmates. Dramatic sorrow had filled the flamer’s voice as he related how DeCosta had ignored his advances. Then he’d continued in a much cheerier tone to describe his current boyfriend’s finer points in descriptive details that made Mason flush and feel like he’d rolled in mud.