Christ, what now? Within the last hour he’d lost another boat order and an infuriatingly incompetent reporter had tried to pepper him with questions designed to make him admit to Ginny’s murder. He glared at the phone console. Maybe it was his lawyer, calling to tell him that after meeting him this morning, she’d decided not to take his case. That would be a nice cap to the day. But the real reason for his irritation wasn’t these headaches but the way he’d had to leave Emma last night. This murder investigation and the police running it were screwing up the best thing that had happened to him in years. Samantha’s voice echoed from the intercom. “Your mom’s on line four.” He groaned as he reached for the handset. Undoubtedly she was going to push to fly up sooner. “Mom?” His mom didn’t pull any punches. “We’re worried about you.” “I’m doing fine.” “Do the police have another suspect?” “No—not that I know of. But I met this morning with my new lawyer, Marilyn Howsing, and she’s clearly more versed in criminal investigations than Halliburt.
