"Well, you won't be seeing Wes Henley. I shot him last night when he tried to take out a friend of mine. What I'm trying to find out is who paid him to try to kill her."

Lavon's eyes widened. He scratched his wooly head. "Coulda been Talbot, I guess. If he had a reason to want her dead. Like I said, he's got plenty of cash and he's connected."

"Who to?"

"That I don't know."

Johnnie stuck out his hand. Lavon and his son both shook. "Really appreciate your help."

Lavon grinned. "Think about what I said. Black is beautiful, but black and red is mean, man."

Johnnie laughed and Amy smiled.

They left the shop. "So you know this guy Talbot?" Amy asked as they reached the bike.

"I know who he is. I need to talk to Wheeler, see what the DEA knows about him, see if there's some way to connect him to Ortega. First I'd like to talk to Patty Wilkins, the girl Henley was calling the night he died."

"She works at Epiphany, right? Vega said it was on La Cienega."

Johnnie checked the time. "Too late to catch her. Shop'll be closed by now." He cast Amy a glance. "Neither of us got any sleep last night. What do you say we go home?"

Home. Amy's heart pinched. The word shouldn't have sounded so right, but it did. Her gaze found his. She recognized the heat, but there was something more, something that made her heart beat faster.

"Sounds good to me."

Amy hung on to Johnnie as he cranked up the bike and they roared off down the street toward the house on the hill that felt way too much like home.

Thirty-Two.

The night sky was streaked with intermittent clouds so only a trace of moonlight streamed through. Inside the small, suburban track home the DEA was using as a safe house, Rick Vega sat in the living room. George Henderson, one of the agents a.s.signed to guard Rachael, patrolled the perimeter of the house. An agent named Freddie Flores was getting some sleep before it was time for his shift.

The house was basic: besides the living room, just a kitchen, three bedrooms and two baths. The decor was equally simple-a sofa and chair, end tables, lamps and a coffee table sitting on brown s.h.a.g carpet. Framed posters of palm trees running along the streets in Beverly Hills, and of a sunset on Santa Monica beach hung on the walls.

Rick sat with his iPad in his lap, a gift he had bought himself for his thirty-sixth birthday. He slid his finger across the screen, turning the pages of Time magazine he was only half reading. The TV was on but no one was watching.

He glanced toward the kitchen, where Hannah Brewer was saying good-night to her daughter. Hoping to jog Rachael's memory, she'd been telling her stories about her life in Michigan as a young girl before she had moved to L.A. Hannah had even admitted that at times, the two of them had had trouble getting along.

"I didn't want you to go to Los Angeles," Hannah had said. "I wanted you to stay home and finish college. It was such a long way from home and such a big city. I was afraid something bad would happen."

Rachael glanced away. "Looks like you were right."

Hannah shook her head. "I was wrong. You were looking for something you couldn't find back home." Her mother smiled sadly. "Amy said you would have gotten that part you wanted in a new TV show. You would have succeeded, Rachael, just the way you always thought you would. It may take a little more time, but I'm convinced you'll do it again."

Rachael's answering smile looked forlorn. "Thank you...Mom."

They were getting to know each other all over again and Rick thought that when this was finished, Rachael and her mother would be closer than they had ever been before.

He watched the older woman heft herself out of the kitchen chair where she had been sitting. All of them were exhausted and the brief naps the women had taken that afternoon hadn't been nearly enough.

"Are you sure you aren't ready to go to bed?" Hannah asked her daughter. "You didn't get much sleep last night."

Rachael managed to smile. "Not quite yet. I'll be there in a little while."

Hannah nodded and walked away. As soon as she was gone, Rick went into the kitchen and sat down at the table next to Rachael.

"You doing okay?" he asked.

She looked up at him for several long moments, then her eyes filled with tears. "I guess so, but... No, not really."

Rick felt a tightening in his chest. "I know how hard this must be. Why don't you tell me what's going on."

Her eyes remained on his face. She picked up the gla.s.s of water in front of her and took a drink. "Last night...after that man broke into my room I...I remembered something about...about what happened."

Beneath his breastbone, he could feel his heart beating faster. "You ready to talk about it?" He kept his voice even, hoping she would open up to him, wishing she didn't have to.

She moistened her lips. He noticed that they were trembling. "I remembered being in this room. I think it was the bedroom Amy found me in on the island. I remembered..." She broke off, took a steadying breath.

"Just take your time."

She shifted in her chair. "I remembered waking up. I was lying on a bed. The sheets were all rumpled around me. And there was this man... He was...he was on top of me. He was...raping me." She swallowed and the tears in her eyes spilled over onto her cheeks.

"Easy. You don't have to say anything until you're ready."

"I want to tell you. Maybe it will help the police find out what happened."

He nodded, reached out and took hold of her hand. Her skin was cold, and faint tremors moved through her body. He hated the agony he saw in her lovely green eyes. "Do you remember what the man looked like?"

She took a sip of water. "Dark skin, dark hair touched with gray. I might have thought he was handsome if...if...he hadn't been...hadn't been..." She bit her lip and glanced away.

"It's all right. Take as much time as you need."

Rachael breathed deeply. He could see she was fighting for control. "I remember I tried to push him off me, but my arms and legs felt too heavy. Just moving seemed impossible. I tried to scream, but when I opened my mouth, no sound came out. I started crying and he slapped me. He told me to shut up if...if I wanted to live." She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a sorrow that touched him deep inside. "I don't remember much about the attack. I think he raped me more than once but they were giving me drugs every day and most of the time I was more asleep than awake."

"They were giving you heroin...among other things."

"That's what the doctors said." She managed to smile through her tears. "I'm feeling better now."

Rick squeezed her hand. "Your withdrawal symptoms are over. You're a strong woman, Rachael. You'll get past all of this."

"I remember one more thing... I remember talking to the other women in the house. They said the man's name was Ortega. They said when he chose a woman, he kept her for himself until he got tired of her. Then he shared her with his friends."

Fresh tears pooled in her eyes. "The night Amy and Johnnie found me, I knew he'd returned. I knew he would come to my room and rape me again. If they hadn't gotten there when they did-" Her voice broke and she started crying.

Rick came up from the table, lifted her into his arms and carried her into the living room. He sat down in an overstuffed chair, cradling her in his lap, her head on his shoulder.

"It's over now, Rachael. Ortega is dead. He can't hurt you anymore."

"I know." He handed her a handkerchief and she dabbed it against her eyes. "I haven't told anyone what happened. I can't tell my mother."

Rick forced himself to smile. "I'm glad you chose me."

"After what happened, I should be afraid of any man who comes near me. But there's something about you. I knew I could trust you the first time I saw you."

"I won't hurt you, Rachael. I'd never do anything to hurt you." He lifted dark strands of hair away from her face, gently looped them behind an ear.

Rachael laid her head back down on his shoulder. "I'm beginning to remember my childhood," she said. "Scenes flash into my mind, memories of my mother and my sister. Stuff about my dad."

He hated to press her, but her life depended on finding answers. "Do you remember anything about the night you were taken? Or maybe something that happened during the weeks before it happened?"

She shook her head. "I don't even remember working at the Kitty Cat Club."

"Does the name Danny mean anything to you?"

She sat up in his lap. "Danny?" She bit her lip, her dark brows pulling together. She shook her head. "Just for a second, something flashed in my mind. But it's gone."

"It's all right. It's all going to come back. It's just going to take some time."

"I don't think I'll ever remember much about what happened after they started giving me drugs."

"Maybe it's better that way."

"Yes...I think so, too."

She eased herself out of his lap, and Rick stood up beside her.

"I didn't mean to cry all over you." Her hand shook as she wiped away the last of her tears. "I know you're just doing your job."

Rick ran a finger gently along her jaw. "I'm way past just doing my job. I'm here for you, Rachael. Any time you need me, I'm here."

She leaned over and brushed a soft kiss on his cheek. The faint scent of her perfume filled his senses. "Thank you. For everything."

He just nodded. "Good night, Rachael."

"Good night, Rick." Turning, she walked off down the hall.

Rick watched the place she had been long after she disappeared inside the bedroom.

It was almost ten in the morning. Seated behind the desk in his walk-out bas.e.m.e.nt office, Johnnie grabbed his cell phone as it started to ring.

"Riggs."

"Hey, buddy, just thought I'd check in, see how things are going." Jake Cantrell's deep voice boomed over the line.

"Not so good at the moment. Night before last, someone broke into the house and tried to kill Rachael."

Jake whistled. "She okay?"

"She's fine. Believe it or not, Amy helped me bring him down."

Johnnie could almost see Jake's grin. "Pretty amazing lady you got there."

"She is that. I'm really gonna miss her."

"From what I saw, it looked like you two had a pretty good thing going."

"Yeah, well, I'm lousy husband material."

"Maybe. Maybe not." An instant of silence and then Cantrell asked, "So what's the deal? I figured with Ortega dead, Rachael would be safe."

"We all did. Intruder was a guy named Wes Henley. Unfortunately for Wes, I was next door when he got there. He won't be a problem anymore."

"But someone else might be."

"Yeah. Wheeler's got her in a safe house while I'm trying to figure out who the h.e.l.l wants her dead."

"What about the cops? They come up with anything?"

"Vega's off the case and the police are calling it a burglary gone bad."

"That's nuts."

"Don't I know."

"Doesn't sound like they're gonna be much help. Anything I can do?"

"I don't know...maybe. I got a name, d.i.c.kie Talbot, mid-level drug dealer, might be the guy who hired Henley. He's gotta have a rap sheet an arm long but with Vega out of play, I can't get access to his file. I don't suppose the whiz kid-"

"He can do it. The question is can he do it and stay out of jail. I'll find out and get back to you."

"Thanks, Jake." Johnnie ended the call and looked up to see Tyler Brodie coming down the stairs.

"Hey, boss."

"Hey, kid, what's up?"

"Heard about the shooting. Nice work. Word on the street is a guy named d.i.c.kie Talbot paid one of his dealers to take out the Brewer girl."

"Wes Henley. Heard he and Talbot were friends, probably the guy who hired him. The question is why. You wouldn't have any idea where I can find Talbot?"

"That's what I came by to tell you. I was able to dig up his address. He's got an apartment up in the hills off Franklin. I figured you'd want to talk to him, and if so you might need some backup."

Johnnie nodded. Grabbing his shoulder harness off the back of his chair, he headed for the stairs, Brodie right behind him.