"No," Harlow shook her head. "None."

"Harlow, I said I wasn't available to meet with the police." Gretchen Reynolds came into the room, an attractive woman in her mid-sixties. Daphne had run what she could on the woman, gathering from her driver's license details that she had just turned sixty-four in May. She appeared healthy, vibrant, and quite elegant-the total picture of a New York City matron.

So what had made her go nuts nearly a quarter century after her husband's indiscretion?

"Mother, we've already discussed this. Please talk to the detective and provide your statement. I'm sure this can all be cleared up rather quickly."

"Miss Reynolds is right," Daphne added. "I have a few questions and then will be on my way."

Gretchen took a seat next to her daughter. "I didn't steal the young man's servers."

"Do you know who did?"

"How would I know that?"

Daphne bit her tongue and forced every ounce of calm, cool politeness she possessed into her tone. Putting on the bad-cop routine would only rile Gretchen further, and she needed the woman to give up as many details as possible.

While she had no doubt Gretchen Reynolds hadn't been present for either break-in at Landon's business, she'd wager her opportunity to join the task force that the woman knew the person who had been.

"Mrs. Reynolds. You seem to be aware of the fact that there were servers stolen from Landon McGee's business. Are you aware those servers housed the website details for his mother's bid for Brooklyn borough president?"

"That has nothing to do with me."

"My question was if you were aware of them."

"I became aware of them when Harlow shared the details that they'd been stolen."

Daphne made a show of taking notes, her gaze focused on her notebook as she lobbed her next statement. "Yet you have also threatened Louisa Mills in order to prevent her from running for borough president."

A decidedly frigid wind blasted her direction when Daphne looked up from her notes.

"I did not threaten her, Detective. I told her I'd make the personal business between us public if she chose to pursue her candidacy. The woman is a cheat and a liar. She has no business taking on public office."

"Mother." Harlow laid a hand on Gretchen's leg. "Your personal beliefs have no place in the political arena."

"And why ever not? Am I supposed to sit idly by and keep my mouth shut when I know the woman has proven herself untrustworthy and immoral?" Gretchen turned toward Daphne, her gaze brightening as if she realized she had a new target to preach to. "The woman attempted to steal my husband. She seduced him away from his wife and his two children. She'd have continued on if I hadn't forced him to put a stop to it. If I hadn't had her fired from her position and her access to Kincade."

While she had no doubt the histrionics were well-rehearsed, a product of far too many years to stew in her upset and the self-righteous indignation of the cheated upon, Daphne couldn't completely fault the woman.

Her methods, yes. Her points, not entirely.

While Daphne didn't want to take sides either for or against Louisa Mills, Gretchen was entitled to her opinions and her side of the story.

Did Louisa deserve a continued flogging for something she'd done years before? Absolutely not. Was it still something in her past that had repercussions? Absolutely.

"Can you explain how your calling card came to be on top of Mr. McGee's returned servers on Sunday morning?"

"I have no idea."

Daphne pulled the clear evidence bag that held the card from her tote. "Is this your card, Mrs. Reynolds?"

She extended the bag, but Gretchen made no move to take the card. When Daphne made no move to pull it back, Harlow stepped in and took the small bag, turning it over in her hands. "Mother, this does appear to be yours."

"A forgery."

"I'm afraid not. Look at it. The watermark from your stationary is plainly evident on the back."

"Well I didn't put it in that young man's office."

"Then who did?" Harlow demanded.

When Gretchen offered no response, Daphne pressed harder. Although she wasn't expecting a ready confession, the details of the woman's crimes-and the potential for consequences-should at least have her reconsidering her actions.

"Mrs. Reynolds. Physical possession of lost or stolen computer equipment is a violation of New York State laws. That those servers also housed election details for Ms. Mills' campaign only adds to the possible criminal action you face."

"I wasn't there yesterday. I did not leave that card."

"Then again, Mother, who did?"

Gretchen shook her head, her poker face firmly in place. "I have no idea."

"I haven't seen you in three days, and in that time you've advanced your relationship with Sexy McGee, interrogated some rich Manhattan matron, and put your relationship on display in Stewey's diner. Have I missed any other high points?"

"You mean besides the two fights and Landon's big lie over visiting Harlow Reynolds?"

"Right," Jasmine nodded as she reached for a packet of sweetener on the middle of the table. "Fights and lies. Although for my money it was more omission than lie. But go back to the sex and the diner kissing for a minute."

"Jaz!"

"Oh come on, girlfriend. You gotta give me something. Is he a good kisser? Because he looks like a good kisser."

"Aren't we dissecting the lie?" Daphne had waited all morning for that one to settle a bit easier but it had done the opposite, the offense growing like a cancer in her thoughts.

"Omission, Daph. It was an omission. And maybe he just hasn't gotten around to telling you. So come on, out with the good stuff. Like the kissing part."

"Why do you think he's a good kisser?"

"He's an attentive man. He looks at you when he talks to you, and he seems like a guy who pays attention. The guys who do that are the best at kissing."

Since Jasmine had a point-and her morning lip-lock with Landon was still imprinted on her brain with laserlike precision-Daphne gave herself a moment's reprieve from the subject of a Landon-Harlow-Fender visit.

"It was the best. He's the best. Firm lips. Great tongue. If I'd been standing at Stewey's, my knees would have gone out from beneath me. Instead, I just sort of melted into the vinyl of the booth seat."

"Now you're just bragging." Jasmine tasted her coffee and then reached for one more packet of sweetener.

Daphne hadn't wanted lunch, her morning pancakes still sitting heavy in her stomach, but she did want to see her best friend, so they'd decided on an early afternoon meet up at Brew You. The crowd was steady, with most of the tables occupied by individuals with laptops and earbuds.

"Make light of this all you want. I'm upset."

"Why?"

"Because he interfered with a police investigation."

Jasmine emitted a loud, buzzer-like sound that made more than a few people turn around. "Nope. Try again."

"He most certainly did interfere."

"Because he talked to the other child involved in this whole affair thing that happened a million years ago?"

"Yes."

"News flash, sweetie. You're not investigating an affair. You're investigating a break-in, which has nothing to do with this woman Landon and his brother went to visit."

"Why are you going all lawyer on me?" Daphne blew out a loud breath. "You're supposed to be on my side."

"I'm always on your side. Except when you're acting like an ass."

"I'm not-"

Jasmine squelched that one. "Yeah, you kind of are. So let's now move into the second portion of our coffee date. The real question, to my mind, is why you are being an ass. Because that is so far from your usual MO, it's not even funny."

"He didn't tell me. We were together all last night. Hell, I even had dinner with him and Fender and they both kept mum on it."

"So now that you know, call him on it. Ask him why."

And what, exactly was she supposed to say? It wasn't his business she had gone to see Gretchen Reynolds on formal police business. But that was how she'd found about his visit to Harlow.

Did she compromise her investigation? Let him in on the details? Especially because it was more than obvious Gretchen was hiding something.

Of course, all those things were logical. Reasonable. And sound questions for her to ask, as the assigned detective to the case. But if she were honest with herself, Daphne knew none of them mattered. All that did matter was what she felt inside.

"He didn't want me to know."

"Or he's embarrassed. Look at this from his side. Some woman he doesn't know and doesn't care about starts harassing his mother and churns up all these horrible feelings and memories. Those same feelings and memories appear to be tied to a break-in at his office which, my dear, lovely, bull-headed friend, you are determined to find answers to. Maybe the guy just wanted to do a little digging on his own."

"But he had no right."

"He had every right. And if you're going to confront him on this you have to start there. Be mad he didn't tell you, but be honest about it."

"You're not fair."

"It's not about fair. And it's also not about winning, Daphne. It's about figuring out this relationship that seems to mean a hell of a lot to you."

Leave it to Jaz to hit the bulls-eye.

"I questioned his mother." Daphne closed her eyes and let the confession spill out.

"Louisa?"

"No, his real mother."

"Oh." Jasmine's eyes widened into large orbs before she narrowed them. "And what reason did you have for traipsing down that path? Especially when it's clearly marked 'no trespassing.'"

"I had to follow the angles. The woman's got a past. What if she found out about her son's business and decided to break in?"

"That's even lamer than the last excuse."

Daphne valued Jaz's opinion. She always had and she always would. But the penetrating stare and expectant questions were enough to make her want to run for the hills. "You can get the judge-y look off your face."

"And you can get your head out of your hot ass. What the hell are you doing messing around in that man's past like that?"

"It felt wrong not to tell him."

"Tell him what?"

"That I talked to his mother."

Jasmine flashed over from judgment to pity in the space of a breath. "You did not."

"If I didn't tell him it would be like it was too important."

"You just said you can't tell him about Reynolds because it's your case. Why doesn't the same count here?"

"Because his mother didn't do anything. She's clear of this."

Amber McGee had always been clear of the breach at Landon's office. It was Daphne who hadn't been clear. She'd been the one to push her agenda-to poke and prod, using her case as an excuse-and it was about to bite her in the ass.

"Aww, Daph. What did you do?"

Seventeen.

Landon balanced himself on the ladder and listened with half an ear to the conversation going on below. His offer to wire and string up the sound for the Rossis' Fourth of July party had been offered freely, but three hours into the job he figured he'd been had.

Mama Rossi had welcomed him into the living room, handed him a huge box from Amazon and told him to "make it work." He'd set up the system with no problem, but her continued instructions-given with all the finesse of a drill sergeant during basic training-had him climbing ladders, running up and down to the attic, and configuring a small command center on her iPad, then replicating it on her phone.

And he still hadn't seen a single meatball.

His latest task-positioning a speaker unit under one of the house eaves-had him contorting his body into unnatural shapes to connect the damn thing.

"Look at those sexy legs."