Mrs. Cruz used it to pull him closer and kiss his cheek. Afterward, she didn’t let go but tugged him down a short hallway. “Come in. Come in. You’re in luck. I’ve been cooking all day.”

Olivia leaned over Sharp’s shoulder and whispered in his ear, “She cooks all day every day.”

The kitchen was small but modern. Black granite counters topped white cabinets. Baking pans sat steaming on the stovetop.

An older man drank beer from a tall glass at the head of a table set for two. He stood when they entered the room. He was lean and dark, with gray hair shorn close to his head. Olivia introduced them. “Papi, this is Lincoln Sharp.”

Mrs. Cruz released Sharp, allowing him to shake hands. Then she steered him to a chair. “Sit.”

Mr. Cruz lifted his bottle. “Beer?”

“No, thank you,” Sharp said.

Olivia set two extra places and brought Sharp a glass of water.

“You’re so thin.” Mrs. Cruz heaped food on his plate: black beans and rice, some sort of shredded meat, and a couple of fried items. “Ham croquetas, and the empanadas are filled with chicken.”

“I thought you were a vegetarian?” Sharp whispered to Olivia.

“I love seafood, so I’m more of a pescatarian. But at Mami’s house, I eat what I’m told.” Olivia flashed him a wry grin. “I have interviewed drug dealers, gang leaders, and convicted murderers, but I am not brave enough to refuse my mother’s cooking.”

“What brings you home?” Mr. Cruz asked his daughter.

“We’re here to do an interview.” Olivia passed a platter of shredded beef and onions. “Lincoln is an investigator.”

Mr. Cruz nodded.

They ate, and Mrs. Cruz caught Olivia up on the activities of what seemed to be dozens of nieces, nephews, and cousins. Sharp worked hard not to overstuff himself, which wasn’t easy with Mrs. Cruz continually refilling his plate. He had no idea what he ate, but it was all good.

“Coffee?” Mrs. Cruz asked.

“No, thank you,” Sharp said. “I don’t drink coffee, and I’m stuffed.”

“You haven’t had dessert,” Mrs. Cruz said as if that were a crime.

“I couldn’t possibly eat any more. Thank you for dinner.” Sharp shook Mr. Cruz’s hand and accepted a kiss on the cheek from Mrs. Cruz. He followed Olivia down the hall toward the front door.

“Wait!” Mrs. Cruz’s call was not a request but a demand that brought Sharp and Olivia both to a halt.

Her mother hurried into the hallway with a white bakery box. “I made pastelitos yesterday. You will take some with you.”

“Gracias, Mami.” Olivia took the box.

The sun slanted over the tightly packed houses as they walked to the cars parked at the curb.

“What’s in the box?” Sharp tapped the lid.

“Pastelitos de guayaba.” The way the Spanish rolled off Olivia’s tongue was hot. “Pastries filled with cream cheese and guava.”

“Well, that sounds low in calories.”

“Are you watching your weight?” Olivia took her sunglasses from her purse and set them on her face. “You need to lighten up and enjoy yourself a little, Lincoln, and you could use a couple of pounds. Life is short.”

Sharp had been recently reminded that life could be cut even shorter at any time. “I haven’t eaten that much meat in ten years.”

Olivia raised her sunglasses and eyed him. “Your color looks better.” She held the box in front of his face and waved it tauntingly. The pastries smelled amazing. “If you come to my house for brunch tomorrow, I’ll share these with you.”

“All right.” He rubbed his gut, which ironically did seem happy with the high-fat, carnivorous meal.

“And I’ll know you survived the meeting with Joe.” Her words were light, but she didn’t smile. “Be careful tonight.”

“I will.” He watched her fish for her keys—not a hair out of place, her petite frame fitted out with fashionable clothes. His gaze dropped to her feet. She was wearing a pair of those dainty, pointy-heeled, completely impractical sandals she loved. Her fingernails and toenails were painted fiery orange. Did her nail polish match her purse?

Yes. Yes, it did.

But underneath all that fancy window dressing, she was tough. She’d had his back when he’d needed it. Not only hadn’t she run from the fight, she’d fought dirty and owned it. On top of that, she was smart. She had class and integrity. She took zero shit from anyone.

He was going to have to face facts. He liked her—even if she was a reporter.

And he was totally fine with that.

Chapter Forty-One

The bell on the glass door of the diner jingled. Lance spotted Joe Martin and two goons entering the lobby. Under his breath, Lance spoke to Morgan, who sat next to him. “There he is.”

Joe walked with a cane, his posture stooped. Despite the limp and physical frailty, the two men who flanked him gave him complete deference.

Sharp and Tina sat at a table in the back. Sharp and Tina had both selected seats that put their backs toward the rear wall of the restaurant. As backup, Morgan and Lance had taken a table across the aisle. Morgan swirled the straw in her chocolate milkshake. Lance picked at a plate of fries on the table between them.

Sharp set down his water glass and stood. He covered his mouth and coughed. “I’ll tell him to lose the muscle.”

A few patrons sat at the counter, but at ten o’clock at night, most of the tables were empty. Sharp crossed the room and planted himself in front of Joe, blocking his path. Joe frowned. He glanced over at the table where Tina sat. He didn’t hesitate but waved his men toward the door.

Sharp led Joe to the table and pointed to the chair opposite Tina. Joe sank into it.

Lance kept his eyes on his fries, but his ears were wide open.

“Tina.” Joe’s voice held no trace of warmth.

“Joe.” Tina’s answer was glacial. “Let’s dispense with the pleasantries.”

“All right,” Joe agreed.

“Aaron killed my husband.”

“Yes,” Joe said. “He did that without my knowledge or consent.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? I assumed you wanted me dead.” Tina’s voice held no trace of fear. Lance risked a quick glance at her face. She wore her emotionless mask. His gaze shifted to Joe. He wore the same impassive expression.

“If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Unlike Aaron, I don’t fuck around.” Joe sounded like he meant it.

“Don’t come anywhere near me or my son.” Tina lowered her voice to a near whisper. “I have an excellent memory. I’ve made notes. Names, dates, places . . . crimes.” She paused. “My notes are in a safe place, but if anything happens to me, they will automatically be forwarded to the district attorney. You would go back to prison.” She rested her joined hands on the table. “I don’t fuck around either.”

Joe shifted back. “You are much smarter than Aaron.”

There was no sign of grief on his face. His son had meant nothing to him. Aaron had been a pawn to be used.

“I’m waiting,” Tina said.

Lance knew she was terrified. She’d been shaking during the entire drive to the diner. But as soon as they’d gotten out of the car, she’d wiped all traces of fear from her face.

Joe reached for his cane. “As I said before, I have no desire to kill you.”

Tina’s gaze didn’t waver. She didn’t believe him for a second. “I mean it. You stay far away from me and Evan or you’ll be back in jail before you can blink.”

“All right.” Joe used his cane to struggle to his feet.

Lance didn’t trust him. This felt too easy. Did Joe know Tina had the money? Lance couldn’t tell. Tina could give up nursing and play professional poker, but Lance suspected Joe’s lack of emotion wasn’t an act. Father and daughter were not the same. Tina had learned to conceal her emotions as a coping mechanism. Joe didn’t have any.

Joe limped out of the diner. The bell on the glass door jingled as it swung back into place. Through the plate-glass windows, Lance watched the goons escort Joe to a town car. The car drove away.

“Do you think Joe knows you have the money?” Sharp asked Tina.

“Probably,” Tina said. “But he’s hard to read.”

No shit.

Lance rose to his feet and turned to Tina. “He won’t come looking for it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. He knows I have the upper hand. He looks pretty sick. I assume he doesn’t want to spend his remaining years in a cell.”

Morgan pushed her empty milkshake glass aside and collected her bag from the floor. “Do you really have dirt on Joe?”

Tina’s mask faded, and fire filled her eyes. “You do not bluff with men like Joe. They can smell it. They must know you will follow through with every threat.”

Sharp pushed his chair under the table. “In short, you don’t fuck around.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Three days later

In the backyard, Morgan leaned on the fence and watched Ava and Mia blow bubbles. Sophie and the dogs raced in circles, trying to catch the bubbles before they drifted over the fence. The sun shone on the river, and the yard had finally dried out.

The gate squeaked as Lance came into the yard. Morgan greeted him with a kiss, happy to note that his bruises were fading. He wrapped his arms around her, clasping his hands at her lower back.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“Very well.” He smiled down at her. “Evan was awake and joking with the team for a solid thirty minutes. He’s beginning to grieve Paul’s death, and he has some tough times ahead, but I think he’s going to make it. Tina talked about selling the house and moving. Evan convinced her to stay here. He wants to move back to their apartment in Scarlet Falls.”

“Do you think she’ll stay, long term?”