Meg glared at Judy. “You just had to tell him my full name, didn’t you?”

Judy struggled to pull her body weight up with her arms and didn’t have the energy to snark on her friend. Rick grasped her hips and helped her with her last three chin-ups. She dropped to the ground and struggled for a breath. “You’re killing me.”

Rick grabbed the bar sailed through twenty-five reps.

“Five more, Utah.”

She managed three, and two with help.

“You just want to play with her ass,” Meg teased while she controlled her breathing during her break.

“It’s a nice ass,” Rick said. He started running up the hill to the next station.

When they finished, they picked a patch of grass to stretch.

“Half an hour and I’m beat!” Meg fell on the grass, her arms stretched beside her.

“We’ll start on the self-defense stuff tomorrow. Give your muscles a chance to wake up.”

Judy leaned over her legs. “My muscles are awake and cursing you.”

Rick winked.

“It feels good though,” Meg said. “And so much cheaper than those classes we did in Seattle.”

“Think of all the money we’ll save feeling this beat-up.”

They finished their stretches and made their way back to the car. A few more cars were parked close by than when they arrived. At the far end of the lot sat a car with a man wearing a suit leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest.

Judy peered closer. She elbowed Rick, who had opened the passenger door for her and Meg. “He looks familiar.”

Rick followed her gaze. His smile fell. “Detective Raskin.”

She paused. “Why is he here?”

The detective slid into the unmarked car, turned over the engine, and waited.

“Watching me.”

She didn’t like it, not one bit. “This isn’t right.”

“He’s doing his job, Judy.”

“No he’s not. He’s working to nail the wrong guy.” She wanted to scream.

Rick ushered her into the car. They drove in silence until Meg interrupted their thoughts. “How about we work on some self-defense stuff in the evenings . . . starting tonight.”

Rick glanced in the rearview mirror. “You think you’ll both be up for that so soon?”

Judy watched her friend and knew she had more to say.

“I’m ready . . . what about you, Judy?”

The uncertainty of Rick’s long-lasting freedom was the reason for the rush.

“I’ll be ready,” Judy said.

Rick picked up her hand, kissed the back of it.

Chapter Eighteen

“Russell couldn’t find anyone at the flower shop who remembered you.”

This was not the information Rick wanted Neil to tell him. “I’m assuming the police already have this information.”

“We can assume. And the flower shop records over their surveillance footage every third day.”

Rick slammed his hand on the desk in Neil’s control room. “Damn it.”

“They won’t nail you for this,” Neil assured him.

“The hassle of being arrested, the vulnerability of Judy when they do . . . the fact they aren’t looking for this guy . . . that’s what’s pissing me off.” Rick pointed toward the monitor outside his home several miles away. The camera in front of the house was pointed toward the street. Parked on the opposite side was a government-issue surveillance sedan about as inconspicuous as a heart attack. “Everywhere I look, I see these guys. I’m trying to teach Judy to trust her instincts when someone is watching her, only there’s always eyes on her . . . or me if I’m with her.”

Neil leaned back in his chair, rubbed the stubble on his chin. “How are things going with you two? Dennis says you’ve been staying over every night for the last week.”

Rick smiled into the memory of her trying to distract him from their morning workout. A sexual bribe, but a bribe nonetheless. “I care for her, Neil. The thought of being locked up and not getting to her makes me ill.”

“You won’t be locked up for long. We have a lawyer on standby. If they pick you up, keep your mouth shut and call me.”

Rick gave him a mock salute.

Neil clicked into the monitors and brought up the Beverly Hills home. “Tomorrow is three weeks.”

“Yeah. Hard to believe it’s only been that long.”

“Our guy’s been quiet.”

Rick ran a hand through his short hair. “He was quiet before.”

“But this was personal, and when it’s personal the perp doesn’t just disappear. I’ve been thinking about what you said she remembered. Not so tough now.”

“That’s bugging me. If we were in Seattle, I’d want to know all the places she played pool, who she beat. She is tough with a pool cue.”

“You two might want to visit the pool hall she and Meg visited when they first got here.”

“Already ahead of you. I had Meg talk with their new friends to meet us there tomorrow night.”

“Good. I’ve searched her social media history. She hasn’t been on much since the incident, but before that she updated at least once a day.”

“You mean Facebook?”

“Yeah.” Neil pulled up her profile and scrolled down the page. Two of the articles about the attack were tagged and placed on her page by her friends. It looked like Meg had gone on her own profile to assure everyone she was recovering. “I’m going through her friends, seeing if anything rings an alarm. About half the people on this thing don’t have their privacy setting set up, giving me access to just about everything. It’s crazy how people think they’re safe on this stuff.”

“Find anything interesting?”

Neil scrolled down. A picture of Judy at her graduation and hugging Michael had dozens of comments.

“Most of it is meaningless to me. People asking questions, stuff about school . . . new friends following her from her work. I can’t help but feel there’s a clue in here somewhere.”

“Any disgruntled pool players?”

“There’s a couple of ‘meet you at Bergie’s tonight’ comments. Nothing else. She has over two hundred friends on here. I wonder if she knows each one personally, or if some of them share a common interest that brought them together.”

“I can ask her.”

“Do that. See if we can access this complete account so we can do a little digging around.” Neil turned off the monitor.