Weaver in ADMAX. His first name’s Edgar. He’s from Georgia, in for a triple homicide.”
“Yeah, we found that out.”
“So far I haven’t run across anything you can use, but I’ll keep looking.”
“Great. Also, I need you to go deeper on Mara Ramos. I have a feeling she’s not who she seems.”
“I can do that.”
“Make it your top priority, Tab. These guys aren’t messing around. Yesterday, they crashed Chase’s plane.”
“Crap, Bran! Tell me you and Jessie weren’t in it.”
“I wish I could. We’re both okay, but we need this to end.”
“I’m on it. I’ll call you back as fast as I can.” The line went dead. When the doorbell rang, Bran grabbed his pistol, checked the peephole, then stashed the gun out of sight and opened the door.
His stomach growled at the delicious smells coming from beneath the silver domes on the linen-draped cart as the server rolled it into the living room. He signed the tab, tipped the server, then closed and locked the door. He was about to wake Jessie when she walked into the living room, her face washed and her hair pulled into a French braid.
She was dressed in clean clothes, a pair of beige leggings, her brown ankle boots, and the lightweight, short-sleeve, peach knit top she’d had on in Dallas the first time he’d seen her. Hey, even in November it was sunny and mild in San Diego.
He caught a hint of cleavage as she drew near, and arousal slipped through him. Even after the slow, easy, very satisfying sex they’d had in the tub, she stirred his blood.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“My head doesn’t hurt, and thanks to some very sweet lovemaking, I slept all afternoon. I feel great.”
“Sweet, huh? I don’t know whether to be complimented or insulted.”
She reached up and cupped his cheek. “You took great care of me. Thanks.”
He glanced away, a little embarrassed. He’d been worried about her. Apparently she’d noticed. “You ready to get back to work?”
Jessie glanced wistfully over to where her laptop sat on an ornate rosewood desk. “I was hoping to get some writing done today—I still have to make a living, you know. But I’d rather talk to Mara Ramos, if that’s what you’re planning to do.”
“Not yet. Tabby’s going deeper, looking for something that might help. I’m heading down to The Max to talk to Hunt Brady. He’s been keeping an eye on her. He might be able to give us something.”
“Like a typical writer, I’ll take any excuse I can find not to face that blank computer screen.”
Bran chuckled. “Soon as we finish eating, I’ll call downstairs, have the valet bring up the rental car.”
She sighed dramatically. “It’s good to be king.”
Bran laughed as he caught her hand and led her toward the dining table.
* * *
The Maximum Security office in the Gaslamp District was housed on the ground floor of a two-story building in the 400 block of F Street. Yellow and white with a bay window in front and a big wooden arched front door, it shared the structure with a bar called the Tipsy Crow.
Jessie waited anxiously as Bran parked their rental car, a pearl gray Lincoln Navigator, in the parking garage across the street, then they went inside.
The ornate oak desks and green glass lamps scattered around the room felt similar to the Dallas office, though that one had more of a Western vibe. The slightly more ornate decor in San Diego perfectly suited the late-Victorian, nineteenth-century architecture of the historic neighborhood filled with shops and trendy restaurants.
There was a reception area up front, but being after 6:00 p.m., no one sat behind the desk. Three people were still working, a woman and two men. One of the men rose and started toward them across the open space, Hunter Brady, she assumed. Medium height and solid build, he had light brown hair and a jaw mostly hidden by a close-cropped beard.
He was attractive, Jessie thought, which seemed to be a requirement to work at The Max.
The men shook hands. “Good to see you, Bran.”
“You, too. It’s been a while.” Bran turned to Jessie. “Hunt’s former San Diego PD. Homicide detective. Hunt, this is Jessie Kegan. I told you about her.”
“Nice to meet you, Jessie.” His hand felt warm and strong. He had an air of confidence that eased some of her worry.
“Let’s go into the conference room where we can talk,” Hunt suggested. Located at the rear of the building, the room had a long oak table surrounded