“You’re not hiding that from me.”

Beth was standing beside her hospital bed.

Ross slipped the phone into his pocket.

“You should sit.”

“You should stop deciding what I should do.”

“Beth.”

“Show me.”

Ross looked at Detective Ortiz.

She held out her hand.

“Actually, show me.”

Ross gave her the phone.

Ortiz photographed the message with an evidence device.

“Do not respond.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

Beth looked at him.

“Yes, you were.”

Ross glanced at her.

She folded her arms.

“You get this little line between your eyebrows when you’re about to make a terrible decision.”

Ortiz looked amused.

“How long have you two known each other?”

“Four months,” Ross said.

Beth answered, “Long enough.”

Ortiz handed the phone back.

“This photograph changes things. Whoever sent it was watching Miss Sloan before tonight.”

Beth stared at the image.

“That picture was taken outside Harbor Rehabilitation.”

Ross nodded.

“My mother’s facility.”

Beth suddenly frowned.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“That day.”

She stepped closer.

“I remember something.”

Ortiz reopened her notebook.

“Tell me.”

“There was a man in the lobby.”

“What man?”

“He asked about Ross’s mother.”

Ross’s expression sharpened.

“What exactly did he ask?”

“He said he was from an insurance company. He wanted to know when Margaret Ferry would be discharged.”

Ross stood completely still.

Beth continued.

“I refused to tell him anything.”

“Did you get his name?”

“He signed the visitor log.”

Ortiz was already reaching for her phone.

“Harbor keeps those?”

“For years.”

Ross looked at Victor, who had just appeared in the doorway.

“Do nothing.”

Victor blinked.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

Ross turned to Ortiz.

“Detective, get the log through the proper channel.”

Ortiz nodded.

Beth gave Ross an approving look.

“Look at you.”

“What?”

“Personal growth.”

“This evening is becoming exhausting.”

“You’re telling me?”

---

By morning, Ortiz had the name.

Nathan Ror.

He had entered Harbor Rehabilitation pretending to represent an insurance provider.

Security footage showed him watching Beth speak with Ross in the lobby.

That was the beginning.

Not romance.

Not even friendship, technically.

Margaret Ferry had spent eleven difficult weeks recovering from hip surgery and complications.

Beth had been the therapist who refused to let Margaret quit.

“I’m seventy-two,” Margaret had complained one afternoon. “I’ve earned the right to hate stairs.”

Beth had pointed toward the practice staircase.

“Great. Hate them from the top.”

Ross had laughed.

Margaret had glared at him.

“Whose side are you on?”

“Beth’s.”

“Traitor.”

Beth had smiled.

That was the first time Ross had noticed her.

Not because she was beautiful, though she was.

Because she spoke to his mother like Margaret was a person instead of a patient.

Weeks later, when Margaret went home walking independently, Ross had given Beth a card with a handwritten number.

“For emergencies.”

Beth had looked at it.

“What kind of emergency?”

“Anything involving my mother.”

“That sounds suspiciously broad.”

“Then anything involving you.”

She had raised an eyebrow.

“I’m an occupational therapist. What emergency am I supposed to have?”

Ross had answered, “Hopefully none.”

Four months later, she had called.

---

At noon, Detective Ortiz entered Beth’s apartment with two officers.

Ross remained downstairs.

Beth had insisted.

“I’m not having you turn my apartment into headquarters.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“You were thinking it.”

“I was thinking your locks are terrible.”

“My locks are normal.”

“That’s the problem.”

Ortiz interrupted.

“Both of you stop.”

Beth smiled.

Ross did not.

Ortiz continued.

“We recovered partial data from the suspect’s phone.”

“What did you find?” Beth asked.

“Messages.”

Ross’s attention sharpened.

Ortiz looked at him.

“One refers to Ferry shipments.”

“Gavin.”

“Probably.”

“And me?” Beth asked.

Ortiz hesitated.

“One message says, ‘Take the therapist. He’ll trade the ledger.’”

Ross went still.

Beth looked between them.

“What ledger?”

Ross didn’t answer.

“Ross.”

He finally spoke.

“Evidence.”

“Against Gavin?”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

“Shipment records. Payments. Names. Enough to show he’s been running his operation while blaming me.”

Beth stared at him.

“And he thought you would give it up for me.”

“Yes.”

“Would you?”

Ross’s silence lasted too long.

Beth’s face changed.

“Ross.”

He looked directly at her.

“Yes.”

Ortiz closed her notebook slowly.

Beth stared at him.

“You cannot say things like that.”

“You asked.”

“You’d surrender evidence to criminals?”

“To keep you alive?”

“Yes.”

“That would make everything worse.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

Ross’s voice became quieter.

“Because there are some decisions I can discuss logically and some I cannot.”

Beth stopped.

Victor appeared at the open apartment door.

“Ross.”

“What?”

“We have a problem.”

Victor held up a tablet.

A security camera image showed Gavin Ror entering the parking garage beneath Ross’s office.

Alone.

Ross looked at Ortiz.

“He wants to talk.”

Ortiz immediately said, “Then he talks to us.”

Ross nodded.

Beth blinked.

“That easy?”

Ross picked up his coat.

“I promised you.”

“To let police do their job.”

“Yes.”

Beth narrowed her eyes.

“And you actually intend to keep that promise?”

Ross opened the door.

“I’m trying something new.”

---