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much about it—and looked at the license again, this time examining it closely. It passed the eyeball test. He placed it side by side with his real one for a closer examination. Every detail checked out.

He wondered if Ava had something to do with this. Liam wouldn’t be surprised if she was paying off the cops to make sure they didn’t bother her, and that would mean she had contacts inside the department. Maybe Ava’s app also gave her access to his phone number.

But the theory strained credulity to the point that even Liam, who wanted an explanation, couldn’t buy it. If Ava had contacts in the Chicago PD, how would they know Liam was one of her players? And if they did, why would they tell her they were going to arrest him? Even more importantly, why would Ava care?

Jacob Reed

Jacob didn’t own a car, but since he knew he would need one after his meeting with Liam, he had rented a black Ford Focus. It was in that Ford Focus, half a block from Backstage, where he sat now. He had a clear view of the entrance to the bar. While he waited for Liam to exit, he fiddled with the heat, turning it up, down, and back up again. The temperature was never too hot or too cold. The act of adjusting it was something akin to a nervous twitch.

Liam appeared and got in a cab. Jacob followed from a safe distance, always keeping at least one car between them. While he didn’t expect to be made since Liam had no reason to think Jacob was following him, he wasn’t taking any chances.

The cab pulled up in front of the Best Western and Liam got out. With the momentum of traffic pushing him along the congested downtown streets, Jacob couldn’t stay where he was long enough to watch Liam go inside, but he didn’t need to. It was obvious Liam had decided to use the hotel room Jacob had rented for him.

Satisfied, Jacob returned to his own hotel. He had rented a room at a Best Western for himself as well, only his was on the other side of town, close to Liam’s condo.

The room was clean and quiet. It had red carpet, a single queen bed, dressed all in white, and a small desk with a leather chair and a matching dresser on the other side of the room.

Jacob sat down at the desk, opened his laptop, and went to work. There wasn’t a photo of Richard Hawthorne anywhere online. He’d never been on Facebook, Twitter, or LinkedIn. He’d never posted a picture on Instagram.

It was time for that to change.

Jacob spent a lot of hours opening accounts and adding strangers as friends. (It was amazing how many people would accept friend requests from someone they’d never met.) He posted pictures of Liam under Richard Hawthorne’s name. He commented, liked, and shared until he felt like Richard had a solid web presence.

Then he set his alarm for nine a.m. and got four solid hours of shut eye.

Liam Parker

Liam’s room was a mirror image of Jacob’s. He anxiously paced the carpet trying to figure out what to do. He had the TV on for company and the curtains closed.

Twice, he picked up the phone to call his kids and decided it was a bad idea. Then he decided it would be a bad idea not to. Depending on how all this played out, who knew how many more times he’d get to speak with them? He dialed his wife’s home number.

His son answered. Liam asked how school was going and Tommy said fine. Yes, he was keeping up with his homework. Yes, he was paying attention in class. “Our teacher taught us how storms are made. Do you know?” Liam said he did, and Tommy told him anyway.

When they were done, Liam told Tommy he loved him and asked to speak to his sister. Alice answered each question with as few words as possible and a distracted tone. She sounded like she had something else on her mind. Eventually, Liam found out what it was.

“Dad, what’s going on? Did you . . . Why are you accused of . . . ?”

He knew what she was trying to say and did his best to put her mind at ease. “They got me mixed up with someone else. Don’t worry about it. Everything’s going to be fine.”

The answer didn’t satisfy Alice. She pressed for more details, which Liam refused to give. But he did give her the number to the phone he was using, having decided at least one of his kids should have it in case there was an emergency.

As he was getting out the word “emergency,” Catherine took the phone from her daughter.

“What the hell have you gotten yourself mixed up in?” she asked.

He tried to answer, to calm her down, but she barely let him get out two words before she was tearing into him again.

“I don’t want to hear it. I wish I’d never met you. I can’t wait to get the kids as far from you as possible. You’re a hot mess.”

Catherine hung up. Liam dropped the phone onto the desk. Well, that didn’t go the way he’d hoped it would. At least he’d gotten to tell Tommy he loved him. For now, that would have to be enough.

It was time to call Anita. But, he realized Anita’s number was, along with his iPhone, in the CVS trashcan, so he logged into Facebook using his burner, searched for her name, and scrolled through a long list of results until he found one with a photo that matched the woman he was looking for. Liam sent a friend request and a message asking if she would be available to meet at the diner tomorrow morning.

After a moment of deliberation, he added: I’m going to find Elise’s killer. I need your help.

He hoped the addition would generate a quick response, but none came.

While Liam waited, he took a shower and