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The lawyer assured Liam that Catherine wouldn’t be able to take the kids without a hearing and no judge was likely to grant a move during the school year as long as they had another capable parent in the city. “She’s trying to push your buttons,” he said. “You know how she is. If I were you, I’d focus my attention on the criminal case for now, okay? That’s what matters. If it goes sideways, you’re not going to see the kids much no matter where they’re living.”

“You’re right.” Even though Liam thought the advice could have been delivered without reminding him what was at stake, the bluntness of it also took some of the sting out of Catherine’s threat. In that respect, it was exactly what he needed to hear.

He got off the phone and, a couple of seconds later, a barcode for the elevator appeared. Liam was in business.

He parked in the garage, took the elevator to the ninth floor, punched the PIN he’d received through the app into the keypad mounted next to Midwest Design’s glass door, and navigated his way to the back of the suite. The bodyguard who patted him down was sporting a gray t-shirt tucked into black slacks and a pair of wingtips. He had a gold medallion featuring St. Christopher on a chain around his neck. When he was done, the bodyguard gestured toward the room with an open hand and said, “Have good time, sir.”

Ava Perez was sitting quietly in the corner. She looked from the players to Liam and nodded a welcome.

Liam took a seat at the table.

“How’s life treating you?” Jacob asked in his usual upbeat tone.

Normally Liam responded with a “pretty good” or “better than yesterday.” But since he couldn’t bring himself to gloss over everything that had happened lately, he settled on the most benign news he could. “My daughter’s been sneaking out.”

Jacob offered a tsk-tsk, and added, “Kids will be kids, I guess, right?” On the next hand, he dealt Liam in.

The Grunter was back. So was Emily, her short black hair again plastered to her head with gel. The only other player Liam knew by name was Eric Ricci. Liam had played with him on several other occasions—he had been among those to leave early the night Elise died—but he’d known about Eric long before their first game.

Eric had been a star football player at Northwestern and had gone on to play a couple of seasons with the Bears. During that time, he’d racked up endorsement deals faster than any other player Liam could recall. He was on billboards selling cologne and in magazines selling clothes. Even now, more than a decade later, he was still a celebrity of sorts, making minor appearances on TV and in films.

Liam did his best to concentrate on the cards and watch for tells. He knew Emily would tap her fingernail on the table when she had a bad hand. Eric’s right eye would twitch. Eventually, he figured out the Grunter, whose real name was Tom Morgan, had the most obvious tell of all—he grunted.

Despite those insights, Liam didn’t play well. He kept thinking about the last time he was here, the messages from Elise, the things he might have done differently. If he’d left thirty minutes earlier, just thirty minutes, she might still be alive. If he hadn’t come here at all, she would be, for sure. They could have gone to a movie (Elise wanted to see Jurassic World) and stayed at his place. Maybe when he dropped her off the next day, they’d have found her door broken in or other signs of an unwanted visitor. Maybe that would have been enough for her to tell him about the bad people. Maybe if she’d told him everything in her own words, he would have understood. Maybe they’d still be together, and maybe one day she could have been Mrs. Parker. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

One thing was for sure: those maybes were all he had left.

Liam thought about them throughout the night and was still thinking about them when a knock on his door got him out of bed early the next morning and drew him cautiously to the door of his condo. He should have gotten a call from the concierge announcing the visitor. Dressed in his boxers and white tee, he quietly slid the chain on the door into place. He had his cell phone in one hand, ready to dial 911. He looked through the peephole and saw Bash, flanked by uniformed officers.

Bash knocked again, harder. “Mr. Parker, I know you’re in there. I need you to open up.”

Liam instantly felt weak. He placed his free hand against the wall to steady himself. There was only one reason Bash would be here before seven a.m. Liam stepped deeper into the condo so he could call Patricia without being heard.

“What’s wrong, Liam?” she said when she answered, sounding surprisingly alert for the hour.

“Bash is outside. I’m pretty sure I’m about to get arrested.”

“All right, we knew this could happen. Don’t fight it. Do what they tell you to. I’ll find out where they’re going to take you and meet you there.”

With the demands for Liam to open the door intensifying, he did just that. The uniformed officers charged in first, guns pulled and clearing the unit. Bash entered waving an arrest warrant.

“Get dressed,” he said.

Liam Parker

Liam sat in an interview room at police headquarters, handcuffed to a table.

Bash sat across from him. “We know you weren’t at home when you sent the text messages to Elise.”

Liam didn’t respond.

“You were in Lakeview. Why did you lie to me?”

“I’m not saying anything until my lawyer gets here.”

Bash shrugged. “If that’s how you want to handle it, that’s fine with me. But she’s going to tell you to keep quiet, go to court. And every hour you spend in jail she’s going to be out there working