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The next day, Yardley finished his meeting and didn’t go straight home.

He told Louis to clock out.

Then he got into his own car, a black Range Rover. Without really thinking about it, he found himself parked outside Nancy’s office building on Congress Avenue.

He didn’t call her. He just sat there, engine running, watching the glass doors.

At five thirty, the glass doors swung open and Nancy walked out. She was wearing a gray blazer and black flats. Her hair was down. She looked tired. She stopped on the sidewalk and checked her phone.

Yardley reached for the door handle.

Then a black sedan pulled up to the curb. Nancy smiled, said something to the driver, and climbed into the passenger seat.

The driver was a man.

Yardley’s jaw tightened. He rolled up his window and pulled into traffic.

--

Inside the sedan, Nancy buckled her seatbelt. "Thanks again for picking me up. I really owe you one."

"Don’t worry about it," Michael Reed said. He was in his early forties, with short brown hair and wireframe glasses. He had just finished a custody hearing at the Travis County courthouse, three blocks from Nancy’s office. "It was on my way."

Nancy’s car was in the shop. The transmission had gone out on Monday. She had been taking Ubers all week.

They pulled into the lot of a coffee shop on South First Street. A local place called Bennu, with mismatched furniture and a chalkboard menu. Nancy grabbed a corner booth by the window while Michael ordered two lattes.

Michael set the drinks down and folded his hands on the table. "Okay. I am going to be straight with you, Nancy."

Nancy nodded.

"The evidence you have is not enough. Not even close. You have a timeline. You have phone records showing Xander called your mother the night she died. But that is not proof. That is coincidence."

"I know," Nancy said quietly.

"Without a witness, without a physical trace, without a confession, this goes nowhere. The case was ruled a suicide seven years ago. To reopen it, I need something solid. Right now, I have nothing."

Nancy stared at her coffee.

Michael’s voice softened. "I am sorry. The retainer will be refunded in full. I cannot take this case."

Nancy nodded. She had expected this. But hearing it out loud still felt like a door slamming in her face.

"It has been seven years," Michael said gently. "I think it is time to let this go. Your mother would not want you tearing yourself apart over something you cannot prove."

Nancy forced a smile. She reached across the table. "Thank you for being honest with me. I really mean it."

Michael shook her hand. "Anytime. And if something new comes up, call me. But until then, try to live your life."

--

Across the street, Yardley watched their hands meet.

His wolf surged inside his chest. Hot. Demanding. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

He didn’t think. He just got out of the car, crossed the street, and pushed open the coffee shop door.

The bell above the door jangled. A few heads turned.

Michael looked up. The man standing by their table was tall, broad-shouldered, with cold eyes fixed on Nancy. The energy rolling off him was sharp. Unmistakable.

Michael cleared his throat. "Nancy, do you two know each other?"

Nancy turned. Her eyes went wide.

Yardley stood there, hands in his jacket pockets, his voice flat and controlled.

"We need to talk."

Four simple words. But Nancy could feel the anger rolling off him like heat off asphalt.

She just didn’t know what he was angry about.

Michael Reed picked up on the tension immediately. He stood up so fast he nearly knocked over his latte. "I will leave you two to talk. Take care of yourself, Nancy."

The lawyer was out the door in five seconds flat. The bell jangled behind him.

Yardley sat down in the seat Michael had just left. He raised an eyebrow at Nancy. "Sit."

Nancy didn’t understand what was happening. She sat.

"That man wants you."

Nancy blinked. "What?"

"He is your lawyer. And you were holding hands."

His voice was cold. Flat. Like he was stating a fact.