“I recall that the father was a colonel in the army and the mother was a homemaker.”
“Correct. The father, Patrick Kincaid Senior, retired after serving forty years. The mother escaped Cuba, the father met her when he was stationed in Florida. Moved around a lot, the kids are all army brats, in and outside of the U.S., until he took a position in San Diego shortly after the youngest Kincaid—Lucia—was born.”
“Everyone in the family is some kind of hero or in law enforcement.”
“So it seems. Hold on—”
“Don’t—”
Dammit, he put her on hold again.
This time, she only had to wait twenty-six seconds.
“C. J. just handed me a clip from the San Antonio paper. Seems Agent Kincaid married a security expert last October. Sean Rogan. He’s a principal in a private security firm based in Sacramento. They also have an office in D.C., but he works out of his house in San Antonio.”
“This just gets better and better.”
“I don’t see your concern.”
“Where do I start? The victim’s father is the DA of San Diego. And how I find out that he’s on board with my investigation unless his former sister-in-law, who happens to be an FBI agent, vetoes my theory. And said sister-in-law is married to some security guy? What do you know about this Rogan? Is he like David? Or more like our IT security guy, what’s-his-name?”
“Leo. And I don’t have anything else on Kincaid or Rogan, but C. J. is on it. You don’t have to remind me that you need all the information you can get before you go into this meeting. But remember, this is a good case. Caldwell’s theory makes sense—the story is compelling.”
“Now it’s compelling? You didn’t even want me coming out here.”
“I’ve reconsidered.”
“Found a commercial angle to the deaths of four little boys?” she snapped.
“Fuck you, Maxine.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am. Really, Ben, this whole thing with Kincaid has thrown me for a loop. I don’t like surprises.”
“Apology accepted—once you return and let me take my pick from your wine cellar.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I just have good taste—and know you do, too. In fact, I’ll go over tonight and help myself.”
“I should never have given you a key.”
“Did you break it off with Nick?”
“No.”
“You should. He’s turning you into more of a bitch than you already are.”
“And here I thought you accepted my apology.”
“You hurt me.”
“You don’t sound hurt.”
“My heart is broken. You haven’t seen Nick since Thanksgiving, why the hell haven’t you just told him to kiss your ass?”
“How do you know I haven’t seen him?”
“I know everything about you, Max.”
She didn’t have a good response to that. Ben did know her better than anyone—part of the curse of working with someone who knew you from college. She and Ben hadn’t even liked each other for years, but for their mutual best friend Karen—the mediator, they used to call her—they forced themselves to remain civil. Most of the time.
And after Karen disappeared and was presumed dead, Max didn’t have it in her to hate Ben anymore.
But he still annoyed her.
“You’re taking your frustrations out on everyone here, and it needs to stop. Stanton’s single, I’ve seen his photo. He’s your type. Maybe a little older than you usually go for, but attractive and smart. Screw him and get it out of your system, because God knows Nick isn’t giving you what you need.”
“Don’t be so crude. Since when have I dated anyone over the age of forty?”
“Marco.”
“He was thirty-two when I met him. I draw the line at ten years.”
“Then maybe you should find a twenty-two-year-old boy toy you can toss back into the pool when you’re done.”
“Good-bye.”
She hung up. Why did Ben think she needed to have sex? She didn’t need sex. She needed Nick Santini to stop being an ass.
Maybe he’s not worth it.
She was tired of talking about her love life with Ben. He just wouldn’t let it go. Maybe because he enjoyed seeing her fail at something. Max succeeded in everything she did, except relationships.
She and Nick should have split after that first weekend they spent together. They’d had fun, they were very compatible in bed, and for a while the coast-to-coast relationship had worked perfectly for her. No commitment because they both had careers and lived three thousand miles apart, yet there was a warmth and contentment she enjoyed in the bicoastal affair.
Except Nick had an off-limits subject—his ex-wife—and Max didn’t do off-limits subjects. Secrets were kissing cousins to lies and Max didn’t tolerate lying. Especially in her relationships—friend, family, or lover. And Ben was right about one thing: she’d let her relationship impact her work. That had to stop.
She pulled up to the roundabout and checked her rental car in with the hotel’s valet service. Max fell in love with the US Grant hotel as soon as she stepped into the lobby. She knew exactly why her grandmother stayed here. The staff was impeccable but discreet, the lobby was stately but subdued—not excessively ostentatious. Eleanor Revere liked quiet money. Flaunting wealth was unbecoming and crass.
The hotel desk clerk knew her by name even though she’d never stayed there.
“Welcome to the US Grant, Ms. Revere. We have your suite ready for your early arrival.”
Max appreciated good service, and was happy to pay for it.
*
Max didn’t take the time to unpack her clothes—a chore she rarely put off when she checked into a hotel because she loathed living out of suitcases. But she needed the time to prepare her timeline and read over everything Ben had sent on Lucy Kincaid, as well as refresh herself on the Kincaid family.
Patrick Kincaid, Senior—retired army colonel. Rosa Kincaid was a few years younger, had been a stay-at-home mother. With seven kids, Max supposed you’d have to stay at home. It would drive Max crazy, but she admired women who could keep a house and raise a family. And apparently, Rosa Kincaid had done an exemplary job—all seven of her children had been successful. Considering they lived on one modest government income, they’d managed fairly well, had no outstanding debt, and still lived in a 2600-square-foot house they’d purchased twenty-four years ago when Patrick, Sr., was stationed in San Diego.
That’s a lot of people for a house that size.