Sawyer pointed a finger in his direction. “I’m keeping you to your word.”

Judy’s father grumbled as he lifted his tired frame from the chair and retired for the night.

Zach and Rick sat in silence for a several minutes, the newscast flashed images of all the awful things happening in the greater Los Angeles area. The media had grown tired of the criminal activity around one of Hollywood’s elite, which suited Rick just fine. The picture of Michael and Judy dancing was the primary shot the media managed to use over and over. The same feed of the parking garage filled with police and caution tape was a constant reminder when Rick turned on the TV.

“Maybe she should go home for a while,” Zach said.

The skin on Rick’s arms chilled. “I have more resources here to protect her.”

“No one is after her in Utah.”

It was time to bring Zach closer to a truth realized by the authorities. “This man is after her. He targeted her and there’s no guarantee he wouldn’t follow her to Utah or anywhere else to hurt her again.”

“Are you sure?”

Almost 100 percent. “In the service, going with your gut often saved your life.”

“So keeping her here is going with your gut?”

Didn’t sound like Zach agreed. “Judy wants nothing to do with going home. In fact, she wants everyone visiting to return to their lives. She’s going back to Michael’s on Monday, where I will have someone shadowing her every moment she’s not at her desk at work.”

“And if this dirtbag works with her?”

Rick had thought of that, too. He and Neil had already placed a temporary worker at the office building who would watch her there as well. Between the undercover spying and the monitoring of everyone surrounding Judy, they should know if there was any unusual attention given. “She’s covered there as well. Just not an obvious shadow.”

Zach sighed. “I guess that’s all we can do. I don’t think any of us are going to rest easy until this guy is caught.”

Rest easy. Hell, the only restful sleep he’d had was the past two hours at Judy’s side. The mention of sleep had him covering a yawn.

“You can crash here,” Zach offered.

Being close to her, even a few bedrooms away, would give him some peace for a few hours. He knew he needed to reboot his brain. The only things waiting at home were blank monitors and an empty house. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Zach pushed off the chair, turned off the TV. “C’mon. The advantage of having a house this size is accommodating a large family.”

“We wouldn’t be doing our job if we didn’t question you, Mr. Evans.” Detective Raskin had taken over the investigation from the reporting officers. He and his partner, Detective Perozo, sat on opposite ends of the table. From the defensive pose of Perozo, he was playing bad cop, where Raskin kept a smile on his face.

“Damn right it’s your job,” Rick told him. “Should have questioned me within twenty-four hours.”

The detectives glanced at each other then back at him.

Rick knew the delay had more to do with his personal circle of friends and diplomacy. But in his opinion, those things shouldn’t ever take precedence over some protocols. Questioning a boyfriend, or in the case of him and Judy, a romantic interest, should have been a major priority.

Rick let them lead the questions. They started with the usual suspects, when had he met Judy, what was the nature of their relationship. Where was he when Judy was attacked and was he with anyone?

“I arrived at Mr. Wolfe’s Beverly Hills home at ten minutes before seven. Our date was set for seven.”

“Where were you prior to that time?”

“Experiencing the joys of traffic. Before that, I was at my residence in Tarzana. My home and that of Mr. Wolfe have twenty-four-hour video surveillance which will show me leaving and arriving.”

Detective Perozo leaned forward. “But at six thirty you weren’t captured on any videotapes.”

“None that our team monitors. I gave myself forty minutes to get to Judy’s. I left my house at six twenty, give or take a few minutes.”

“What do you drive?” Detective Raskin asked.

“A Ducati.”

“A motorcycle?”

“Yes.”

“So you can weave in and out of traffic but you left forty minutes early for your date on a route that should have only taken you what . . . twenty minutes, less even?”

“I picked up flowers.”

“Where?”

After Rick told them, they both grew silent.

He knew what was coming, even before the next words were uttered.

Perozo pulled a chair from the table, turned it around, and straddled it. “So you leave your house at six twenty. It’s possible with a Ducati to make some good time and arrive close to Beverly Hills, or say Westwood by six thirty.”

Rick’s fist clutched in his lap. He hadn’t mapped out his own timeline and realized now how bad it might look. “Looking in the wrong direction will only delay you finding the right man.”

“You said yourself we wouldn’t be doing our job if we didn’t look at every possibility.”

They asked questions for the next half hour, which Rick answered, but with as minimal information as he could offer.

With the police station behind him, his firearm secured to his side where it belonged, Rick dialed Neil’s number.

“I need you to pull up all the surveillance tapes of the Tarzana house and Michael’s on the night of the attack.”

“Wanna tell me why?”

Rick straddled his bike and kicked the stand up. “Because I just became their number-one suspect. I’ll meet you at your place in fifteen.”

An hour later Rick would have been pulling his hair out if it wasn’t already military short.

Neil sat quietly and studied the tapes. “There’s no way they can pin this on you.” He backed up the Tarzana feed, watched as Rick walked through the house and set the alarm. The next time they witnessed Rick was driving into the Beverly Hills estate. He removed a single rose from the back pocket of the bike. It was banged up from the drive, but it was there. The time stamp said 6:52.

“We’re looking at this knowing I didn’t do it. They are looking at this thinking I did. I leave my home at six twenty, haul ass to Westwood, manage to ditch the bike somewhere nearby and wait for Judy to leave her work.”

Neil stopped him. “How do you know she’s at work? Did you call her?”