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“I’m not interested in Flint Carey. No way. I can’t think of anyone I’mlessinterested in. Or who would be less interested inme.”

Ben didn’t reply. He continued to study Zach as though waiting for the moment when he could jab his finger and burst out, “AH-HA!”

But it seemed the moment never came, so maybe he did, unwillingly, believe Zach’s protestations.

Zach said, “Ben, I don’t want to argue. It’s late. I’ve still got to pack. Can we—”

Mistake.

“Pack for what? Where are you going?” Ben questioned, his gaze boring into Zach’s.

The temptation to yell,None of your goddamned business!was powerful, but Zach managed a relatively mild, “It’s work-related. I’m sorry, but I can’t go into it with you.”

“Since when? You’re not a secret agent, you know!”

“Ben.”

“Are you going for the weekend?”

“Ben, will you stop?”

Ben was unfazed. “Who’s going to take care of Mr. Bigglesworth?”

“Mr. B. is staying with Mom and Brooke for the weekend.”

“He can stay with me.”

“It’s already arranged. He’s staying with—”

“Why can’t he stay with me?” Ben interrupted. “I love him. He loves me. He’s lived most of his life in the condo.”

“No.” Zach didn’t mean it to sound so harsh, but he’d hit his breaking point. “No. It’s already arranged.”

Ben shook his head as though once again Zach was fulfilling his worst expectations. “As usual, it’s just about what’s convenient for you. Whatyouwant. Nobody else’s feelings matter. Mr. B.’s feelings don’t matter to you.”

“Mr. B. loves Brooke and my mom, too.” Zach bit back the rest of it. Was he really going to stand here arguing about who the cat—hiscat, for the record—loved more? No. He wasn’t. This whole exchange simply underlined why he and Ben no longer worked.

He’d hoped at one point they could stay friends, but that looked less and less likely.

He moved toward the front door, saying, “Maybe another time, okay?”

“Sure.” The word was terse and unfriendly.

Ben followed him to the door, which Zach opened onto a chilly October night.

Not looking at him, not speaking, Ben brushed past Zach, going down the three little steps and cutting a diagonal across the straggly square of lawn.

“Good night, Ben,” Zach said quietly.

He didn’t expect, nor receive, a reply.

Chapter Five

“What made you decide to become a PI?”

It was Sunday morning, and Zach and Alton were having a lazy, luxurious breakfast on the mostly empty patio of Roy’s at Pebble Beach. The off-season chill was dispersed by strategically placed heat lamps and firepit tables. Over country omelets and Keoke coffee (a decadent concoction of Kahlúa, brandy, crème de cacao, and coffee), Alton read theWall Street Journaland Zach played Wordle and enjoyed the breathtaking view of ocean and golf links—or at least what could be seen of them through the mist.

Glancing up from his phone, Zach smiled ruefully. “Too much TV at an early age?”