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“ S o, dining al fresco meets your high standards for security?”

“There are enough people around to make it safe.” Still, Hayes’s head remained on a swivel as he kept watch over the sidewalk seating area while they waited for their orders to be delivered.

He’d seated them with their backs against the building, a large street planter on one side of her.

Tables of people shielded them from the other directions.

“And al fresco is a stretch for a restaurant that’s basically a food truck without the wheels.

” In inclement weather, there’d be room for only a handful of diners on the inside, which held four tables and a short counter with a cash register squatting in front of a cramped kitchen.

“The lack of wheels is critical for its survival. Food trucks are banned in most of the Gaslamp Quarter.” Reese sipped from her water.

When they’d sat she’d donned large framed sunglasses that shielded her gaze.

Hayes had done the same, but it occurred to him that her eyes were the most familiar thing about her this morning.

In Thorne’s cellar, he’d focused on nothing else when he’d stood over her rinsing out the lye the man had used in an attempt to blind her.

Hayes had been over the interview notes numerous times, gathered from Reese and Stephen Thorne.

She’d ignited something in the man’s chaotic psychosis with the memories she’d plucked from his mind and given voice to.

He agreed with Adam. Thorne would still consider Reese a threat, and not just because she’d survived his attack.

He wished for a moment that she’d slip the glasses off.

Her eyes were branded on Hayes’s brain, his most vivid memory of the capture-rescue operation.

Reese staring up at him from a bruised and battered face, her wide brown eyes filled with the horror of someone who’d seen inside hell.

According to Raiker, she’d undergone several procedures to save her vision, including a corneal transplant.

Hayes was certain that wasn’t the only wound she carried.

“We can order some groceries when we get back. I wasn’t certain what the food situation was at your place. I need to eat. I don’t expect you to cook for me.”

One brow rose over her glasses. “How considerate of you.”

“It’d be best to stay in as much as possible.”

“I’m not sure that’s going to be feasible.”

“Open your phone for me. I want to exchange numbers and download Life360 on our cells. You’re familiar with the app?”

Her expression went wary. “The contact information makes sense. I’m not sure location-sharing is necessary.”

“It’s just a precaution in case we get separated. You can delete it when this is over.”

Slowly, she took her phone and tapped in her code before handing it to him and reciting her number.

He added their numbers, then installed the app on both cells and created a circle for the two of them.

He’d barely finished the task when a waiter with an array of piercings and two full sleeves of tats beelined to their table carrying a tray.

“Steak fajitas.” Hayes lifted his hand, and the young man deftly arranged a sizzling platter in front of him.

“Watch out, it’s hot.” He followed with a second one holding the tortillas before turning to Reese.

“Shrimp quesadillas.” She sat back while he delivered the plate and an insincere smile. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, thank you.”

Swiftly, Hayes reached for a tortilla and commenced assembling the fajita.

After they’d touched down late afternoon yesterday, he and Adam had met with San Bernadino Deputy Enrico Mendes, who was part of Thorne’s fugitive apprehension task force.

Afterward they’d had dinner but skipped breakfast this morning.

He bit into the tortilla and chewed, pleasantly surprised by the savory taste.

The food outshone the restaurant’s unprepossessing appearance.

A man across the street took up position leaning against the building facing them.

Hayes tensed. The stranger took out a phone, and seemed to scroll for a moment before making a call. Hayes watched until he shoved away from the structure and sauntered down the sidewalk, talking animatedly.

“It’s not Thorne.”

He glanced at Reese and then back at the stranger. “Obviously. But we don’t know how the escapee learned where you lived. He could be working with someone.” He resumed eating, but she didn’t follow suit.

“Have you heard from Raiker since he left the apartment?”

“No. But we’ll both be kept updated regularly by the task force.

” They’d worked with the state law enforcement agencies in Florida, Alabama, and Mississippi before apprehending Thorne, which gave them valuable insight into the TK’s MO.

Mendes had seemed open to it, but right now they were only tangentially related to the current case.

“Eat. You need fuel for whatever news you got with that last phone call.”

She picked up her quesadilla. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t need to.” He reached for his water glass with his free hand and drained it, then resumed eating.

In between bites, he said, “I have better than average powers of observation. Your appointment was with a trustee in charge of your brother’s trust. The meeting must’ve gone okay, because you seemed fine when you came out Rivers’s office.

But whoever you spoke to on the phone—I assume a different attorney—dropped a bombshell on you.

Sounds like you’re going for guardianship of your brother, I assume because your aunt filled that role before you. And someone wants to put a stop to it.”

Her lips pressed together, a sign of pique he already recognized. “You can’t possibly know that.”

“Well…” He paused long enough to fashion another fajita. “Ainsley did tell me the part about your brother’s trust. But I heard enough from your side of the phone conversation to figure out the rest.”

“Ainsley?” Her eyebrow hitched again, and he gave a brief smile.

“She introduced herself when she gave me her phone number. We had a brief conversation. She was actually the one who told me about this place.”

“Hitting on you while also spilling client details? That’s a résumé-builder.”

He kept his eye on a brewing altercation at one of the nearby tables.

“People can reveal things without realizing it. And I’m familiar with the tedious process of applying for guardianship.

I had to do it with my gran.” He made a wry face.

“She’s never fully forgiven me. Margaret can carry a grudge with the best of them. ”

“It’s called conservatorship in California.”

An admission. His conclusions must be close. “How old is your brother?”

A pause stretched, long enough for him to believe she wasn’t going to answer. Finally, she replied, “Thirty-seven.”

He didn’t allow his surprise to show in his expression. An adult dependent, then. The trust likely assisted with his expenses.

“Gran is a ‘vigorous’ ninety. Her words. She still lives at home, although I’ve arranged for care providers daily.

She also drives, which I’m trying to talk her out of, but she sees it as vital to her independence, even if one of the providers could take her to yoga, bingo, and margarita nights.

The state of Georgia will likely take that decision away from both of us.

Her eyesight and memory are failing. I stepped in to protect the assets she still had.

” The memory darkened his mood, and deliberately he built another fajita.

“You were worried about her spending?”

The question was unwelcome, but no more invasive than a protective detail Reese didn’t want.

“My sister was staying with her to help. Her assistance coincided with several large withdrawals from Gran’s accounts and the disappearance of some valuable possessions.

I stepped in before Eden completely bankrupted her.

She will also never forgive me.” That bothered him far less than Margaret’s anger.

His sister’s indignation would dissolve the next time she was broke, or needed bail money, whichever came first.

“Did she try to contest your guardianship?”

“Not through the courts.” Her rap sheet wouldn’t have aided her claim of responsibility. Emotional blackmail was more her style.

“Sounds like your grandmother is lucky to have you.”

His mouth twisted when he imagined Gran’s response to that. “Who do you think is contesting your petition?”

A dollop of sour cream dropped from her quesadilla.

She reached up a finger to catch it midfall.

Wiped it on her napkin. “The attorney won’t be certain until he sees the paperwork, but he suggested maybe the trustee, Ben’s doctor, or a friend.

I don’t have any close relatives in the country.

A couple of cousins who’ve spent their lives overseas.

I haven’t seen them since my parents’ funeral when I was a teen.

” Her expression went stormy. “If it’s Rivers, I missed my opportunity to take it up with him earlier.

Although the trust’s parameters requires the trustee and conservator to approve expenditures jointly. A checks and balances sort of thing.”

She took another bite of her food. Chewed reflectively.

“So maybe not the attorney. Although he did question whether I really wanted the responsibility. I wouldn’t expect deception from the guy, though.

Slap a white beard and red suit on him, and he’d make the perfect store Santa.

But maybe he thinks he’ll have more freedom without someone with a vested interest questioning his judgment. ”

“It’d be a crapshoot, though, wouldn’t it? The court would approve an interim guardian—conservator,” he corrected himself. “If no relatives are available, or if two are battling it out, the judge often turns to the Department of Social Services. They probably already have.”