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Jessie felt herself drifting.

She bolted upright to stop it and banged her shoulder against the passenger door of Ryan’s car.

“Ow!” she muttered.

“What was that?” Ryan asked from the driver’s seat.

“I started to fall asleep and that was my way of stopping it,” she said grumpily. “Sorry if I’m fading a little but it’s almost 9 p.m. and we’ve staking out Forrester for almost three hours now and I barely slept at all last night. Maybe you should be a better husband and keep me entertained so I stay alert.”

“What would you like me to do?” he asked, mildly amused.

“My request might interfere with our surveillance plan,” she teased.

He smiled.

“I appreciate that you’ve still got a little spice in you after sitting in a car all this time,” he said, “but yeah, maybe we keep our attention focused on the job at hand for now. And just as a side note, you do realize that if this adoption thing happens, then having another human in the house, especially a little one, might complicate our flexibility in that area.”

“We had Hannah in the house for two years and it didn’t impact things too much,” she said.

“That’s because she was always either in her room with her earphones in or out somewhere,” he reminded her.

“Fair point,” she acknowledged before she had an unrelated thought. “Hey, should we maybe check in with Susannah and Sam?”

She knew she was grasping at straws, but she needed to grasp at something. Despite all their efforts, including technical assistance from Jamil and Beth, they hadn’t come up with any new leads all afternoon.

That’s why they were sitting in Ryan’s car, across the street from Daniel Forrester’s impressive Hollywood Hills home. And it was why Detectives Susannah Valentine and Sam Goodwin were doing the same thing at the Beverly Hills mansion of Dr. Ethan Blackwell. This Strangers on a Train theory was the only one so far that hadn’t been completely dismissed.

While it was true that Forrester had no medical background, Blackwell did. And if he’d created the poisonous concoction, all Forrester had to do was slip it into whatever James Whitaker had consumed at the restaurant. He didn’t need any particular pharmaceutical knowledge.

“We can try,” Ryan said, “although I feel like if Susannah and Sam had any news, they’d have shared it.”

“Probably,” Jessie conceded, “ but it can’t hurt to make sure. Besides, it’ll help keep me awake.”

Ryan relented and called them. They answered on the first ring, which suggested they weren’t too busy either.

“What have you got?” Susannah asked excitedly.

“Nothing,” Ryan said. “Forrester hasn’t done a thing of note since he got home.”

“Are you sure he’s still there?” Sam asked. “Maybe he snuck out the back or something.”

“We thought of that,” Jessie said, “but we’ve been checking. There’s a tree across the street from Forrester’s place. When you climb it you can see into his kitchen and living room. We’ve been doing that every half hour—.”

“ We’ve been doing it?” Ryan challenged huffily.

“ Ryan has been climbing the tree every half hour,” Jessie said, correcting herself with a sheepish smile. “Forrester made himself some dinner. Since then, he’s been watching TV.”

"Things aren't much different here," Susannah told them. "I've gone up and peeked through Blackwell's window twice since we camped out here. Sam's gone over there once. The man has been immersed in some medical journal all night. His wife came into the room once, and he barely acknowledged her."

“Great,” Ryan muttered.

“Not to add to the bad vibes,” Sam said, “but I checked in with Jamil just before you called. He can’t find any evidence of Eric Sawyer taking public transportation or a cab anywhere during the times of death for the victims, much less near the crime scenes.”

“Why hasn’t he reached out to us?” Ryan demanded.

“I think he’s still hoping he’ll find something,” Susannah said. “He doesn’t like to disappoint you guys, especially ‘Ms. Hunt.’”

Jessie knew that was true. Jamil hated not having the answers, and since it was Jessie who had gotten him the job with HSS, she suspected that he often felt a special obligation to her. But sometimes there just wasn’t anything to work with.

“How long before we have to release Sawyer?” she asked Ryan.

“We can keep him until midday tomorrow if we need to,” he answered. “It couldn’t hurt. If there’s another poisoning tonight and he’s in custody, at least we can eliminate him from the suspect pool. But I think that at this point, we all doubt that it’s him, so maybe we let him go early tomorrow regardless.”

Jessie was about to weigh in on that when she saw movement from Forrester’s property.

“It looks like his garage door is opening,” she said. “Maybe we’ve got something here.”

“It’s funny that you say that,” Susannah said,” because I’m looking through my binoculars and Blackwell just stood up. He tossed his journal on the table and is putting on his coat. He’s moving pretty quick.”

As if on cue, Forrester backed out of his garage in his orange Lotus, put the car in drive, and punched the accelerator, stopping just a foot in front of his slowly opening gate.

“Forrester seems to be in a bit of a hurry too,” Jessie said as the man peeled out of his driveway and shot down the residential street at over fifty miles per hour. “We’ll be in touch. Right now, we’ve got a chase on our hands.”