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watching, either.
    “Perhaps you can come back later,” the man beside Denise Bennett suggested.
    Marisela pursed her lips. Though he was clearly close to the victim’s wife, this man held his emotions firmly in check. No signs of tears or worry lines, just classic sleek cheekbones and a lift at the end of his nose that had rich written all over it. His crisp brown eyes flicked warily over Marisela and Frankie, and then returned to Denise as he tightened his hold on her shoulder.
    Ian stood straighter and matched arrogant privilege to arrogant privilege. “And you are?”
    “Evan Cole. Congressman Bennett is my closest friend and I won’t have his wife exploited when she’s so vulnerable.”
    Marisela glanced at Frankie, who shared her incredulous expression. Was it her imagination or did she sense Evan Cole had solid gold bars shoved up his ass?
    “Please, Evan,” Denise said, her voice no more than a weary sigh. “I sent for Mr. Blake. He runs Titan International.”
    The distrustful look on Evan Cole’s face bloomed to full dislike. “The investigation firm?”
    Ian grinned. “Our reputation precedes us.”
    Evan’s reply was dismissive. “You did corporate work for one of my subsidiaries a few years ago.”
    “I trust our work was up to snuff,” Ian replied, nonplussed.
    Evan Cole didn’t respond, just gave a curt nod. Marisela glanced over her shoulder toward the tiny window in the chapel door. Nurses and techs in scrubs flashed by in a rainbow of colors. She didn’t see one single hint of institutional green, which made her breathing a little easier. Still, echoes of the past rang in her ears. Doctors talking in hushed tones, unaware or unconcerned that she could hear their grave diagnosis. Her mother’s weeping. Her father’s whispered prayers.
    “And this is Marisela Morales,” Ian said, snapping Marisela out of her reverie and beckoning her over.
    Marisela held out her hand, which she just noticed was smudged with dirt from the fight. She rubbed it on what was left of her skirt, which did very little to remove the grime.
    Denise Bennett took Marisela’s hand without hesitation and cupped it with care. “You fought with the person who shot my husband?” the woman asked, her eyes wide with what looked suspiciously like hope.
    “Yes, I did.”
    The corners of her mouth quivered as they folded down in a frown. “But your representative,” she said, speaking to Ian though she hadn’t broken contact with Marisela. “Max, I believe. He said you had no proof she was actually the shooter?”
    Marisela shook her head. She had the killer’s admission of guilt, but Marisela guessed that telling Denise Bennett that a highly trained professional killer believed her husband deserved to die for some past transgression was not the wisest move at the moment.
    “The police recovered very little physical evidence from the crime scene,” Ian said. “They may find more in the daylight. You may not need us at all, Mrs. Bennett.”
    Denise Bennett shook her head furiously and Marisela’s hand was released in the tempest. “No, no! I won’t rely on the police to investigate this thoroughly. They’ve never treated him with the respect he deserves. Never.”
    An odd look passed between Evan Cole and Denise Bennett, one that only Marisela seemed to think was weird judging by the practiced professionalism on Ian’s face and Frankie’s bored indifference.
    “Titan International is a top-notch organization,” Ian assured her. “We have contacts within the police department, but we can be discreet.”
    “You aren’t obligated to share what you’ve learned with the police?” Denise asked, her voice quivering.
    The question caused Frankie to step in closer.
    Ian eyed both his agents, then glanced to the cop at the door. “State law dictates that unless the information is vetted through you, we have no obligation to reveal what we find out to any state or federal agency. Unless we’re subpoenaed, and