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between moles, molecules, molarity.”
    Jack smiled gently. “In that case, let’s start with that.”He waved the waiter down and ordered two café lattes and chocolate chip cookies.
    A steady breeze swept across their table from the beach. Maya could suddenly smell Jack’s mingled scent of bergamot-and-lemongrass-tinged deodorant and a hint of something muskier. Together with the watery blue intensity of Jack’s scrutiny, Maya felt a definite impact. It took several moments before she was able to decode what she’d experienced.
    Gradually, every word out of Jack’s mouth came to seem utterly fascinating. And yet, as engrossing as those words were, Maya found it almost impossible to process what he’d been saying. Chemistry with him was going to be amazing. But she was still going to struggle.

PAOLO
MALIBU CREEK STATE PARK, FRIDAY, JUNE 5
    Underneath the bend in Mulholland Highway, the firm dirt of the slope gave way to gravel. Paolo began to slide. Arms stretched out for balance, he half fell, half scrambled down the side of the hill. By the time he reached the bottom of the gully he was covered in dust, palms grazed, mouth dry from the parched earth. He looked up. The road where he’d left Meredith was about twenty yards above him. It was still light enough to see without a flashlight. Anyone who stopped by her body would only have to throw a casual glance in his direction to spot him. About fifty yards away was the edge of a pine grove. It was the nearest cover.
    Paolo turned and sprinted hard toward the pines. Behind him, he heard a car speed right past the spot where Meredith had fallen. Some people were soulless dirtbags. But for once, that was working in his favor. He kept his eyes down. The ground was full of rocky obstacles. Every yard brought hazards. This was hiking country, not a running track. But he couldn’t slow down.
    Thirty yards to go. Twenty. The sound of a car slowing down. Noises amplified by the dry terrain. If they stopped their engine they might even hear his footsteps.
    Ten yards, five. On the road behind him, a car door opened.
    Paolo dashed behind the thick trunk of a pine. He pressed up against it, tight to the bark. His chest rose and fell, burning. He spat dusty saliva, picturing the scene on the road above.
    He’d left the BMW’s driver’s-side door open. Meredith’s body was on the ground about ten yards along the road. To anyone who stopped, it would look like she’d been alone. Tests would show that she was drunk. A drunk-driving accident.
    My fingerprints are all over the steering wheel.
    But what would even make them think Meredith wasn’t driving?
    Paolo raised his hands in front of his face. They were shaking. He interlaced his fingers as though in prayer, breathing in through his nose. He exhaled slowly. Apart from his fingerprints, there was no sign he was ever in that car. No reason to suspect she wasn’t alone.
    His heart thudded against his ribs. He could feel blood draining from his head. Panic rising from nowhere, threatening to engulf him.
    Think. Be still, and think.
    He closed his eyes and thought of deuce . Match point to the opponent on deuce, his own second serve. Blow thisand you blow everything. Be calm. Becalmed, like a sailboat. There’s no wind. The sea is like a mirror. This boat is going nowhere. Breathe . Pull back your racket and serve.
    Paolo’s eyes opened. The sounds from the road carried with absolute clarity across to where he stood hidden. At least two cars had stopped now. Raised voices. Phone calls were being made.
    There’s no sign I was ever in that car.
    He clung to this thought as he began to navigate through the trees. Every step took him farther into the wilderness. Roads and hiking trails twisted across these hillsides every which way. He’d be sure to run across one, eventually. And then what?
    Clumsy, ambling movements eventually became a regular strolling pace