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I simply cannot imagine Drew Elliott raping any woman, much less a high school girl.
    “Let’s hope that’s not true,” I murmur, recalling the shattered rape victims I tried to avenge as a prosecutor in Houston.
    “Yeah,” Mia echoes. “That’s too horrible even to think about.”
    “So don’t. Think about driving.”
    Mia forces a smile. “No worries. Do you need me tomorrow?”
    “I may, if you can spare the time.” I’m thinking of Drew and his request for help.
    “Just call my cell.”
    She walks to her car, a blue Honda Accord, and climbs in. I watch to make sure she gets safely away, then walk up the steps into my house. As I close the door, my study phone rings. I trot to my desk and look at the caller ID:ANDREW ELLIOTT, M.D.
    “Drew?” I answer.
    “Can you talk?” he asks, his voice crackling with anxiety.
    “Sure. What is it?”
    “I’m at Kate’s house. I just got a call on my cell phone.”
    “From who?”
    “I don’t know. But he told me to leave a gym bag with twenty thousand dollars in it on the fifty-yard line of the St. Stephen’s football field. He said if I don’t, he’ll tell the police I was screwing Kate Townsend.”
    Shit. “You told me nobody knew about the affair.”
    “Nobody did. I have no idea who this could be.”
    My mind is whirling with memories of similar situations when I worked for the D.A. in Houston. “When does he want the money?”
    “One hour from now.”
    Chapter 3
    “Penn?” Drew says, breathing shallowly. “Are you there?”
    My old friend’s words have paralyzed me in the study of my house. “Twenty thousand dollars cash in an hour? At nine o’clock at night? That’s crazy. That’s impossible.”
    “No, it’s not. I have the cash. We have a safe here in the house. Three, actually. One for documents, one for guns, one for cash and jewelry.”
    I should have guessed. Drew Elliott lives in a stunning Victorian palace sited on five acres in one of the affluent subdivisions near St. Stephen’s, a mansion that contains every technological gadget known to man. “Do you think the blackmailer knows that?”
    “He said he knew I had the money.”
    “Did you recognize the voice?”
    “No. But it sounded like a black kid.”
    “A black kid? Are you sure?”
    “Pretty sure. He asked for drugs, too.”
    “Drugs?”
    “Prescription drugs. Painkillers. Anything I have. He said I should consider this drop as a down payment. His words. A sign of good faith.”
    “I hear something in your voice I don’t like, Drew.”
    “I know what you’re going to say, but—”
    “You’re not delivering that money, brother. You have two choices. Ignore the call, or phone the police and tell them everything right now.”
    Drew is silent for too long. “There’s a third choice,” he says.
    “Drew, listen to me. There is no upside to paying this money. Just by showing up, you’d be admitting some guilt. You could also be taking your life into your hands.”
    “Because the caller could be Kate’s killer? That’s what you were thinking, right?”
    He has me. “I guess so.”
    “That’s what I’m thinking, too.”
    “Then you should call the cops. At this point, an act of God couldn’t keep your affair with Kate from becoming public. You have to think damage control now. It’s a hundred times better if the police learn the story from you than from someone else. Better for your family, too. Think of Tim.”
    “I have until tomorrow morning to make that decision.”
    “Don’t assume that.”
    “Penn, the guy who called me probably murdered Kate. I want to see his face. I want to—”
    “I know what you want to do. Forget it. Go home, mix yourself a stiff drink, and start thinking about what’s best for your son. That ought to be a change.”
    Drew sucks in air as though I’ve knocked the wind out of him. “I know Tim needs me, okay?”
    “You haven’t been acting like you do. Tim would be lost without you. And if you really think Ellen