Rafael:

The address burned in my mind as I parked across from the coffee shop. 1247 Melrose Avenue. Johnson's information had been accurate—there she was, visible through the large front window, sitting at a corner table with a brown-haired girl.

My hands gripped the steering wheel as I watched Fiona lean back in her chair, actually laughing at something the other woman said. The sound didn't reach me through the glass, but I could see it in the way her shoulders shook, the way her face lit up.

Have I ever seen her laugh like that?

I stepped out of the Rolls Royce, my jaw clenched with determination. She had...