YUKI JAMMED THE CAR KEY into the key slot, heard the soft thwick as the locks opened.

  “Yuki, wait.”

  She turned again, one hand clutching the strap of her handbag, the other clenched around the handle of her briefcase.

  “I’ve got nothing to say to you, Jason. Go away.”

  Twilly scowled, his expression murderous, the look of a man who could go violently out of control.

  “You listen to me, little girl,” Twilly said. “Be glad that you lost, because Junie Moon didn’t kill Michael Campion. But I know who did.”

  What? What had he said?

  “Look at me, Yuki. Look at me. Maybe it was me.”

  Yuki got behind the wheel and yanked the door shut in Twilly’s face. Twilly bent down, rapped on her window, bap-bap-bap, losing it, desperate, yelling through the glass, “We’ve got unfinished business, Yuki. D............