I checked the time and sighed. "Footage hour, right?"
"Damian and Darius have it."
"All night?"
"All night."
"Damon."
"You have one stop left."
The car climbed out of the city. Pines thickened along the road. The sun bled from orange into red into a low, lava-colored line behind the ridge. The first star was already up when we turned onto a private drive.
We stopped in front of a discreet, beautifully designed villa.
"Come on." Damon was at my door, gallant, smiling. "Time for dinner." Then, in answer to whatever was on my face, "This is Evelyn Hayes's home in Denver."
"That isn't possible. She doesn't let anyone past her front door."
"She made an exception. Her wife is your reader."
The door opened before I could ask anything else.
Evelyn Hayes herself, in a flour-dusted apron
