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JEFFREY FROST GAVE BREE a vicious look when he saw her standing there in the hall of the condemned building. “You are trespassing, Ms. Stone,” he said.

“I went to your office and was told to come here,” Bree said breezily. She entered the room and walked with confidence to the developer and the other two people.

Frost and the woman both wore yellow hard hats and blue coveralls. The woman was in her late thirties, gorgeous, with long silver-blond hair that cascaded out from under her hard hat and flowed over the shoulders of her coverall. If she was a borzoi, her companion was a bulldog—he was built like an NFL linebacker, had no neck, a bulging forehead, and flattened facial features. He wore black jeans, combat-style black boots, and a gray hoodie, no protective hat or goggles.

Fighter, Bree thought when she noticed his cauliflower ears. MMA?

She extended her hand to the woman and said, “Bree Stone. I work for the Bluestone Group. We do security and due diligence for various clients.”

The woman regarded her icily, swallowed, then took her hand and shook it limply. “Tatiana Volt. This is my associate Egon Bijan. We are helping to finance this project. Who are you doing work for? Which investor?”

“I honestly don’t know, and I couldn’t say if I did,” Bree said, meeting her gaze.

“What are your questions?” Bijan said, watching her impassively.

“No questions. I just wanted to look at the vacant lot in back where the homeless man was shot and set on fire.”

Bijan opened his mouth but Volt spoke before he could say a word. “A horrible thing. Why are you interested?”

“Because a similar incident was brought to our attention, another body found shot and burned, this one under a so-called ghost ramp that is surrounded by land F and L also owns.”

The financier’s brows knit, and she shot a worried glance at Frost. “True?”

“Evidently, Tatiana. But we had zero to do with it,” the developer said.

“Who were these victims?” Bijan asked him.

“I don’t know,” Frost said dismissively. “The one here was some homeless guy. Unidentified, I believe. The other one too, I suppose. There’s a homeless camp there as well.”

“Not entirely correct,” Bree said. “The second victim was Dylan Sentinel, a former minister. He was shot in an Audi, after which he and his car were set on fire with aviation gas.”

“What?” Volt said, now glaring at Frost. “You’ve told us nothing about this.”

“Because we had nothing to do with it, Tatiana,” the developer insisted, his palms raised. “This is a homeless problem, not an F and L problem. The only thing we can be accused of is trying to make things better.”

“Show us where it happened here,” she said.

Frost sighed, then led them down a long hall and into a room where the smell of excrement was strong. There was trash everywhere. “Down there,” Frost said, pointing through the frame of a glassless window.

Bree stepped up beside Volt and looked down at the scorched area in the weeds, wondering with a sick feeling if that had been Charlie Cross aflame.

Volt said, “I do not like these things.” She looked at her partner. “Egon, until we know more, we must reconsider.”

Frost said, “Tatiana, we had—”

“I’ve heard this before from you,” she snapped.

“Agreed,” Bijan said.

“Wait, what?” Frost cried. “Guys. No. Honestly, this is just a blip.”

“Two dead in this manner is no blip,” Volt said, patting an agitated Frost on the shoulder. “We will call you in a few days once we have digested this, Jeffrey. We’ll show ourselves out.”

“I’ll follow you,” Bree said. “Thank you, Mr. Frost.”

“Anything for an anonymous investor,” the developer said with venom in his voice.