ACCLAIM FOR AARON PATTERSON

AIREL

“Move over Twilight! Here comes Aaron Patterson!”

—Joshua Graham, bestselling author of Beyond Justice and Darkroom

“I was surprised by how much I really, really liked this book. I have not jumped on the whole "fallen angel" bandwagon, just as I didn't jump on all of the vampire stories that came out after Twilight. This is not your typical fallen angel story. It is one that has left me breathlessly waiting for the next one in the series. Hurry up please!!!”

—Sandra Stiles

“It takes rare talent for a man to write a novel from a male POV and have it published to great critical and commercial acclaim. But it takes a miracle for that same male, or in this case males, to write a novel from the POV of a teenage girl and have it turn out as incredibly as did the new StoneHouse YA by Aaron Patterson and Chris White, Airel. From the first sentence, I felt compelled to dive into this young woman’s story and just as importantly, I felt like I personally knew her, which means I laughed, stressed and cried right along with her. A beautifully written and crafted fiction about teenage innocence, faith, loss and love. A must read for teens and adults alike.”

—Vincent Zandri, International Bestselling Author of The Remains, The Innocent, and Concrete Pearl.

“I am happy to say that this novel is one of my favorites of its kind. I never thought I could read a novel like this and be so swept away! I am always willing to try new books, but I usually steer clear of this kind of novel. Not anymore! Not when I can be so engrossed into the character's story, like I was with the beautiful Airel, that before I know, it's over. I kept turning the pages, wanting to, no-NEEDING, to know what was going to happen next.”

—Molly Edwards, Willow Spring, NC

“I just finished reading Airel. One of the best book I've ever read, if not the best. Of all the books I read, I related to Airel the most. I mean she's just so REAL. I'm blown away that two guys could write a girl's character so perfectly, so right. Better than a lot of female writers. I loved this book. It's so versatile, I was never bored. The story is told from various points of view. Normal girl, check. Epic warrior angel, check. Psycho killer, check. The manifestation of all evil 'the seer,' check. Even Kim and Michael had their share. And it's so great to see how everyone thinks and what really goes on in their mind and how it goes on there. Also, it had different times and places and that was very cool. I mean when I first started reading the part in Stuttgart, Germany, 1897 I was intrigued. I was a little disappointed that it was too short until I got into Airel's mind. Then out of nowhere visions of 1250 B.C. Arabia, I was blown away. The characters were beautifully written, I related to each of them in a way but Airel is just out of this world! She's me! Minus the half human, half angel thing lol. And the end was something else.”

—E.M. Book Review

SWEET DREAMS

“Sweet Dreams was a book I read in 2 days. I truly enjoyed the read. It kept me wanting to know more. I'm looking forward to Part 2 of the WJA Trilogy!”

—Sharon Adams, Novi, MI

“Suspense, thriller with a perfect ending, leaving me wanting more. An on the edge of your seat, all night read. I most certainly will be reading “Dream On.”

—Sheri Wilkinson, Sandwich, IL

“New authors come and go every day. Very few come on the scene with the ability to weave a tale that will make you sad to reach the end, longing for more. At a time when the world needs a real hero, Patterson delivers big with the WJA's Mark Appleton—an unlikely hero for the 21st century.”

—The Joe Show

“Aaron Patterson spins a good tale and does it well.”

—W.P.

“SWEET DREAMS is packed with action, suspense, romance, betrayal, death, and mystery.”

—Drew Maples, author of “28 Yards from Safety”

DREAM ON

“Once again, Aaron Patterson has made a home run! ‘Dream On’ is a wonderful read from cover to cover! I am now anxiously awaiting his next book ‘In Your Dreams.’ I originally purchased his first book by mistake, and was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed it... so now I’m hooked! Aaron has got to start writing faster!!! Although his books are definitely worth the wait! Bet’cha can’t read just one! This guy has real talent for writing and keeping the suspense growing... the worst part about the book is the last page... I hated it to stop!”

—Ruth P. Charlotte, NC

“After reading Patterson’s first novel, ‘Sweet Dreams,’ I was really looking forward to reading ‘Dream On.’ This book was amazing. I couldn’t put it down. If you’re looking for an exciting read, read this book.”

—Paul Carson, Boise, ID

“I read the first book by Aaron Patterson (Sweet Dreams) and was very anxious for this sequel. I was not disappointed. This book kept me guessing with every page turn. It’s very well written and I really enjoyed the technology employed, which makes it just a bit futuristic without being overdone. This was a fantastic suspenseful thriller that kept me guessing throughout the entire book. Mr. Patterson has become my favorite fiction writer.”

—Donna H. Boise, ID

“This is the second book of Aaron’s I have read and I have to say he is a very talented writer!!! I read this book in under 12 hrs; it was so good I couldn’t put it down. He managed to surprise me with a twist that I did not expect! It is filled with suspense and keeps you guessing throughout. I will be suggesting this book to everyone I know…”

—Amanda Garner, Oklahoma

Also by Aaron Patterson

Sweet Dreams (Book 1)

Dream On (Book 2)

In Your Dreams (Book 3)

Cross Over Box Set

Breaking Steele

Twisting Steele

Melting Steele

Airel: The Awakening (Book 1)

Airel: The Discovering (Book 2)

Michael: The Curse (Book 3)

Michael: The Mark (Book 4)

Uriel: The Inheritance (Book 5)

Uriel: The Price (Book 6)

The Airel Saga Box Set

N19eteen (Digital Short)

The Craigslist Killer (Digital Short)

Zombie High (Digital Short)

Elena’s Secret: A Vampire Diaries story

For Soleil, you are so strong and beautiful.

And yes, you’re still my favorite daughter.

The mind can break and be lost forever, but if the will breaks it comes back stronger.

LIGHT FILTERED THROUGH THE slats in the wood. Car headlights shone through the barn walls, moving like fingers tracing words on the sawdust-covered floor. Tracy Mulligan cried silently as she lay bound and gagged, hanging on to the last thread of life. She clung to a hope that someone would find her, but with each passing car and each passing day, her hope was replaced with dread. This was the end.

“God, help me.” Her strangled voice sounded strange in her own ears, as if from someone else, someone from beyond.

Her prison was so small that she couldn’t even sit up. She was locked in a grain box that smelled of rotten corn, rat droppings, and urine. Her own urine. It felt like the top was closing in on her. With each of her movements, the sides touched her, pushed and scraped, making the small space feel like the jaws of a monster. Tiny holes in the planks let in comforting rays of light.

Her legs and hands were duct-taped, and an old T-shirt was stuffed into her mouth with more tape wrapped around her head. Every time she moved, the tape tugged on her scalp. She’d once had long, blonde hair, but now it was short and ragged. He had cut it all off. It had almost been the worst part, feeling those scissors on her head, making her look as ugly outside as she felt inside. After that, she knew there was no going back to how things were before. He’d taken everything away. Even her hair.

She just wanted to sleep, to forget for a moment this waking nightmare.

Why me? Please, God, I don’t want to die.

But then the agonizing thought returned. God wouldn’t help her. This was her fault. Tracy never thought the guy she chatted with, and yes, even flirted with online would ever do this.

The tall man called himself Hank. She met him on Facebook and added him to her friends list. He was so nice and always remembered little things—things she had forgotten she had even mentioned. He had this way of making her feel like the only girl in the world. He told her he was seventeen, but it turned out he was in his forties.

Tracy’s heart froze when she heard the all-too-familiar sound of footsteps, and then the beads of light disappeared as a figure stood above her, covering her with shadow.

No, not again. Please, not again.

The lid burst open. Light blinded her and all she could see was a handing reach out and pulling her out of the cramped space. She struggled and squirmed, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. He had her. And when he was done, she would be thrown back into the dark hole until he felt the need to pay her another visit.

“Washday, my love.” His voice was so smooth, yet had a tinge of hate laced through it like a snake wrapped around a tree. “You know what today is?” He looked into her eyes as if searching for something.

She shut her eyes and swallowed a whimper. She wouldn’t give him any sign she was there. He’d have her body, but not her soul.

“It’s your birthday.” He laughed. “And I have a special treat for you.”

It wasn’t her birthday. What was he talking about?

He cut away the tape from her hands and legs and Tracy slumped to the ground. Her legs were numb. They started tingling, coming back to life. She thought hard about running again, but the last time she ran, he broke her nose.

How long had she been here? She couldn’t remember. It felt like years, but that couldn’t be right. It had been enough misery to fill a lifetime.

She watched Hank fill the horse trough with cold water from a garden hose. He whistled as he waited for the tub to fill up. She hated washday. The water was cold and he would stand there and watch her with that evil grin on his face.

He half looked at her, mumbling and picking at his fingernails. She didn’t know she could despise anyone as wholeheartedly as she did him.

“You know, my pet, you’ve been a good girl—most of the time. But one thing still bothers me. You don’t look at me with the love and respect I know I deserve. Do you realize who I am?” His tone turned darker as he walked over to where Tracy sat in the dirt.

“I’ve given you everything. My heart, my soul … and in return, you whine and cry like a spoiled little brat!” Grabbing the tufts of hair left on her head, Hank pulled her to her feet. Dragging her to the metal tub, he stripped her down and tossed her in like a rag doll. The water took her breath away. She choked and gagged on the T-shirt that tried to work its way down her throat.

“You want your birthday present?” His voice softened as he pulled out a small black stun gun. Holding it in his hands, he looked at her with a creased brow. “You make me sad, so sad, my sweet Tracy. I love you and you act like I’m the bad guy. And frankly, I’ve grown tired of you.”

Tracy struggled to get out of the water, but it was too late. With a hit of the trigger, the gun emitted a charge of blue electricity and he jammed it in the side of her neck.

Electricity surged through her body. The shock of the charge made her brain freeze and her muscles spasm. She tried to move, she needed to move, she had to move, but when she tried as hard as she could to run, her foot barely moved an inch.

It took a moment for her to realize what was going on. Her body convulsed and twitched. The pain took over her mind. She tried to think, but everything was going dark.

He moved. He was pushing her under, forcing her down.

Her back arched and the gag jammed itself deep into her throat. This was it, the end—she was going to die and the last thing she heard through the water was his voice, muffled as if it came through another world. “Tracy, sweet, sweet Tracy …”

I JOLTED AWAKE TO the sound of my phone ringing. Disturbing the stillness of night, the ringtone sounded twice as loud as it usually did. I fumbled for the lit phone screen on my side table to see who had disturbed my much-needed rest.

UNKNOWN flashed on the caller ID. I swore softly. Usually I’d ignore such calls, but now that I was mentoring some inner-city girls in self-defense, I always had to be ready if they needed me.

“Hello,” I answered, my voice deep and groggy. I cleared my throat. “Hello?”

A soft laugh came through the receiver.

“Angela? That you?” I asked. She was the girl I mentored who was most likely to end up drunk and stranded at a party.

Silence.

I waited another moment. When nothing else came through the line, I sighed and hung up.

Mysterious phone calls no longer perturbed me. They were all in the line of duty. Every attorney I knew received them. It was the oldest trick in the book. I swear lawyers back in the Wild West had received telegrams with heavy breathing stop heavy breathing stop heavy breathing stop written on them. I flipped on my lamp and took out my field notes. I wrote the date and time of the phone call to use for reference. I’d been getting more calls than usual since I’d been on the State vs. Williams case.

I put away the notebook and flopped back on my pillow. Closing my eyes, I relaxed under the blanket. The smell of my new air freshener wafted to me. I could hear the soft tick-tock of the grandfather clock in my living room. I shifted to my other side. Dangit. The caller had woken me up and I couldn’t fall back to sleep.

There was no use fighting it. I’d always been nocturnal. On nights before big events, like the court date tomorrow, I’d pop an Ambien so I’d be rested.

I got up, wriggled my feet into some slippers, and made my bed. It was an old habit. The foster care system had taught me there were few things in life you could control, but a made bed was one of them.

Then I went after my case notes. I’d seen the pictures of Tracy Mulligan, but they still shocked me with their brutality every time. I rehearsed how I could explain them to the jury. With just enough details, they would feel a visceral reaction at the torture she went through, but add too many and they’d feel like it was superfluous.

I never had nightmares while I slept. No, they came when I was awake. Reality haunted me more than any fiction could. All I could think about was Tracy. The police discovered her hanging from the rafters in an old barn. He had electrocuted her and hung her body afterwards as if she were his trophy. The murderer, Hank Williams, was caught at the scene of the crime, and ever since then, he’d all but mocked the case, as if he knew something nobody else did. He was rich, the only son of a real-estate tycoon, owner of Williams, Inc., he was powerful, and he lawyered up with four of the best defense attorneys money could buy. But still, I had enough proof to lock him away, or get him much worse. Then why did I feel like I hadn’t prepared enough?

I took a drink and splashed some cold water on my face. Come on, Sarah, you have a good case. Let it go and trust your instincts. You’ll nail this guy to the wall. I would not lose, no matter how many lawyers he hired. Williams was going down for murder one way or another.

And if he doesn’t go down, I’ll do him in myself. It was the dead of night, but I still covered my face with my hands, embarrassed. I shook the thought away. This was what happened to me at night. I became something different. Wild thoughts that I held back during the day came rushing to me like kids to an ice cream truck. They surrounded me—memories of what had been done to me as a kid, plans of what I could do to get revenge on people who escaped justice, and even detailed images of what I would do to them. It was the feral side of me, the side I kept locked up.

Who was I really—the successful, happy attorney or the wild, angry vigilante? Even I didn’t know.

I DUG INTO MY oatmeal as I also dug into the morning paper. It was my ritual.

The paper regularly ran a front-page article on the case. It often mentioned my name, Sarah Steele, the up-and-coming assistant district attorney. I smiled at the photo splashed on the front page. It was of me pushing my way through reporters, looking down to keep from tripping over a cameraman.

First, I noticed how long my blonde hair was getting. I was due for a cut. Second, I noticed how it seemed like the camera was pointed more at my legs than my face. At first I felt offended, but then I had to concede that it was a nice shot. I worked out almost every day, either with the girls at the dojo or running around the lake. Exercising got my mind off things—work, friend drama, my mom, my latest screwup with a boyfriend—but most of all, the constant storm of memories trying to drown me.

I did not look much like the average ADA, with my blonde hair and light blue eyes. My looks had led to many deadbeat ex-boyfriends. I had thought that by the time I was twenty-eight, I would be married, with three bratty kids running around and a rodent dog. So much for plans.

I scanned the rest of the article. It went into the nature of the crime and told a little about me and how I was a foster-care-system-brat-turned-successful-attorney. It had only been two years since I graduated, and being young and a woman didn’t exactly make me target number one for a high-profile job. But I was tough, and even when I wasn’t, I faked it. This business did not allow me to be off—ever.

This case had me worried, though. Hank Williams and his group of sharks always sat with smug looks on their faces, making me think they had something up their sleeves. I mentally scanned what we had on him and shook my head. We had an overwhelming amount of evidence, but that’s what worried me.

It was too easy.

We had the body, with trace evidence still on her and in her. We had his DNA and his prints on the stun gun he used to kill her. The police picked Hank Williams up just south of town at an abandoned farmhouse in foreclosure. He was asleep next to a tub full of bloody water. The neighbor had called the police. It was about as open and shut as it could get.

I sipped my green tea with a hint of honey and breathed in its steam. Drinking it made me feel clean inside. I never went a morning without it. By the end of the day I needed thick, black coffee, but I always wanted to start fresh.

My apartment overlooked the beautiful Boise skyline, and this morning the haze seemed a little heavier than usual. Nothing like crisp, clean, city air. We had it most of the time, but not this week.

My cell phone buzzed and I looked at the number. It was Angela. I answered as I took my bowl to the sink.

“I saw your picture in the paper,” she said in her sweet girly voice with a hint of an Italian accent. “And my mom finally believes you really are an important person.”

I laughed. “I’ve been trying to convince my mom of the same thing. I still haven’t succeeded.” I rinsed out my bowl and set it in the dishwasher. “Are you ready for the tournament today?” The girls had been training for a regional kickboxing tournament, and it was today. It killed me that I had to miss it, but this trial had me working long hours without many breaks.

“I just need you to wish me luck before I leave.” Her voice muffled and I heard Jessie and Cassandra yell, “Wish us luck too. She can’t have it all.”

“Good luck,” I shouted with a laugh. “You are each powerful, inside and out. Angela, remember not to stray too close to your opponent during the fight. Jessie, follow through with your roundhouse. Cassandra, your left jab is your greatest strength—don’t forget to use it. And remember to have fun.”

“We’ll come back with medals to decorate our dojo,” Angela said. “Bye!”

I smiled as I hung up. Those girls were challenging, rough, and time-consuming. But they were more than worth it. They helped distract me from the despair I felt over what I came across at work. And when I was being honest with myself, I knew they helped me feel like I was fixing something that I’d broken a long time ago. If only I’d had an older person by my side when I was young, maybe I wouldn’t have gone through what I did.

As I slipped into my high heels, my phone buzzed again. It was the office. “Steele,” I answered.

“You out of bed? We need you down here right away.” It was my boss, Dan Butler. Just the sound of his voice set me on edge. He was a constant thorn in my side.

“What’s up? You get something new on Williams?” I downed the last of my tea and headed to the bathroom as I spoke.

“You could say that. We have a meeting with the judge at ten. They said they have something of immediate importance.”

It must be bad if the judge is calling an impromptu meeting. “I’m on my way.”

I thought of a million different reasons for an emergency meeting. None of them were in my favor. Did they have the stones to plead insanity? Maybe they were going to tell us he escaped or killed himself. Neither scenario was out of the realm of what this guy would try to pull.

At twenty till ten, I made my way up the courthouse steps and went into the ladies’ room to make sure I looked the part. My hair was pulled back in a comfortable pony and I wore my black suit jacket with a short skirt to match. I looked professional, but still like a woman. I put on a fresh coat of lip gloss and then rubbed it off, thinking better than to look too put together. Then I made my way to chambers.

I could tell the judge’s wife had decorated his room. There were too many fake flowers and decorative urns. Even though the room was large, it seemed crowded. Too many people in here were too big for their britches. There was Dan Butler, in his designer suit and haircut that cost more than mine. Then on the other side of the room were Williams’ four lawyers, all in black. When the judge came into the room, I stood, along with the others. Dan shoved his hands into his pockets, which he only did when he was nervous.

“Have a seat.” The judge was a curt old pig who had been on the bench when dinosaurs still walked the earth. I thought he was rude and pretentious and everything in between, but when it came down to it, he was fair.

“I have been presented with new evidence. It seems that a member of the jury has come into some money as of late.”

I swallowed. This could mean getting a whole new jury. I didn’t want a new jury. I liked our jury.

The judge cleared his throat and continued. “The juror said he was paid to make sure the defendant would be found guilty.” He looked up from behind his spectacles and smirked.

“If you are accusing me or anyone in my office of buying off the jury, you are mistaken,” Dan objected. “We have an open-and-shut case.”

But the defense attorneys wouldn’t let him get away with that—they chimed in with their piece. This was just what they had been waiting for—I knew it in the pit of my stomach. Maybe this was why Williams had looked so smug.

“The defense asks for an immediate mistrial upon such evidence. The media has already been portraying my client as a cold-blooded murderer, and any effort to find an unbiased jury is now out of the question.” The bald lawyer, Mr. Sawyer, stood as if he was going to leave.

“Sit down, Mr. Sawyer,” the judge ordered. Sawyer sat. “I will call for a replacement—that is why we have them. I won’t call for a mistrial. The jury pool has been sequestered and you are free to interview the alternates, if you’d like.” The room grew silent.

I seethed inside. It was a ballsy move to bribe the jury, but one that didn’t surprise me. I didn’t think any of these attorneys did it—they were too afraid of the consequences. But Williams—he wouldn’t be above such things. This meant he had a network, people on the outside to do things for him.

If this cost me the case, so help me, I’d hunt that network down.

“We object, Your Honor,” Sawyer said. “The jury pool has been tainted. How do we know more have not been paid off?” Sawyer shot a look of disgust my way and I gave him a death glare.

I spoke, my voice calm. “Why would we pay anyone? Not only would that be unethical and downright absurd, but we have no reason to mess this trial up.”

“You overestimate the power of evidence and underestimate the power of a jury,” the judge said in a snide voice. He suddenly blinked at me, as if realizing who he was talking to. He turned to Dan. I tensed at the slight, but then relaxed when I remembered that he just wanted to get me worked up. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Mr. Butler,” he said, “there is no such thing as an open–and-shut case. Surprises are always possible. Nothing like this can happen again or I’ll declare a mistrial.”

It was sinking in how close we were to losing this case before we even got started. My heart sped up and I willed the judge to decide in our favor.

He continued. “There will be a full investigation into this matter, but my ruling is final.”

The four sharks consulted with each other. One of them, a white-haired man with a pink tie, was more animated than the rest. I leaned in, trying to hear what they said, but I couldn’t. Finally, they turned and said, “No objections.”

“Good. We will continue as planned and I will see you in my courtroom in one hour. And when I find out who is behind this, I will seek to have the culprit charged to the full extent of the law. Good day.”

WHEN I STEPPED INTO the court hallway, the buzz assailed me. Everyone was fired up about something. Cops were running down the hallway, attorneys were whispering to each other and frantically passing papers, and everyone’s eyes were alarmed.

Adam Boden, a nice man who graduated at the same time I did, rushed past me. I caught his arm. “What’s going on?” I asked. Dan came up to us and leaned in to hear the answer.

Adam met my eyes, serious, and then looked at Dan and back at me. My throat tightened. In a low voice, he said, “One of the forensic techs, Joel McFay, came in to work today stoned out of his mind. They found cocaine in his locker, and traces of it all over his car and apartment.” He stopped and his eyes widened.

“So?” I said, not ready to relax but not yet seeing the significance. “They’ll fire him and get a new one.”

“No.” Adam frowned. “There’s no telling how long he’s been coming to work toasted. They’re declaring all the evidence he’s catalogued for the past year null. He swears he was set up, but he can’t prove it.”

Dan still stared at him, as if not understanding. But the full reality of what it meant sank in for me.

“So the DNA he ran could be off,” Dan said slowly.

“No DNA test he did will hold up in a court of law,” I whispered.

He must have done hundreds of tests in the past year. And now, in one moment, they would all be trashed. How many criminals would go free because of this? I grasped my briefcase and shuffled through the papers until I reached the right one. My eyes tore down the page until it lit on a name.

“Joel McFay, you said?”

Adam’s face creased in compassion. He nodded.

My mask cracked and I groaned. “No! No! No way!” My voice echoed through the hall. The din quieted. People stared at me in shock and then glanced away.

Adam stepped back. Dan put a hand on my shoulder. “Hey,” he said in a soothing voice. “It’s going to be okay.” But even as he said the words, I could tell he didn’t believe them.

I closed my eyes and collected myself, drawing from deep within me, willing myself to hide that wild side.

Adam looked at me as if he’d never seen me before and then inched away, turned, and walked off. Dan still had his arm on my shoulder, which seemed to burn through my blouse. I stepped forward and his hand fell.

My mind raced, already going through the case in light of the recent setback. No, it was more than a setback. It was enough to get most cases thrown out of court. I mentally filtered out the DNA evidence from my presentation and concentrated on what I had left.

There was no doubt that the tech could’ve been set up. And I had no doubt that Hank Williams could’ve done it. Ten years ago he’d been charged with possession, but got out with only a hefty fine and some community service. I was sure he was in on the drug trade—he’d just been successful at not getting caught.

Walking fast, I weaved between the people in the busy hallway, not meeting anyone’s eyes, in my own world. I’d lost Dan, who was probably finding the nearest judge to try to get some privileged information.

My case was built on the DNA, no doubt about it. But was there enough evidence without it to prove him guilty? I thought of the stun gun they’d found in his hand, the murder weapon. There was a witness, a neighbor who saw his car at the barn that night. And then there were his fingerprints all over the place. That had to be enough.

I gritted my teeth. It would be enough. I wasn’t going to fail Tracy just because some cokehead had been caught—or framed.

Besides, the judge might allow for the DNA in our case. You never know.

THE JUDGE PUT HIS hands together in a prayerful position and said mournfully, “Because Joel McFay completed all of the DNA evidence for the case, none of it can be used as evidence.” He sighed. I had a feeling that behind his morose attitude, he was enjoying the drama. “In light of this recent setback, I will allow you to convene another day, if you so choose.”

“No, thank you, Your Honor,” Sawyer said quickly. “We don’t want to reschedule.” He looked down to where Williams sat and nodded. Williams looked at me. His eyes glistened with pleasure.

I shuffled my papers, picked up my pen, and then set it down again, thinking hard. Dan’s eyes were boring into the side of my face, but I didn’t meet them. I knew what he would say: wait. But the murder had taken place eleven months ago. The thought of Williams getting away another week set me on edge. There was still enough evidence to convict him—I knew it. The witness would seal the deal for us.

Raising my eyes to the judge, I copied Sawyer word for word. “No, thank you, Your Honor. We don’t want to reschedule.”

It was as if the room audibly sighed. Everyone hated delays.

Dan Butler sat on my left with the intern, Joshua, who took notes and tried not to look nervous. Dan was there for support and to make sure I didn’t screw up. I hated feeling babysat, but being a newbie came with its baggage. Mine was Dan. He would only sit in on high-profile cases, and this being the biggest case of the year, it was understandable why he was keeping a close eye on me. I knew I was a Cinderella figure. Sure, I was riding in the carriage now, but I was one mistake away from landing on my butt on the curb with pumpkin all over my dress.

THE COURTROOM WAS PACKED. Not only was the media there, keenly observing every move we made, but there were family members, tense and agitated at the sight of Williams, and then there were the citizens who came for the show, for the gory pictures and dramatic courtroom speeches.

I pushed everyone out of my mind. All that mattered now were my witnesses and my jury. At the beginning of each case, I claimed the jury for myself. It helped me speak to them as if I knew them, as if we were longtime friends and I was telling them a horrific story. Working the jury was my greatest strength, and it’s what Dan had seen in me that got me hired.

The first witness of the day was Hank Williams’ mother. In my interview with her, she mentioned how her son had a porn addiction, and I hoped to use it to show that Hank Williams was into girls, young ones. But she folded on the stand. She all but vouched for his character with tears in her eyes. She backed up his not-guilty claim by saying how he never lied, how he had been a Boy Scout and a model student, and how he treated women with the utmost respect. I masked my anger with a smile and cut my questions short.

Then came Kathleen Perry, an elderly lady—big boned, thinning hair, teeth that had half an inch of tar coating them, and a skull and bones tattooed on her neck. She didn’t exactly look like the type of person you’d leave your children with. She was a neighbor to the abandoned farmhouse where Williams had kept Tracy.

I was halfway through my interrogation and had already pulled out a few tears from her as she recounted the experience. But she wasn’t as confident as she’d been when she was alone with me. Kathleen’s eyes were shifty, and she answered with, “probably,” “maybe,” and “kind of” more often than I’d like. It was more than just jitters, too. I could tell. This was something different. Something had spooked my witness and I didn’t know what. I plowed ahead, though, ready to hear her testify that he was there the night Tracy died. And then I would get her out of here.

Cross-examining witnesses was always an adrenaline rush. There was no other feeling like an open conflict between two people with a silent audience.

“Now let’s jump to the night of the murder,” I said. “Did you see anything out of the ordinary at the barn?” I sneaked a sideways glance at the jury. They were listening with rapt attention.

“Yes. I saw a silver car in the driveway. You know, one of those nice ones that you see on TV a lot? I’d seen it in the driveway off and on for about a month.”

“May I approach the witness with State’s Exhibit number twenty-one, Your Honor?” The judge nodded. I slid a picture of the defendant’s car toward Kathleen and her eyes lit up. “Yes, that’s the one. I remember the sticker in the back window. It looks like a snake or something. I remember thinking it was a little creepy.”

“Tell the Court what you heard coming from the farmhouse, if you can.” I leaned in and handed her a tissue. She took it and dabbed her eyes.

“Around eleven o’clock, I went out for a smoke. It was a calm night. No wind at all. I noticed that car there by the barn. And I heard something. Screams … they sounded muffled, and almost like an animal. I thought it might be a wounded dog or something.” She said it so low that everyone in the courtroom leaned in to hear.

I asked my next questions in a calm voice. “Why didn’t you call the police? Why didn’t you try to get some help?”

She looked up at me with red, puffy eyes, and then looked around the room apologetically. “I didn’t believe it was really what it sounded like. We have such a peaceful little place and I never imagined it was more than a tomcat, or maybe a wild animal. I should have called, but I just didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think that someone could be that cruel and heartless to a helpless little girl, did you?”

“Objection!” Sawyer stood so fast his chair tipped over.

I turned and walked to my desk. “No further questions, Your Honor.” I made my point and the courtroom felt it just as I did. After a few more expert witnesses and slide after slide of Tracy Mulligan’s broken body, everything would wrap up like a Christmas present. I looked over at Williams. Through it all, he looked calm and collected.

What is he hiding?

Sawyer righted his chair, red-faced, and walked over to Kathleen. I tensed as if I were the one on the stand.

“Have you ever been convicted of any felonies, Mrs. Perry?” He spoke her name crisply.

Kathleen gasped.

“Objection, Your Honor,” I said evenly. “Irrelevant.”

“Lends to character, Judge,” Sawyer said.

“Overruled,” the judge said. “Please continue, Mr. Sawyer.”

Kathleen looked down and wrung her hands. She wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes and barely whispered, “Yes.”

“What were you charged with?” Sawyer asked. I couldn’t see his face, but I was sure it was smug.

Kathleen shifted in her chair. I willed her to look up, speak confidently, and not appear so darn guilty. “I was heavy into drugs. Got caught with possession. Served my time.” She looked up and said loudly, slipping into her normal slang, “It ruined my life and my son’s life. I ain’t never gonna get ahold of that stuff again. We moved here and alls I do is smoke, nothin’ more. Every day, I’m sorry I ever introduced drugs to my family.”

“So there is no more drug use in your family?” Sawyer asked.

Kathleen took a shaky breath. “N—n—no,” she stuttered. I forced myself not to look down in defeat.

I glanced at the jury. Their eyes were distrustful. I tried to meet Kathleen’s gaze, but she wouldn’t look at me. This was going downhill fast.

“So if I were to get the police to raid your house, we’d find no drugs at all?” Sawyer asked. Kathleen’s eyes widened.

“Objection,” I said. “Threatening the witness.”

So this was what it was all about. Kathleen wasn’t nervous for herself—I knew people on drugs and she didn’t have the look of it on her. She was protecting her son. I held my breath. What would she do to protect him?

“Sustained,” the judge said, and I let out my breath.

But Sawyer had already done what he needed to do. Kathleen looked like a cornered rabbit.

“So on the nights when you saw the defendant’s car at the barn and heard those screams, you were in no way inebriated?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped. Sawyer continued.

“You’re absolutely sure, without a shadow of a doubt, that you saw that car parked at the barn and heard those sounds at eleven o’clock on May 14th?”

Kathleen swallowed. I could see what she was thinking. She was wondering if a raid would be ordered on her house if she said yes. So wrapped up in the moment, I nodded for her, as if it would help.

“Would you swear—” Sawyer pointed at Williams, “—on his life that you are absolutely sure you saw what you described?”

If anyone looked unsure at the moment, it was Kathleen. I internally groaned. The jury looked gone already, as if they didn’t need to hear any more.

Giving up, she shook her head. No. She wasn’t sure.

Sometimes I wished I were a defense attorney—all they had to do was show reasonable doubt. So much for my eyewitness.

I SIPPED ON A glass of ice water as the courtroom started to clear out. I listened to the murmurs and whispers of the audience as they filed out to go print or publish the events of the day. They spoke of the defendant in strident terms. “Monster … heartless creep.” It was all good as far as I was concerned. But they also had their doubts, and more than a shadow of them. “With no DNA and an unclear witness statement, it’ll come down to the fingerprints, the cops finding him at the scene of the crime, and the defendant’s testimony.”

Dan stood and stuffed papers into his leather briefcase. His tall frame looked good in a suit, but he was currently wearing a large frown that ruined his features. “That was a debacle,” he said, glaring at me. “I thought you said we had a strong witness.”

Taking another sip of water, I hesitated. “You know as well as I do that you never know how good a witness is until after they’ve testified.” I tried to keep my voice calm, but underneath I was a jumble of fear and anger.

“We still have a strong case,” I said, hoping he’d keep it in my hands. “We have the police testimony of finding him on the scene with the murder weapon—it doesn’t get much more clear than that.”

Dan pursed his lips. “It was a lot clearer eight hours ago.”

Joshua, the intern, was caught in the fireworks between Dan and me. He looked like he wanted to disappear, which would be impossible considering his 300-lb. Samoan build. He had a shaved head, trendy black-framed glasses, and was fresh out of law school. He was born and raised in Hawaii, and despite what people say about the laid-back nature of the Samoans, he was as driven as they come. He’d logged in just as much time on this case as I had, worked tirelessly, and he had a vision and understanding about things that I respected. He watched the people file out of the room, but he was listening intently as I argued for our case.

I looked down at my case notes. They represented months of research and testimonies and long hours at the office. I not only knew everything I could about the murder, but I had also learned everything I could about Hank Williams and Tracy Mulligan.

“No one can handle this better than me,” I said quietly, with conviction.

Dan took in my statement. I stared back at him. After a moment, I saw acceptance wash across his face.

“What are you going to do about this?” he asked.

That was the thing I liked about Dan—he was direct. And I knew exactly what I was going to do.

“I’m going to go to the scene of the crime to wrap my head around what happened that night.” I took a breath. “And then I’m going to get an appointment with Williams’ daughter, Hannah, and see if I can’t get her to testify. I’m sure she knows more than what she’s let on. I couldn’t get an appointment with her before, and I didn’t pursue it since we had enough on Williams.”

Dan frowned. “Things have changed.”

“I know,” I said. “We need more on him.”

He nodded. His forehead was wrinkled—he looked stressed. “All right, then. Get on it.” He picked up his briefcase and turned to leave. “Meet you back at the office.” Joshua followed him.

I stayed seated. It had been a long day—I needed a moment.

Dan turned. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. His dark eyes glanced me over. “I’ll order dinner for us to share. My treat. And then you can sleep over at my place.”

That’s what I disliked about Dan—he was too direct. His “place” was an apartment above our office building. He was married, but it was known that he slept around. He had me on his list of subjects to bed. I pretended not to have any idea what a creep he was and blew him off.

“Can’t. Besides, your wife might like to have a nice family dinner with you every now and again.”

He winced and walked toward the door. I’d probably suffer one way or another for that slight to his ego—or he’d take it as a challenge. Either way, he wasn’t getting what he was after. I’d rather kiss a few more frogs than give in to him.

Looking over the empty courtroom, I noticed a marble statue of Lady Justice poised over the witness stand like an angel of hope. Her blindfold promised equality, but so many times it was nothing but a chance for those in front of her to try pulling tricks and playing games.

Come on, Miss Sentimental, time to get to work. As I hit the main lobby, I was bombarded by the media and their thousand questions. I pushed through them and got into a black Ford. It was a company car and most of the time we didn’t get them, but for this case I requested it because of the media pressure.

“Ninth and Idaho, please.”

The tanned, unshaven driver looked me over in the rearview mirror and nodded. He took a bite from a large red apple and then pulled onto the road. He said nothing more as we drove through traffic. I didn’t remember seeing this driver before, but they frequently changed.

I called Joshua and asked him to make an appointment with Hannah Williams, preferably by tomorrow morning, and told him he couldn’t take no for an answer.

I looked up and suddenly noticed The Pour House, a pub that was nowhere near the office. Where was the driver going? Alarm bells went off in my head. The driver wasn’t looking my way. I quietly grabbed my purse and retrieved my phone. With bated breath, I dialed 9-1-1 and looked up as I pressed the send button.

I stared down the barrel of a gun. “Give me your phone, Miss Steele.” The car jerked to a stop on the side of the road. I handed him the phone, and my heart sank when he disconnected the call.

“Time to sleep, Miss Steele.”

He fired. A dart plunged into my chest. A cold rush flowed through my body. I screamed, but only a whimper came out. The world started to spin. Reaching for the door handle, I yanked, but there was no strength behind my grip. I was blacking out and I knew it. My head slumped forward and I felt the back of the front seat smash into my jaw.

Then nothing.

I SAT UP WITH a start. My head pounded like a hammer. I tried to pull my hands free, but they were strapped to the chair where I sat. I blinked a few times and tested the gag jammed in my mouth. It tasted like mothballs and rum. Not a good combo.

Think, Sarah, find the markers. Windows, sounds, anything to track this place down later. But I couldn’t see because they’d put a hood over my head. There were strong paint fumes in the air. The sound of footsteps on the concrete floor made me turn my head. Heels. Not a woman’s. Expensive dress shoes.

“Take the hood off.” The male voice was commanding, yet soft, like the voice of someone who didn’t fear anything or anyone. The hood was pulled off and a burst of light hit my eyes. A lamp pointed straight at my face so all I could see were a few shadows. They surrounded me like I was some kind of attraction at the zoo.

I tried to collect my bearings. My legs were untied. My hands were bound tight to the arms of a metal office chair. By the acoustics of the place and the dampness in the air, I thought we had to be in a basement.

The same man spoke again. “Hello, Miss Steele. I am … well, I am against you. We need the Williams case to go away.” I thought I’d heard his voice before. Like it was a voice in a commercial or something. I couldn’t place it.

I didn’t pull or struggle on my restraints. I wasn’t even sweating. My vision had cleared and I studied the ground. There was yellowed carpet glue in thin lines on the concrete floor. I saw green carpet lint littering the floor.

I could feel the monster within me trying to get out. But I wouldn’t let it. Not yet, not again.

“What are you going to do?” I asked in a dark voice. “Bribe me? Rough me up and threaten my family? Or whatever you saw on the latest episode of Law & Order?”

“No, miss,” the man said. I heard him take a step forward. “It’s not as if we could mess up your family any more than it already is. Your mother’s in jail for murdering your father.”

No matter how many times I’d heard it, the fact still sent a searing pain through my chest. It hadn’t dulled over the years. He was right—the situation couldn’t get any worse, and he didn’t even know the half of it.

I pushed back the pain and raised my chin. The light dried out my eyes, and I squinted to see better.

One of the men to the side shifted, and I could see his features through the dim light. He wore a smooth black suit and a red tie. He stood around six feet tall. He was well groomed, with a small goatee and trimmed black hair. Firstborn and very type A. Not one wrinkle in sight.

The man in charge spoke again. “I know that no matter what I say, you will go on your way and do your best to win your case. So I’m going to make you a promise.” With a click, the room went dark. My heart quickened. “If you don’t let this trial go, I promise that Hank Williams will do to you exactly what he did to Tracy Mulligan.” My mouth went dry. “Except he’ll take much longer with you.”

Bile rose in my throat and I swallowed it down. I needed to get out of here. Now. What did I have? My legs were free. As if a reflex took over, I got to my feet, bent in half from the chair. With a feral cry, I charged the voice. The light clicked back on, blinding me, but I was moving too fast to be stopped. I lunged at the middle shadow.

My head hit his chest and he caved, dropping to the floor. My weight knocked the wind out of him. I twisted in the chair, and the metal back socked him in the jaw. Moving again, I rolled to my knees just as something hit my head.

Before I lost consciousness, I saw a face. A face that looked identical to Hank Williams’.

MY HEAD FELT LIKE it was stuck under a truck tire. I rubbed my eyes and felt something sticky—blood. I looked around to find myself back in my apartment and in my own bed.

I sat up—too fast. The room swam as I steadied myself and then stumbled to the door. My apartment looked the same as I had left it. My purse was on the table and my phone and keys were laid out neatly in front of it. I cursed.

It was 8:13 at night, two hours after I’d left the courthouse. Which meant wherever they had taken me had to be close.

I fumbled for my phone, hands shaking. There were six missed calls—one from Joshua, two from Dan, one from Angela, and two from my best friend, Mandy. The screen was still on my disconnected call to 9-1-1. I pushed redial.

“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?” a male voice answered.

“I’d like to report a kidnapping—” My voice broke as what had happened to me sank in. Tears came to my eyes and my throat clenched. I swallowed down the rising panic attack.

After giving him a few details in a hoarse voice and getting a promise that a detective was headed my way, I hung up.

Glancing around the room, I saw that all my blinds were open. I rushed to each window, eyes wide in panic, yanking the blinds shut. By the time each one was closed, tears poured down my face and I curled up in the corner and gave in to my frustration.

Sobs tore at my chest. This wasn’t just about the fear I felt clawing at me—it was about mourning the loss of my safety, the belief that nothing like this would ever happen to me.

THE POLICE ARRIVED TWENTY-FIVE minutes later, which was exceptionally fast for them. They probably recognized my name. I knew several of the homicide detectives, but not many in small crime.

Detective Ross came with his partner, Detective Monroe. They were professional and thorough, asking me everything about the driver, the man I’d seen in the basement, and all the other details I noticed. Detective Ross kept clearing his throat, as if he had allergies or was nervous. His eyes were full of compassion, though, and he was patient with me as I slowly told them everything I could remember.

Halfway through the interview, I called a locksmith. The kidnappers had access to my keys—I needed new locks and I wanted them in before the detectives left. Luckily, I got ahold of one who was available and he was over within the hour with a new handle and deadbolt. I wished he had installed two deadbolts, but I knew that was overkill.

I also texted Mandy: I need you. Please come.

“I hope you understand the need for discretion,” I said as Ross filled out the report form.

Ross took off his glasses and ran his hand over his dark goatee. He had olive skin and a full head of black hair. I figured him to be an ex-football player, maybe even for Boise State … Ross … I scanned my memory, trying to remember if I’d ever met him, but came up blank.

“This is a high-profile case and any leak of this kind would start a media frenzy,” I said. “And if there’s a leak, my boss wants to be the one to start it.”

“I understand, Miss Steele. Has anything else happened to you that might have to do with this case?” Detective Ross looked up over the top of his reading glasses with dark, brooding eyes.

I shrugged. “There have been phone calls with no one on the other line, but I can’t say that’s out of the ordinary.”

He wrote something down. “I’ll check your phone history,” he said. He tapped his pen on the paper. “Their threat was very specific. They said it was Williams who was going to kill you—”

“Yes,” I said slowly, not understanding the question.

“It’s just interesting,” he said.

Monroe came up beside me and put his knuckles on the table. “I want you to be careful,” he said. “No late nights out alone, change your phone number, and maybe stay with a friend for a month or two.”

“Come on,” I objected. “I’m not going to stop living my life for this guy. He’s behind bars.”

Ross sighed and leaned back in his chair, which groaned in protest. “Fine, Miss Steele, but you might look into getting some mace. And do you own a gun?”

The question caught me off guard. “Uh … yes.”

It was a Lady Glock, a gift from my father before his premature death. He’d taught me how to load it and clean it. I’d shot a few rabbits when I was younger, but I hadn’t done much with it since then. But I kept it close, in a drawer in my bedroom table.

“Do you know how to use it?” Monroe asked.

“Well ...” I’d shot it recently when I went camping with Mandy and Rick, but that was it.

“I know a guy,” Monroe said. “He can put you through a safety course and get you to the top of the list for a concealed weapons permit. I think it might be a good idea in your line of work. Times are not getting better. But you need to know how to use it, how to be safe. The worst thing is an untrained person with a gun.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this,” I said.

“Why?” Monroe said, standing straighter. “Because I’m a cop? Look, the more people out there—good people—who carry, the better off we’ll all be.”

I eyed him like he was crazy. If I was hearing right, it sounded like he was encouraging people to carry.

“If every house had a gun and people knew how to use them, imagine the change in the crime rate.”

“What about accidental shootings, kids getting ahold of their dad’s gun?” I asked.

“Most accidental shootings happen when people aren’t trained. If you know what a gun is, how to clean and fire it, you won’t shoot yourself or anyone else by accident. Most people just don’t know—don’t want to know—so when they come in contact with a weapon, they’re more prone to hurt themselves. I had a gun by the time I was ten years old. I never came close to shooting myself because my dad taught us kids how to respect and use weapons.”

I imagined a much-shorter version of Monroe toddling around with guns at his belt. The thought of knowing how to use a gun was certainly appealing at the moment. I slouched and hugged myself, thinking about the possibility of those men coming back.

“I’ll look into it—if you think I should.”

“I do.” Monroe handed me a piece of paper with a name and a phone number. “Call him—he’ll hook you up.”

I nodded and stood. This was not what I was expecting. I’d dealt with the police before, but most of the time it was a representative or someone higher up, not the guy on the ground.

I looked at the phone number and the name written on the torn paper.

Solomon.

Next, they took pictures of the cut and the bruise on my face. The only part of the story I’d left out was the last thing I’d seen. I wouldn’t tell them—I couldn’t even believe it myself. It was ridiculous. After all, I’d just seen Hank Williams in handcuffs that morning.

The detectives left, handing me their cards and promising they’d get results. It was a kind thing to say, but I knew they didn’t have much to go on. The men were still out there, and unless they attacked again, there wasn’t much the police could do about it. The creepiest part was that I’d be in the most danger after I won the case.

I looked in the bathroom mirror and winced as I dabbed the small cut above my eye. After I cleaned it, I saw that it wasn’t much, but I could feel a bruise forming underneath. Nothing some foundation couldn’t cover—I had to be in court in the morning.

Someone pounded on the door. I jumped, my heart in my throat, but then I realized it must be Mandy. Creeping down the hall, I looked through the peephole and saw my best friend’s shock of red hair and signature black leather jacket.

“What happened?” Mandy asked when I opened the door. “If that creep Dan did anything to you, so help me—” She stopped when she saw my face.

At the sight of her, my bottom lip trembled. Taking a shaky breath, I tried to get ahold of myself. She followed me inside, her face pale—even paler than it usually was.

“Who did that to you?”

“I was kidnapped,” I said. Mandy gasped. “My driver tranquilized me, and I woke up in a basement …” I told her the rest of the story as I made us some tea. Thoughts and emotions were so strong inside me, I couldn’t sit still.

“And then I charged him. Rammed him with my head,” I said as I poured honey into my cup of green tea.

Mandy grabbed me by the shoulders, speechless, which was rare for her. She just looked me in the eye. I looked back, taking in all the love and concern and sympathy she sent through her expression. There were no words—I knew that. I didn’t need words. I just needed her there.

My phone buzzed.

“Could that be them?” she asked quickly.

“What? No,” I said automatically, and then realized that it actually could be. But it turned out to be Dan, calling for the ninth time. “I better get this,” I said.

The moment I answered, he began yelling. “Where are you, Sarah? Do you know what kind of hole you’ve dug for yourself? You know everyone’s working late and you’re a no-show. I’m taking you off this case and putting—”

I interrupted him. “I was kidnapped, Dan.”

Silence.

“You were not.”

“I was,” I said gravely, and then took a sip of tea.

“I’ll be right over,” he said.

“No!” I almost shouted. “Don’t come. The police just left and I have my best friend with me now.”

“It was Williams, wasn’t it?” he said.

“It was Williams,” I said. “Some guys took me to a basement and threatened me. And then they knocked me out and I woke up in my apartment.”

“Tell me everything,” Dan said. I’d rarely heard him sound so serious.

I recounted the story again, this time with less nervous energy. The facts had settled and I could talk about them with objectivity.

After I finished, Dan heaved a deep sigh. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “That shouldn’t have happened to you.” I was surprised at how genuine he sounded. And sad. He usually didn’t get involved, no matter what. “If you want off the case, I completely understand.”

“No, Dan,” I said. “I’m more devoted to it than ever.”

Without missing a beat, he said, “Then will you give a statement to a reporter friend of mine about your experience and how far Williams is willing to go to win?”

I should have known he’d have an angle. “Of course,” I said.

“Good. I’ll send him to your place tomorrow morning.”

“No,” I objected. The thought of more people knowing where I lived was uncomfortable. “I’ll meet him at the office. I need to go in early anyway. Like you said, I’m in a hole.”

Dan paused. “We’ll get him.”

I couldn’t speak—I just nodded.

Mandy had set out my pajamas and turned down my covers as if I were at a hotel or something. This was a side of her people rarely saw. She was a brilliant architect and computer engineer who owned her own business—she even got contract work with the police department. She rode a huge Chopper, and frequented drag races on the weekends. Her past was rough—she’d even been in prison once for hacking a bank’s security system while in college. She’d calmed down a lot since she met Rick, her boyfriend of eight years. But this was the Mandy I knew—a growling fox to the rest of the world and a mother hen to those she loved.

After a cold shower and pulling back my hair in a pony, I felt like a new person. I had a few sensitive spots on one rib and the middle of my back. Nothing showed, but I felt it nonetheless.

Mandy and I finished the rest of our tea. I asked about her day and listened as she told of a computer account she’d saved for a panicked employee. It was good to get my mind off what had happened. She talked about a fight she’d had with Rick, and then I blushed when she told me how they made up.

Pulling me in close, she gave me a quick hug. “It’s going to be okay,” she said.

I nodded, starting to believe her words.

“You need something more in your life than just work,” she said. “Did you hear about the new club that opened up?”

I shook my head at her, bemused. “A club is not what’s missing in my life. A loud, writhing mass of people is the exact opposite of what I need.” Her face fell and I said quickly, “What’s it called?”

“The Ru.”

“That is a lame name for a club.”

“Maybe, but it’s a fifty-dollar cover and they have a dress code.”

I whistled. Most of the clubs in Boise didn’t even have a cover, or if they did, it was like five bucks and only for the guys. “So what’s so special about this one?”

“Well, you have to be on a list and you have to sign up online and consent to a background check—that way you know that not just anyone can get in. And they have three floors—one with a private room where you can sit on beds and talk or hang out and the other for a restaurant and lounge. It sounds so cool, and who knows what’s on the third floor.”

“You should sign up. See if you and Rick can get in.”

“Already did, and—” she hesitated, and then spit it out. “I signed you up, too. We’re approved.”

“Mandy!”

“Hey, you need to get out, stop working so much. This really has me worried. Not only are you always busy, but now your job is getting dangerous. It isn’t worth your life. I don’t like it. I want something more for you.” I could tell she meant it, mostly because she was a really bad liar. “We’re going there Saturday night and I won’t take no for an answer. You need to get away.”

“No,” I said bluntly. This case was my life—I didn’t need another. Especially not one with dancing and drunk men.

She tilted her head at me, full of concern.

Okay, so I did miss being with her. I did miss having days off where all I got done was reading and sleeping. I did miss going on dates and meeting new people. There was still a part of me that wanted that.

“Okay,” I said. She broke into a grin. “But not until this case is over.” She groaned. “I have dozens of things—big things—to get done and I can’t take any time off.”

“Even on Saturday night?” she asked with eyebrows raised, as if she seriously doubted the direction I was taking with my life.

“Even on Saturday night,” I confirmed.

“Then let’s get this freak behind bars for the rest of his life so you can have yours back.”

I smiled and nodded. There was nothing I’d like more.

She slept on the couch. I kept the hallway light on because I kept seeing shadows outside my door that weren’t there.

My gun was only a few feet away from me, but did I have what it took to point it at a man’s face and shoot?

Yes … no … maybe. I didn’t know. When I thought about what was in my heart, the dark side of my heart, I knew there was something deep inside that would pull that trigger without even thinking. But then what? I couldn’t live that life. I was an attorney, for goodness’ sake; I was supposed to be against violence of any kind.

I’d never been afraid of being alone, or the dark. Not ever. And here I was, needing a nightlight and for my best friend to tuck me in. Pathetic.

They’d done this to me. I was going from scared to angry.

MY ALARM WENT OFF at 5 a.m. My blankets were warm and I felt like I had melted into the mattress. I could hear Mandy’s deep breathing from the living room.

I soaked it in. It was like I’d woken with new strength. Part of the fear I’d felt yesterday was hidden deep inside—the other half I turned into righteous anger. Today, I was going to nail Williams.

After a shower, breakfast, getting ready, and a promise to Mandy that I’d call her when I left the courthouse, I was on my way to the office.

I’d driven there so many times, I was on autopilot. The streets weren’t very busy. I mentally went through my notes—taking out this, putting in that, and rearranging them the way I wanted.

The reporter was waiting on the steps of the large concrete-and-steel building. The thing I loved most about the office was its landscaped yard. There was a pond with a fountain, trees and ferns lined the back, and there were even benches and picnic tables. I told the reporter we should go out by the pond, which was my favorite spot.

After I told him the story and he asked the usual mundane reporter questions like “What did it feel like to be kidnapped?” and “Is there any doubt in your mind it was Williams?” I took over.

“This threat has made me more confident than ever that Williams is guilty, and he’s capable of anything. Tell that to the public.”

The reporter wanted more, but I had to go. There was a to-do list as long as my forearm that I had to finish before court started at ten o’clock.

I texted Joshua as I walked to my office. He was already on his way. Good man. That’d earn him some extra-credit points.

Once I sat on my chair, I noticed a bundle of notes on my desk. Joshua had gotten an appointment with Hannah Williams for tomorrow at three o’clock. It would’ve been better if it had been today, but I knew it was the best we could get. He also wrote that when he’d searched the database, he’d discovered another woman by the name of Hannah Williams who had lived with Hank Williams as a child, but she’d later changed her name to Heather Dade. That was curious. Why was this the first I’d heard of another child? And why would anyone give two of their kids the same name? That gave me something else to ask Hannah at my appointment.

For the next hour I went through my notes and retyped what I had. Taking out the DNA evidence and the witnesses’ testimony, I filed them away and put them out of my mind. I’d moved on. There was no time to dwell on the past. It was still a strong case, as the police testimony was coming up today, as well as a presentation of Williams’ previous offenses like the drug possession and a few DUIs.

By the time I’d wrapped my mind around the new and evolved case, I was once again confident I had what it took to prove him guilty.

That was, until I got the phone call.

It was Dan, saying the same thing he did yesterday. “Judge called an emergency meeting. Meet me at the courthouse. Now.” He didn’t have to say how bad this was. I got a sick feeling in my gut. Pressing my hand to my case notes, I just sat for a moment, as if saying goodbye to the work I’d just done.

And then I ran to my car, Joshua in tow, after gulping down the cup of coffee he brought me. He got extra points for that, too.

THE COURTHOUSE WAS SWARMING with TV vans and media all trying to get a good shot. I felt like a movie star, but without all the money. I brushed past them and got inside where cameras weren’t allowed. The judge made a smart move there.

The judge’s room was already full when I followed Dan in. I sat stiffly and crossed my legs. No doubt everyone had already heard of my kidnapping. News like that travelled fast—especially when you had a boss like Dan, who wanted to milk it for all it was worth.

I could see it in their eyes, too. The other attorneys looked at me with pity and a small amount of disdain, as if I were a baby that needed tending. I made my face as peaceful as I could and did not spare an extra glance their way.

We all stood when the judge came in, but he waved us back into our seats. His eyes were red and baggy, as if he hadn’t slept well.

“More bad news,” he said as he flopped into his chair. He looked at a paper as if he were reading off it. “We found another jury member who has been bribed. The woman will be charged, but I won’t order another replacement.”

It was hard to keep my face peaceful. All this work, all this hardship, and all that I had gone through last night was about to be flushed down the toilet. I knew what was coming, and it made me want to run from the room.

“I have no choice but to declare a mistrial,” the judge said.

Dan groaned. I clenched my jaw. It was still hard to hear, even though I was expecting it.

He went on to say how we could appeal and begin again, but I didn’t want to listen. It felt like ants were crawling under my skin. I just wanted to bolt out of there.

Sawyer spoke up. “We’d like to request that the defendant be released on bond. After all, there’s hardly any proof he’s guilty.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but then shut it again. If I got started, I wouldn’t be able to stop.

Let them wait. Within a few weeks I’d have enough evidence to bury them in it. Then I would argue and they wouldn’t have a word to say against me.

So I was silent, even when the judge set a 900k bond, which I knew would be easy for Williams to post. Even when he said Williams would need an ankle tracker and couldn’t leave the state. Even when Dan protested and said that Williams was a dangerous criminal and the last person who should get off on bond.

I kept quiet; there was nothing to say. Things had been set in motion that would take more than words to stop. Williams was free. Blind Lady Justice had been tricked.

But I wasn’t about to let him trick her for long.

DAN AND I DIDN’T say a word. Joshua shyly asked what had happened, and I gave him the stark answer: “Mistrial.”

He groaned and collapsed into a chair.

“Get up, bucko,” I said. “If you think we were buried in work before the trial, you haven’t seen anything yet. Better bring your pillow to the office.”

My pep talk wasn’t exactly gracious, but it got the job done. Joshua jumped out of the chair and followed me down the hall, taking notes as I gave him a list of paperwork he needed to pick up for me. Dan left without saying goodbye, off to lick his wounds. This was going to hurt his run for office.

After a few hours at the courthouse filling out forms and other paperwork, we were finally free to leave.

“Are you hungry?” Joshua asked as we walked outside and down the steps.

At the question, I suddenly realized how famished I was. It was already past lunchtime. “How about—”

“The Casaba?” he finished for me. It was our favorite gyro joint. “What do you want to drink?”

“Orange juice. And order me a second helping of fries,” I said, grinning up at him.

He patted his round belly. “I think that’s just what I need, too.”

“And fill up on gas on your way back to the office,” I said. “We’re taking your car to the scene of the crime.”

“I’ve never been there.” His eyes crinkled in worry.

“It’s important to see it,” I said. “It’ll help us start fresh, see if we missed something.” We were pretty desperate. “I’ll need your eyes.”

He looked down, embarrassed but pleased.

There was still something bothering me from the kidnapping, and I had to check it out. “Oh, and call the prison and see what Hank Williams was doing last night, if he had any visitors or doctor’s visits.”

Joshua gave me a strange look, but nodded.

I heard my name called in a high-pitched voice from across the road. Angela, Jessie, and Cassandra waved at me with huge smiles plastered on their faces.

A bus drove by, blocking them from view. My head was still in the case, but I quickly put up a mask for the girls. Once the bus passed, blowing my hair out of my face with its speed, they galloped over, waving medals.

“I did it, I did it,” Angela exclaimed. She clutched my arm and shoved her 1st place medal in my face. “I won the tournament!” She giggled, her eyes shining. “I couldn’t wait to see you, so we came here.”

I brought her in for a hug. “I’m so proud of you,” I whispered in her ear. “You worked hard for this. And now you’re the best of the best.”

Jessie winked at me. “Well, she hasn’t fought you yet, so we can’t say that.”

I high-fived Cassandra and ooo’d and ahh’d over her 3rd place metal. And then I listened as Jessie told me that she landed on her ankle wrong and had to withdraw from the tournament early. “If I hadn’t,” she said, “I’d have beat Angela for sure.”

Angela rolled her eyes and I laughed. Joshua took a step back. “You wish,” Angela said.

“Oh, hey,” I said. “You have to meet Joshua Tasi. He’s an intern at the DA office, and he’s my right-hand man on this case.”

Jessie and Cassandra looked down shyly, intimidated by his powerful form. But Angela stuck out her hand for a hearty handshake.

Suddenly, a shadow fell across my face. I turned and saw Hank Williams. His attorneys stood a few feet away next to a dark limo that idled by the curb. No reporters in sight—I guess they were on to the next story.

Joshua took a step toward the girls, as if wanting to shield them.

I put my hands in my pockets and stared at Hank Williams with animosity. I knew the evil he had done, and I wasn’t going to pretend he was anything other than a dangerous man.

“Are those your little sisters?” he asked.

His voice gave me the chills.

I didn’t answer. His back was to the sun and I squinted up at him, not wanting to look away. It was a nosy question and there was no way I was giving him any information about them. He glanced up and down at Angela and heat crept up my neck.

It was the first time I had been close to him. His hair was dirty blond with gray streaks. He had a trimmed goatee and bushy eyebrows, with a fat chin and ears that were too big. His dark eyes were beady and watery, as if the sunlight hurt them. There was nothing more I’d like to do than punch him in the nose.

“You tried your best, dear,” he said. “There was nothing more you could do.” He rubbed his jaw and then smoothed down his mustache.

The girls behind me were silent. They knew a creep when they saw one.

I didn’t move, didn’t let any recognition in my eyes. I just waited for him to move on. Sometimes the best comeback was letting him know he wasn’t even worth a reply.

Williams leaned forward and I smelled Old Spice on his jacket. Yuck. “I’ll see you later,” he whispered. “It’ll be great getting to know you better.”

That was when I broke his gaze. If I held it any longer, I would lose my self-control. I swallowed the rising wall of anger breaking against my chest like a wave.

When he saw he wasn’t going to get a rise from me, he glanced up and down at Angela again, and then sauntered away. His limo disappeared around the corner and I unclenched my fists.

I let out all my breath.

Now that he was out, it wasn’t safe anywhere. I had to get him back behind bars as soon as I could.

THE CARAMEL COLOR OF the Scotch made him feel better at once. Dipping his finger in a shot of water, he knocked off a few drops into his glass. The bouquet filled his lungs and he let the liquor spread over his tongue.

This was the life. Back home and free to hunt again. There was only one small hiccup, a minor inconvenience that in some ways was almost as fun as hunting.

Office lights off and sitting in the dark, he checked his cell. One missed call and one message. He hit the voicemail key and listened.

“We’ve got a problem—the fox is at the henhouse. Let me know what you want to do about it.”

The message was short and to the point. He clenched his fingers around the glass of Scotch, and then threw it across the room and cursed. The heavy glass hit the far wall and broke through the plaster, embedding itself in the wall.

Hitting redial, he waited. Three rings and then an answer. “Hey, what you want I should do?” The accent was all but gone, but the words were still mixed up.

Taking out a clean glass from the liquor cabinet, he poured another shot. “I want you to fix it, clean it up.” His voice was low, demanding.

“Will do.”

“This time make sure it stays fixed.”

There was no answer. The line disconnected and the tall man sat back down with a heavy sigh. This was going to be fun.

WE PULLED INTO THE driveway at the old abandoned farmhouse three hours later. It had taken a while to get through dinner. The girls wanted to talk and I tried to pay attention, but seeing Williams had me on edge. When I finally arrived at the farmhouse, it was near dusk.

Mandy was in the back seat, wide-eyed and clutching her camera. I’d called her and asked to borrow her camera, but she gave me an ultimatum: either she came with it or I didn’t get it. Since I didn’t want to use any of the crappy digital cameras the office gave out, I decided to let her come. After all, it wouldn’t be dangerous.

The moon was already out, even though it was still light. It cast an eerie glow over the cornfield to our left.

I couldn’t help but think of a Stephen King novel and wondered if this was the sort of place he saw in his nightmares as he wrote. I didn’t like being here in the daytime, let alone at night, but it would probably take an hour to search the place thoroughly. It’d be dark by then.

I glanced at Joshua, who was driving the company car. He took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his shaved head. “Come on, Sherlock,” I said. “Let’s see what we can see.”

“There’s no light on,” Mandy whispered.

“Yeah, it’s an abandoned farmyard,” I said dryly. “And they taped this area off—I would be worried if there were lights on.”

My eyes took a moment to adjust after I exited the car. I strode toward the barn, intent on my destination.

The crickets were making music full force. A crow occasionally chimed in, as if he didn’t want the crickets to get all the glory. The grass weaved and danced in the wind, creating a rustling backdrop. I’d missed hearing this country music—real country music. I’d spent every summer with my grandparents on a farm until they died when I was ten. The sounds were familiar to me.

Two car doors slammed shut.

I sighed and turned, walking backwards. “You don’t have to come in, Mandy. Unless we find something for you to shoot.”

“Shoot? Don’t use that phrase,” she said.

“Shoot with your camera,” I clarified.

Joshua hurried to catch up with me.

“Don’t think for a minute you’re going to leave me in the car,” Mandy said.

“Fine. But you have to be quiet. I know how you like to talk when you’re scared.”

“I don’t talk when I’m scared. I mean, maybe a little, but it’s ‘cause it calms me down, gives me something to think about, something to take my mind off whatever I’m scared of and—oh, God, I’m doing it right now.”

I smiled. “Yeah, that—don’t do that.”

We arrived at the barn and stood together. More police tape stating CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS lined the doors. I pulled it free and touched Mandy on the shoulder, making her jump and mutter a curse.

“This is where it happened,” Joshua said in a haunted whisper. His black eyes glanced from one corner of the property to the other, taking it all in.

“Are we even supposed to do this?” Mandy asked, her voice shaking. “Is this legal?”

“Give me some credit,” I said. “I called the P.D. before I came and got permission. Nobody wants to come out here anymore.”

I motioned to Joshua and he helped me slide the heavy double doors open. They groaned on their hinges and the sound stopped the crickets’ serenade.

On my right was the horse trough. The one where Tracy died—drowned—all alone and scared. On my left was the grain closet, the one where he’d kept her all day while he was gone. My heart was pounding so hard in my ears, I swear Mandy could hear it.

I went to the middle of the barn and stood there. My mind always worked best when I was still. Imagining the barn as it was when they were in it, I looked it over, trying to notice anything that had changed. I put myself in Williams’ shoes. Where did he go? What did he do? And what kind of evidence would he have left?

Joshua started near the horse trough and scoured the area one foot at a time. I bet he recognized most of it from the crime scene photos. Mandy stood with her back against the wall, looking frightened.

Breathing through my nose, I concentrated on the scene playing out in my head. He’d park out front, come through the double doors, walked to the grain closet, and dragged her out. She’d been bound and too weak to struggle. And then where would he take her?

One corner of the barn was littered with rotten wood, rusty tools, and hay. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in twenty years. Another corner held a gutted tractor. Another had a small door leading to the back. And the last corner … that was where he would take her.

There was a clear path in the dust and hay to that corner. It was where the horse trough was. There had been a ratty blanket there, which was taken for evidence. A pitchfork and shovel leaned against the wall. And then there’d been a stainless-steel bucket with granola bar wrappers in it. The autopsy had revealed granola bars and water in Tracy’s stomach, the only things he’d given her to eat.

The police had combed the area with a fine-tooth comb. It’s where they had collected most of the DNA. Joshua started pacing up and down the area, blocking my view of it.

My gaze strayed to the back door. I walked over and knelt in front of it. It was getting darker, so I called for Mandy to grab the flashlights I’d left in my purse in the car. She complied with a scowl.

There was something interesting about this back door. A groove lined the floor, and the lock was busted as if it’d been forced open. If Williams always parked in front, why would he need to get out this door? I hadn’t seen anything in the police report about it, so I walked through.

There was a field in the back, and only a field. A narrow dirt drive circled the barn and led here. Kathleen, the neighbor, hadn’t mentioned seeing two cars, but what if someone had parked back here without her seeing?

It was the first time I’d thought about it. What if Williams wasn’t the only one here?

I went back to the doorway and got on my hands and knees. Any evidence I found would be eleven months old. What could survive eleven months out here? I found dead grass, clods of dirt, fresh animal droppings, ancient animal droppings, and tidbits of fur all stuck around the entrance.

Mandy came with the flashlights. She didn’t say anything—just held up the light and made the area bright. I murmured a thank you, but didn’t take my eyes off the floor. There were no cigarette butts, no old footprints, or litter of any—wait. I scrambled to the very corner of the barn.

“I think I found something,” Joshua and I shouted at the exact same time.

Joshua hurried over. “You go first,” he said.

I pointed at a candy wrapper lodged in a crack in the floor. “This might be his.” I looked up at them, and their eyes lit with the significance. “Some people open candy wrappers with their teeth. There might be some saliva on it.”

Joshua nodded. “That’s good.”

“It’s old, and wasn’t caught by the police.” I sat back on my heels. “It’s basically void, but maybe something will come of it.”

Mandy peered closer. “I think it’s a Jolly Rancher wrapper. Cherry.” She handed me the flashlight, and then she picked up the camera that hung around her neck and started snapping pictures.

“This could mean Williams wasn’t the only one here,” I said.

“I don’t know if we could jump to that …” Joshua said with reticence.

I shrugged. It was just a gut feeling I had.

“What’d you find?” I asked Joshua when Mandy was done.

He grinned and led us toward the horse trough. “I think the detectives covered everything except for what I found on this wall.” He pointed to an area beside the blanket and we stood before it, looking at the rotting slats. I could barely make out something different in the texture, a darkened line or two.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I think he peed on the wall,” Joshua said. Mandy wrinkled her nose. “And then the dirt collected on the liquid and created that pattern.”

“Hmm,” I said. “If it dribbled to the ground, maybe forensics could collect a sample from the ground, too.”

“I think they should saw off this whole section and see if they can get anything out of it,” Joshua said.

Urine was a long shot, as the only DNA found in it was from endothelial cells and they might not be present in the sample after this long. Not to mention the fact that the court would never trust evidence discovered by us. But a long shot was better than no shot. I grinned widely. “You get extra points in your intern scorecard,” I said.

“There’s an intern scorecard?” Joshua said, adjusting his glasses.

“No.” I laughed. “But if there was, you’d be the winner.” Joshua accepted my compliment with a smile. “Let’s call in the reinforcements,” I said, taking out my phone. I had to get the detectives out here to collect the evidence.

“If we did this much in an hour,” Mandy said, snapping pictures of the wall, “I can’t imagine how many cases we’d solve if we worked at it full-time.”

“Yeah, I think we’re in the wrong line of work.” I winked at Joshua. “Let’s go into the private investigator business … Hello?” The detective on the case answered and I explained what we’d found. After he grumbled about the late hour and I pointed out that if he’d done his job right in the first place he wouldn’t have to come out here again, he said he was on his way.

The crickets got quiet again. That was strange. I bent my ear toward the open door. Gravel crunched—a vehicle was pulling into the driveway, and coming fast.

Mandy frowned. “How could the police get here already?”

Breaks squeaked and a car door opened. Someone ran toward the barn.

Joshua froze. I jumped up and ran for the door. My palms were sweating and I held back the fear creeping up my spine.

As I neared the exit, I heard glass shatter and the door erupted in flames. Mandy screamed. I smelled gasoline, and then heard another crash as a small section of wall exploded with fire. The wood was dry and rotted, the perfect food for a ravenous flame. Within a second, it got so hot that I had to move back, away from the heat.

I heard another thump against the outside of the barn, a crash of glass, and flames started climbing up the other wall. It was a nearly smokeless fire, the wood was so dry. The blaze was going straight for Mandy and Joshua—and the new evidence.

Grabbing the shovel before flames encased it, I ran toward my friends, shouting, “Go for the back door.” My heart slowed and I stayed calm. The more intense things got, the more awareness came to me. It was what being an attorney had taught me.

Mandy shot toward the back. Joshua stayed near the evidence, looking at the wall and then back to the flames as if torn about leaving. “Go,” I ordered him.

“Watch out,” he said with panic in his voice, pointing to the approaching flames. A heat wave pinched my skin and curled the hair on my face.

As I neared the wall, I raised the shovel and aimed for the top of the board. With a cry, I slammed the shovel into the wood. It splintered in two, right above the urine stains. The board was ajar, leaning at an awkward angle. I grabbed the bottom of it and wrenched it sidewise, tearing it from the wall just before the flames reached it.

I followed Joshua at a run. He moved surprisingly fast for his hefty frame. I saw him take something from his coat jacket—a handkerchief. The fire raged behind us. I heard beams crashing and walls collapsing. Just as he passed the door, in one fluid motion he bent down and picked up the candy wrapper with the handkerchief.

The fire reached the door before I did. Sparks shot out of some electrical wires and I flinched. I wasn’t going to make it in time. Taking a deep breath, I leaped hands first through the exit.

The doorframe collapsed behind me. A spark landed on my arm, singeing my sleeve, and then burst into flames. I clapped my hand over it, quelling the fire. Pain seared my palm.

I sucked in deep breaths of clean air. Mandy stood at the end of the field, eyes wide and pierced with panic. Beside me, Joshua clutched my arm and pulled me away from the barn.

I coughed out all the air in my lungs before breathing felt right. We turned to watch the pillar of smoke rise to the sky and I heard sirens in the distance.

Collapsing to the ground, I saw the barn fall in. It had been destroyed so quickly. Setting the board down beside me, I was thankful we had at least found what we needed. Joshua still held my arm, as if needing a presence near him.

I trembled and looked up at Mandy. She was scared, but there was a hard, angry edge about her eyes. I recognized it because it was the way I felt at the moment. We had been so close to dying.

I wanted to scream, but I was frozen. Orange flames licked up the remaining barn walls and I knew who was behind this. But there was a difference between what was true and what could be proven in court.

“Is everyone okay?” Joshua tore his eyes from the blaze and looked Mandy and me over.

“I’m fine,” Mandy whispered.

Joshua cleared his throat and looked into my eyes. He didn’t need to say anything—we both knew what the other was thinking.

THE DETECTIVES CAME AT the same time as the fire engines. There was no barn left for the firemen to save, so they sprayed down the yard and border of the fields to make sure the fire was contained.

We handed over the evidence to the detectives, with detailed descriptions of where we found it. They watched as Mandy loaded the pictures onto her phone, emailed each one to them, and then deleted them. We had to make sure no one could suspect us of tampering with the evidence, although I knew we wouldn’t be able to use it. They promised they’d write in their report that they’d collected the evidence at the scene of the crime so we’d have a stronger case.

We rode back to town in silence. Joshua had a soft Hawaiian song playing, almost like a lullaby. He loved Samoan music and had just about every CD ever recorded in Hawaii—it was one of the only parts of his heritage he clung to. The singer crooned us into a near-sleep state.

My body felt like a train had hit it at full speed and then backed up to finish the job. My lungs hurt, my eyes ached, and my head felt swollen.

“Want me to stay at your place tonight, Sarah?” Mandy asked. It was kind. I did want her to stay, but I knew she didn’t need me right now. She needed Rick. So I refused, saying I’d sleep like a log whether she was there or not. We dropped her off at her house and then Joshua and I went back to the office. We were covered in soot, sweat, and grime. I just needed to pick up my car.

“You’ve got that meeting with Hannah Williams in the morning,” Joshua reminded me.

I nodded. “We got a lot done today. Hopefully we’ll take a few more steps closer tomorrow.”

Joshua adjusted his glasses and turned to leave. For some reason I reached for him and gave him a big hug. I melted in his arms, and he felt good and safe.

Without another word, we went our separate ways.

I soaked in the bath until my fingers and toes looked like prunes. I went into the water smelling like a cloud of smoke and came out smelling like vanilla. A layer of grime lined my tub when I drained the water.

After drying off and brushing my hair, I just lay in my bed. The covers were soft and warm against my naked skin.

I felt restless. Although I was tired, I was nowhere near falling asleep. The adrenaline was still in my body, fueling my thoughts. The events of the day reeled through my head like a movie. There were several things I wished I had done, things I would change.

I wished I had run outside the barn as soon as I heard the car pull into the driveway.

I wished I’d been there when Williams had gotten out of his car with those Molotov cocktails.

I wished I’d kicked him back into the car and thrown the bombs in after him.

This evening I’d been reminded once again what he’d done to Tracy Mulligan—had seen where he raped and beaten and killed her. And then he’d tried to kill my friends and destroy the evidence. I had no proof, but I knew it was him.

One side of me wanted him to come to justice the slow, modern way—through the judiciary system.

The other side of me wanted him to see justice the ancient, blood-feud way—and watch him burn.

SWEAT POURED OFF THE tip of my nose as I pounded the stair climber. Eminem ripped my heart out in my earbuds and I lost myself in the sound. This was my escape, my world to bend and create what I wanted.

I had barely slept, and now I was up and doing my early morning exercise routine. I had a weight problem when I was a kid—I just couldn’t lose the baby fat. Being teased at school led to more eating, and at my highest weight I began to have some medical problems. I also ate when I was stressed, and my home environment was the opposite of stress-free.

I wanted to be healthy, and then that day came …

It still hurt so much, but in a way, my mom going away on a life sentence was the best thing that ever happened to me. I didn’t like to think about it. But when I worked out, in the middle of punishing my body, I let it drive me.

Thinking about my mom made me think about my father. He’d never left me, but he’d never been there for me, either. In the midst of Mom’s craziness, he never stood up for me. That’s why I had done what I did that night. And even though I longed for him, I knew that I was longing more for the idea of someone than the real person.

My mom was gone too, for all intents and purposes. She’s still angry. When I call her, she answers me in monosyllables and then hangs up after a minute. I tried to see her the first year, but she wouldn’t come out of her cell. And it was hard for foster parents to get me there anyway, so I gave up and took to the gym.

One hundred pounds later, I was in the best shape of my life. For the first time, men noticed me, and it took me about a year to figure out how to handle male attention. Most just wanted one thing, and I was not in to one-night stands.

“Just gonna stand there and watch me burn …”

My legs screamed and I pushed harder. The more they hurt, the louder the music, and the easier it was to drown out my thoughts. Was it healthy to try to bury all my feelings? Probably not, but I wasn’t ready to stare that monster in the face.

The song ended and I eased up for a full minute. When my heart rate slowed a little, I cranked up the resistance and hit it as hard and fast as I could.

I thought about Hank Williams and how he was trying to break me. Why? What did he have to gain by pushing me to the edge? Was he really planning to kill me, or was he just scared?

One of the most dangerous things was a man with money and nothing but time on his hands, and Hank Williams had both.

THE DOORBELL RANG AND I jumped. It was barely six in the morning and I’d just stepped out of the shower. I grabbed my robe from the hook on the back of the bathroom door and wrapped it around me. Who could it be at this hour?

Peering through the peephole, I saw a mass of flowers. Sighing, I turned and leaned against the door. My hair was wet and I felt naked. Wait—I was pretty much naked under my robe.

I unlocked the door and smiled as a tall, thin man handed me the roses—a dozen of them, and a card. He had me sign for them and walked away after checking me out. I blushed as I shut and relocked the door.

Who would be sending me flowers? If it was Dan, I was going to have to talk to him again—he couldn’t flirt with me like this. He was married and I was not going to sleep with him, no matter how hard he tried.

I set the vase down and breathed in the wonderful scent. The roses were amazing, red and full, all in bloom. I slid the card from the envelope and turned it over. It had a puppy on the front with huge eyes and a silly smile. I laughed in spite of myself and opened it.

You think you escaped, but all you did was sentence yourself to death. Enjoy the roses.

HW

TWO HOURS AFTER I’D dumped the roses in my trash can, I was late. I’d dropped off the card at the police station, filed another report, and then hightailed it to the office. My meeting with Hannah Williams was in forty minutes and it was all the way across town.

I rushed down the hallway. My heels sounded funny on the marble floor, like horse hooves on pavement. I entered the common room and waved Joshua over. He was talking with some other interns. Then I entered my office. Someone moved from behind the door and grabbed my arm.

Acting instinctively, I yanked my arm out of the grip and elbow-jabbed him in the chest.

He cried out. Doubling over, he grabbed his chest, trying to catch his breath.

“Dan!” I said. “Geez, don’t scare me like that.”

I think he was being overly dramatic. Joshua came behind me and looked over my head to see what was holding me up. “You did that?” he mouthed to me. When I nodded, he grinned.

“He surprised me,” I said unapologetically as I edged past Dan and went to my desk. I just had to grab my notes for the interview and then I’d jet out of here.

Dan finally straightened, wincing. “That’s going to leave a mark,” he said. I tried not to smile.

Joshua came to the desk and I handed him a list of things to do. I didn’t want to take him with me to Williams, Inc. I told myself it was because he had a lot of things to do here, but I knew it was really because I wanted him out of the limelight, to keep him safe.

I shoved the file in my briefcase and turned to leave. Dan was still blocking the door.

“Was there something you needed?” I asked with as much respect as I could muster. Which wasn’t a whole lot.

“I need an update,” he said. “This case is blowing up in our face, literally.” He looked down on me with a serious frown. That’s why I hated being short—everyone looked down on me. “What kind of evidence did you find at the barn? What plans do you have today? And why were you at the police station so early this morning?”

I widened my eyes, trying to look sincere. “I will catch you up on this case. On everything. But I really have to go right now—I’m late for a meeting with Hannah Williams and those aren’t easy to come by.” I held his gaze.

He sighed and stepped away. “Fine. But call me once you’re driving and fill me in, okay?”

“Okay,” I promised.

Joshua followed me, but I held up a hand. “You stay here. I’ll catch you when I’m back.”

His brow creased in worry and he opened his mouth to protest. I turned and walked out the door before he said anything.

THE DRIVE FROM THE office to the Williams, Inc. building took just over fifty minutes. It was located out of town past the airport on the road heading toward the foothills. I’d called Dan and told him everything, which meant he had more questions than ever—just like I did. What I realized as I told him about the flowers was that I didn’t want to go home again. They knew where I lived, and my place wasn’t exactly an insurmountable fortress. My mind whirled, wondering where I should go. I must’ve wondered out loud because Dan said, “You can stay at my place.”

I wrinkled my nose in disgust, but said sweetly, “No, thanks. If they could find my house, they could find your place. I’ll figure something out.”

And then I saw what I was looking for. “I’m at Williams, Inc.,” I said. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Be careful,” he said in a fatherly tone.

I almost said, “Whatever,” but then thought better of it and said, “I will.”

I stopped at the gate, which was a good mile from the main building. I could see the white, gleaming buildings in the distance shining like diamonds against the sagebrush.

Williams, Inc. had over four thousand employees; it brought a huge amount of income into the valley and was good for everyone. They also were working on new battery technology. If they could create a battery that lasted three times longer, just imagine what that would do to the auto industry. Electric cars would take over, and the oil crisis would be at an end. The world had high hopes for Williams, Inc. and I was trying to take down the CEO, which didn’t put me in very good standing with a lot of powerful people.

The rent-a-cop’s skin was dark from the hot summer sun. He had a smooth, bald head and mirrored sunglasses. I guess I’d watched too much television because to me, he looked just like one of the DB on Reno 911. He approached my car and I rolled down my window.

“I’m Sarah Steele, the ADA.” I waited a moment and said, “I have an appointment with Hannah Williams.”

“Hold on.” The man took off his glasses, picked up a black phone, and turned to me. The six-by-six guard booth had a small TV in the corner displaying the turnoff from the main road.

I waited and wondered if I was going to strike out. Was I too late? I could pretend to be a cutthroat lawyer if I needed to, but it was more for show than anything else.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But you’re too late.”

I couldn’t stop now. “No way. I need to see Williams today. I’m late because her father has been terrorizing me and I’m going to hear what she has to say about that. I need to get in.” I gave him a soft look, and the guard rubbed his chin and glanced back toward the white buildings in the distance.

“Look, miss, I just work here. I got kids, and they fire people around here for sneezing too loud. I really want to help you, but I can’t.”

Groaning, I gripped the steering wheel and half thought about gunning it and breaking through the gate across the road.

“Tell you what.” The guard leaned out the window and smiled. “I’ll get her secretary on the phone and you see if you can wheedle your way in after all.”

I grinned. Wheedling was one of my greatest skills. After he dialed, I took the phone from him. “Hello, this is Sarah Steele.”

“Hello, Sarah Steele,” a crisp female voice answered. “You’ll have to make another appointment.”

“No, I don’t,” I said. “Williams needs to see me today. I’m working a case involving her father and I need to hear her statement.” Silence on the other side of the line. “I can either come in now or in three hours with a court order. You don’t want that kind of hassle, do you?”

More silence and then the woman said, “Let me talk to the guard.”

Perking up, I handed the phone back, tapping my nails on the steering wheel as I waited.

He hung up. “You’re free to go in, Miss Steele.”

I smiled. “Thank you.” I was about to pull forward when I noticed his expression. It was as if he had something on the tip of his tongue.

“What is it?” I asked.

“You should be talking to Glen Williams, not Hannah.”

I’d never heard that name before, but I’d better find out why it mattered. “Really?” I said, my expression open. “Who is he?”

“I think he’s Hank’s brother or cousin or uncle or someone.” The guard stared intently at me for a moment and then looked away.

I knew he couldn’t be Hank’s brother. Hank was an only child. “Got anything to dish on him?” I asked in a quiet voice.

“Nothing much—the man is a ghost. He only comes around, like, twice a year, and most people around here don’t even know what he looks like. Hank Williams is the face of the company. Now that he’s in trouble, there’s a lot of speculation about who’s going to run things. People are scared of Glen. I mean, he’s a weird guy!”

“What do you mean by ‘weird’?”

“I just hear things—you know. They say he lives in hiding, like a hermit or some sort of recluse or something. But they say he’s always watching us.”

I held back a smile. The gossip chain was not going to help me. This story was turning out to be a tale the employees were told to stay in line.

“Thanks.” I was about to pull forward, but I hesitated. The name Glen Williams stuck in my head, as if it mattered somehow. “Do you know anyone who could tell me about him?”

The guard rubbed his jaw as he thought. “Hmm, you could try to talk to Heather Dade.”

“Heather Dade?” I straightened up at the familiar name. She was the one who had changed her name from Hannah Williams. “Who is she? Is she related?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. She stops by here every now and again. I feel bad for her. Lives over in the—” He suddenly looked around, as if realizing how much he’d told me. “G’luck,” he said quietly, tipping his head to me. I got the hint and drove on.

The Williams family was larger than I’d thought. How much did they have to do with Hank, and were any of them following in his footsteps? I’d have to find out.

WILLIAMS, INC. SPANNED OVER fifty acres of buildings so white, the nickname for the place was the White City. I had to go through one more guard booth and then, after I parked, three more sets of security. I was directed to the top-story office where Hannah Williams’s office was located. It reminded me of the Evil Queen in her tower in Snow White, looking out over her kingdom.

“Miss Steele.” A tall woman with brown hair and a slim figure greeted me. I recognized her voice from the phone call.

“Yes?”

“Come this way. Miss Williams will see you now.”

I followed the secretary back to a tall, smooth white door. She opened it and let me pass. The room beyond was huge, white, and blinding. Floor-to-ceiling windows were on one end and a simple glass desk sat in the middle of the near-empty room. Sitting behind the desk was a tall blonde woman; she stood up and held out her hand.

“Miss Steele?”

“Miss Williams.” We shook hands. Her fingers were as soft as rose petals.

I sat in a high-backed chair and tried to keep my hands from shaking. She had pure skin, big brown eyes, a lithe, athletic figure, and hair that fell in glistening curls around her shoulders. Her outfit was unique—a pencil skirt with an asymmetrical hem and a jacket with curious blue buttons. After gauging her appearance, I had to concede that she really was the fairest in all the land.

“I want to start off by saying that I can in no way discuss my father’s case without my lawyers present.”

“I understand,” I said. Taking out a notepad, I pretended to make a note. There had to be something in this glass house I could throw at her, something I could learn that would help me. I decided to shoot for the moon and make a fool of myself. People did not take fools as a threat and might say more than they would otherwise. “We’re not interested in him so much as his brother. Glen, is it?”

Hannah grinned, but it was not a nice smile. “I’m not sure where you got your information, but my father is an only child. He does not have a brother.”

I didn’t say anything—just waited, staying perfectly still. Most people can’t handle that. She couldn’t either, and spoke again.

“So this visit has nothing to do with my father?”

“No, it has to do with you and Glen.”

“Me? What does any of this have to do with me?”

“Because no one can work as closely with someone as you have with your father and not recognize that something is off.” I kept my voice steady. “Now, I know you don’t want to testify against your father—no child does.” Color rose in her cheeks at the word “child.” “But can you tell me anything about his lifestyle that would give us a stronger case?”

“No,” she said.

“Why are you keeping his secrets?” I prodded.

“I’m not keeping secrets.” The lie was evident in her voice.

“Then give me all the information you have on Hannah Dade,” I said.

She broke my gaze and picked up her pen. She doodled a figure eight on a note. My gaze shifted to the words on the note and I read it upside down. It looked like RuSat 11. It didn’t make any sense to me.

Hannah finally spoke. “I was betrayed. In the most personal of ways. Everything I knew about my father, about my life, about the world … is a lie.” She looked at me, her eyes sad. “There’s no recovery from something like this. My foundation is crumbling. When people look at me, they don’t see me—they see the spawn of a monster. So I’d like to get what normalcy I can back in my life.”

I nodded in understanding. I knew quite a bit about betrayal. And about parental units being criminals. But I couldn’t leave with nothing.

“So who is Heather Dade?”

Hannah stood up and said curtly, “This meeting is over.”

“Miss Williams, a good way to bring peace into your life is to help others along—”

“This meeting is over, Miss Steele!” Hannah pushed a button on her desk. A moment later, two guards walked in and I stood. Guards? She must be more jumpy than she let on.

“Very well. If you change your mind, here’s my card.” I left one on the table. “Hope you find the normalcy you’re looking for.”

ON MY WAY THROUGH the reception area, I stopped at the front desk. A young woman clicked away at a keyboard and looked up at me when I cleared my throat.

“Hello, I have to run some documents out to a—” I looked at my notepad and pretended to read. “Heather Dade. I was told to get her address from you.”

The brown-eyed receptionist smiled and started typing again. I made sure to cover my visitor badge with my purse and waited. Without a word, she wrote something on a sticky note and handed it to me. It was a long shot, but Heather’s name had come up too many times not to follow up, and Joshua had run into a dead end trying to find her.

Taking it, I thanked the woman and hurried out the front door.

Heather Dade

610 Mockingbird Lane

Eagle, ID 83713

I frowned as my mind reeled with questions. I jotted down a few of them right away before I forgot. There was only one thing on my mind now—to find this person and see what she had to say about Hank Williams.

As I walked to my car, I rolled my neck. The restless nights were getting to me. I needed to learn how to tame that nocturnal side or I might break.

I typed in the address on the GPS in my phone. It was on the other side of town. I wanted Joshua with me on this one—we could combine our information on the way there.

And he had a face anyone would trust. Those round cheeks and big brown eyes—most people were putty in his hands. No one suspected that he usually had multiple motivations behind each of his questions.

WILLIAMS HAD MONEY, HE had power, and this afforded him the means to hire out. But like his father used to say, “If you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself.” Hunting was a solo job. It was a sport, really, and one he enjoyed, but cleaning up the mess and doing the dirty work—that’s what he paid others to do.

“You see, Marco, if you’d done your job, if you’d just once done what I told you to do, this would not be happening.” Marco squirmed, but Williams held him down with a knee in the chest.

“I’m sorry. You said fix it, so I did.” Blood trickled from Marco’s nose, and his eyes darted to the eight-inch knife Williams was holding.

“No, Marco, you didn’t fix it—you fixed nothing. If you fixed it, why is she still snooping around, hmm? Tell me, Marco, why is she still alive if you fixed it?”

In a way, he was glad Marco misunderstood him. He needed this, needed to feel again, to see the fear. It fed him like a drug. He was addicted.

“No, boss, you said fix it, not fix them.”

Williams hit Marco in the neck with the palm of his hand. Marco gagged and tried to get free, but Williams was a strong man.

“Don’t tell me what I said. You failed me and now I have to do it. I have to do your job, Marco. How do you think that makes me feel?”

Marco couldn’t speak. He spit out more blood and Williams pressed harder into his chest, feeling a rib snap. This felt almost as good as an aged Scotch.

“Marco, Marco, Marco …” He lowered his tone as if calming a child. “You made a mistake. It’s okay.” Marco stopped struggling and looked up at Williams. A new hope filled his eyes. This was the best part—giving them hope, letting them think they might live.

“Just tell me, Marco, did you do your job? I just want the truth and this will all be over—you’ll be free. Just tell me the truth.”

Marco was crying now and the sight filled Williams with glee. “No, I didn’t. I failed you.”

“Lie!” Williams screamed and thrust the blade into Marco’s side. “You weak little man—you did just what I told you and now you’re lying to me?” Pulling the knife out, he stabbed Marco three more times, once in the left side and two in the right. Blood pooled out of Marco’s mouth and Williams stood to watch. Marco’s lungs would fill up and he would drown. It was not a fast way to die, which made it one of Williams’ favorites.

“You should have told me the truth, Marco, not let me push you around. But you were weak, and the weak deserve to suffer.”

“SO WHAT ARE WE hoping to find out from Heather?” Joshua asked. He rolled down the window and rested his arm on the sill.

“I don’t know. I just want to talk to her, see what we can find out. I want to know what made her change her name.”

“So we’re fishing?”

“Pretty much.”

“Got it.”

“Have we gotten anything back from the evidence in the barn yet?” I asked, needing something concrete to hope for.

“Nope, not yet,” he replied. “It’s a long shot—not sure the judge will even let us use it. It’s been in that barn a long time and it’ll look to the other side like it was planted.”

“I know. I need it more for my own motivation than anything else, proof in my own head.”

The whole case, from start to finish, didn’t make sense. The more I thought about it, the more messed up it seemed. The paid jurors, my kidnapping scare, the forensic cokehead, the witness flaking out, the way Hank Williams was so calm through the trial, the flowers and threats, Hannah’s reticence . . . it went on and on.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Joshua broke in to my thoughts and I snapped back to reality.

“Oh, just thinking about this case, the trial—all of it.”

“Kind of messed up.”

“Yeah.”

Joshua looked out the window. “I think he’s just a spoiled man who has a lot of money and has some guys on his payroll who do his dirty work. I think he gets off on it.”

“I agree. I feel like I’m missing something big, like he’s playing this game and I only have half the rules.”

“I feel just the opposite,” Joshua said. “I feel like we’re searching for rules that aren’t there. Does he seem to you like the kind of man who plays by rules?”

“No.” I sighed. “No, he doesn’t.”

HEATHER DADE LIVED IN the not-so-expensive part of Eagle. The whole town had been remade down to the cobblestone streets, but the old Eagle still had trailers and older homes from when all the stoners lived there twenty years ago before the housing boom.

I parked behind a beat-up Nova and walked to the door of the single-wide trailer. I could smell something funky coming from inside, and when a skinny girl with dark rings around her eyes opened the door, the smell hit me in the face, almost taking my breath away.

“What do you want?” Her voice was gruff and it sounded like she just woke up. She eyed me suspiciously, but her gaze softened when she saw Joshua. He was like a big teddy bear.

“Heather?” I asked in my kindest voice. Joshua smiled tentatively.

“Who wants to know? Are you reporters?”

“No, I’m with the DA’s office. I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Not interested.” She started to shut the door, but I held up my hand and took a gamble that most of her information on law enforcement came from CSI: Miami.

“We can come back with a court order if you like, but then you’d have to talk to me down at the courthouse.”

Two court-order threats in one day. I was getting my money’s worth out of that one.

Heather looked at me through faded blue eyes. She was in her mid-twenties, but looked forty. I was guessing meth.

“Fine. What do you want?” she asked, opening the door a smidge.

“Can we come in?”

She opened the door all the way and we walked into her trailer. I couldn’t believe the mess—beer cans, cigarette butts, rotting food, animal feces, and trash littered every surface. My stomach churned. How could someone live like this? She lit a joint and I was about to protest until I realized the scent covered up the other smells in her house, so I decided not to say anything.

“This is my associate, Joshua.” I motioned toward Joshua, who stood with a fake smile on his face. His eyes watered and I had the feeling he was suffering from the smell a lot more than I was.

“Sorry about the mess. I don’t get many visitors.” Heather cleared a spot on the flowered couch and I sat down. She slouched on the arm of the couch and peered over at me. She looked like a crow perched on the edge of a headstone.

“Heather, first I want to ask you why you changed your name.”

“I never changed my name,” she mumbled and took another draw from her joint.

I cleared my throat. “It was filed on July 7th.”

She tilted her head. “Don’t even remember.”

So this was the way it was going to go. She wasn’t going to sing so easily for me. Well, I could pull a song from just about anyone if you gave me enough time, bribed or not.

“Are you related to Hank Williams?” Joshua asked. I stiffened. If he ruined this for me, so help me . . .

The question clearly agitated her. She flushed, and her hands trembled so hard the ash crumbled from her smoke.

She wasn’t going to answer. Joshua looked at me and shifted uncomfortably. Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped the sweat from his brow.

I started with something easier. “Do you know a Glen Williams?”

Heather shot me a glare, and then she nodded as if the memory pained her.

“I understand why you don’t want to talk. I know how that works.” I thoughtlessly put my hand on the couch cushion, right into something white and gooey. I yanked my hand away, trying not to make a big deal of it, and wiped the goo on my pants. Hopefully it was just rotten yogurt and not something worse. “It doesn’t have to be about the name change, Heather.” I leaned back. “Just tell us a story.”

Joshua looked at me, confused. Heather finished her smoke and put it out in an ashtray shaped like a skeleton hand. She eyed me sideways. “A story?”

“Yep. A story. Any story.”

Heather suddenly looked like she was a million miles away. She stared at nothing, her eyes flashing with memories. I waited, trying not to tap my toe or shift or do anything that would distract her from her thoughts. Joshua looked around for a place to sit. He dragged out a kitchen chair, dusted off the seat with his handkerchief, and sat down heavily.

It pulled Heather from her reverie.

She took a deep breath and sighed. “I haven’t thought about him in a long time. This trial and the news just brought back a lot of bad memories.”

She seemed so breakable and her face was sunken in, as if she was dead but her body hadn’t received the memo.

“We want to hear a story, Heather,” I said.

“Okay, but all I know is a horror story. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“IT STARTED WHEN I turned twelve. My mother died and Hank lost it. He’s such a pig. I think he killed her, but that’s another story.”

So she was his … daughter?

“He gave me everything—I even had a frickin’ pony, just like in the movies. That was our life—parties, people always over, and then night after night of terror. He turned into a different person, mean and jumpy. He would get angry at the drop of a hat. I hated him, wanted to kill him, but I was scared.”

“Did you tell anyone?” Joshua asked.

“Yeah, my uncle Glen, but he did nothing. Said I was imagining things. That I was stressed because of my mother’s death. He said that if I told anyone my lies, I would lose everything. But a few nights after I told him what Hank was doing, he came into the room and … watched.”

“I’m so sorry, Heather.” I meant that with every fiber of my being.

Her eyes filled with tears and they spilled down her pale cheeks. I didn’t think she had seen kindness in a very long time and my heart broke for her. “I was Hannah back then. I made it to my eighteenth birthday and then I moved in with my boyfriend. I worked at Hank’s office every Saturday, filing papers. They paid me crap for wages. We did the best we could with the few pennies we had to rub together, but I had to pull from the money I’d saved for college. My guy left me a year later when the money ran out. Quitting work was the first thing I did after he left.”

“Did your dad look for you or try to find you?”

“No, that was the strange part. He just let me go, didn’t say a word. No police report, nothing. I was so sure he was going to bring me to his house again. I was going to run. I was too scared to talk to the cops. Hank would kill me—I knew he would. I started to imagine killing him, but even in my dreams, he was there with his stun gun.”

My heart jumped at the familiar weapon. So Heather had seen the end of one too.

“But I didn’t run—I was too chicken to face the unfamiliar. Glen told me he’d give me a stipend every month. I was using, and was in debt with some bad people. I needed the money and so I took it. And I was so scared that one day Hank would attack me again. But he traveled so much that I never saw him. Glen always went everywhere with him, but stayed in the shadows like a vampire. He’s so weird. And it was weird to see them together.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Well, it’s always weird to see identical people walking side by side.”

What the heck was she talking about?

Heather riffled through some magazines in a bookshelf and then took out a photo album. She flipped through the pages until she landed on what she wanted and handed it to me. My eyes widened in surprise. This case was getting stranger by the minute.

The picture was of a small family in front of a huge mansion. A young Heather stood in front of a squinty-eyed woman, who stood beside Hank, who stood beside a man who looked exactly the same as he did. Same shape of face, same build, same smile, same facial hair.

“Twins? Hank and Glen are twins?”

MY HEART BEAT IN my ears. They were identical twins, and in this picture I could not tell who was who.

“Yes, twins. But Glen was the quiet one, stayed in the background, never was one for the public eye. I don’t think he’s even publicly listed, so he can do whatever the heck he wants. He’s the one I thought I could trust, but we see how that worked out.”

My mind raced with the possibilities. Could Hank have switched places with Glen? Joshua leaned over and took the picture out of the album.

“Can we take this?”

“Sure. When I look at him, I see my father—I mean Hank. They’re different sides of the same coin.”

“Where is your uncle now?” I asked.

“Who knows? He’s never around. He lives in Hong Kong most of the time. And when he’s here, he doesn’t go out in public. I don’t think the things he does overseas are good.” Her eyes darkened. “Or decent. I heard him and Hank laughing about it once.”

The pieces were beginning to fall into place, but I still felt like something was missing. Why did he let his daughter leave without a word? And why isn’t Hannah in this family photo?

“I feel like you’re not telling me something—how did you end up here?”

Heather began to cry. I pulled her to me and held her as she wept. I tried not to care when she got tears and snot on my jacket sleeve. I held out my hand and gave Joshua a fierce look, and with a sigh he handed over his handkerchief. She blew her nose in it. After a time Heather calmed down and looked up at me. I could see the little girl in her eyes, so innocent and vulnerable, the girl she was before her father ruined her forever.

“I was getting back on my feet. I had a good job at Macy’s and I was going to stop using the stipend. I was even going to buy a little house. But then I got a letter.”

I waited for her to keep going. I felt for her—I could see her healthy, strong, and rising above all the hell of her past. I could see myself in her hollow expression.

“It was from no one, no return address, nothing. Just a note that said that I was not Hannah Williams—I was Heather Dade.”

“What do you mean? What happened to you, Heather?”

Through her sobs, she said, “I had been kidnapped!”

“WHAT? KIDNAPPED?” I EXCHANGED a look with Joshua. This story was getting too fantastic, and a sliver of doubt went through my mind.

“I was taken when I was three. Hank Williams is not my real father, and my mother is not even my real mother! That bastard took me and killed my real parents and then raped me when I turned twelve!”

“Slow down. What do you mean, he killed your parents?”

“After I got the letter, I started looking up everything I could find on the name Dade. I became obsessed. I found this old report of a missing girl, three years old, up in Washington. They never found her and the parents died a year later in a boating accident. I think Hank killed them.” Heather sucked in a heavy breath and blew her nose again.

“They died, and I have no other family. My grandparents are dead, they were both only children, and I’m the last. Once I discovered the truth, I was so sick that I lost it. A month later I was admitted to a mental ward in Boise and they got me hooked on drugs. The place just kept its patients under, medicated, and once I got out, I tried to tell the police. But it was my word against theirs. I don’t think I told the story well. They have money, power. And I have nothing but a broken mind.”

I put my hand on her shoulder. “You have more than that. Blood can’t lie. You could have a DNA test done to prove who you are.”

“Then what? I was under a different name, I looked different, and all he has to do is claim that he never knew who I was, that I was just a crazy person who wanted money for drugs.”

I shook my head and said, “But you have this picture. You aren’t gone.”

“Oh, but I am. I’ve been replaced. The Hannah Williams at Williams, Inc. is my stand-in. You think they want the press asking questions about where his daughter went, why I’m not involved in the family business? She works for him—she’s the one in charge whenever Hank is away. Who do you think is running things now?”

I blew out a low whistle, trying to digest it all. If it was true, everything Hannah told me earlier today was hot air. She was in on it all. She wasn’t even Hannah Williams, and the plot was much more sinister. “Wow. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t say anything,” she said with a hiccup. “If you do, you’ll end up like me, or worse. He doesn’t fight fair. My advice? Forget about him and pretend you never knew who Hank Williams was!”

This was much deeper than I’d ever thought. Tracy Mulligan wasn’t the first. He’d had a life of crime, but had only been caught once. And now the psychopath was walking free.

“Heather,” I said, leaning forward. “Will you testify against Hank? With your testimony and our evidence, we would be able to put him away.”

She trembled and shook her head so hard that her hair whipped around her shoulders. “N—no,” she stuttered. “I can’t. I’d be dead before I ever reached the stand. You don't know how powerful he is, Sarah!” Terror choked her voice. “His hands are everywhere. It seems like he’s paid off someone on every level.”

Was she just paranoid, or was there some truth behind her words? My mind raced through the possibilities. There were some big players involved with Williams, Inc. If what she was saying was true, what would that mean for Boise, for everyone involved in the process—senators and politicians?

“That’s exactly why you need to tell your story,” I said, touching her arm. “He must be stopped.”

She set her lips and her face closed down, as if a mask had fallen over her features. Taking the handkerchief, she handed it to Joshua, who mumbled, “Keep it.”

“I think you should leave now,” she said.

“But, Heather—”

“Leave!” she shouted.

I stood and followed Joshua toward the door. Before I left, I looked back. “Pedophiles don’t rehabilitate,” I said. “This is going to happen again. If you testify, you may save another little girl from your fate.” I set my card on her table. “If you change your mind, give me a call. We’ll protect you.”

She looked up at me, eyes scared. “No one can be protected from Hank Williams. No one.”

“GLEN IS THE ONE who kidnapped me.” I glanced over at Joshua, who drove with one hand on the wheel.

“I thought you didn’t recognize any of the men,” he said with a frown.

“I never said that—you just assumed. I saw Hank Williams there and didn’t tell anyone because it was too crazy.”

Silence rested between us.

“Nothing’s too crazy,” I said.

He nodded. “So I'm learning. You know you can’t stay at your apartment,” he said.

“I know. Drop me off so I can pack a bag and then we’ll head to the office to process everything.”

The first thing I did when I got inside was to go over to the drawer in my bedroom and take out my gun. I didn’t load it, but I put a bullet in my pocket.

In the quiet of my home, I took a moment. Joshua could wait a little longer. I kicked off my shoes, flopped onto the couch, and covered my eyes with my arm. The cool room felt good. I could hear the clock on the wall ticking. In the kitchen, the fridge hummed and the dishwasher beeped, letting me know it was done. I was home.

One more thing Hank Williams was taking from me.

This case was getting deeper than I ever thought. And I was afraid I would drown in it.

Heather’s face flashed in my mind. That’s what he did to people—destroyed them from the outside in so they’d hate themselves. Was that who Tracy Mulligan would’ve become if she’d survived?

My phone vibrated. I grabbed my purse, fumbling through it with my eyes still closed. I pushed the talk button.

“Hello.”

I waited. The other end was just static and some faint background noise.

“Hello?” I could hear the other person breathing slow and steady and I thought maybe they pocket dialed me.

I opened my eyes and looked at the caller ID.

UNKNOWN.

I said nothing for a full thirty seconds and hung up.

Five seconds later, the phone rang again.

UNKNOWN.

I answered, but this time I didn’t say hello. I waited and listened to the breathing. My heart beat faster and I sat up. I could hear the person on the other end whispering something, but I couldn’t make out what it was. I turned up the volume to the maximum setting, pressed the phone tight to my ear, and plugged my other ear with my finger.

“Sarah.”

It was so soft that I almost missed it, but when someone says your name, something inside rings like a bell, some sort of signal to our brains that tells us we were called. I listened to the voice whisper my name over and over.

I hung up and put the phone down. It vibrated again in my hand. I looked at the screen.

UNKNOWN.

I shut off the phone and put my head in my hands. My legs were shaking and my gut felt like it was going to ball up and twist into my lungs and suffocate me.

Standing, I paced the room, looking at the phone on the couch. It was off, but somehow I imagined it ringing, like in some horror movie. This was crazy. Who was calling me? I felt like I knew the answer, but couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud.

I strode to my bedroom and hurriedly packed my things into a garment bag. This case was more personal than I’d ever thought, than I’d ever wanted. What I really wanted was for Hank Williams to walk through that door and meet the barrel of my gun. The justice system wasn’t giving him what he deserved, and I wanted to. So badly. The force of the feelings disturbed me to the core.

I didn’t want him to turn me into a monster.

It was time to get out.

I DIDN’T TELL JOSHUA until we were back at the office, standing before Dan’s desk. Then I laid it out, telling them I wanted off the case. I knew Joshua wasn’t going to handle it well.

He didn’t.

“You can’t quit now,” he said, rising to his full height. He towered over me. “If you’re off this case, it will never be solved. You know everything about it.”

“And they know everything about me,” I said. “That’s why I can’t work on it.” My voice broke. “He kidnapped me, almost killed you and Mandy, set things on fire, destroyed Heather’s life, sent me flowers, called me, and all the while he runs one of the most successful businesses in the United States.”

“A saner person would’ve quit before this,” Dan said.

Joshua glowered, and I saw hurt behind his eyes. I’d disappointed him. It was hard to see.

I went on, not looking Joshua in the eye. “I just think someone with more experience could handle this case better than me.”

I swallowed. That wasn’t the real reason. I knew it. They knew it. My fear darkened the room like a cloud. They just didn’t know that I wasn’t afraid of Hank Williams—I was afraid of myself.

Dan raised his eyebrows. “That’s the first time I’ve heard any statement from you that was anything less than 100% confident.”

I looked down. Was I being wise about this, or was I just admitting defeat? Either way, I was bone-tired of it.

“The safety of my employees is my number-one priority,” Dan said. He arranged the papers on his desk. “If you want off the case, you’re off the case. Take a few days for yourself, relax and get your bearings. Come back on Tuesday. I’ll give you a new case, something you can handle.”

The words burned within me. My cheeks turned red. It was the first time I hadn’t seen a case through to the end and it rubbed me raw.

“Joshua, you’re still on it,” Dan said. “I’m going to talk to a few people and see who’s best for the job.”

Joshua still looked at me as if he couldn’t believe what I was saying. But he didn’t know what was in me, what this case had revealed. It was breaking me. I wasn’t going to wait for it to tear me in two.

SINCE HOME WASN’T SAFE, I wanted to spend my time at a bed-and-breakfast in the suburbs until Tuesday. That would keep me off the radar, and hopefully Hank’s attention would shift somewhere else. I didn’t know what I’d do if he was still terrorizing me when I got back home.

There was something I needed to learn before Tuesday.

I reached in my purse and took out the sticky note with Solomon’s number. I stared at it for a long second and dialed.

“This is Solomon.”

The voice on the other end of the line was deep and had a commanding air.

“Hello, this is Sarah—Sarah Steele. I was referred to you by—”

“Yeah, I know who you are … You know Monroe, right? He’s a nut. Good detective, but a nut. He thinks everyone should carry a gun, that the world would be safer if everyone knew how to shoot.”

I smiled. “Maybe the NRA pays him a little something extra each month.”

“Well, aren’t you a cynic,” he said.

“No, I’m a lawyer.”

He laughed. “What can I help you with? You’re looking to learn how to shoot, I take it.”

“Yes.”

“You have a gun?”

“Yes.”

“You know anything about it?”

“No,” I said. “It’s a Lady Glock. Uh … I got it from my dad.”

“Well, you have the right guy. I like teaching newbies. It’s a challenge.” I cleared my throat at his condescending tone. “Let’s set up a meeting,” he continued. “I can go over how I work, and you can tell me about your plans and what you want to get out of the lessons. Sound good?”

“Sure. I’m going to have to go on a lesson-by-lesson basis. I don’t have much free time and my hours are very hectic.” At least, they had been before today.

“Well, watch yourself,” he said. “Once you start shooting, it’s hard to stop. It’s relaxing, in a weird way, and very satisfying.”

The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. “I can see how blowing things up would be satisfying.” I bit my lip. I never said things like that. Out loud.

But he didn’t hesitate. “It sure is. Can you meet Saturday morning at eight?”

That caught me off guard. Tomorrow morning—it was so soon. But with a pang of sadness, I realized I had nothing else to do. Besides, the sooner I learned how to handle a gun, the better.

“That’s pretty early. Do you provide coffee with the lesson?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said. “For you, I will.”

I wondered what he meant by that. Did he know who I was? I agreed on the time, he gave me the address, and we ended the call. Solomon had this way of speaking that reminded me of my father. As if he was so sure of himself, never doubted anything, and would meet any situation with a grin.

I HAD TO STOP by Mandy’s before I left the city. We’d texted throughout the day, but I needed to see her and catch her up on everything face-to-face.

As I pulled into her driveway, I got a text from Angela’s mom. “Is Angie with you?” it said.

“Nope,” I wrote back. This was a normal question for her—Angela often slept over at someone else’s house without letting her mom know. She shouldn’t do that to her mother, but she was almost as stubborn as I was. I texted Angela. “You’d better let your mom know where you are! Now!”

When I got inside, Mandy was in the shower, but Rick was at the kitchen table with a deconstructed motorcycle engine in pieces before him.

“Having spare parts for supper?” I teased after giving him a side hug.

“They taste great dipped in grease,” he said. He was one of the most popular real estate agents on this side of Boise, but he was another guy behind the walls of his home. He wore a white V-neck tee, and I could see his tattooed sleeves and chest tats. Besides going to concerts with Mandy and hanging out with their bike gang, his hobby was reconstructing vintage motorcycles. He had a workshop in the back with every tool imaginable.

“Mandy said I was hanging out with the bikes more than her, so I brought the parts inside.”

I smirked. “I’m sure that’s exactly what she wanted you to do.”

He frowned in consternation. “She didn’t seem that pleased with it.”

Poor guy. I hid a grin. Men were clueless.

Mandy came up behind me and tackled me in a hug. “You’re here!” Her wet hair sprinkled my face with water.

Then she grabbed me by the shoulders, her normal reaction when she wanted to be serious. “Tell me everything.”

I sat down, and in the simplest way possible, told her I was off the case. I was expecting her to be glad. After all, just a few days ago she begged me to quit. But she hesitated before she replied. “Are you sure that’s best?”

Swallowing, I nodded. Which was a lie. I definitely was not sure. Doubt and shame plagued me.

She cocked her head at me, her eyes filled with compassion. “It’s just not like you,” she said.

“What?”

“It’s not like you to quit.”

I thrummed my fingers on the table. It wasn’t quitting—it was backing off. Then I bit my lip, knowing I was lying to myself again. I quit because I wanted to take Hank Williams down. Literally.

Mandy nodded as if something finalized in her mind. “Well, I’m glad you’ll be safe. I hope he gets what he deserves, after what he’s done to Tracy.” She looked me over. “After what he’s done to you.”

I didn’t want to talk about it. “I’m just looking forward to being my own person for the next few days. I have nothing to do. And I love it.” It was another lie. I hadn’t had free time since before law school and I had no idea what I’d do with myself.

“You’re still going to meet us at the Ru tomorrow night, aren’t you?”

“What?” Rick and I exclaimed at the same time.

“The Ru!” Mandy almost shouted and then rolled her eyes. “Come on. Am I the only one who cares about getting a life? We’re all going to the new club tomorrow, remember? I spent a heckuva lot of time and money to get in and I’m not letting you flake on me now.”

The Ru. I’d seen that somewhere … My mind flew back to the meeting I’d had with Hannah Williams, in which she’d lied to me the whole time. The note on her desk said RuSat 11. Would she be at the Ru on Saturday?

“What time?” I asked.

“11:30,” Mandy said.

Interesting. I might be there at the same time as Hannah Williams, might have another chance to talk to her and follow up on Heather’s story. The familiar curiosity that usually got me in trouble started to nag at me.

No. I couldn’t think that way. The case was behind me and I couldn't get sucked into it again. I’d go with Mandy, dance, have fun, and not give another thought to anyone with the last name of Williams.

“I’ll meet you there,” I said.

I DIDN’T ARRIVE AT the bed-and-breakfast until eleven that night. The whole drive there, I resisted the urge to call Joshua and check up on the case. Had the police analyzed the evidence yet? Was any part of Heather’s story verifiable? Just so I wouldn’t call, I hid my phone in my purse and blasted my music as loud as it would go.

I RUBBED MY EYES and threw back the warm blankets that were piled up on my king-size bed. I yawned and stretched. It was 4:30 a.m. I’d gotten four hours of sleep, which was more than I’d had in a long time.

The fan above me whirred, waving the stray hairs out of my eyes. Its chain clacked every few rotations. There was nothing for me to do. I just lay there and soaked up the nothingness.

For at least ten minutes.

That was all my body could handle before my mind strayed. I jumped out of bed, pulled on my running shorts, tank top, and shoes, and went for an hour-long run around the residential neighborhood. The view was so boring. One identical house after the other, as if they were drones lined up in a factory. That was a life I never craved. Something deeper stirred within me. I wanted more than just to settle down.

Unless, of course, it was with the right person. But I hadn’t met that right person, and I wasn’t even close.

Back in my room, I clicked the TV on and went to the kitchen to get my kettle boiling. Then I undressed and got into the shower. I liked it hot, almost scalding. I let the water wash over my face and I closed my eyes. This was my favorite place to think, to let my mind go and open up. There was just something about the sound, and the way a shower made me feel.

By the time I got out and drank my tea, it was almost time to leave for my shooting lesson.

I put on a cute tank top and my skinny jeans. I sprayed myself with body spray—coconut—and put on my makeup.

Taking my gun from the nightstand where I’d stored it, I raced down the stairs. I was getting excited. I’d always wanted to learn how to shoot, but I’d never pursued the opportunity.

SAND HOLLOW WAS A sandpit where people could target practice and sight-in their rifles before hunting season. It took about thirty minutes to get out there and my little Honda didn’t like the last part, which was a dirt road.

I parked behind a nice Chevy truck, got out, and saw him. He was standing backlit by the sun, wore dark aviators, and held a handgun loosely at his side, as if it was an old friend. He was tall, and his shirt pulled tight against his ripped muscles. He looked like a gunslinger, like in the Old West, someone who would strike fear in the heart of anyone who dared to stand against him. I shut my mouth. Geez, was I losing it or what? I needed to get out more. At the first sight of an attractive man, I was getting warm all over.

I walked up to him, my boots crunching the gravel. He looked up and watched me approach.

“Hey,” I said. “I’m Sarah Steele.”

We shook hands. I tried not to look so impressed with his muscular physique, but I couldn’t help but check him out.

“Sarah, so good to see you again.” He smiled in this easy way. He had thick black hair and a trimmed beard. I didn’t like beards, but somehow, on him, it worked.

At his words, my heart fluttered nervously. I looked down. “Again?” I asked.

“Oh,” he said. “I’ve watched your case against Williams. It’s a devastating crime.”

I shifted my feet uncomfortably.

“It had a disturbing end as well,” he said.

I put on my sunglasses. The last thing I wanted to do here was discuss the Williams case.

“Any new leads?” he asked, leaning down, looking at me.

I took a little step back, wanting to leave. “I don’t know. I’m not on the case anymore.” Before he could say anything else, I pulled out my gun. “Can we start the lesson?”

Solomon just looked at me a moment, reading my face. I tried to stay impassive, but the more I looked at him, the more my features melted. He was just so darn hot.

“Let me see this,” he said as he took the gun from me. He withdrew the clip and examined it like a pro. At least, he looked like a pro to me.

“This is a good gun—you’ll do well with it,” he said. “Do you have ammunition?”

I nodded. “I have a box.”

“Well, we’ll need to go over some safety rules first. The biggest thing about gun safety is knowledge. The more you know …” He laughed and took off his sunglasses. “The more you know.” He laughed harder and held his side.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “The more you know?”

This made him laugh even harder and he gripped the truck mirror for support. He sucked in some air and straightened, still grinning like a little boy. “The more you know, like Sesame Street, you know, but this would not be a good topic for kids.”

I smiled at the idea of Big Bird giving gun safety tips. “Everyone needs to use caution around a gun, especially the Grouch.”

Despite my reticence over his questions, I couldn’t help but like him. As the hour went on, I was impressed with his knowledge and his ability to teach that knowledge in an easy-to-understand way. And after those first few personal questions, he became a professional.

But I had to be careful—this was, after all, a man. A handsome man. And handsome men were usually dangerous, especially to me.

After I’d shown him what I knew about cleaning and caring for the gun and he corrected a few of my mistakes, he went through a list of safety regulations I needed to know. He said that by the time we finished five lessons, I would be able to apply for my concealed weapon permit. That thought thrilled me.

Solomon did a quick overview to make sure I knew my gun safety manual. He showed me the difference between a revolver and a closed-action pistol. He handed me my Glock and explained how to load the clip and chamber a round.

“Now you’re good to go. It’s better to have a revolver when you’re first starting out because it’s easier to see if it is loaded. But this—” he motioned to the Glock, “—will hold more rounds.”

I liked learning new things. And knowing more about guns made me feel more comfortable around them. I was starting to see why education was key. The more you know.

I chuckled and Solomon looked over at me with a lopsided grin. “Something funny?”

“Nope, just having fun.”

“Good—this is fun. You’re a fast learner. Now, see if you can knock some of those cans down.”

Solomon had set up ten or so pop cans against a sandbar. I put in my earplugs, looked down the sights, and concentrated on my breathing. Solomon said the best time to squeeze—not pull—the trigger was at the bottom of a breath. I blew out and fired a second before I breathed in again.

Three popping sounds pierced the air, and two of the cans flew backwards. I whooped.

“Good job, not bad—two out of three.”

But just as we were about to go again, he got a call. His eyes darkened and he turned away. “Yep … Yep … No. I’ll be right there.” He snapped his phone shut and turned to me.

“I have to go.”

I was aghast. “In the middle of my lesson? What kind of teacher are you?”

“Teaching isn’t my only job,” he said. “Sorry.” His mind was already miles away, I could tell. “But, hey, we’ll set up another lesson.” He handed me a card, shook my hand hurriedly, and ran off to his truck like he was running from a fire. Or … to a fire.

THAT AFTERNOON, I DID everything I could to distract myself from thinking about Williams. I watched TV for about forty minutes until I was bored. I turned on a movie, but it had a character in it who looked just like Tracy Mulligan. So I went to the mall, even though I hated the mall. There was an orange dress that caught my eye, and I tried it on. Maybe I could wear it to the club that night.

It fit me perfectly. The skirt swayed around my hips, making me feel like a lady. However, when I went up to purchase the dress and the cashier told me how much it was, I backed off. I just couldn’t spend more than fifty dollars on a piece of clothing. I’d never gotten over that side of me from when I lived in poverty as a kid.

I texted Angela, but she didn’t respond. So I went to the dojo and met Cassandra and Jessie there. We hung out for a while and did some light sparring. They said they hadn’t seen Angela in a couple of days, but that wasn’t new. Sometimes she’d shack up with a guy and not come out until they ran out of alcohol or he pissed her off. Although I didn’t approve of her choices, I didn’t make a big deal about it since she was over eighteen.

I took them to a café, but they had to run soon after we got there. They had a Saturday class they needed to make. I wished them luck and then sat alone at the table, finishing my coffee.

It was only one o’clock and I was bored out of my mind.

So I did what any normal person did on a boring Saturday—went online.

I Googled Solomon, but without his last name, all I got were references to the biblical character. I typed in “Solomon gun training in Boise,” and this revealed more. I came to a Facebook page, but it had no pictures so I wasn’t sure it was him. However, I found a last name: Cole.

Solomon Cole. I typed his name into a few databases, but nothing showed up and there was nothing about him anywhere else online, which was weird. Even the average Joe had a small online presence whether they wanted it or not. But him ... nothing. Who was he? And did he have another interest in me than what he let on?

A PULSE, WITH ACTUAL pressure, went through my body, making my breath catch. The club music wasn’t too loud, it was just really good. Tuned in for the perfect blend of sound and feel.

Mandy was not going to be good tonight. I knew it the moment I saw her dress—or pillowcase. I wasn’t sure which it was. It was neon green and her red hair was down and wavy. She was dressed to kill. I was a bit uncomfortable being next to her, as every guy in the radius of that dress was looking at her.

I had gone for a black number I wore once at a wedding a few years ago. It looked good on me, but didn’t bring the kind of attention a dress like Mandy’s brought.

“Hey, I’m going to have fun. We paid big bucks to get in here, and ... Oh, my ... shirtless and hot!” Mandy pointed to the bartenders. They were, in fact, shirtless, and all of them looked like Abercrombie and Fitch models.

Rick wrinkled his nose and pulled her chin up so she would look him in the eye. He gave her a reproving glance, but there was laughter behind his expression.

“For Sarah,” Mandy said. “They’re hot ... for Sarah.”

“Mmm, I see,” he said, and then pulled her out to the dance floor.

The club was set up really well, with four bars so that no matter where you were, you only had to walk a few feet to get a drink. In the center was a lowered dance floor and raised areas to dance on. If you were feeling brave, you could cut loose in front of everyone.

The place was upscale. Huge screens surrounded the dance floor and played the unedited versions of all the hottest music videos. People danced and laughed on the main floor, and the scene intimidated me at once.

I scanned the place for Hannah Williams, but didn’t see her anywhere.

When I looked around, all I could imagine were a hundred ways a girl could get in trouble.

What was wrong with me? This was supposed to be fun, and here I was imagining the worst that could happen.

Put me in a courtroom and I was good. But this ... this was not my natural habitat.

“What can I getcha?” I turned and looked into the darkest eyes I’d ever seen. He was tall, tan, and shirtless.

“Uh ...”

He smiled, and darn it if he didn’t have dimples. “Not sure we have that. How about a— ” He leaned toward me and I turned my ear to him. He cupped my face and whispered, “How about the Lover’s Kiss? Or maybe Ménage à Trois, if you’re feeling naughty.” I felt the heat rise up my neck.

“Get me a gin and tonic,” I said. I couldn’t handle hard liquor very well, and if there was anything I wanted at the moment, it was a clear head.

No, screw that. I needed some trouble. The good kind of trouble.

He turned to go, but I grabbed his arm. “Get me a Lover’s Kiss.” He raised his eyebrows. “Now,” I said.

He smiled and turned to get me my drink.

Mandy and Rick returned from the dance floor, faces flushed. “Got a boyfriend already?” she asked.

“Yeah, but I’ll have to pay his way through college. Ha. No, I don’t think I could go out with a guy who worked at a place like this.”

Mandy rolled her eyes and sipped her appletini. “You don’t have to marry him, Sarah. Just lighten up, have fun, and try to relax a little. Go ask one of those guys who are staring at you to dance.” She tipped back the rest of her drink. A new song came on. “Ooo,” she squealed. “It’s your favorite, Rick.”

“It hasn’t been my favorite for, like, five years,” he protested as she pulled him to the dance floor.

“Okay, okay.” I closed my eyes and sighed. I could do this—have fun, be fun, and relax. I’d bury the darkness deep inside me and play the happy ADA.

“Here you go. Let me know if you like it.” I opened my eyes, and the hottie bartender was there with that amazing smile again.

“Sure thing. Here goes nothing.” I picked up the glass and downed the pink drink. It tasted like cotton candy and was ... really yummy. I could take about two or three more of those.

A deep voice to my left rumbled through the music and sent a shiver down my arms and legs. “Can I buy you another?”

“YOU’RE READING MY MIND—” I stopped short when I saw who it was. “Solomon?”

He smiled and spread his hands. “It’s me.” Adorable. He was dressed nice, in a suit coat and designer jeans. So he had money. Or he went broke buying clothes so he could look like he had money.

“Well, I won’t force you to have a drink.” He shrugged and his eyes took in Mandy and Rick dancing on the floor. “I only offered so I could talk to you.” He waved a hand toward the club. “You know, the game and all.”

“The game? I’m confused.”

He laughed, and the sound made me laugh too.

“The game. This game. Women dressing up to attract guys or to impress other women, guys hitting on women and trying to figure out who’s a witch, who has daddy issues, who’s just out with her girlfriends, and who’s seriously looking for a man. It’s all so confusing, as you said.”

He lifted a finger and the bartender, not smiling now, brought him a drink. How did he do that? I looked him over, trying to figure him out.

“What do you think—good guy, DB, or player?” He looked at me with a hard stare; it was so direct and confident.

“I, uh, I don’t know. I mean, you dress well. Maybe you come from money and expect to get your way just because. Or maybe you live in your mother’s basement and drive a huge truck to compensate for something.”

He threw his head back and bellowed with laughter.

“Who’s your friend?” He pointed to Mandy. “She’s been pretending not to notice me for the last few minutes.” He leaned back and nodded at her.

“That’s Mandy, and her boyfriend, Rick.” When I nodded toward her, she came over. I put a hand on her shoulder and she smiled and acted all shy. “This is my arms dealer, Solomon.”

Solomon looked up in surprise and I laughed. “I mean, he’s my firearms instructor.”

“Hi,” Mandy said. “Good to meet you.” Behind her hand, she mouthed to me, “He’s gorgeous.”

I ignored her, as I was having no trouble noting that myself.

Rick and Solomon shook hands.

“We—ell,” Mandy drawled, taking Rick’s hand, “we want to go explore the lounge upstairs. You have fun.” She winked at me. She had never been the subtlest of my friends.

But this time, I didn’t mind. I wanted to talk to this guy. Not that I was going home with him or anything, but I figured he was more interesting than any other guy in the club and it would keep me from having to dance with a stranger.

I couldn’t stop looking at him. Was it the short, neat facial hair, the dark eyes, or the way he seemed so at ease? It was like this was the African plains and he was a lion, king of the pride, not afraid of anything.

I, on the other hand, was not in my domain.

“What are you thinking?” He tapped his finger to his temple and I smiled.

“Just thinking I might need that drink.”

“Ah ... I see we’ve reached stage two.” He lifted that magic finger again and the same pink drink was placed in front of me. “Shall we sit at a table? It’s a little quieter for conversation between two real people.”

I nodded and he led me to a back table that overlooked the entire club. I sat down and it felt so good to be off those heels. But I made sure I sat with my back to the wall so I could see if Hannah Williams showed up. Still no sign of her.

“There, that’s better. Now I can hear myself think. Tell me, Sarah, what brings you to a place like this?”

“My well-meaning friend,” I said. “Okay, you got me to talk to you, I let you buy me a drink, now answer me this: what’s your other job?”

His eyes widened and he smiled, making his whole face light up. “Hmm, Sarah with an H at the end, you’re not a club-goer by nature, are you?”

“What are you trying to do, impress me with your insight into women? You never answered my question.”

He chuckled. “And you’re a firstborn, maybe an only child.”

“Really? That’s easy. I’ve been in the papers and you could have Googled me, for all I know.” I thought about the nil info I’d gotten when I Googled his name. How much did he know about me?

He took another sip from his glass and seemed to lose himself in his own thoughts. What was with this guy? He was smart, I could tell that much, and yet he seemed almost not in to the conversation, as if he didn’t want to be here.

“So, what are you doing at a place like this?” I asked. “You don’t seem the type to be in the game either.”

“No, I’m not much of a club guy, not really into the whole dating bump-and-grind thing.” He shifted in his seat and said easily, “I own the place.”

“What?” I laughed. “Come on—that’s the oldest line in the book.”

“I know, and it’s a lie. I just saw you over there being dragged in by your well-meaning friend and I figured you wouldn’t mind a simple rescue. And I wanted some grown-up conversation. And here we are.”

“And here we are,” I echoed. No doubt there was much more to his story than that. He was an expert at dodging questions.

“Tell me something about you,” I said. I sipped from my glass and waited.

He spoke quickly, with a crooked grin. “Favorite color is blue, favorite food barbeque, grew up all over—long story. Only child, military background. I like Dr. Pepper, movies, guns, and you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, then, now that we got that out of the way—”

“Not so fast—your turn. Hit me. We have to do this ... it’s in the manual.” He winked and sat back.

“Okay, fine. Crappy childhood, some good parts, but mostly bad—long story. I love working out, pizza, and Pepsi. I’m a workaholic and I let people get to me, no matter how hard I try. I love watching thrillers and horror, listening to punk and rock, and drinking white wine. One day I would love a real life, with a stupid dog and maybe a kid or two.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s a part of Sarah Steele not many people hear about.” Then he leaned in. “But you forgot about one thing you like. What about me? You forgot to say that you liked me.” His eyes sparkled and I put on a serious face.

“Still thinking on that one. I mean, I’m a hard sell, so keep working. But,” I whispered, “you’re off to a good start.” I smiled into his eyes as if we were long-lost soul mates and then realized what I was doing. I broke the gaze. He took a long drag on his beer.

My eyes roved over the dance floor again.

“Are you looking for someone?” he asked. He certainly was nosy.

“Aren’t we all?” I said. He looked down, as if he understood that I had dodged the question but liked the answer anyway.

For some reason, meeting Solomon was like meeting an old friend. I don’t know how it can be so hard to connect with most people, yet meet someone and in a matter of one conversation, feel like there’s this underlying bond.

“Hey, there you guys are!” Mandy and Rick came up to the table. “Sorry we were gone so long.”

“No worries, I kept her company,” Solomon said. “She’s been humoring me and pretending to like talking to me.”

“Well, this is my public service for the week,” I said. “No more good deeds for this girl.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I suddenly saw a flash of auburn hair. I craned my neck to see around Mandy. Hannah Williams was dancing with a handsome man with Middle-Eastern features. They moved like long-time lovers.

I SHOT UP, GLANCING at everyone. “Gotta run. See—there’s—gotta dance. I just love this song. Bye!” I ignored their confused expressions and walked onto the dance floor.

It was darker there, and I felt the rhythm against my chest. Dipping and swaying, I raised my arms and danced my way to where Hannah and her partner were. Hannah’s eyes were closed as she nuzzled the side of his neck.

I tapped the man on the shoulder. His mouth fell open in surprise and then pleasure. “Well, hello.”

“Hi,” I said with a sultry gaze. He was just the type I knew how to get past. “Mind if I borrow your partner for a while? You can watch.”

His eyes lit up and he stepped away. Hannah stumbled at his sudden absence. I grabbed her waist and steadied her, and didn’t let go. She didn’t bat an eyelash; rather, she kept the rhythm as if she hadn’t traded partners.

We danced, and stared deep in each other’s eyes. What secrets was she hiding? What lies had she told me?

Finally, I spoke. “You’re not Daddy’s little girl at all. And you were never betrayed.”

Her face still stayed hidden behind a mask, but I saw a flicker of anger in her eyes.

“I’d swear on my father’s grave that you aren’t Hank Williams’ daughter,” I said, and then whispered in her ear. “Everything you have is a lie.”

The song pulsed louder and I turned my back to her, rocking to the beat. When I turned around, she had stopped dancing.

“You’re quite brash,” she said above the music. She frowned and lowered her chin. Speaking in a low voice so I had to lean in to hear, she said, “You shouldn’t have found that out, Sarah. And you certainly shouldn’t have told me.”

Was that a threat? Anger flooded through me and I gritted my teeth. “All houses built on lies will crumble,” I said. “You’d better be clear of it when it does.”

She shook her head slowly, as if I’d just said the most preposterous thing in the world. “Nothing is going to crumble, Sarah.” She kept saying my name and I didn’t like it. She grabbed my arm and pulled me to her, hard. “You’ll be broken.” And she kissed me on the cheek.

An involuntary shudder rippled through me. I was speechless.

She sauntered away, grabbing her male friend’s hand, and went for the door. I stood in the middle of the happy, dancing crowd. I think I’d just been handed my ass on a plate.

By the time I regained my composure, she was already out the door and had her phone to her ear. I took off after her.

The cool night air felt good on my hot skin. I took a deep breath and looked around. There wasn’t a car in sight. Suddenly, a blue Ferrari peeled out of the club’s driveway. I squinted, looking for a license plate number. Dang! It was too dark to see. But then they passed under a streetlight, and I saw UVF 615.

Walking back, I whispered the license to myself over and over so I wouldn’t forget. Once inside, I asked the nearest waiter for a pen, and then wrote on my hand.

I had a feeling that wasn’t going to be my last talk with Hannah Williams. Our dance had only just begun.

MANDY, RICK, AND SOLOMON still stood around the table, looking awkward. I approached as if nothing had happened.

“I think the club is going to close soon,” I said. “We should get out of here.”

Rick nodded and put a hand on the small of Mandy’s back.

But Mandy wasn’t going to let me get away with it. “Where’d you go?” she asked. “Who was that?”

I shrugged. “Just some hot chick I wanted to dance with. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at clubs?”

She glared at me, but Rick put his mouth to her hair and whispered, “Later, babe. Let’s talk later.”

Mandy eyed Solomon and then nodded. He looked like he hadn’t heard, but I knew he hadn’t missed a thing.

“It was a pleasure, Solomon,” I said. And I really meant it.

“The pleasure was all mine. I hope you call again for another lesson.” He walked us to the door. I turned to say one last goodbye and he was standing right behind me. I could feel his breath on my skin. I felt a little woozy all of a sudden.

Solomon pulled me into his arms and hugged me. He whispered in my ear, “It was good to meet you, Sarah Steele.”

His body so close to mine made me shiver. Mandy was talking, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. All I could see was his face so close, and his lips … What was going on? How was this happening to me? This was crazy!

He stepped back, waved, and went back into the club. I stood there so weak, I tried to move but was stuck.

“You okay?” Mandy rubbed the back of my arm and I snapped out of my trance.

“I, uh ... yeah. Just tired.”

I’d parked beside them about three blocks away from the club. The night had been fun, and full. I had a lot to process. My phone buzzed and for a second I thought it might be Solomon, but that was silly. It turned out to be Joshua. Breathless, I answered the call. “Joshua!”

“Hi.” I could hear him smile through the phone. “I’ve got good news. Figured you wouldn’t mind the late-night call.”

“I love good news,” I said, zoning everything out so completely that I tripped on a crack in the sidewalk. “Give it to me.”

“They processed the DNA from the barn, and ...” He slowed.

“And what?” I nearly shouted in the phone.

“They found saliva on the candy wrapper and the DNA does not match Hank Williams. But it has to be someone in his family.”

I yelped with excitement. “So the sick psycho was watching after all—it had to be Glen. Was the pee on the wall Hank’s?”

“No, that’s the strange part.” I held my breath. He was clearly enjoying this hold over me. “The urine was from the same person, not a match for Hank. And from the location, it’s as if he’d peed over her blanket, or on her, or something.”

“So we have DNA from someone in the Williams family at the crime scene?” I asked, somewhat awed by the turn of events.

“Yes. And you should see some of the stuff I have on Glen. He has several aliases and legally severed his relationship with Hank Williams when he graduated from college, although they’ve worked together closely since then. I found some files from the police in Hong Kong that fit his description.”

“What kind of files?”

Joshua hesitated. “He was involved in a sex trafficking ring there and then disappeared. The Hong Kong police have been looking for him ever since, but haven’t gotten a match until today.”

I pumped my fist. “You did it, Joshua.”

“We did it,” he corrected. His voice softened. “Come back soon. No one works me as hard as you do. Besides, it’s a mess around here with the internal investigation going on.”

“What investigation?”

“The judge ordered one—he’s bent on finding out who paid off the jury. And the defense is claiming it was us, even though that’s ridiculous.”

I groaned. “Why would we do that? How is Dan taking it?”

“Like you’d expect. He’s pissed and has me working like a dog. I could use your help—he couldn’t find a replacement for you and is seeing to the case personally.”

“I’m sorry, Joshua. That sucks.”

“Tell me about it. Anyway, thought you’d like to know what we found.”

“Thanks for the update,” I said, and then we ended the call.

“Good news, I take it?” Mandy asked.

“Absolutely, even though we don’t have anything on Hank Williams yet. At least we know it was a Williams family member. Now I just have to find out who.”

As we approached my car, I saw something white fluttering under my wiper. It wasn’t a ticket—it looked like an envelope.

“What’s that?” Rick asked. “Are cops getting classy and putting tickets in envelopes these days?”

“Let’s hope not,” I replied. “I don’t want my tax dollars going to that.”

The wind tore at the envelope again and I snatched it up before it could be blown away. It didn’t have a return address. It felt heavy, as if there were pictures inside or a really long letter. I got a bad feeling and exchanged a glance with Mandy. She must have felt it too because her exhilarated expression was gone and she was frowning. I slid my finger under the edge of the envelope and tore it open.

Photos fell out and fluttered to the ground. I bent over to pick them up and the hair on my arms stood on end. The pictures were of a girl; she was tied up and had duct tape across her mouth. A gasp escaped my lips and it took everything in me to keep focused.

The faint smell of cherry wafted from the envelope. Cigar smoke? Something that passed from the sender of the letter?

I gathered up the pictures and could feel my eyes grow hot. I wanted to cry and scream all at the same time. I knew the girl in the pictures.

It was Angela.

WILLIAMS SUCKED ON A cigar and the end glowed amber. It was a clear night, but a slight breeze made the smoke waft away. The girl was pretty, in a punk sort of way. She put up a fight, but she was so small that her kicks did nothing to stop him. He was, after all, a driven man.

Walking back inside, he turned the corner and his breath stopped. She stood defiantly staring at him, holding a piece of wood. Why she didn’t try to run was a mystery—maybe she liked it rough.

“I see I need to work on my bondage skills.” Williams pulled on his cigar and let a small grin cross his lips. “Now just put the wood down. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I’m gonna hurt something, you sick perv.” Angela stood, knees bent, ready to strike. She looked like a batter about to hit a home run.

Williams laughed and took a step forward, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “You got me. Please don’t hurt me.” This was fun—maybe his subconscious wanted her to get free so he could mess with her. Was that why he hadn’t tied her up more securely?

“I’ve lived with pigs like you all my life. You’re just one more man who needs to be taught that you do not have the right to abuse women.” Her eyes flashed, and Williams took a small step forward as if sneaking up on a scared rabbit. She took one step back, and that was all he needed to let him know that her front was just a cover for her fear.

He lowered his hands and pulled on his cigar one more time. “My father used to say that if you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself.”

Williams lunged forward and Angela swung, hitting him across the ribs. He didn’t stop and bull tackled her to the ground, not feeling the pain. She grunted under his weight, and in a matter of seconds he had her hands behind her back and hauled her to her feet.

Angela screamed for help, but he wasn’t worried. This was a basement, and her cries would do no good here.

“Yes, that’s it—scream. I like the wild ones.” Grabbing her throat, he squeezed and pushed her against a wooden support post. He slipped the knife from his hip sheath and pressed it to her neck. She froze.

“That’s right—be a good little girl and hold still.” This time he used duct tape and put one strip over her mouth. She was crying and this made him want to kill her. Crying was for the weak, and the weak did not deserve to breathe.

“You see, my dear, you are cursed to be submissive to man; you are weaker in every way and need to be ruled. Your only worth is to bear children to keep the human race going and for man’s personal pleasure. But you fight against it, demand freedom, only to miss your true calling.”

Taking the knife, he felt for her fifth rib. “You are a slave, and you will always be a slave no matter how much power you think you have. Women in power are only there because we let them be there. But it all comes around in the end.” He let the knife slide in slow. Angela screamed into the duct tape. Once the knife was all the way in, he yanked it out again. Blood spurted from the wound and stained her shirt.

“There. You will bleed out for a few hours, and you will suffer as you were meant to suffer.” Williams wiped the blade on her pants and took another draw from his cigar. He hadn’t even dropped it in the struggle, more proof that he was the master and she the servant.

Her skin was pale now, the trauma too much for her to handle. She was a beautiful thing, a prize to be proud of, and the makings of a great gift for his prey.

Sarah Steele.

I LAID OUT THE pictures on the table at my bed-and-breakfast and unfolded the note. Mandy stood at my shoulder and Rick was lying on the bed, stunned by what he’d seen in the pictures. I was in full-on business mode, analyzing the pictures and notes.

Miss Steele,

You wanted to play with me, and now here we are. This is Angela—say hi. She’s in love with me and I with her. Will you stop our love? You have until 5 a.m. If you fail, she and I will play … You like to play, don’t you?

HW

P.S. Oh, and if you go to the police or your pal Dan, game over. This is our game—no cheating!

I read the note three times and looked at the four pictures. I wanted to get the police involved and call in every connection I had, but I knew that if this was real, if Hank Williams had kidnapped her, my decision could cost her life. He had unlimited resources, and for all I knew he was watching me now.

“Four hours,” I whispered. Picking up my phone, I set the alarm on it. Beep. It began counting down. Every second that went by meant that Angela’s chances were getting slimmer.

How had the pictures gotten on my car? Had someone been following me this whole time? I thought about Hannah, how she said she would break me. It had to be her. She probably called Glen or Hank when she left and told them where I was.

“You need to go to the police,” Mandy said. There were tears in her eyes. “They’re equipped to handle things like—”

“Shh,” I said harshly. Spreading the photos out and putting my lamplight directly on them, I snapped a picture of each one with my phone. Then I took a picture of the note.

“How can you do this, Sarah? You’re an attorney, not a detective.” Her voice shook in anger.

“I can do this,” I whispered, more to myself than to her. Opening up the envelope, I breathed in the scent again. Cherry. No doubt about it.

Rick sat up. “There’s no room for error, no chance at forgiveness. You make a mistake and Angela’s dead. Now take the photos to the police.” His voice was stern.

Some of my old confidence returned. At the sight of Angela tied up and hurting, I’d shut off everything about me and made it all about her. This was bigger than me now. It was time to meet Hank Williams face-to-face. And I wouldn’t mind getting Glen Williams behind bars in the process.

“I’m not taking the pictures to the police,” I said evenly. “I have to study them. I have to find out where she is.” I looked up at them. Their expressions were frantic. “I have to play the game.”

Mandy turned her back to me and slammed her hand against the wall. “You’re going to get that girl killed.”

I stood up so quickly that the chair fell over backwards. Mandy’s eyes widened and Rick tensed up. “I can’t think when it’s so quiet.” Going over to my computer, I turned on an old screamo album to its loudest volume. Mandy gave me a strange look. She knew me better than that. She knew I couldn’t think unless it was quiet.

I picked the chair back up and sat down, bending over the pictures again. This time, I motioned for Rick and Mandy to come close. Rick stood and slowly came toward me, as if he was afraid I would do something. Mandy leaned in right away. Her red hair blended with my blonde on the table.

When Rick bent over the two of us, I mouthed to them with a mixture of hand motions. “Take—” I pointed to the pictures, “to police. Place could be bugged.” In a motion, I slit my throat. “Don’t come near me again.” And then I looked up at them, my soul in my eyes. “Stay safe.”

Rick nodded solemnly. Mandy winked at me and then said loudly. “Fine. If you want to sentence her to death, I’m not going to be a part of this. See you at the funeral.”

I handed her the envelope with everything inside and blew her a kiss. She hid the pictures inside her purse.

When they walked out the door, I’d never felt so bereft.

And so intent on finding Angela. The clues were at my fingertips—I could feel it. My whole body tingled with tension. Now it was my turn to hunt down Hank Williams.

And I had less than four hours to do it.

I WENT TO THE spot where I did my best thinking—near the office, on the bench beside the lake. In the center of the lake, the fountain ceaselessly spouted water. It made ripples in the pool and sounded like rain. It was the only music I needed for this. The place was deserted, and at this hour I would be shocked if it wasn’t.

I hadn’t had a chance to study the pictures. They were still a mystery. I pulled my legs up and sat cross-legged on the bench in a lotus position. Time to meditate. I opened my phone and focused all my energy on the images in it. The pictures must’ve been taken on a nice camera—the quality was good. I took them apart centimeter by centimeter, studying every little square.

I shut off my imagination and feelings and became like a computer, only recognizing objective details.

Her clothes. I noticed she wasn’t wearing her own shirt. It was a button-up blouse with a floral pattern, which Angela wouldn’t have picked out in a million years. She wasn’t wearing any pants. There was a big, dark stain on the carpet beneath her hips, and what looked like blood running down her leg. She wasn’t wearing any shoes, but I saw them in the corner of the photo.

Her marks. She had bruises on her shins, as if she’d tripped over an obstacle in her path. Too low to be a fence. Too high to be a step. Maybe it was a car door, like she was forced to enter one. There was a bruise on her cheek as if she’d been backhanded. And one of her toenails was torn off.

Bindings. Her hands were tied behind her. I couldn’t see what with but I assumed it was duct tape, as that’s what covered her mouth and bound her feet.

Location. The building was being renovated. It seemed to be a house because I saw a closet with a Cat Lover’s Calendar hanging on its door, and the wallpaper trim had cartoon kittens hugging and cuddling with mice. There was a toolbox in the closet with a power drill beside it. The air seemed hazy, as if filled with sawdust or drywall dust. All the wooden trimming was torn off and thrown in a corner. Loose and twisted nails littered the ground. Angela stood with a wooden post at her back. Her hands looked to be behind it.

I was pulled into her eyes. They were the only free thing about her. She looked straight at the camera in pleading agony. That was what got to me.

Hunching over, I broke down in sobs. I didn’t want to imagine what she was going through at that very moment. I knew what was happening, but I didn’t want to believe it was possible. That in this world, a smart, feisty, lovable girl like Angela could be ravaged like this. That she could know such pain and agony in her short life.

Anger overwhelmed me. I covered my face with my hands and screamed. The sound pierced the night.

Then, panting, I closed my eyes. All that I’d been hiding, the part of me I’d wanted to destroy—I brought out. It was time to let the darkness out and use what I had kept buried. I had to help Angela, had to stop Hank and his brother once and for all.

I looked at the stopwatch on my phone. Two more hours until she’d be dead.

I stood up and started pacing, taking huge breaths. I thought through every detail, piecing them together like a puzzle.

I was fairly certain she was at the same location where I’d been taken when I was kidnapped. First, because the house was being renovated. And second, because I had seen the same weird green carpet lint that was at her feet.

If she was there, that meant she was only twenty miles from my house. At the most. I’d been drugged, taken there, and put back in my room in less than two hours.

I had to find all the houses that were being renovated in my area. That would take forever.

But I had someone to call. After dialing, I paced impatiently until he answered.

“Hello?” Rick said.

“Did you do as I asked?”

“Yes.”

“Are you home?” I asked.

“Yes. Wha—”

“You work in real estate. Don’t large companies pay to move people into town for jobs? I know Micron does it all the time.”

“Yeah, most of the bigger companies that hire out of state contract with relocation services. Why?”

“I’ve got a hunch. See if you can find out what service Williams, Inc. uses. I hope one of the houses they use is the one they took me to.”

“That’s a long shot, but I think you’re right—they’d have houses and apartments set up for new hires for temporary housing. Let me call a guy. Doug works for a service in town and I’ve done a few deals with him for Williams, Inc. I’m betting they use him, as there are only two services like that in town.”

“Let’s just hope he’s up.” It was late, and I prayed that Doug kept his phone on.

Ten minutes later, Rick texted me an address. Delaware Avenue. Number 1123. It was eight blocks from my house and was owned by the relocation service, but only used by Williams, Inc. He said Doug was a little drunk but gave him access to their database after Rick explained what was going on.

A few seconds later, my phone lit up. It was Mandy.

“Sarah, I’m gonna go out to look—both of us are. Rick found eight more homes in a twenty-minute driving radius of your house—there’s no way you can do this alone.”

My gut balled up. What if Mandy found the right house first? What if she got hurt? “No, Mandy, I need you and Rick to stay home. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you guys got hurt, or worse.”

“I wasn’t asking, Sarah. We’re already out. Rick has a shotgun and he called the police with all the addresses. I’ll text you three addresses and Rick and I will take the rest. I’m on my bike and not in the mood to argue.”

I swore under my breath and hung up. Seconds later, a text came through with three more addresses. That made four I had to search.

Hold on, Angela. I’m coming for you.

I DIDN’T KNOW WHERE to begin, so I started with the first address I got from Rick. I punched it into my GPS and hit the gas. I couldn’t care less if I got pulled over. Tonight, I was the hunter.

I had four different addresses and not enough time. I prayed that I’d be the one to find the right house and not Rick or Mandy. Why in the world would he let her go alone? Rick could be a bonehead at times, and he should know better.

Memories of my father flooded my mind, and the look in his eyes when he knew I’d betrayed him. It was the worst moment in my life, but at the time, I felt nothing. Now, after so many painful years in a counselor’s office, I learned to control the evil lurking just under the surface.

Pressing the gas pedal down harder, I blew through a red light, thankful there was no one else on the road. I was gone now, not driving, not thinking, just letting my gut and the rage control me. It was the only way to win this game, and I was going to win.

You wanted to break me? Well, congratulations, you broke me. And you are going to regret it.

WHEN I TURNED AT Delaware Avenue, I flipped my lights off. There were no streetlights, so I could keep to the shadows. Drawing next to the curb, I parked. I would hoof it from here.

Number 1123 was second from the last home—I could tell from the blue Dumpster sitting in its yard, filled with beams and junk from the renovation. It was two stories and didn’t have any lights on. I spied one on the porch that might have a security sensor and decided to go in from the back.

I’d have the element of surprise, but I’d need more than that. I took my gun from my purse. It fit comfortably in my hands. Sliding out the clip, I checked it and made sure it was full. And then I put ten more bullets in my pocket and tossed the box of shells on the front seat. Unless there was an army in the house, that should do the trick.

I drew in a breath. This was it. I could either wait for the police or go on alone. If I went in, did I have what it took to finish the job?

I glanced at my phone. It blinked the time, constantly growing shorter. 14:01. 14:00. 13:59. 13:58. I snapped the clip in the gun and released the safety. Angela’s face was in my mind. I couldn’t wait another second.

AS I CREPT AROUND the block, guided by moonlight, old, buried memories threatened to surface and I didn’t want to think about them right now. But it’s funny how the mind works. Like a trigger board, one thing touches another and sends a signal, and memories once forgotten flood the circuits.

I peeked over the nose-high back fence. There were no outside lights at the back of the house—only a concrete porch and cracked sliding door. There were no cars parked in the front driveway and I wondered if I was even at the right house.

But then, through the window, I saw a shadowy form go from one room to the other. It moved quickly through the darkness, not even turning on a light.

That was when I started to sweat.

Forcing down the fear, I harnessed the anger inside me. I had to do what I had to do. I pushed on the wooden gate and it opened with a dull creak. I tiptoed across the lawn and to the door.

Before I lost my nerve and threw up on the grass, I grasped the handle and shoved the sliding door sideways. It gave way. It either had a bum lock or I was really strong.

I smelled it before my eyes adjusted to the light.

Blood.

Hang on, Angela.

I moved forward slowly with my gun down to the right, holding on to it with both hands. I was shaking, and adrenaline coursed through me.

There was a gutted kitchen to my right, with broken cabinets and holes where appliances used to be. I could see a formal dining room behind it. There was a door in front of me, which I figured led to the basement. And there was a media room to my left, with wires and cords still sticking out from the wall. I went toward the basement door and pushed it open. The stairs leading down were dark, but a little light came from the bottom, giving me hope. This had to be the right house.

I made myself breathe. In and out. I couldn’t even hear my footsteps. Before I turned the corner, I tensed up.

I hesitated, and then rushed through with my gun raised.

That was when I saw her. Tied with her hands behind her back to a wooden support post and her head down. Under her feet was a pool of blood.

I lowered my gun and ran to her.

“Angela … are you—”

At my voice, her eyes flew open. She cried and mumbled into her gag. Instant tears swelled in her eyes. I grabbed her to me, emotions roiling so strong I could barely handle them. “It’s going to be okay. Don’t worry now, everything’s going to be okay,” I crooned.

Gently pulling her face up, I reached to undo her duct-taped mouth. Suddenly, her gaze landed on something behind me. Her eyes widened and she gave a muffled scream.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him. Like a shadow, he rose from the corner, where he’d been watching. I gasped and turned, raising my gun. But he came at me fast. His eyes glowed in the wan light.

There was no time to fire off a shot. He batted at the gun with his fist. After years of training, my response was instinctual. I blocked the blow and countered with one of my own. I braced my elbow and struck him in the knee joint.

With a cry, he doubled over. I charged up with my shoulder, hitting him square in the mouth. I felt a tooth break into my skin. But then he raised a fist and struck me across the cheek, throwing me off balance.

I landed on my side.

“You’re both going to die now,” he said.

Not today. I grunted as I shifted my weight and brought the gun up to his face. “Goodbye,” I said, and then squeezed the trigger.

Either my aim was off, or he moved quicker than bullets. He flew out the door before I could fire again. The gunshot resounded through the room. I tasted gunpowder in my mouth. Full of anger, I shot again at the door.

Then I turned to Angela. Her body had gone limp and her eyes were closed. Bile rose in my throat. “No,” I groaned.

Dropping the gun, I lifted her head up with both hands and tugged the duct tape off her mouth. Putting two fingers to her neck, I checked for a pulse and then listened for breath.

“Come on,” I whispered. “Come on.”

If she didn’t make it, I didn’t know if I would.

But then I felt it. Her throat pulsed to life. It was weak, but still there.

“Hang on, Angela!” I said as I unwrapped the tape from her hands and then laid her on her back. Once I started talking, I couldn’t stop. “You’ve got lots more medals to win. I’ve never told the other girls this, but you’re way better than either of them. You’re something special.” I tugged at the tape on her legs, but it wasn’t coming off. “You’ve got a big life to lead, and you have to take Cassandra and Jessie with you. They love you so much, and so does your mama. You have to start treating her better, you hear me?” I finally made a tear in the tape and ripped it off.

My hands were covered in blood. Where was it coming from? I searched her body for the wound and found it on her lower ribcage. A big cut from a knife, and it was oozing blood and water.

I pulled my shirt off and pressed it to the wound.

“You stay with me, Angela girl.” I took out my phone to dial 9-1-1. “I’m gonna get us some help.”

“MISS—MISS, WE CAN take it from here.” A paramedic took my arm and pulled me away from Angela. I stumbled back and Detective Monroe grabbed me.

They’d come with a full SWAT team. Without a sound. All I saw were flashlights glowing on the end of big guns before they surrounded me. If Detective Monroe hadn’t been there, I’d have been handcuffed and accused.

I watched as the medics worked on Angela to stabilize her, and they soon had her in the back of the ambulance and on her way to the hospital. “Where are they taking her?” I asked a medic standing by the pool of blood.

“St. Luke’s. She’s lost a lot of blood. We gave her something to stop the bleeding.” He looked gravely at the blood and then back at me. “She wouldn’t have survived much longer. Good thing you came when you did.”

“You mean the wound wasn’t new?” I whispered. Detective Monroe leaned in to listen.

“No, it looked to be a few hours old.” He wiped his hands with a disinfectant cloth and then handed me a clean one.

A few hours old. That was probably around the time Mandy and Rick called the police.

I shuddered. The Williams’ knew every one of our moves.

“Thanks.” My head was spinning and I sat down on a wooden sawhorse. Forensics teams were appearing, and Detective Ross was telling them where to go and what to do. It was just a flurry of words and noises.

She was alive, I found her, and if I’d been even fifteen minutes later, she’d be dead. I was so angry that I had to force myself to think about my surroundings so I wouldn’t fly into a fit of rage. He used me, was playing me, and I felt like a puppet on a string.

Detective Monroe finished a phone call and then turned to me. “The hospital said they’ve stabilized her. They think her attacker gave her a blood thinner so she’d bleed out faster.”

I curled my lip. “It was Hank Williams, not just some attacker.”

Detective Monroe put his hands on his hips and sighed. I braced myself for the inevitable scolding.

“Sarah, what you did was ginormously stupid.”

I didn’t think “ginormously” was a word, but I wasn’t going to mention it to him.

“But . . .” he hesitated, and his mouth twitched through his frown, “but you did good. You saved her life.”

I hugged myself, hunching over, suddenly feeling cold all over.

“Hey!” he said. I looked up quickly. He had a sober look in his eye. “Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me?”

My whole body felt like mush, and weariness enveloped me. “I hope I never have to,” I said.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY idea where he might go?” Detective Ross asked me. We were at the police station, and they were filing the report and taking my statement.

“You mean Hank, or Glen? No idea,” I said. “But once you find him, there’ll be enough evidence on him to put him away for a long time. You should find more in that creepy basement. I know I made him bleed when I hit him. And I think he lost a tooth.”

Detective Ross nodded and jotted the note down.

I was ready to be done. My nerves were raw and the fluorescent lights made my eyes hurt.

Taking another sip of water, I pulled the blanket they’d given me closer around my shoulders. At least they’d given me a comfy office chair instead of one of those crappy plastic chairs they usually offered.

We were in Detective Monroe’s office, and had been there for the last hour as I’d relayed my story.

“Anything else you want to tell us?” Detective Ross asked. His face stilled. He’d been looking at me all night as if I was hiding something, but I wasn’t. Except for the fact that I’d gone into the house ready to shoot Williams.

“Just that ... just that I’m thankful you—” I looked at Monroe, “—told me to go see Solomon and learn how to use a gun.”

I suddenly wished I could tell Solomon about all of this. Wished it so badly it surprised me. I’d just met him, but already he seemed like a significant part of my life. Or ... he might be, one day.

Monroe nodded. “It worked out, didn’t it?” Ross frowned, but turned away.

“Can I go home now?” I asked in a tired voice.

“Yes.” Ross stacked his papers. “I think you can. If we need anything else, we’ll call you. And we know where to find you.”

Even though it came from a policeman, the words were disconcerting. I wish it wasn’t so easy to find me. I stood up to go and when I got to the door, something came to me. I looked at my hand—the numbers were still there from when I’d written Hannah’s license plate down.

I should tell the police, tell them I thought Hannah was involved, and that she might lead them to Hank.

“Yes?” Monroe asked, noticing I was still there.

I closed my mouth, thinking hard. In an instant, a plan filled my head, so big and fleshed out it must’ve been there all along.

“Nothing,” I said with a weak smile. “Have a good night, gentlemen.”

And then I walked down the hall, away from all the desks and paperwork and laws. It was time to venture out on my own. I’d seen what the law had done to Hank the last time they’d tried him. I couldn’t trust it again.

He’d broken me. I was about as low as anyone could be.

But now I was rising, a new person. And he was going to have to deal with a Sarah Steele he’d never seen before.

I PASSED OUT FOR a few hours, but real sleep wouldn’t come. Angela was going to make it. I’d gone to see her and brought her a burger and fries. Hospital food was the worst and I knew she would appreciate it. Hitting the gym, I spent most of my time pounding my body on the stair climber. I needed to clear my head, and that did it for me.

That evening I waited outside Hannah’s downtown apartment. Thanks to Rick and his handy friend Doug, I got her address. Seemed her apartment was also owned by Williams, Inc.

I was parked by the main elevators, so I had a clear view of anyone coming or going. An hour came and went, and around six I saw Hannah and her tight face appear. A black Town Car pulled up, and the driver got out and opened the door for her. I started my engine and backed out. I was going to follow her; it was all I could think to do.

She might lead me to Hank.

I STAYED A FEW cars back from the Town Car as we drove toward the foothills. We took a few more turns and I pulled over into the driveway of a home that had a For Sale sign in the yard. These homes were huge and expensive and most were for sale. This was a dead-end street, so I parked and waited.

I found a PowerBar in my glove box and munched on it—I had missed lunch and dinner. I wanted to know where the black car had parked, but I did not want to drive by and get spotted.

A few minutes later, the car drove by the other way and I ducked in my seat. Great, she’d been dropped off … now I had no way of knowing where she was.

I started the car and backed out. No time to wait—I was going to risk it. I had gone this far already.

The street flattened out after going uphill for a few blocks. All these houses overlooked the city and had amazing views. At the end of the street were a gate and a long drive that went up and over a small hill. I couldn’t see the house at the end, but I figured it was the place.

There was a guard shack at the gate and a big dog lounging under a tree. Who else would have security like this at their house? I pulled over, not getting too close so the cameras wouldn’t spot me, and turned around. As I drove down the hill, I took note of the other houses. They were all big, but nothing with a gate or security. It had to be Hank’s house.

Okay, so I knew where he lived. Big deal. I could’ve found that on the Internet. What was I going to do, sneak in and spy on him?

Parking at the same house where I did before, I waited. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for, but I needed time to think. I texted Mandy and told her I was okay and that Angela was doing better. She replied in all caps that I was a stupid, stubborn brat and that if I did anything like that again, she’d kill me herself.

Can I stay with you and Rick tonight? Don’t feel like being alone.

You’d better if you want to stay friends.

She said she would be gone all evening but would be back by ten, and that I’d better be home soon after. I smiled and shook my head. She was acting like a mom.

I looked up just as a car passed, and I about had a heart attack. Driving by in a silver Lexus was none other than Hank Williams.

HE DROVE ON AND didn’t look toward me. I sucked in a breath and groaned. Was it Hank, or was it Glen? Adrenaline rushed through me, and I felt energized and tired all at the same time. But I was determined to see this through to the end. For Angela’s sake. For Heather’s sake. For Tracy’s sake. For my sake.

Starting the car, I pulled out after him, making sure to stay back.

Was he visiting Hannah, or did he live at the house? I kept on following him. It was a sure bet that he was up to no good.

The Lexus made a right on Hill Road and I turned on my blinker and followed. Traffic was lighter and it wasn’t until we turned down Whitehead Street that I knew where he was going.

He was driving to my best friend’s house, the place where I was supposed to be staying tonight. Rick and Mandy’s.

I had to get there before him. Taking a shortcut, I gunned it. Tires squealed and streets sped by. I turned corners so fast, I almost flipped the car, and disregarded stop signs. My heart pumped in my ears, but I’d never felt so charged up. All the car-racing video games I’d played as a kid paid off because I reached the house before the Lexus.

They’d given me a garage door opener as a gift for Christmas a few years back. I pulled into the garage and hit the button to lower the large metal door. I entered, slammed the door, entered in the alarm code on the keypad, and took the stairs two at a time. The guest room where I would sleep was on the second floor.

I dumped my purse out on the bed, searching for my gun. My hands trembled as I loaded the clip with bullets from my pocket. There was no calm exterior anymore, just a raw need to protect my friends.

The cool metal felt good in my hands, but as I loaded the clip I had a sinking feeling about how alone I was in all this. There would be no one to come. No one to have my back. It was just me against the killer.

Bring it.

As I sat on the edge of the bed, I worked out a plan. It wasn’t much, but it was the only thing I could think of in such a short time. Letting my anger build, I made myself remember the crime scene photos, the blood, the hanging body, Heather’s hollow eyes and rotting teeth, Angela’s limp, blood-soaked body, and then … my mind roved deeper, to what had happened in the past.

I felt a fire grow within me, and I didn’t squelch it this time.

RICK WAS A LITTLE paranoid. He had a small room he called the security room. It held the monitors for all the cameras throughout the house, the alarm switchboard, and some other things that just looked like buttons and lights to me.

I’d known them both a long time, so I knew the codes and how to work most everything from the few times I’d house-sat for them. The house was dark with all the blackout blinds drawn. I went through the house, making sure all the doors and windows were locked except for the one right off the back porch. I figured he would go around checking them, and if my hunch was right, he would walk right into my trap.

I turned on all the alarms, but put them into silent mode so I could see what ones got tripped and they wouldn’t send out an audible alarm.

I sat in the dark security room watching, waiting for him to come.

The house creaked in the wind. A timer buzzed somewhere, maybe the dryer. Nothing happened. Maybe Williams had just driven past, nothing more. Was I losing it?

It had been over an hour and I was about to give up when a little red light came on. The large monitor showed a map of the house. And when the silent alarm went off, a message flashed onscreen.

SOUTHEAST WINDOW BREACH!

It was the one I left cracked open.

As I found the monitor for the camera on that side of the house, my hands started shaking again. I needed to throw up, but forced it down. Using my sleeve, I wiped the sweat off my brow. A dark figure ducked in through the open window and stood in the dining room. He was dressed in black with a hood over his head.

A warning message flashed again, but this one was different.

POLICE WILL BE NOTIFIED. TO CANCEL, TYPE IN YOUR PASSWORD!

I typed in the password and the warning message disappeared. I could break a window later if I needed to get some help, but right now I needed time alone with Williams.

Williams—I didn’t know which one—slowly made his way toward the stairs that led up to the bedrooms—my bedroom. I flexed my left hand and began to wrap the right with a torn piece of my shirt. Kickboxing classes taught me to wrap my hands and feet before a fight; it would protect them. And just the act of wrapping the cloth made my hands stop shaking.

I loaded a round in the chamber just like Solomon showed me and slipped the gun in my left pocket. This was it, and just down the hall was a man who wanted to kill me. I was done running. This time, he’d better run.

WALKING AS QUIETLY AS I could, I made my way down the hall toward the guest room. Although the lights were off, the sunlight cutting through the slats in the blinds cast a creepy glow through the side windows. Slivers of light cut across the hall and I moved past them as fast as I could without making any noise.

The hall was empty.

I held the gun in both hands off to one side and down. I didn’t want to turn a corner and have it knocked from my hands.

With my back to the wall, I peeked into my room. There, standing over the bed, which I’d stuffed with pillows to make it seem like I was asleep, was Williams.

His hood was off and he held a long knife in his right hand.

Stepping into the room, I raised my gun and pointed it at his back.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Williams.” My voice sounded calm and low.

He spun around and bent his knees a little as if to attack. “Sarah Steele.” He didn’t sound as shocked as I’d hoped. “You’re better than I thought. How long have you been waiting in the dark for me?”

“Long enough. Now sit.”

Williams grinned and shook his head. “No, I don’t think I’ll do that.”

Before I could react, he grabbed a pillow and threw it at me. Lunging forward, he batted at the gun and it flew from my hands. I stumbled backward and he hit me in the midsection. All the air in my lungs left in a whoosh. White stars crossed my line of sight, but I righted myself and my kickboxing training took over.

Hands up, elbows in. I crouched.

Grinning, he held up the knife and slashed at me. One step back and then I sent a roundhouse kick his way. The sound of his ribs connecting with my foot gave me a little hope. I came up with my knee and grabbed his head at the same time, forcing his head down as my knee came up.

A sick crunch and a wet groan told me I’d broken his nose. He dropped the knife and I frantically searched for my gun as he crumpled to the carpet.

There, next to the wall, was my gun. I ran to it and scooped it up. Turning, I aimed the gun at Hank, or whoever he was, and he looked up at me, holding his nose.

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot. I mean it!”

Coughing up more blood, he wiped at the damp hair that hung in his eyes. “You got a mean kick. Learn that from your boyfriend?”

“Shut up. You don’t get to talk about him.” I coughed, and my breath wheezed. My lungs weren’t holding air like they should.

“Oh ...” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “What are you gonna do—take me in, call the police?” He laughed and winced. Hunching over, he clutched his side and cursed. “You know where that got you last time.”

I spoke through gritted teeth. “You really shouldn’t be baiting me right now.”

“Ha, you won’t kill me. You’re the ADA. You have a moral code, a promise to uphold the law. Besides, you have no idea who I am and what I’m capable of.”

“And you don’t know what I’m capable of.” I should have been scared, shaking and freaked out, but I wasn’t. My hand was steady and my mind was working like a well-oiled machine.

“Where is your loser brother?” I took a step back, trying to get between him and the door just in case he tried to run.

“Where do you think? Figure it out—you’re smart enough.”

I lifted the gun and closed one eye. He lifted his right hand defensively and grimaced. “Stop, fine, just stop!”

I lowered the gun and waited.

“My guess is that he’s halfway to Bali by now. He doesn’t like to get his hands dirty—he’s more of an observer.” Hank coughed and spit, grinning up at me. “Come on, Sarah, you know you want to, but you, like most women, are weak …”

Something wasn’t right. He was stalling, and not just to keep me from shooting him. Hank chuckled and that same look I saw in court crossed his face, the one that was not worried, not scared, as if he knew the ending.

Before I could react, the bedroom door exploded inward, throwing me forward. I hit the ground and rolled and managed to hold on to my gun. Hank crawled away from the door, and through the smoke a tall man in a suit stepped into the room. It was the same man who had kidnapped me during the trial.

“Kill her!” Hank bellowed.

The tall man nodded and lifted a pistol. I threw myself toward the foot of the bed and turned as a gunshot sounded. The room became a barrage of noise as I looked down the sights and fired three times at the tall man’s chest.

His body jerked and he stumbled. He fell onto his back and didn’t move. I got to my feet and turned toward Hank. He was crouched in between the nightstand and the bed, blood still dripping from his face.

“You have been tried by a court of law,” I said. “But it did not carry out justice to completion. Now there is only one thing left to do.”

“No, wait—”

Hank lunged forward and grabbed my ankle, throwing me to the side. I lost my balance and fell. Hank was faster than he looked and was on top of me before I could get to my feet. He hit me in the face, and the pain paralyzed me momentarily.

His face grew pale, his eyes glowed, and he bared his teeth at me. “Die!”

I couldn’t see—it was just pain and a blur of blood and fists. Kicking up with my knee, I connected with something and Hank grunted and rolled off me. I took the chance—it could be my only chance. I groped for my gun. When I couldn’t find it, I panicked.

I was on my knees and Hank grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. My vision cleared. I balled my fist and punched him as hard as I could in the throat. I felt his windpipe collapse and he gasped. I followed it up with my other fist and hit him again in the throat, remembering what my kickboxing instructor had said: “You can’t do anything if you can’t breathe.”

Hank doubled over, clutching his throat. I stood up, panting, and looked for my gun. I found it under the bed. Holding it with both hands, I pointed it at the dying man. He was on his back making gurgling sounds, and his eyes looked like two glowing embers. They were full of hate, and rested on me.

My body shivered as Hank Williams took his last breath. It sounded like someone trying to suck in air through a straw. His body went limp and I stood over him for what seemed like a long time. I was not going to be like one of those girls in the movies who assumed the bad guy was dead only to have him come back and kill them.

Leaning over, I felt for a pulse.

Hank Williams was dead.

Looking around the room, I walked over to the tall man who was on his back, breathing hard. I pulled the trigger and put one bullet through his heart. The room smelled like gunpowder and sweat. I wanted to throw up, but I held it down.

Leaving the room, I put my back to the wall and slid down to a sitting position. All the emotions of what just happened hit me full force. I didn’t cry, but a groan came from deep in my soul.

What had I done? All the anger buried deep inside me was gone, and the coldness scared me.

BEFORE THE SWEAT HAD dried on my face, I’d called Detective Monroe. I told him that there’d been a break-in at Mandy’s, two men were dead, and one of them was Hank Williams.

I went back and stood in the doorway to my room. Blood was soaked into the carpet and the tall man in the middle of the floor stared up with soulless eyes. This time I couldn’t hold it in. I bent over and threw up in the hallway.

TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, the detectives and policemen found me curled up on the couch in a daze.

“They’re upstairs,” I whispered.

Detective Ross ran up the stairs two at a time. I could see his profile as he looked in the room. Revulsion flooded his face, and then he entered.

Detective Monroe stayed beside me. He didn’t say a word, but I could see it in his eyes: pity. He knew I’d been through hell, and he wanted to help.

I’d already gone through an abridged version of the story in my mind. As an attorney, I knew what I could tell them and what I had to keep to myself. But I was too weak to tell them anything.

“Can I give you my testimony later?” I said in a thin voice. My eyes could barely stay open.

He took a throw blanket from the end of the couch and settled it over me. As it collapsed around my shoulders, I completely relaxed. I barely even heard him say, “Of course.”

I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

I WOKE TO SEE Mandy’s loving face above mine. With a gasp, I threw my arms around her shoulders and squeezed her as hard as I could. Tears silently streamed down my cheeks. My face was so bruised that even the tears hurt.

“There, there, baby,” she said, her voice cracking. “You’re okay now. Everything’s going to be fine.” They were the same words I’d said to Angela not twelve hours earlier.

I sat up and then winced. My rib felt cracked, and it hurt to move.

“Do you need to see a doctor?” Mandy asked, wide-eyed with concern.

“No.” I groaned. “I don’t want to move.”

Their living room was swarming with cops and forensic techs. Monroe sat in the lounge chair across from me, writing his notes. Ross was in the kitchen, drinking coffee with Rick.

“I think it’s time we heard that story,” Monroe said.

I told them every truth I could. I left out the part about following Hannah—I said that after I left their office, I went to the bed-and-breakfast where I was staying. Then, after I texted Mandy, I came straight here.

“Rick says you silenced a security breach just as Hank arrived.” Monroe eyed me with one eyebrow raised.

“I thought it was just a bird hitting the window. The alarms go off sometimes when that happens.”

Monroe nodded and urged me on. I told them, in the most sparse language possible, how Hank had attacked me in the bedroom, but I’d had a gun. And then this tall man showed up, and I’d shot him several times. And then I went into more detail recounting how Hank had tried to kill me with a knife, but I got a deathblow in before he had the chance.

Mandy’s face was horror-stricken. No doubt it mirrored mine.

Ross, who had been listening from the kitchen, finally entered. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that, but you handled it well.” He eyed me strangely. “You’ve had a lot of blood on your hands in the past twelve hours.”

I looked away. There was no need to remind me of something that would haunt me for the rest of my life. Did he suspect something?

“You’ve silenced a very evil man, Sarah Steele. He deserved what he got. A woman named Heather Dade came to the office yesterday,” Monroe said. I perked up at the familiar name. “She told us that she was a friend of yours, and that you wanted her to testify against Hank Williams. Then she went on to tell us everything he’d done to her as a child.” He shook his head. “He’s been a monster for a long time—we just didn’t know it.”

Mandy hugged me again, clutching me as if she’d never let go. I was so glad Heather had come forward. Now she might feel some peace after all these years.

“Well,” Monroe snapped his notebook shut, “I have good news for you. Our boys caught up with Glen Williams at the airport while you were sleeping. He’s in jail now. If the DNA is a match, he’ll be going away for a very long time.”

Joy shot through me. All the work Joshua and I had put in the case was now seeing fruition. “Will he go down for what happened to Tracy in the barn?” I asked.

“He sure will,” Ross said. “Certainly as an accessory to murder, if not for the murder itself.”

I grinned. I would love to be on that case. I’d like to watch his smug face as he realized there was no getting out of it this time. The justice system had failed once, and I didn’t have high hopes that it would win out again. But I wasn’t ready to give up on Lady Justice yet.

Leaning back into the soft cushions, I felt my heart slow for the first time in days. It was as if a great weight had lifted from my mind.

Two killers had been on the loose. And now they wouldn’t be hurting anyone ever again.

The wild urge in me was gone. It had been placated.

For now.

MANDY FUSSED OVER ME and told me to take a week off, but I bargained for a day instead. I slept the longest I ever had, a full eight hours, and woke up feeling like a new woman.

At the breakfast table, Mandy served me warm cinnamon rolls with green tea just the way I liked it.

“How long are you going to spoil me like this?” I asked, taking a big mouthful.

“Don’t get used to it,” she said. “But we are going on a trip to Rio next month. You know we’ve always wanted to go there together, and we’d better do it soon before you’re attached to another case.”

I gave a small smile. Another case. I was looking forward to my next one. Where would it take me this time?

I snapped back to the present. “Okay, we’ll go,” I said. “Let’s book the tickets right away before Dan calls me in.”

She grinned and spooned some sugar into her coffee. And then her eyebrow creased.

“What is it?” I asked, my stomach dropping.

“There’s just something I don’t understand, something that doesn’t add up,” she said. “If you came here from the bed-and-breakfast, why didn’t you bring your bag?”

I hesitated a beat to think up a lie. “I left my bag because I wanted to sleep there tomorrow night.” But the hesitation was all she needed to know that something was up.

Silence stretched between us. I took a sip of tea, and it tasted more bitter than normal.

“I know you’re withholding something from me,” she said. I was about to speak when she held up a hand. “And that’s okay. Just know that I’m here.”

I moved my roll from one side of the plate to the other. My heart felt full. Those words meant more to me than she’d ever know.

THE DNA FROM THE basement where we’d found Angela was not a match for Glen Williams, and his case began to fall apart just as fast as the one against Hank Williams had. I cursed the judge and Dan almost fired me for embarrassing him. Our DNA evidence was thrown out because of how long it sat in the barn, but it really didn’t matter because nothing matched Glen anyway.

I spent the better part of a week obsessed and pored over all the notes and video of the Hank Williams trial, trying to find the connection. The DA’s office was a hellhole. Dan was angry, but I guessed it was because I wouldn’t respond to his advances and our case was falling apart and making him look bad.

“I just don’t get it.” I hit the fast-forward button on the remote and groaned.

Joshua nodded and looked at me from behind a stack of boxes. We were putting in long days again in what seemed to be a repeat of the Hank Williams trial.

“It has to be something stupid.” Joshua smiled and went back to work.

I was watching myself on video giving the opening on the Hank Williams case. The camera panned to Hank and it hit me. “No way.”

Joshua looked up at me and blinked. “What?”

I skipped forward to another scene and watched Hank. Then without saying a word, I ejected the DVD and put in one from Glen’s trial earlier that week. My mind raced. And then the camera showed Glen sitting at the defense table, and I gasped.

“I gotta go.”

“Sarah, where—what did you see?” Joshua stuttered. I didn’t wait—I couldn’t because I had just figured out why nothing fit.

AN HOUR LATER, I was sitting in the visiting area waiting to see Glen Williams. He was being held at the state penitentiary, but in a posh cell. After cussing out the judge, I was not the acting lead on his case, so I got in without his lawyers present.

Glen shuffled in and sat down across from me, with just a piece of security glass between us. I picked up the phone and he smiled at me. I hated that smile. But this time I had him—he just didn’t know it yet.

“Miss Steele, how nice of you to come visit me. How is the case going?” He was jeering at me.

“Not good, really. You seem to be one step ahead of everyone.”

“It’s easy when I’m innocent. The guilty are the only ones who need to hide.”

I held back a gag. “I know who you are. I know why the DNA isn’t a match, and I wanted to come down here and see the look in your eyes when this weak woman puts you away for life.”

Glen’s eyes darkened and he put on a fake smile. “You are a spunky one. I like the spunky ones. Maybe when I’m out, we can play again.”

This time I didn’t hesitate.

“Oh, don’t worry. The game is over, and you lost.” I paused. “Hank.”

Hank’s eyes darted back and forth, but he regained his composure and snarled. “How?”

It was my turn to smile. “Now, now, Hank, that would be too easy. I like it better this way. It is a game, after all. You figure it out.”

With that, I hung up the phone and called for the guard. Hank glared at me and slammed the phone down with his left hand.

BY THE END OF the week, everything changed. Hank was tested and his DNA matched the DNA in the basement where Angela was held. What I saw in the video was Hank Williams writing on a piece of paper with his left hand. But when I killed him, or thought I did, he used his right hand to hold the knife.

The video of the Glen Williams arraignment showed a man writing with his left hand, proving that it was Hank, and Glen was the man I shot at Mandy’s house. Hank let his brother take the fall for him as he tried to get away. But he knew that even if he got caught, he could get off again because the DNA would not match, and his brother was dead.

Dan spun the Williams case well and the media ate it up. Dan told them, “Someone tried to force the ADA to throw a case, but no matter what, the DA’s office would not be bullied. Truth and justice will always prevail.”

I felt like the hero, but it was short-lived. Hank Williams was killed three weeks later by another inmate, shanked in the back with a toothbrush. I didn’t know if Hannah sent the hit out on him, but I wouldn’t put it past her. There was a lot of money riding on his silence. I wondered what her part was in all this, but I was not going to find out. It was not perfect justice, but it was better than nothing.

After a few more lessons at the target range, Solomon finally asked me out on a date. Besides his looks and charm, there was a mystery about him that drew me in. He held me at arm’s length, which was perfectly fine with me. But one day, I wanted to see what lay behind the mask.

I felt on top of the world, as if the sun was a little brighter and the smells of summer were all there in full bloom, just for me. I had some of my life back, something to hold on to, and a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

I wanted to believe in justice, in the system, but my faith faltered. It was used and abused every day. Greed. Jealousy. Revenge. Hatred. All battled within the court system until I didn’t know which side was right. Was it all just a big game?

I did know one thing. I would not be a pawn anymore. I was going to stand up and fight, no matter what that meant.

For Kale, you are my little man. I am proud to be your father.

Some lives twist together making an unbreakable cord, others choke the life out of something beautiful.

I LEANED BACK WITH a small smile. The airplane seats felt more like steel wool than wool fabric and smelled like mothballs and bad breath, but I didn’t care. I was going on my first vacation.

Well, technically, it was the second. But I’d hardly call the camping trip my dad took me on when I was eight—and he was drunk, or fishing (or both), the entire time—a vacation. It was more like a punishment. My family wasn’t exactly the Disney-dream-vacation type. We were more like the Denny’s-buffet type.

My best friend, Mandy, sat next to me, scribbling a list on her field notebook. She had it braced against her knee because we were about to take off and couldn’t put down the table.

“What are you—?”

“Shhh,” Mandy cut me off. She wrote so quickly I expected her pen to start smoking. “Just … one … more … thing. All right.” She looked up with a smile and handed me the notebook. “There it is. Our to-do list for Rio.”

My eyes trailed the list and then my mouth hung open as I turned the page. There had to be at least fifty items on it.

- Get palm trees painted on my nails.

- Go scuba diving and get a picture with a red fish.

- Flirt with my scuba instructor, but not so badly that he asks me for my number—just enough that I can say I did it.

- Get Sarah a date with our scuba instructor.

- Have a conversation with a parrot.

- Go shopping and MAKE Sarah get some new clothes.

- Eat a huge lobster dinner. Wear a giant bib.

- Race a bike through the streets of Rio.

- Go surfing and try to ride at least one wave. If I can’t, at least get a picture of me standing on a surfboard so I can tell Rick I did, because he’s never been surfing.

- Not get eaten by sharks.

- Solve a mystery.

- Get a glow-in-the-dark bikini and go swimming at night.

- Get a tattoo of a typewriter on my back.

- Read War and Peace. And the latest Janet Evanovich to balance it out.

- Adopt an orphaned street kid.

I didn’t get through half the list before I broke into laughter. “You’d think we were planning to be in Rio eleven years, not eleven days.” I combed my hand through my blonde hair. “And haven’t I told you a thousand times not to talk to parrots you don’t know?”

“You’re so biased—you always let me talk to dogs. Hey, we’ve got to fit as much as we can into this vacation. This may be the only chance we ever get to do this.” Mandy clicked and unclicked her pen, a nervous habit. She wasn’t crazy about planes.

I took the pen from her. “Why? Are you and Rick going to start popping out babies soon?”

She patted her flat belly. “My chances are drying up as we speak.”

I wrinkled my nose.

She leaned in and her curly red hair brushed my cheek. “But really, we’ve talked about doing this our whole lives. And now we’ve made it happen.”

“You made it happen,” I said. “If you hadn’t forced me to buy a ticket at water-gun point, I’d be sitting at my desk at the office going through case files with Dan trying to look down my shirt.”

My boss, District Attorney Dan Butler, was less than discreet about one of the reasons why he wanted me on his payroll.

She squinted in mock sternness. “No one can say no to my water gun. And, you’re welcome.”

My face softened. I wanted to tell her how just how glad I was to be taking this trip with her. But she’d probably get all mushy on me, something my crusty old soul tried to avoid.

I tapped her list. “What’s with this entry? You don’t even like kids.”

“Not true. Rick and I would love a few ankle-biters around the house. What I hate are spoiled brats who order their parents around like slaves. I bet I’d like a Rio street kid.”

“You might be suited for each other … both orphans, with dubious moral standards and personal hygiene—”

“Hey.” She punched my arm. “So I forget to wear deodorant one time at the gym and you’re going to tease me forever?”

I rubbed the spot where she hit me. “One time at the gym? Try all of eighth grade.”

Mandy shook her head, and her smile faded. “Those are the important things moms are supposed to teach you. ‘Put on deodorant or you’ll smell like a fish tank.’”

My phone buzzed. Oops. It was supposed to be off already. I awkwardly dug it out of my back pocket, trying not to elbow Mandy in the ribs, and checked the screen. I turned my shoulder and kept the phone low to block the flight attendant’s view.

“Is it Solomon?” Mandy asked. She took out her phone—it’s impossible not to check your phone if someone else is. “I’d better text Rick.”

My face grew wooden when I saw the screen. UNKNOWN. Those calls were never good. It buzzed two more times before I braced myself enough to answer.

“Hello?”

A recorded female voice said in robotic tones, “You are getting a collect call from—”

And then a voice said my name, a voice that I hadn’t heard in ten years—ever since the trial—my mom’s. “Sarah? Baby? Hi. It’s Mom. Please take my call. I know we ended the last visit badly, but since it’s your birthday, I wanted to hear your voice. Please. You owe it to me—”

That’s when I hung up. Already my heart was beating so fast I felt my temple pulsing. Her words burned. It was all wrong. So wrong. Why did she have to do everything so wrong?

“Who was that?” Mandy asked quietly.

“Mom.”

I couldn’t talk over the anger simmering in my chest.

After taking a jerky breath, I said, “She called to wish me a happy birthday.”

Mandy’s eyebrows creased in confusion. “But your birthday is the fifteenth of—”

“Next month.” I gripped my phone so hard its frame clicked. I set it down before I broke it.

Mandy winced. “How could a mom forget her own kid’s birthday?”

That question, and questions like it, had hounded me the first twenty-five years of my life. The worst part of it was—she thought she was a good mom and everything was my fault. She had such a twisted view of things.

“I’m sure the few good brain cells she has left are used to con smokes off people in prison, not remember my birthday.”

I took a deep breath and looked around at the flight attendants combing the aisles, making sure everything was in place before takeoff.

Mom couldn’t do this to me, couldn’t break into my life and ruin it without me letting her in first. She’d done enough already. I turned my phone off and slipped it in my purse. Mandy must have recognized it as the end of the subject and took out her book. That’s one reason I liked her—she let things go.

The airplane started to taxi down the runway, lumbering loudly across the lot. How could something so graceful in the air be so awkward on land?

Mandy put her book down and gripped the armrest. “What’d you bring to read at the beach?” she said in a high-pitched voice.

She was using the distraction technique on herself, so I took out the thick book I’d brought. “It’s Blunt Trauma Injuries by—”

“Oh, God, Sarah,” Mandy interrupted me. “You have no idea how to go on a vacation, do you?”

“Don’t mock me. I like learning about bruises and how to tell how old they are. Did you know that—” I stopped.

She was so pale her freckles stood out even more than usual.

Poor thing. I tried to reassure her. “You know it’s more dangerous to ride in a car than a plane, right?”

“Irrational fears are called irrational for a reason.” She gritted her teeth. “It’s normal. I’m normal. 72% of people are afraid of flying.”

“And 34.5% of statistics are made up on the spot.” I rested my head against the seat and closed my eyes. Then Mandy started doing the thing she did incessantly when she was scared—she chattered.

“So what do you want to do in Rio? It’s your first time on the beach. I hope you brought your orange bikini instead of your yellow one. I told you to make a list. What do you want to do? You always make me do the planning—why don’t you have a plan for this vacation? Don’t you care about it?”

I looked over with heavy-lidded eyes. “Lists are your thing, not mine. My one goal for this vacation is to sleep in until ten.”

Sleep had never been my friend. A side of me came out at night that I tried to push away. Memories came unbidden, like evil sheep demanding to be counted—thoughts of my dad, my mom, that tragic day twelve years ago, the recent trauma I’d encountered at the hands of the murderer and kidnapper, Hank Williams, the night I killed him—the scenes played over and over again so that sleep was impossible.

“That’s it? That’s all you want out of our trip?” Mandy said. I glared at her. “Oh, right. Okay, then. I’ll let you sleep in.”

The airplane gained speed.

“But not every day.” She gulped loudly. “Maybe once.”

I gazed past her to the window. The land rushed past. That would be enough—I’d sing the Hallelujah Chorus if I just got to sleep in once.

The 737 lifted off the ground. I loved the way the speed of the airplane forced me back into my seat, loved the power and the pure lack of control I had to have in order to trust that we wouldn’t end up in a ball of flames on the tarmac.

Mandy shot me a scared glance. “I need air and water… can I get a drink of water? My legs hurt. I have to go to the bathroom.”

“As soon as we level off, I’m sure you can get a drink and go potty.” My gut turned as we lifted off.

“‘Go potty’? Who says ‘go potty‘? What are you, four?” Mandy gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut.

“I can say ‘potty’ if I want. I mean, in a few minutes we’re going to die as the wings tear off and we plummet to the ground. I can hear the screams now…”

“I hate you. I can’t believe you’re teasing me at a time like this. You are teasing me, right?” Mandy stared at me with big, dark eyes and a pleading look.

“Well …” Leaning over her, I looked out the window and pretended to survey the stability of the wings. “Everything looks okay from here. No sign of the airplane socket mites responsible for most crashes. We should be okay as long as we don’t hit a flock of geese.”

Mandy cursed. “How long till we’re in Rio?”

I gave her a blank look. “We just left Boise.”

That’s when I realized I’d be very lucky if I slept at all this vacation.

COLD METAL PRESSED AGAINST the side of Nancy Parker’s head and her bladder released, soiling her Gucci sable dress. Her hands were cuffed to the wheel. The woman holding the gun to Nancy’s head was an unnatural blonde, with light brown skin, black painted nails, and a sunburnt nose.

“You just pissed yourself?” Her voice was calm, with a hint of an accent. “Look, all you have to do is sit here with me, look out the window, and enjoy Rio’s beautiful ocean view. I told you that I wouldn’t kill you if you do exactly what I say.”

Nancy shifted in her seat, and the woman lowered the gun and laid it on her lap. “See, now we can relax.” Pushing her sunglasses up with her middle finger, she turned and blew smoke out of the tiny crack between the window and the frame of the car. Not that it did much good. The car was clouded in pungent smoke, making it hard for Nancy to breathe.

Nancy cursed her own vanity. She’d been shopping for a scarf—something to go with the dress she’d wear to dinner. Her friend had offered to go with her, but she’d told him to continue watching the soccer game. She’d only be a minute. As she’d crossed the street to the shopping area, a car had stopped in front of her, a gun had pointed at her face, and a girl had shoved her into the vehicle from behind.

Now they were parked on the outskirts of town in an abandoned plastic factory parking lot. It was littered with trash, a shanty stood in the corner with a homeless person sleeping beside it, and a dead puppy lay next to him.

Nancy shivered. She’d never been this frightened. Her voice shook and tears welled up in her eyes. “Please … you can have everything. My husband’s rich, very rich. Just let me go. Do you entende?”

Snatching the gun up, the blonde ground it into Nancy’s ribs, making her cry out in pain. “Shut up, vadia. All you filthy-rich women are the same—none of you earned the money you have. You go whoring yourself out to men—not only your own men, but also other women’s men. I HATE YOU ALL,” she screamed the last words. “I have to sit here in a stinking lot, smelling your piss and your fear, and listen to your whining. Keep it up and I will kill you just to get some peace and quiet.”

Nancy bit her lip, clenched her jaw, and willed herself not to cry. Sweat soaked her back and she gripped the steering wheel.

“That’s better.” Placing the gun back in her lap, the woman smiled. She looked like a bug in her oversized sunglasses. “This takes two hours at the most. It’s been an hour. See, hon, we’re halfway there.” Her tone went from violently angry to chipper in a split second. “I guess I’m willing to do anything for money too, as long as it doesn’t involve taking orders from a man.”

Nancy stared out at the ocean just beyond the parking lot and past the winding concrete path. There was no help coming for her.

“I like this time of the year. Flowers blooming, babies everywhere, sunlight lasting through the evening, warm sand, everyone running around half naked.” Nancy’s kidnapper seemed to lose her train of thought as if tangled in a long-forgotten memory.

She paused, and then said with a sigh, “You know, when I was a little girl I used to lay on the beach in my little bikini. My mama hated it, said I would attract the wrong kind of guy.” She laughed. “She should have been scared for the guys. My avó understood. She called me a borboleta, a butterfly, said I’d have great delight in fluttering around in beautiful wings, sipping the nectar of life, not caring a flitter or flutter about anyone else, and then die young, with great joy.”

Nancy let her shoulders relax and she took a deep breath. Maybe she could get through to the woman, make conversation and somehow get out of this alive. “Do you have any siblings?”

In a flash of silver, the gun whipped across her cheek. Bright white flooded her vision and pain exploded down her face and neck. Again, the hard metal handgun crashed into her face.

Nancy twisted and pulled, trying to dodge the blows, but it was no use. She was trapped and couldn’t shield herself.

She wasn’t aware of when the beating stopped, just that her head was down. She watched blood drip off the tip of her nose and splatter on her pale pink dress.

“Don’t try that again.” Breathing hard, her captor coughed and cursed. “The next time you try to work me, I’ll put a bullet in your head.” She swallowed, and then spoke as if to herself. “Puta que pariu. What’s taking them so long?”

I SOAKED IN THE sight of Rio. A thousand shades of green covered towering cliffs that rose around the city. Palm trees lined every street, their leaves rustling in the hot wind. On the shuttle ride from the airport to our hotel, we passed skyscrapers and gleaming shopping malls, dirty marketplaces and crowded tenements. But my eyes kept pulling back to the ocean. It would be my first visit to the beach, and I was thirsty for the experience.

The hotel Mandy had reserved was simple and clean, nothing lavish, but very tastefully put together. It smelled of coconuts and tanning oil, with a hint of fresh fish. Not smelly, oily fish, but the clean, white fish I loved to eat. The hotel beside it, some Hilton or another, dwarfed it both in size and opulence. I was glad Mandy had chosen this local hotel—it had more character. We might as well be in the States if we stayed in a Hilton.

I took one of the complimentary hard candies at the counter as Mandy checked in. It was strawberry, my favorite. I suddenly remembered I hadn’t turned on my phone since getting off the airplane. Even though it had cost me a pretty penny, I’d decided to spring for the international phone plan that month just so I could stay in contact with …

Ah. Two messages from Solomon. I read them both twice, a small smile tugging at my lips.

Have a safe flight. Don’t forget about me and fall for some hot beach bum.

Thinking about you.

It was a small thing, but it made me feel good. Besides our weekly gun training class, I’d gone out with him a few times and we texted a lot. Our outings couldn’t even be called dates, and I was glad about that. I liked relationships to move at tortoise speed. That, paired with the fact that I wouldn’t sleep with any guys I didn’t trust wholeheartedly (a whopping total of two men) and my all-consuming career, I usually landed in the department of “not worth the hassle.” But Solomon had seen something in me, and I liked him back. I enjoyed his humor, his confidence, and the fact that he wasn’t needy. He liked to have me around, but didn’t hound me.

He did draw a few red flags. I thought he must work for the government or something—out of the nine times we’d gone out, five times he’d received a phone call and left at a moment’s notice. Plus, when I’d Googled him, there was absolutely nothing on him. Even regular Joes leave a little cyber trail, but his was hidden, which made me think CIA. But maybe it also meant that I had an overactive imagination and a weakness for spies.

I asked him once what he did and he gave me a nondescript answer. “I work with my cousin as a consultant.” Whatever that meant. I had a dating rule: never get involved with anyone in the legal system. That meant no cops, FBI, CIA, lawyers, judges, and so on. It was hard enough working in the system with my past, let alone date in it.

I texted back. Just arrived. Met a cute beach bum. Getting married at 4. Now I need to learn Portuguese.

My phone instantly buzzed back. Mazel tov. Language is overrated.

As I tried to think of a good comeback, he texted again. Whoa. It was more like a novel.

Hey, watch out. Micro-kidnappers called the Blondes like to take ladies and empty their bank accounts. Don’t go anywhere alone. And don’t act rich.

I texted back. Shouldn’t be hard since I’m not rich. Thanks for the warning. How’d a consultant know what criminals to watch for in Rio?

I Google.

Try again.

I work for the FBI.

My jaw tightened. I saw that Mandy was done at the desk. I slipped my phone back in my purse with a shake of my head, following the bellhop who’d stacked our luggage on her cart. Was he joking? I had no patience with men who lied.

I didn’t want to ruin my vacation right off, so I decided I would talk to Solomon later and find out why he’d dodged me.

Our room had two double beds with deep goose-down comforters and luxurious red silk sheets peeping from underneath the covers. I went straight to my bed and slid my hand along it, feeling the softness, and then squeezed the pillow. Ah. Just right. If I were able to sleep in, that bed would do it for me.

The bellhop unloaded our bags with great care. I studied her from the corner of my eye. She was moving slowly, as if sore. Her arm, from the shoulder to the elbow, was covered in welts and bruises—some swollen and plum purple, others yellowed with age. I would have given her the benefit of the doubt until she craned her neck sideways and I noticed the hickeys on her collarbone. Her nametag said “Lucy.” She looked strong and athletic, not a likely victim. My eyes lowered in sadness. There was no way to escape from the evils of the world—not even on vacation.

I gave her an extra ten bucks, which she accepted with downcast eyes. I noticed Mandy also slipping her something extra—she must’ve seen the bruises as well.

After Lucy left, I flung myself on the bed and melted into the cloud-like comforter. I’d rested, like, three seconds before Mandy tugged at my ankle. I cracked my eyes open. She wore her bright green bikini.

“Whaa—?” I rolled my eyes. “Were you wearing that under your clothes?”

“No.” She laughed, wrapping a towel around her hips. “Let’s go to the beach. Don’t you want to feel the sand between your toes?”

A slow smile spread across my face. I’d been looking forward to this moment my whole life.

I PUSHED MY TOES into the sand and lay back in the short beach chair. The ocean crashed not ten feet from us and the smell of the sea cleared my mind. Boise seemed like another world. The sun melted the stress of the journey away and I let out a long sigh.

“I agree.” Mandy’s sigh was just as long.

I looked over at her and smirked, glad I wore sunglasses—Mandy’s pale skin was blinding. “We’ve been out in the sun for twenty minutes, Snow White. I think you need to reapply your sunscreen.”

“Just because I’m a redhead doesn’t mean I can’t tan. If I lay out every day wearing SPF 50, by the end of summer I will start to get some color.”

I took a sip of my lemon drop martini. “Yeah ... you’ll be red.”

Mandy grunted and sipped her drink. She wore a huge white hat that could shade a whole football team.

I looked at the ocean, letting the sunrays wash over me, listening to children splashing in the waves and the sound of gulls. My mind wandered.

“Whatcha thinkin’?” Mandy propped herself on her elbow.

I could feel the alcohol hitting my head. “Dang, these drinks are strong.”

“That’s not an answer, and yes, they don’t make ‘em like this in Boise.”

“Hmm, what am I thinking? Solomon, my life, Angela, and ADA work.”

Mandy snorted. “Whatever. You’re only thinking about Solomon—you just added in the other stuff so you don’t seem like an obsessive, love-struck little girl.”

“Dangit, Mandy, we know each other too well. It’s not even fun anymore.”

“It’s fun for me.” Mandy accepted a fresh drink from a dark-skinned shirtless guy with perfect abs, and smiled up at him. As he walked away, she said, “I love this hotel.”

“I know. The room is clean and the breakfast bar looks incredible.”

“I was talking about the hot shirtless guys.” She winked at the waiter when he looked back.

Mandy was good for the soul. She made life more fun, and at times she was the only thing that kept me from going crazy. I knew I could always count on her and her disjointed humor. She didn’t even know how much I relied on her.

“So how’s Angela doing?”

Angela was one of the girls I trained at an inner-city kickboxing gym. She’d been kidnapped by Hank Williams as a way to get to me. I still felt a rush of guilt every time I thought about it.

“She’s good, as good as can be expected. I’ve been training with her a lot and her kickboxing is really improving. She refused to go to counseling, which worries me. She keeps what happened to herself, but I think she’s working out a lot of her feelings in training.”

“I feel bad for her. No one should have to go through what she did.” Mandy turned to me and scanned my body up and down. “And I must say, kickboxing agrees with you.” She changed subjects faster than a toddler changes moods.

My cheeks flushed and I looked down at my smooth belly. It was dotted with sweat under the warm sun. I changed the subject, uncomfortable with body evaluation. “Angela’s teaching the class till I get back. I think it’ll be good for her.”

Mandy nodded. “Yeah, the other girls really look up to her.”

I stood and breathed in deeply. The water was calling me. “Ready to hit the waves?”

She shook her head. “Not on your life. I’m too busy drinking and napping.”

I laughed. “What about your list of a thousand things to do?”

“I’ll get started on it tonight.”

“Procrastinator.”

A smile spread across Mandy’s face. “Mmmhmm.”

I walked toward the ocean and someone whistled. I turned to see a tan, dark-haired man grinning at me from down the beach. I smiled and kept walking.

The water was surprisingly warm. Waves hit my feet and washed out, making me sink in the sand a little more with each splash. I walked out farther and when the water was up to my waist, I dove in and lost myself in the joy of the ocean.

“PLEASE LET ME GO. You have my purse, so you don’t need me. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

Vitoria cursed and pulled on her cigarette. She thought about quitting smokes for the tenth time and quickly dismissed the idea. How else would she deal with her stressful job?

“Calm down now—everything will be fine. You sit there, I sit here, and when I get a phone call from my friends, I’ll let you go.”

The woman, Nancy Parker, sobbed, causing her mascara to run down her cheeks. “But why keep me? I won’t do anything—”

Vitoria twisted in her seat, rage filling her, making her lose all self-control. She ground her cigarette into the woman’s arm and held it there as she writhed and screamed. The handcuffs kept her from getting away. A smile took the corner of Vitoria’s mouth.

“Ohmygod, please—” The woman yanked so hard that the cuffs broke the skin on her wrists and the steering wheel creaked under the pressure. She hit the horn and kicked the floor. It was like having a rabbit on the end of a snare. She was going to hurt herself if she kept it up.

Vitoria’s phone buzzed, and she answered it as she threw the collapsed cigarette stub out the window. “Yeah?”

Nancy moaned and trembled, hanging her head as if she was about to faint.

“We’ve taken all we can from her accounts,” said the female voice on the other end of the line. She was the only rich female Vitoria had ever met and not hated. “Now we need the password to her account in Copenhagen.”

Vitoria put the mouthpiece of the phone to her shoulder. “What’s the password to your bank account in Copenhagen?”

Nancy’s face was swollen and red and she gasped for breath, her nose running.

“Well?” Vitoria said, her voice rising in anger.

“It’s mountfuji79800216chapter.”

Not a bad password. Most passwords were the name of their dogs and date of birth. Vitoria repeated it to her contact. Nancy hid her face in the crook of her elbow, muffling her sobs.

“Anything else?” Vitoria asked.

“No.” Click.

Time to finish the job the way she’d always wanted to. She knew it would change her forever, but she was ready for it. After taking a quick breath, she drew a .22. It had a silencer attached to the barrel. She jacked a round into the chamber and fired twice into Nancy’s head.

The gunshot was nothing more than a pop, as .22s didn’t make much noise even without a silencer. Blood splattered the driver’s side window and the woman slumped forward.

Flipping open her cell, Vitoria texted Mia to come pick her up. The gang would probably be wondering about Nancy, but they wouldn’t ask any questions. Vitoria was the only one who could ask questions. Once they found out about Nancy’s death, they’d be mad at her. At first. Then they’d come around. No one could say no to the kind of money they’d be earning.

Vitoria took out another cigarette and flicked her lighter. She looked out over the city and opened the door. It was a beautiful day, hot and humid—just how she liked it.

She left the abandoned parking lot. Nothing was flat in Rio—you were either going up a hill or down one. She hiked up a half mile to a bus stop and sat down. The stop was never used anymore and the bus that once ran this line was as dead as the woman in the parked car below. Vitoria saw it from her vantage point. Time to erase her tracks. If she wanted this to be a career, she’d have to be careful. She took out her phone, punched in a code, and made a call.

The car exploded. The back end lifted off the ground, throwing the car forward. Shattered glass hit the pavement and flames burst out. The police would find it and the woman—well, what was left of her—and make the connection to the Blondes.

The Blondes were not just micro-kidnappers anymore—they were moving up the food chain. And if Vitoria had anything to do with it, they would make history. She’d be one of the first filthy-rich women to actually earn money herself, without the help of any man.

Man or woman—she didn’t care who she killed to get to the top.

MANDY PACED THE ROOM as I pulled a baby-blue sundress over my head. “Gah. Where is my dragon bracelet?”

We were getting ready to go out to a lobster dinner at a restaurant downtown. The concierge said it was the best lobster in Rio.

“The one Rick got you for your anniversary?”

“Yeah. I was wearing it when we flew in, but now it’s gone.”

I was about to make a snarky comment when I noticed how upset she was. That bracelet had been given to her on their fifth anniversary, and Mandy was very sentimental about gifts. I think she still had the Backstreet Boys poster I’d given her for her fourteenth birthday. So I got on my hands and knees and hunted under the bed and chairs for it, but no luck.

“Do you think it was stolen?” she said, her eyebrows creased in worry.

“Not likely. It probably slipped off your wrist.”

But she wasn’t listening. “I bet I know who stole it.” Her eyes went wide. “That bellhop girl.”

“Whoa, whoa, honey. You’re pointing fingers awful fast.”

She continued pacing. “I bet she’s in an abusive situation and is saving up to get out of here. That little thief. I even gave her an extra twenty dollars.”

“What are you gonna do? Search her locker?”

She stopped in her tracks. “You think I should?”

“No,” I exclaimed, laughing. “I think you should calm down and look through your suitcase and purse again. You’re always losing things and then finding them ten minutes later.”

As she riffled through her purse, she muttered, “This is it. This is the mystery I have to solve. I have to figure out where it is.”

I chimed in. “It’s ‘The Girl with the Missing Dragon Tattoo Bracelet.’” I pulled my hair back into a messy bun and chose simple silver hoop earrings to accent my dress.

Mandy wore a slip and still had her hair up in a towel. “We should report it. I bet there are cameras in the halls—we could get them to show us the last few hours and see who was in our room.”

“Mandy, come on—I’m sure it will turn up. I don’t think anyone stole it.”

“Sarah Steele, this is our first case in Rio. The bellhop might be a part of a gang, and she took it to draw us out. Then, when we find her, she’ll drug us and sell us on the black market as sex slaves.” Mandy turned toward the bathroom, but not before I saw the smile she was hiding.

“Then we’d best not risk it,” I said. “Rest in peace, dragon bracelet.”

“Sure, fine, whatever,” she called from the other room. “You handle important cases for work all the time, but you can’t help your best friend out.”

“Tell you what. If we can’t find it by tomorrow, I’ll go to the front desk and demand to see the surveillance tapes. We’ll get to the bottom of this dragon bracelet thing, okay?”

“Fine, but I’m not kidding—it was stolen.”

When I heard the blow dryer start, I peeked in the bathroom. She was drying her hair and painting her toenails at the same time.

“How long’s this gonna take?”

She sent me a sharp look. “You can’t rush perfection.”

“Well then, Mary Poppins, I’m going on a walk. Meet you outside on the patio. Try to be done before Christmas.”

As I left the room, the Blondes came to mind. Solomon had texted not to go anywhere alone. Shrugging, I softly closed the door. I wouldn’t leave sight of the hotel. What were the odds that I’d get kidnapped on my way to the beach? Even with my penchant for trouble, no one was that unlucky. Besides, if the Blondes took me for my money, they’d be the unlucky ones. My savings account could only buy a couple pairs of Jimmy Choos.

VITORIA’S HEART STILL HADN’T slowed by the time Mia, her first-in-command, picked her up. She swerved to a stop in front of her. The white Jeep was an older ’02 model. They traded in cars after every job. Emilia knew a guy who got them a great deal.

Mia knew where to go. They’d talked over this plan for a month, ever since their contact had made the first call. Mia was a good driver. She knew when to gun it and what alleys to take. She used the horn superfluously, cursing out the window as if the other drivers had ridiculed her mother.

They got to the hotel and everything slowed. That’s just the way the tourists liked it: slow. People meandered along the walk. They lazily talked in the shade, strolled to the beach, and drank martinis in lounge chairs—it was enough to make Vitoria’s blood boil. These people had never worked an honest day in their lives. They deserved to be robbed. She wanted their money to go to people who had calluses on their hands … after she collected a hefty percentage for herself, of course.

The sun lost its zenith, fading in the sky. Vitoria calmed, her blood no longer pumped full of adrenaline. She missed it. Some people loved the thrill and escape of drugs or alcohol or extreme sports—she needed this. She couldn’t wait for the next bit of excitement, the feeling of losing all control.

“They should be looking for her by now,” Mia said.

Vitoria just nodded. An odd peace settled over her. There was no unease in her soul from what she’d done—it settled just right. The woman had deserved it and no one would even miss her.

“Hey, look,” Mia whispered.

Their target walked out of the hotel. She was prettier than her picture and wore stilettos with a short dress. If she were poor, people would say she dressed like a hooker, but because she was rich, they called her stylish.

“Put on your mask.” Vitoria pulled a thin black ski mask from her pocket and pulled it over her head. She adjusted the air conditioning so it blasted in her face. Despite that, sweat trickled down her cheek.

“Let’s roll.”

I MADE MY WAY down to the lobby and caught several passing looks from men and women both as I walked out the front door. I was not used to such attention. Most the time I was in business attire and wore a shark-type attitude. But here, I felt different—relaxed. It felt good to be dressed down, I smiled easily, and I felt like I didn’t have to be on my guard.

After taking a step outside, I had to close my eyes and pause, enjoying the breeze. It ruffled my hair playfully and smelled like flowers and sea salt.

Chills suddenly went up my arms and I knew someone was watching me. I opened my eyes to see the valet sitting on a stool in front of his podium, wearing a cheeky grin.

He had white, shoulder-length dreadlocks with beads and feathers in them, and his face was covered in freckles. He bowed slightly. “Need a car?”

“No, thanks. Just going for a walk.” Even though his grin was on the lewd side, his eyes looked light, as if he meant no harm. With a nod, I started walking.

“Sure thing,” he said. “Be careful out there. Them Blondes love your type.”

I stopped short. What did he know about them? “Blondes?”

He looked down and tugged on his dark red vest. “Yes, the Blondes. You’ve heard of ‘em, haven’t you? They kidnap wealthy women tourists and take their money. Credit cards and the like. Max the cards out in a few hours and let their captives go afterwards. It’s been going on for some time now and the authorities can’t catch ‘em.”

“I wouldn’t be a target—I’m not exactly loaded with bullion.”

He squinted at me. “They all blonde, that’s why they call ‘em the Blondes. Though none of ‘em have been identified. You look like one of ‘em—maybe you is one of ‘em.” He chuckled as if it were a hilarious joke.

“If I were, you wouldn’t know it anyway, would you…” I checked out his nametag. “Marco?”

Marco laughed nervously. “No, I guess not.”

“But they don’t hurt anyone?”

“No way. Never. They’re just after the cash.” He lowered his voice. “Did you know they give money to orphanages and families and churches that need it?”

That was interesting. “So they’re like Zorro? Taking from the rich and giving to the poor?” Something about that struck a chord in me and I spoke without thinking. “More power to them.”

Marco’s eyes rose in surprise, and then he settled on his chair with a grunt. “Amen. But you be careful.”

“I will.” They could probably recognize that my shoes didn’t cost more than thirty bucks and thus I wouldn’t be worth their trouble. Plus, I figured I could take them. In fact, it might be kind of fun to pit myself against a gang of girls.

Wait, that was stupid. I was here to relax. Relax, and eat lobster. I made my way toward the beach.

The heat and humidity were heavy, but in a weird way, I loved it. The weather was a presence—it had weight.

A warm breeze came off the ocean. I walked down a concrete path that reminded me of the Greenbelt back home. People jogged, rode bikes, and walked. There were a few hundred yards of sand between the path and the water. It was scattered with seashells. I was half tempted to scrap dinner and go sit on the beach again to watch the sun go down. Maybe we would have time to do that after dinner.

Squealing car tires rent the air. The hair on the back of my neck stood up straight. A white Jeep sped across the American hotel parking lot and flew out the exit. It narrowly missed hitting a car, which swerved and honked. Why were they in such a hurry?

There was a figure on the concrete lying on his back. I rushed over, my heels clicking on the pavement.

As I neared, I heard him calling, “Help, please, help. Someone. Policia—”

“Sir, are you okay?” I ran up to him as fast as my heels would allow. He had a terrible gash on his forehead and his eyes were glazed, as if in shock.

“Tanya. Tanya … they took Tanya.” Jerking quickly to his feet, he wobbled like a drunk man and would’ve fallen on his face if I hadn’t put my shoulder under his arm and held him steady.

“Sir, you should sit,” I said in a soothing tone, lowering him to the concrete before he crushed me. A couple approached, eyes wide, and I asked them to go tell the hotel manager and call the police.

The man put his head between his knees. Blood trickled down his cheek from the wound on his forehead. Judging from his worn skin and the white hair above his ears, he was probably in his late forties. He wore a slim-fitting T-shirt, designer jeans, and shoes that looked like they cost more than my whole shoe collection. But his watch stood out—it was a cheap plastic piece with a cracked face. I let go of him, but he didn’t release my arm.

“They took her.” He looked over at me, eyes scared. “They took Tanya.”

“Who took her?” I asked, although I had a feeling I knew the answer before he even said it.

“Girls in ski masks.” He took a quivering breath.

Had it been the Blondes? A morbid thrill went up my spine. They’d been so close to me.

“What happened?”

His speech was choppy as he tried to sort through his thoughts. “Two girls. Both blonde. Sped up to me and Tanya. One came at me fast. Punched me so hard, I fell down. Then they shoved Tanya in the car. Her face. She was so scared. She didn’t even scream.”

His eyes cleared, and he looked at me as if for the first time. Then his expression shadowed. “If they hurt her, I’ll kill them.” The panic choked his voice.

My heart melted to see him so upset. He looked like a man who was strong and in control—even the way he spoke at this moment was sure—but he was breaking down.

“Shh, I know.” I took a Kleenex from my purse and dabbed it on his forehead to stem the bleeding, which had slowed already. “From what you’ve told me, they might be a gang called the Blondes. They’re micro-kidnappers.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s when they kidnap the victim for a couple of hours, max out all their credit cards, and then drop them off in another part of town.”

He clenched his jaw, and his hands shook.

“Unharmed,” I finished.

“Oh, thank God.” He swallowed, wincing as I pressed the Kleenex to his gash. I was surprised the hotel managers weren’t out here already. Perhaps they were too busy calling their lawyers.

“Now you should go inside to wait for the police and get your wound cleaned up.”

He took my hand and sucked in a shuddering breath. He was on the verge of tears. “She must be so scared—she doesn’t handle stress very well. I should never have … She said this vacation was a bad idea …” He trailed off. I gave him time to recover. I remembered when I was in a similar situation and the feeling of possibly losing a loved one flooded back, making my gut hurt.

“Sir, we should get you inside. And you should report this immediately. Your brain loses details of the memory every second you don’t write it down.”

“The Jeep didn’t have a license plate,” he said quickly. “I noticed that.”

“Was there anything particular about the girls?”

“They were young, I think. I didn’t see their faces. Their clothes were simple—T-shirts and jeans. I didn’t notice anything else. Except …”

“What?”

“There was a mini surfboard attached to their rearview mirror.”

“That’s a good detail—anything like that will help the police find them. Though they’ll probably ditch the car soon enough.”

“My wife and I are staying in the Palms Hotel, right there.” He pointed to the very expensive-looking hotel on the other side of the parking lot. “We were going to look for her friend who never came back from her shopping trip this afternoon. Do you think they took her too?” The more we talked, the steadier he became. He took the Kleenex from me, and after pressing it to his forehead another second, threw the blood-soaked tissue on the pavement.

This case was getting more interesting by the second. “That’s worth telling the police. What’s your friend’s name?”

“Nancy Parker.” He looked closer at me. “Who are you?”

“My name is Sarah Steele. I’m an assistant district attorney back home in the States. Just taking a vacation. Who are you?” I helped him up.

“Eddie Lofton, state representative of Nebraska. We’re on vacation as well, our twentieth anniversary. It was my gift to her.”

My BS sensor went off at that. If the Loftons were on an anniversary vacation, why would she bring a friend? That could mean their marriage was … I stopped myself. I told my brain to stop trying to solve the case and just help the guy.

Eddie cleared his throat. “So we have a lead already, these … Blondes.”

“Can’t say for sure. From your description, I’d say they fit the bill, but I don’t know very much. You really should talk to the police.”

We went slowly across the parking lot toward the lobby. I still had my arm looped through his to steady him. But as we walked he stood up straighter, took a deep breath, and seemed to find his strength. When he looked down at me, I saw the panic was gone and determination was in its place. “I should call the credit card companies and cancel them.”

I shook my head. “You should wait for the police and see what they say first. You don’t want to piss off the gang if they’re trying to use her cards.”

The hotel manager and security came running out of the hotel with harried expressions.

Before they reached us, Eddie turned to me with a grave face. “It seems extra beneficial to have a lawyer at my side. Will you come with me to the police station and embassy to get this worked out?” His voice was professional, but his eyes pled with me.

I bit my lip. On the one hand, here was a man in need asking for help. On the other, I felt like it was something the police could handle, and he didn’t really need me to babysit him. Then I caught sight of a figure walking across the parking lot, looking worried. Mandy. Her face was full of distrust, as if I had sought out this bit of trouble.

The sea wind blew gently and the gulls called above. I inhaled and smelled diesel, but beyond that was the unmistakable scent of budding flowers. It pulled me out of myself, out of crisis mode, and helped me see the bigger picture.

There had to be a point where I could just walk away and not try to save the world. Other people could take care of this—it was their job.

The manager and security reached us and instantly started asking twenty questions, but Eddie didn’t take his eyes off me. I slowly shook my head, looking at Mandy. “I really think the police and embassy will help you more than I can.”

His shoulders slumped a bit and I felt a pang of guilt for not helping him. I slipped my card out of my purse and handed it to him. Mandy shot me a disapproving look. “But if things don’t go smoothly, give me a call and I’ll come right away.” I heard sirens wailing in the distance.

Eddie shook my hand, gripping it like he wouldn’t let go. “Just come with me to the station.”

“I’m sorry, no. I hope your wife is found quickly.” I gave him a small smile.

That’s when security pulled him away. He entered the building with a backwards glance in my direction.

I mentally said goodbye to him, and to the case. The only mystery I wanted to solve here in Rio was Mandy’s missing bracelet.

She came up beside me with an eyebrow cocked. “You spend five hours in Rio and already you—”

“Refused to help a state representative find his kidnapped wife.”

Mandy gasped. “Geez.”

“Two blonde girls took her. The police can handle it.” I started toward our hotel, where a cab waited in front of Marco’s podium. Mandy must have ordered it for us.

“We’ll be much too busy parasailing and surfing and getting our nails done to work on that.”

She was right. There was a time for everything. A time to get involved and a time to stand back. A time to work and a time to eat huge lobster dinners.

“Ready for the best lobster you’ll ever eat in your life? They’re so fresh they’ll be crawling off your plate.” Mandy climbed into the cab.

“Where’s my bib?”

As I closed the cab door, I hoped whoever got Eddie’s case was good at his job. His vulnerability and fear still haunted me, and I didn’t want to imagine what Tanya was going through. Promising myself to check on him later, I did my best to put it out of my mind.

VITORIA LOOKED PAST HER new patent leather boots, propped up on her desk, to the three women who were bragging about their latest plunder. They all had long blonde hair. Handbags were piled on the wooden table stretched along the east wall. Emilia giggled and pranced around the room in a long fur coat. It was at least a hundred and ten degrees in the warehouse they called their “cave,” and yet she pranced. They’d searched for an abandoned building with fast exits in every direction and had found this. Their little headquarters wasn’t much more than a barn—a wooden structure, square and open, filled with trunks and wooden shipping crates. There were two new Ducatis parked in one corner. A desk and a makeshift office sat in the other corner, which was Vitoria’s domain.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was safe.

Tied to a chair with duct tape was the rich white woman. She’d stopped struggling ten minutes ago.

“The thing I love about this is the shoes. God, I could have a thousand pairs and it still wouldn’t be enough,” Lili said. “Platforms, stilettos, sandals, boots, Choo, Vuitton, Miu Miu, Gucci—gimme, gimme, gimme.” She giggled. She was the shortest one of the gang, and the youngest. And acted like it.

“You can have the shoes. Give me the clothes.” Emilia sighed and tossed the fur coat into a cardboard mailing box. “I don’t think I could go back to normal clothes ever again. But lucky for me I don’t have to dress down.” She laughed at that and kicked off her heels, glancing at the captive woman. Vitoria watched the exchange between Emilia and the rich brat. Emilia’s eyes held more compassion than she liked to see. She had weird principles, that one.

They were taking their sweet time. Lili should have been off making payments already. When they paid key people in the favela, they earned loyalty. A deep, abiding loyalty. Vitoria knew almost everyone in the favela would take a bullet for the Blondes. It was a heady power.

Mia was the quiet one, and the only one acting like a responsible adult at the moment. She was black, with dyed blonde hair, tall and lithe and strong. They’d known each other since they were teens. She tagged and cataloged the shoes, and packed them into a box according to brand and size. They would go into a crate and get shipped to one of their buyers to be sold online just under the store cost. It was quite a lucrative business.

“Lili, Emilia, come here.” Vitoria had to get the two wild cards back in order, and prepare them for what was to come. Lili bowed slightly and Emilia plopped herself on the leather couch to the side of the desk.

“Comfortable?” Vitoria swung her legs off the desk and stood.

“Very. I’m so glad we got air conditioning in here, but it’s still hot.” Emilia’s whiny voice grated on Vitoria.

“I don’t care if you’re hot, and I don’t care if you like shoes or fur coats. What I do care about is the royal mess you created out there today,” she yelled. The two girls dropped their smiles and looked down at the floor.

“Look at me.” Their heads snapped up. “This is not a game. Do I need to remind you what you had before? Nothing. That’s right. Nothing. And now you live like that rich American slut sitting over there.” She pointed at Tanya Lofton. “Emilia, when you watched her after we got back, you were supposed to keep your mouth shut, but you talked, didn’t you?”

Emilia looked over at Lili and then back at Vitoria. “Yes.”

“You don’t talk to the marks.”

“Yes, but I was just letting her know that it won’t be long—”

“Don’t.”

Lili wisely kept silent, and Emilia bit her lower lip. She opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it.

“And you, Lili.” Lili flinched and swallowed hard. “You can’t just buy what you want. You have a list. But what did you do?”

Lili shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I went back to the same store.”

“And what do we never do?”

“We never shop at the same store twice.”

“That’s right. We never shop at the same store twice. We can shop for a year and never walk into the same store twice, but you just had to go back, didn’t you?”

Vitoria paced in front of her desk and tried to calm down. She had to get them to fear her. Not just fear her, but respect her leadership. Up until now, they all thought this was some high school game, like the cons they used to pull on tourists. But this was not just a con. The game was a lot bigger now.

Mia tossed her hair and kept on working. At least one of them got it.

Tanya started struggling. She got one hand free and tugged on her restraints. One of her arms got loose. Vitoria cursed and rushed over, pulling out her .45.

“Going somewhere?”

Tanya Lofton took off her blindfold just as Vitoria backhanded her with the butt of the gun. Blood gushed from her mouth and she toppled over, crashing to the floor. Crying out, she fought to get free, but her tied arm was pinned under the chair, most likely broken. Now the rich woman knew what it felt like to be broke.

Emilia called out something, but Vitoria was not paying attention. Tanya was crying and blood ran down her cheek where a deep gash had opened up.

Vitoria grabbed her by the shoulders and righted her chair. She shoved the gun into Tanya’s mouth. Her teeth clattered against the metal and she froze. The room fell silent and even Mia stopped what she was doing.

“Shh, querida,” Vitoria whispered.

Tears made tracks on Tanya’s blood-streaked cheeks.

“That’s right, just relax. I need you to do something for me, something only you can do …” Pulling the trigger, she blew out the back of Tanya’s head.

TWO GLASSES OF RED wine later, I was feeling much better. The lobster was divine. It had been steamed and the tail grilled, and we dipped it in herb butter. The flesh was succulent and bursting with flavor. We ordered chocolate covered strawberries for dessert, and Mandy talked about the plans she and Rick had for remodeling their house.

The restaurant had an open patio with a view of the sea. I half-listened to her as I watched the sun set over the horizon. Orange and pink saturated the sky. It was perfect.

“So, you up for a little fun tonight?” Mandy draped her arm over the back of her chair.

I pretended to be uninterested. “Would this fun involve a slimy dance club and sweaty guys trying to hit on us all night?”

“I sure hope so. I mean, it’s on my list. Rick said to be good, but not a nun. That means I can flirt a little, maybe even let some hot Rio guy dance me up.” Her eyes sparkled and her bright pink dress almost glowed in the dim balcony lighting.

“Hmm. Well, I guess we could see what we see.” Knowing Mandy, she’d already booked our reservations.

“Oh, good. I Googled some clubs and I found one that looks a-maz-ing.”

“Figured as much. Okay, let’s stay up all night and then I just might be able to sleep in.”

I checked my phone again and resisted texting Solomon. He’d been silent, more than I was used to.

“Really? You’re going twitterpated on me in the middle of a conversation?”

I slid my phone back into my purse. “What?”

“You know what. You and that dumb look on your face—it’s like watching a bunny hump a balloon.”

I about choked on my drink. “Mandy, you’re killing me.” I laughed so hard that the group at the next table turned to stare at us.

After I could breathe again, I flicked a piece of bread at Mandy. “You can’t do that to me when I’m drinking. You know I had a bunny when I was a kid, and he …” I started to laugh again.

Mandy wiped bread crumbs off her dress and smiled. “I know all about your bunny and his balloons. It was just wrong. But I gotta say, he was a gentle lover—never once popped one.”

Good thing I hadn’t taken another drink or else I would’ve spit it out my nose.

THE DANCE CLUB WAS in a remodeled factory in what I considered the sleazy part of town. The main door was on the second floor and as soon as the bouncer let us in, we had to wait in line on some creepy metal stairs for almost an hour. I was getting pissed. Just when I was about to call it a night and drag Mandy back to the hotel, the line moved.

When I walked through the second set of doors leading into the main part of the club, everything changed. Music pulsed through my body and, despite myself, I couldn’t stop moving to the beat.

Mandy yelled over the music. “I hear this is the hottest club in Rio—three floors, balcony catwalks, and even a rooftop bar.”

“Sounds great.”

“What?” The music was crazy loud—we were getting closer to the main floor.

I yelled in Mandy’s ear, “Just keep close to me. I’m not looking for you if you run off.”

“Okay,” she yelled back.

At the bottom of the staircase, the room opened up and I was amazed by the size of the place. A huge open area moved with dancing bodies like a sea of hands and arms. Laser lights rotated around the room, and beyond the dance floor was a main stage with a full band. There was a lead singer, two drummers, and a woman with a bright blue Mohawk who played an electric guitar. Fog spilled from around the stage. I grinned like an idiot.

“Sweet. Look, they have a bar up there too.” Mandy pointed to a balcony area where more people danced. The building was old, with rusted metal beams, exposed wires, and duct work covering the high ceiling.

“I think the place is about to fall down. What do you think?”

“You need a drink? Yeah, me too.” Mandy worked her way through the crowd and leaned against the bar. It, unlike the building, was new and modern. Made of glass that glowed blue, it almost looked like it was hovering above the floor.

Mandy ordered some shots of something green. I shook my head and tossed back my drink. Ugh. Tasted like mouthwash.

“There you go, Sarah. Now you’re loosening up.” Mandy smiled and handed me another shot. This one was pink.

“To our vacation.”

“To a fun, relaxing vacation,” Mandy said. “And getting everything checked off my list.”

We clinked glasses. I liked this shot better—it tasted like cotton candy. Mandy grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the dance floor. We mixed in with the crowd and I couldn’t help but move with the beat. One guy sidled up to me. He had spiked hair and wore a purple polo with a popped collar. Judging by the way his eyes still hadn’t reached my face, I labeled him a cad. I turned my back to him and scanned the room. When at clubs, I didn't look for guys who were hot—I searched for guys who were good dancers. After all, I wasn’t here to find a boyfriend. I was here to dance. I finally spotted one guy with brilliant rhythm, made eye contact with him, and then for the next hour we had fun swinging and moving and dancing. He was talented enough to make me look good as long as I followed his lead, and I learned a lot of new moves.

There were a hundred people on the floor, maybe more, and I got warm. Which is lady-speak for sweating like a pig. After giving my partner a kiss on the cheek and a wave goodbye, I grabbed Mandy.

“Let’s go up to the rooftop bar and get some fresh air,” I yelled. Tossing her hair back, she nodded.

Some guy groped me as I pulled Mandy through the dancers. I slapped his hand away and pointed a stern finger at his face. He just laughed and moved on.

Metal stairs and ladders ran everywhere. I wasn’t sure which one led to the roof, so I headed for the closest one. I tripped on the way up and hit my knee—hard. I gritted my teeth and Mandy laughed behind me. “You haven’t even had three drinks yet.”

“Shut it.” I muttered a curse and looked at my knee. No blood.

The second floor was not as large, but it was cool. Neon couches and high tables lined the back wall and the bar was in the middle. The balcony overlooked the floor below and was just as packed as the rest of the place.

“Nice. At least I don’t have to yell up here. Hey, I bet that’s the roof.” Mandy pointed to another set of stairs.

“Let’s go up. If I don’t get some air, I may pass out.” I was glad I had worn a light dress.

We headed up the stairs. At the top, a heavy guy in a dark blue suit held up his hand. He smiled and motioned to a sign.

VIP Floor, written in English and three other languages.

“Oh, come on. We came all the way here from Boise, Idaho, and you won’t let us in?” Mandy put her hands on her hips, but the bouncer shook his head. Two girls wearing matching black leather outfits ducked past us and the fat guy let them through.

“Great. Now what?” I was annoyed, to say the least.

A good-looking man with mellow eyes came up behind us. Mandy looked him up and down, and then smiled. He smiled back, said something in Portuguese to the bouncer, and touched the back of my arm. I had studied a little Portuguese before the trip, but I had no clue what he’d said.

“Well, hello, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor.” Mandy curled her finger through her hair and tilted her head. I held back a groan.

“Hello, ladies. I’m Rafa.” He had a thick accent. “We go.”

The bouncer smiled and stepped aside.

Rafa took us, one on each arm, and led us up the stairs into the night air. We were so high that I saw a few stars shining through the city haze. The wind, although still hot, felt good. Rafa was not as tall as I was, but very nice-looking. He had an old-fashioned air about him. Must be the mustache and twenties-style suit.

“Rafa, do you live around here?” Mandy spun around to face him and he smiled.

“Ladies, please drink.” Rafa flicked his finger and waiters and drinks appeared like magic. From the looks we were getting, I pegged him as someone very well known, but I feared his English was limited to “hello,” “ladies,” and “drink.” He liked to stick to the basics.

“Great,” I said. “We’re getting hit on by a guy who can only say ‘hello.’”

Rafa grinned again and said, “Hello.” He held up his glass and we toasted to nothing.

Mandy laughed. “I bet he can say ‘yes.’ All men can say ‘yes,’ no matter the language barrier.”

“Yes.” Rafa slipped his hand to my lower back and skillfully pulled me to the dance floor. Dang, he was good.

The rooftop bar made the space below look rundown. There was a long table full of appetizers and desserts. The drinks up here were on the house. I wondered who was footing the bill.

“Rafa, do you understand what I’m saying and just can’t speak English well, or do you not get a word of it?”

He smiled and kissed my cheek. “Yes.” He pointed at his chest and said, “Rafa.”

I tried to remember some of the Portuguese I studied, but most of it was how to ask for the bathroom or how much the clothes were or when to get off the bus.

I wanted him to know I was having a good time and thank him for letting us upstairs, so I said something I thought meant that I liked it up here.

His eyes lit up and he licked his lips. He pulled me in closer so my chest was pressed against his. My heart sped up. I liked my personal space, and this was way out of my comfort zone.

“Hey, can I cut in?” Mandy yanked me to her and Rafa stepped back. After a frown of annoyance, he bowed slightly and walked to the bar. In a minute he was chatting up a tall blonde in killer heels.

“Thanks, friend.”

“Yo, what did you tell him? He was all over you.”

“I said I liked it up here … I think.” I grabbed my phone and spoke into my translator app. My phone translated it, and I read the screen and groaned. I turned it toward Mandy and she laughed.

“You’d like his clothes off. Ha! He probably thinks he hit the jackpot.”

I glanced over and looked away quickly. “Great, he’s staring at us. Let’s get out of here.”

Mandy snorted. “Why? He is hot and rich, and you’re single, unlike me.”

“I’m not available. I’m dating Solomon.”

“You won’t even call him your boyfriend.”

“Well, I’m not making out with some drug lord named Rafa. He’s good-looking, yes, but kind of creepy.” I danced us toward the edge of the building and looked out over Rio.

The city was pretty with all its twinkling lights, but it had a dark gloom hanging over it. Or was it just me?

“Wow, what a view.” Mandy leaned on the railing and sighed. “Even the slums look good at night, with all the lights and laughter. And look at that moon.”

“Yeah, not a bad view for a couple of Boise girls.”

Mandy side-hugged me and we watched the full moon hang there. I could smell the ocean and it made me sleepy. I was partied out, though it wasn’t even past two in the morning.

“You about ready to call it a nigh—” My phone vibrated and I yanked it from my purse, relieved that Solomon wasn’t MIA anymore. But the text wasn’t from Solomon.

Miss Steele, they found Tanya. Please come.

It was Eddie Lofton.

EDDIE LOFTON SAT IN a stiff couch in his hotel lobby. His eyes were bloodshot. Mandy pulled up a chair from a nearby table. I paced in front of them, too jittery to sit.

Muscular men in suits stood not far behind Eddie. Their eyes moved around the room, but they stayed as still as statues.

Eddie’s voice was rough. “I’m sorry for contacting you so late, but I just didn’t know what to do. I don’t know anyone here, and—”

“I’m glad you did. What happened? Is your wife …?” I didn’t want to say the word, but by the look on his face, I knew. She was dead.

“They found her body in the slums, in a Dumpster.” His voice broke, but he managed to hold it together. “They shot her in the head.”

Mandy gasped and muttered, “Oh my God.”

My mind whirled. Maybe it wasn’t the Blondes after all—they never killed their victims. Tanya must’ve been targeted because of her husband—why would they kill her over a few credit cards? Or perhaps something had gone wrong with the Blondes.

“Are there any leads?” I didn’t want to push him, but the whole thing made my head buzz.

Eddie ran his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair and nodded. “They believe it was that gang, the Blondes. They found a note shoved in her mouth.” A spark lit his eye—he was angry. “It said, ‘All rich belong in the ditch.’”

Mandy put a comforting hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Lofton.”

He kept on talking, as if he was in a trance. “They found Nancy too. Her body was in a bombed-out car in an abandoned parking lot. The Jeep from yesterday was found under a bridge, burned out. No DNA evidence was recovered. The police don’t have any leads.” His shoulders slumped.

Lady Justice was out of her league here. From the little I knew from reading about them, it would take superheroes to bring the Blondes in. They could hide from the law for years in any of the shacks lining the mountains. The Blondes were heroes on the other side of the tracks, so no one would give any information on them. They would also have enough resources to split the country at any moment.

What bothered me most was why the Blondes had suddenly changed. Why go from a successful Robin Hood micro-kidnapping venture to murdering a high-profile person? It wasn’t just dumb coincidence that they killed both Tanya and Nancy—someone had picked them on purpose. Or Eddie. I eyed him with renewed interest.

Eddie’s eyes weren’t just cloudy with grief—they were hopeless. “Why would someone do this to us?”

“God,” Mandy said again. Her eyes watered. We exchanged a look, and I was touched by her compassion. I raised my eyebrows, creasing them in question. We communicated via expression, which we had perfected during high school classes, and she finished the silent conversation with a subtle nod of her head.

That was it. We’d take the case. Sleeping in would just have to wait until the Blondes were behind bars.

A PLAN SIMMERED IN my mind.

I put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. He still hadn’t taken a sip of water. “Eddie, have you eaten today?”

He shook his head.

“Can you?”

He was about to shake his head again when he paused. “I guess I could. But—“ He glanced toward the restaurant.

“You don’t want to be around people?” I guessed.

He nodded.

Mandy stood up, as if doing something would ease the tension. “I’ll order for you from the restaurant and bring it up when it’s done. What do you want?” She pulled out her phone and took his order—chicken tenders with fries and ranch on the side. I ordered a steak salad, and I knew Mandy would get her usual grilled chicken Caesar salad.

“Why don’t we go back to your room?” I suggested. More clues about him and Tanya would be there, and he’d probably be more comfortable answering our questions.

Eddie led me up to the third floor, and I texted Mandy the room number. I don’t know what I was expecting, but a simple queen bed and room without-a-view wasn’t it. His suitcase was open in the corner and neat rolls of clothes and accessories were piled in it. No sign of a woman’s suitcase—until I noticed an adjoining door leading to the next room, unlocked and cracked open. So they weren’t even sharing bedrooms. Didn’t sound like the romantic getaway most couples go on for their anniversary—more like eighth-grade camp.

His laptop was propped up on the desk, which had a fake leather top and an ugly green lamp peering over it. That was my target.

Eddie sat heavily on the bed and rubbed the bristles on his chin. He looked like he would either fall asleep or lose a gasket any second—anger and hurt were written all over him. “What can we do to get those bitches?”

That was the kind of determination I liked to hear. I could work with it. “Have you checked to see where they used the credit cards?”

He went and sat at the desk, leaning over his keyboard. I took out my phone. Pretending to be consumed with my screen, I glanced over his shoulder as he typed in his username and password. Using some association techniques I’d learned from a book on retention, I logged it away to retrieve later. After getting to the bank’s website, he glanced suspiciously at me, and when he saw I was engaged with my phone, typed in his information. I mentally rolled my eyes at his password: OMAHA71baseball. I could have hacked that on my own.

Strolling to the chair, I sat down and finished my text to Solomon. Beach. Lobster. Dancing. Drinking. Rio agrees with me so far. I left out the part about being entangled in the very thing he’d asked me to avoid—the Blondes. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Thinking of him made me think of the FBI. “Are the feds coming from the U.S.?”

“Yes.” Eddie looked up from the screen. “They’ll be here tomorrow.”

That’d be another chance for me to back out—with the feds on the Blondes’ trail, perhaps I could go back to vacation mode. That is, once I knew someone I trusted was on the case.

“See here.” Eddie pointed at the screen. “They maxed out our two credit cards at …” he counted. “Seven different stores. That’s ten thousand.”

I gave a low whistle. That wasn’t petty cash. Looked like the stores were all department stores, except one that could be a car dealer. Later, I’d get back in his account and snoop further. For now, I tried to put together an idea of what turned them from thieves to murderers.

I went through the scenarios in my mind. “Did Nancy or Tanya know self-defense?”

Eddie stared blankly at me.

“If Nancy had escalated the situation, fought back, or seen their faces, they’d have to kill her.”

Eddie objected. “A car bomb is an elaborate way to deal with a feisty victim. But no, Nancy couldn’t have taken anyone down. She was about thirty pounds overweight and had bad knees. And Tanya.” He scoffed. “She couldn’t even defend herself from a spider. She’d scream at me to kill them anytime she saw one.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Well, spiders are quite terrifying.”

“Quite. But all that to say that she couldn’t throw a punch to save her life.” He let out a tight laugh. “And she was big on gun control, too—wouldn’t let me buy a gun or even pick one up. Said it’d be bad for my image.” He rubbed his knuckles, and then turned back to the screen.

So it sounded like Tanya enjoyed telling Eddie what to do, and he didn’t like it. But I was still only seeing things from his perspective. Although he looked like a respectable man, I knew there were two sides to every story. Details. I needed details. With my phone, I sent a quick email to my intern, Joshua, back at the office, asking him to get me a list of Eddie and Tanya’s enemies and also any dirt on Eddie he could find. Joshua, who was a wide-eyed, sheltered Hawaiian native, was incredibly gifted at finding dirt on people. I was sure he’d get back to me with something.

Leaning back in the chair, I watched Eddie as he scrolled through news sites. Tanya’s picture was everywhere. There were probably a dozen news teams headed to Rio to get the story—now to get his side of it. I started my interrogation.

My first rule: Never ask a straight question. My second rule: Let them underestimate you. Third rule: Make rabbit trails. Sometimes the clue that broke the case came from a random detail.

“What’s with the watch?” I stared at the cheap, scratched plastic watch he wore.

Eddie shut the lid of the laptop and turned to me, running his hand through his hair. His eyes were heavy-lidded and sleepy. “It’s to remind me where I came from. Before I ran for mayor, when I was barely making ends meet as a carpenter, I splurged on this forty-dollar watch from Walmart. Now I wear it every day to remind me of the value of forty dollars.”

The words deepened my respect for him. “I think I remember reading about your race in the papers. What was your slogan—‘We can fix it’? Or you were called the carpenter or something?”

He grinned. It made him seem so much younger, and roguish. “Yeah, I was the carpenter.”

I raised my eyebrows “The media went wild with your hard-working, honest American character. They said you couldn’t be bought out by any corporations. Your campaign was funded by more civilian dollars than any other campaign in history. You won by a landslide, didn’t you?”

His eyes glinted in memory. “It seems so long ago.”

“But you’re still the hard-working, honest American carpenter.” I phrased it so it could be a statement or a question.

He slowly nodded. “I’m just building something more complicated than tables.”

“Bet you wish you could just work on tables some days.”

“Yeah.” His shoulders slumped. The burden of his civil service weighed heavily on him.

“Do you still refuse to take money from corporations?”

“That’s my policy.”

“Hmm.” Was he telling the truth? Not taking corporate money would be nearly impossible in this political climate. I knew how D.C. worked—he couldn’t accomplish anything if he didn’t have a company or two that owed him a favor. That was something else I’d have to check out.

“Did Tanya have any personal enemies?”

An unmistakable look of guilt crossed his features. “Yes. Me.”

I looked down, pretending not to be shocked at his admission.

He continued. “Tanya worked for GenEarth, an environmental company that tries to keep the earth the way it was before the industrial revolution.” He rolled his eyes. “I think she would’ve been happier if everyone drove buggies and washed their clothes by hand—that is, as long as she had servants to do her share of the work. GenEarth was suing the State, two energy companies, five waste-disposal companies, and three water plants. She wanted them shut down.” He sighed heavily. “Tanya was the face for their law department as well, so she’s the one people targeted. She got hate mail every day and not a few threatening phone calls. It wasn’t just the stuff she said that got people riled up against her—it was the way she said it. I … I … I really, um, disliked her for it.” He cleared his throat. “But I wanted things to get better between us, so I booked this trip. It was our last chance.”

He spoke in short bursts, as if he was nervous, but I had to keep him talking. “Have you heard of the Blondes before?”

“Not until I read about them in the paper after booking the trip.”

“And this is your first time to Rio?”

“Yes.”

“Did she have life insurance?”

“No. Neither do I. We have a savings account with enough money to last us if either one of us died.”

“Does she have family?”

“She has five sisters and a brother. They will be … so devastated. She was always the ringleader at holidays and came up with new traditions. Last year at Thanksgiving, we had a hot dog roast instead of a turkey. I can’t imagine the family without her.”

My shoulders wilted. Things weren’t smooth between them, but it truly seemed like he loved her, despite their different political views.

A soft knock sounded at the door. I peeked through the peephole and saw Mandy’s shock of red hair. She had an armful of cardboard takeout boxes. The two bodyguards stood sentinel at each side of the door.

I let her in and we dug into the food. They didn’t have a steak salad, so Mandy chose a traditional Brazilian entrée for me—feijoada. To say it was delicious would be an understatement. I couldn’t concentrate on anything except stuffing it in my face. Once I’d swallowed the last bite and licked the last of it off my spoon, I leaned back with a contented sigh.

We all looked up what we could about the Blondes on our smartphones as we ate, sharing the facts we discovered. We found a lot of articles in the local papers, and the story had even hit NPR.

The Blondes had been operating for two years and the local authorities were beyond frustrated. They had no leads. They didn’t even know how many gang members there were. Up until now, they were more of an annoyance than anything else, taking well-off tourists for a few hours, spending their credit cards, and then letting them go. But things were changing.

Eddie looked up at me with pleading eyes. “They’re doing this three to five times a week, according to the papers. If they start killing each target, that’s a lot of dead bodies.”

My stomach twisted at the thought of more women found in Dumpsters. We had diddly-squat to go on, and it didn’t sound like the police had any more than we did. I had to find something, some clue, some person to lead me to them before they killed again.

IT WAS 4:30 A.M. by the time we made it back to our own hotel. Mandy crashed in her bed and was asleep in a matter of minutes. I couldn’t sleep, even though I was exhausted. My brain would not shut off.

Taking the elevator to the fifth floor, I used my keycard to get into the hotel gym. It was larger then I thought it would be, and even had a punching bag in the corner. It wasn’t a real one, just the kind on a plastic stand filled with sand or water, but it would do.

After stretching, I ran on the treadmill for ten minutes to warm up and then pushed the punching bag to the middle of the room. I was glad no one else was there. I had some pent-up energy to release, so this bag was in for a beating.

I started with a simple jab, jab, hook—then added an uppercut. After three minutes, I was sweating.

With each punch, I made sure to stay on the balls of my feet, knees bent, shifting from one foot to the other.

Strike, punch past the bag, pull hands back to chin, duck, come up with the uppercut.

I imagined the bag was a thug, an attacker. Hank Williams or one of his henchmen. Even though he was dead and buried, I felt my anger boil at the thought of his smug face.

Night and solitude did this to me—I gave my dark side free rein.

I was angry. Angry about a lot of things. Angry at men like Williams, angry that I had to deal with Dan and his advances, angry about my mom’s phone call, angry that Tanya Lofton had died, and angry that Solomon was ignoring my texts.

What ever happened to a normal life? I lived in little Boise, Idaho. Nothing was supposed to happen in Boise. There was little to no crime and it was one of the top ten places to raise a family in the U.S. So why did all kinds of trouble follow me?

And the worst thought of all—why did I like it?

Sweat drenched my body. I left wet marks on the bag with each punch. Adding in some kicks, I poured all my power into my hips and relaxed my foot, giving each kick a whip-like action. Each kick tipped the bag on end, sloshing water in the bottom. Anger churned within me, but like running in the dark when I was scared, punishing this bag made the anger grow.

“Argh.”

That’s when I realized that it wasn’t them: Hank, Dan, Solomon, or even Mom. I was mad at myself. It was this thing inside, a cloud that overshadowed everything. The dark side of myself. Something had broken loose. When I first felt it, I hated it. But with each passing day and each new criminal I met, I found myself getting used to it, even liking the way it made me feel safe.

It had kept me safe from Hank and Glen Williams. It had saved Angela. It couldn’t be all bad, could it?

But the part that scared me was that I was hungry for more. I kept imagining ways to stop those that got away. Permanently.

Silent tears streamed down my cheeks and I fell to the floor. What was wrong with me? Why was I like this? I didn’t hate people—I loved people, wanted to protect them. And yet I couldn’t deny that something in me was different.

No, this wasn’t me, not who I was. I wouldn’t be that weak little girl ever again.

Getting to my feet, I wiped at my eyes and hit the bag. Jab, jab, hook. I was spent, exhausted and tired, but felt good.

I had no answers about how to deal with the dark side of myself, this primal urge to kill. But sometimes, even answers didn’t fix things. Punching a bag in the early morning light was the closest to peace I’d get.

SOAKED IN SWEAT, I walked into my room to find Mandy sitting up in bed groggy-eyed. She looked at me and waved a hand toward the bathroom. “Solomon’s in there. He wanted a shower.”

I snorted. “Nice try. I’m covered in sweat and didn’t sleep last night, so I get first dibs. You’ll just have to wait, missy. You don’t want me on the furniture until I’ve hosed off.”

I pushed open the door, and steam billowed out of it. In the shower was a tall figure. A broad-shouldered, hairy-chested, completely naked man. I yelped and closed my eyes. “Ohmigod—”

Solomon turned and wiped the fogged-up shower door, grinning at me. “A little privacy, eh?”

“I, uh … what—?” I backed out and shut the door. Turning, I slid down the wall and covered my face.

“Told ya.” Mandy giggled and threw a pillow at me. “You see anything?”

“No. I mean, yes. But the glass … foggy.”

“Bummer. You should really check out the assets before you make your relationship official.”

My face burned. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this embarrassed. Here I was, sweaty, in my ratty gym clothes, and that’s when Solomon decides to show up? Why not last night, when I looked cute? I glared at Mandy. A good wing woman never would have let him through the door. “How did he get here?”

“Well, Sarah Renee Steele …” I knew she was trying to be a pain by the way she said my full name. “I’m sure he took a plane. It would be quite a hike otherwise.”

“Mandy!”

“Okay, okay. He said the FBI got called in on some case and he can’t check into his room until one or something. And he had to see you.”

I was a little lost. “FBI?”

He spoke from behind the bathroom door, making me jump. “Oh, I meant to tell you. I work for the FBI.”

My head swam at that, and not just because I was still hot from my workout. The realization that I was so close to someone in law enforcement floored me. I searched my memory for every time we had been together, trying to figure out if I had slipped at all. I didn’t think I had. We hadn’t spoken about a lot of personal things, so I hadn’t dropped any clues about my past. Grabbing the pillow, I put my face in it and swore at the top of my lungs. I’d been reckless. I never should have gotten close to a man who was such a mystery.

But still, it wasn’t all my fault. He’d lied to me.

I knocked my elbow against the wall in disgust. “Guess they don’t teach you tact at the FBI.”

“Guess they don’t teach you how to knock at law school,” he retorted.

I crossed my arms and glared at Mandy. “Guess I need a new friend who won’t let lying men into the room without my permission.”

“I never lied,” he said through the door.

“You said you were a consultant.”

“I am. I never said I wasn’t FBI.”

Liar. It was what he didn’t say that worried me. What else wasn’t he telling me?

Mandy flopped her head on her pillow. “Don't blame me. I was asleep, he knocked and woke me, and blah blah blah, told me his story. He wanted to get a shower because he was stuck on a plane all night. You should be happy to see him, but you’re acting crazy. I knew you liked him, but dang, girl.” I set my jaw at that. She sleepily mumbled, “Now get out of those butt-ugly workout clothes and into some jeans. How long have you owned those? Since freshman year?”

I looked down at my clothes. She was right. I’d had them since college. Looking under my arms, I noticed sweat stains and a not-so-pleasant aroma. Yeesh. “I think I need to go shopping.” I scrambled for my suitcase, hurrying before Solomon came out.

“And you need to donate those clothes to the CDC. I’m sure they could discover some new bacterial life forms on them.”

I peeled off my shirt and threw it at her. She ducked under the covers.

I rummaged through my suitcase, pulled off my workout pants, and yanked on jeans. I was in the middle of putting on my shirt, with my arms up and over my head when I heard the bathroom door open. You’ve got to be kidding me.

I twisted around and awkwardly pulled the shirt down. I tried to play it cool. “Care to explain yourself, Special Agent Solomon?”

But he didn’t let me get away with it. “You walk in on me, I walk in on you. Hey, Mandy, maybe you should pull off that blanket just so we’re all even.”

“Ha. Nice try, FBI.” She pulled the blanket up to her chest. “You’d be so lucky.”

I hugged myself, feeling very silly and a little flushed. I glanced up at Solomon to find him shirtless, with a white towel around his waist. He looked good—more than good. I mean, wow.

“I need my bag.” Solomon maneuvered past me with a coy smile on his face. “I’ll just get this and change in the bathroom. Give me five minutes.”

It was still hard to believe he was here. But when he came close, I could smell his unmistakable man-scent and see the way his skin glistened with water… all I wanted to do was jump him. Speaking through gritted teeth, I said, “You should leave until I cool down.”

“Do I make you that hot?”

Was I that see-through? “No! I’m pissed. Get out of here before I punch you in the face.”

Solomon nodded and grabbed his bag. “Got it. I’ll explain everything once we’re all dressed and have had some breakfast.” He looked at Mandy. “Is she always this crabby in the morning?”

Mandy nodded.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Breakfast? Not on your life. I’m giving you ten minutes—that’s all.”

“Fair enough. Just see what I can do with ten minutes.” He shut the bathroom door, and I turned to Mandy and groaned.

“Nice, Sarah. Attack him first thing.”

“He can’t just barge into our space, our time, announce that he’s FBI—”

“That’s what really gets you, right? His secrets.”

I stood still and silent, thinking. “No, it’s not the secrets. I’ll always keep secrets and I expect others to.”

“Then what is it?”

I pulled my ring on and off my finger, fidgeting. I opened my mouth to respond when I realized he could hear everything we said. Snapping my mouth closed, I motioned with my eyes toward the door and Mandy understood.

“Will you listen to him?” Her voice was soft, compassionate.

I nodded.

But that didn’t mean I’d let him stay. I made it a personal policy never to be a bed partner with law enforcement. At the memory of what I had seen in the shower, I almost made an exception. But no, I had to stick to my principles. No matter what his abs looked like.

AFTER SOLOMON GOT OUT of the bathroom, I went in and locked the door. I took an extra-long shower. I watched the water flow down the drain and let my trouble go. I relaxed my muscles, massaged my neck, and tried to regain perspective.

Using extra lather, I rubbed the foamy washcloth extra hard over my skin. By the time I stepped, dripping, onto the towel, I smelled like a garden. But I put on some fresh-scented lotion for good measure.

Wiping the mirror, I noticed that my hair was even more blonde than normal. The sun was bleaching it.

“Hurry up in there,” Mandy bellowed from the bedroom. “I’m hungry.”

“Hold your horses.” So she decided to skip the shower and do breakfast first. That meant they were waiting on me. Let them wait.

It would be hot out, so I opted for a loose skirt, light blue T-shirt, and sandals. After my killer makeup skills, aka putting on clear lip gloss, I opened the bathroom door. “Everyone decent?”

Solomon stood and looked me up and down. If any other man did that to me I would be miffed, but when he did it, I liked how it felt. I stiffened against the feelings. Why’d he have to surprise me like this? When he reached to hug me, I shouldered past him. He gently grabbed my forearm.

I gritted my teeth.

“I’ve never seen you mad before.”

“It’s usually the last thing a person sees,” I said with a wry smile.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So, where are we going to eat?” Mandy cut in.

I sighed. “I don’t care—just get me food.”

Solomon picked up a hotel pamphlet. “Why not the lobby? I thought I saw a cafè.”

Nodding, I said, “Sounds good.”

They surged to the door. I squared my shoulders and leveled my gaze, ready to break up with Solomon.

THE POOR EGGS HAD no chance under the mighty power of Mandy and her deathly fork. I would have been embarrassed by how she was attacking her breakfast, but it was Mandy.

She finished her omelet before I even received my French toast. She stood, scraping her chair back. “I’m off. I’ll let you two stew whatever recipe you have going here.”

I turned in surprise. “Mandy.”

But she’d already turned away. “I’ll be checking to see if we can afford parasailing,” she said as she walked off.

The waiter brought my steaming French toast with a pool of butter in the middle. I didn’t cut into it, which should have given Solomon an idea of how serious I was. Solomon had ordered oatmeal with a side of bacon. Who orders oatmeal in Rio? It convinced me even more that our relationship would not work out, no matter how much I was attracted to him.

“Okay. Spill it, bud.”

Solomon grinned. When he did, the corners of his eyes crinkled. It was cute. Focus, Sarah. Keep on point.

He took a bite out of a thick slice of bacon, chewed, and swallowed. “I’m FBI. Can’t tell you much more than that.”

“Well then, I’m not going to play around with you. It’s been fun, but it’s over.”

He took a sip of water and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “You want your man to tell you everything?”

I winced. “You’re not my man. And I’m a big fan of keeping secrets. I just don’t want to be with someone whose sole job is to find them out. Can’t tell you much more than that.” I repeated his words back to him.

“That sounds suspicious.” He squared his shoulders. I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. “What secrets do you need kept from the law?”

A good lie is one you never have to tell. Many people in trouble lie to save themselves, but every now and again, the real con artist will tell you the flat-out truth and bank that you won’t believe them. It works especially well when paired with humor.

“I’m a killer. I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.”

He looked at me soberly. “No wonder I’m so drawn to you. You’re a Johnny Cash fan.”

I crossed my arms.

“I like you,” he said, digging into his oatmeal.

I almost left at that. Breaking ties with him was turning out to be harder than I‘d expected. Instead, I poured syrup over my French toast—so much that the bread was almost floating on my plate. My workout had famished me.

Just as I lifted the first bite to my lips, Solomon said, “Do you mean you’re a killer because you shot Hank Williams and his muscleman, or …” he lowered his voice, “the fact that your mother claims you murdered your own father?”

I had gotten so good at masking my emotions that I didn’t even blink at the words. Those hurts had been buried deep, but to hear Solomon say it made my heart beat so much faster. I chewed slowly. I didn’t even taste it. I squeezed the arm of my chair so tight, my knuckles turned white.

We ate in silence. I don’t know if he’d said that to get a rise out of me or if he expected me to pour my heart out to him. But I gave him nothing.

I had already mapped my exit and was ready to bolt. However, since I had the FBI sitting beside me, I might as well take advantage of it and ask about the Blondes. It was the only good thing I could draw from this encounter. I wanted to give Eddie some answers. Then I’d walk out of Solomon’s life forever.

As opposed to last time, I shot straight.

“Have any leads in the Tanya Lofton case?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “The authorities think it’s the Blondes, but they have no evidence besides Eddie’s word that two blonde girls were the ones who kidnapped her.”

“The Blondes … you mean that group you warned me about?”

“Yes. And don’t play dumb. We heard you helped Mr. Lofton and already know half as much about the gang as I do.”

“Oh, really?” I fidgeted with my napkin, twisting it around my finger. “Don’t be modest. I probably only know one-third of the things you do.” Then I cut down to what I wanted from him. “Why’d they change their M.O.?”

“Gangs like these evolve. There’s the law of diminishing returns. Stealing isn’t getting them as high as it used to.”

“You think it’s all psychological, not at all financial?”

He took another bite of his oatmeal. It looked so dry next to my French toast. The poor guy obviously made bad choices.

He shrugged. He didn’t want to tell me any more. “Mr. Lofton will be escorted back to the States. It seems that the local authorities aren’t going to break the case, so we’re unofficially stepping in.”

“Unofficially? What does that mean?” I leaned toward him.

He lowered his voice. “It means, not confirmed officially.”

“Don’t be a brat.”

Giving a wry grin, he said, “The FBI wasn’t asked to help out, so we are here under the embassy’s authority, as consultants. We can do almost everything we need to, but when it comes down to it, the local police will have to make arrests.”

“How’s Eddie doing?”

“He’s resting, supposed to be flying out later this afternoon. I do need to take your official statement, but for now you can just tell me what happened.”

“Sure.”

Solomon frowned. “Now, Sarah, I really need you to leave this alone. The FBI is taking this seriously and I don’t want you involved. You are here on vacation. I can’t do my job if I’m worried about your safety.”

I didn’t know what to say, or what I really thought. Up until now, Mandy and Joshua had been the only ones who looked out for me. For a second I enjoyed the feeling of being protected by a big, tall, strong agent. And then reality hit and burst my bubble. He probably had an angle.

So I lied. “I’ll stay out of it. I trust you and your FBI’ing abilities.”

“Good. That’s a load off my mind.” He searched my face and shook his head as if he knew I was lying. I pertly patted my lips with my napkin. He didn’t have any say in my life. If Eddie wanted my help, I would give it.

He leaned forward so his hair fell on his forehead. He brushed it back, and a waft of his shampoo came my way. God, he smelled good. “Now, what happened?”

SOLOMON TOOK NOTES AS I recounted my interaction with Eddie in the parking lot and his hotel room, leaving out anything that implied I wanted to get involved. He ordered us two lattes, and we sipped them as I talked.

Right as I finished, Mandy walked up. “I booked our surfboard and parasailing adventures.”

“Have you found your homeless child to adopt yet?”

Mandy snorted. “Not yet.”

Solomon looked up from his cup. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said. “What time’s our first challenge?”

“Four. I bought an underwater camera too. So we can chronicle our trip.”

We talked as if Solomon wasn’t there. It brought me some amused satisfaction.

I stood and Mandy linked her arm through mine. “Let’s go shopping before then.”

“Okay. But before we hit all that, this girl needs some sleep.”

Mandy yawned as if on cue. “Yeah, I got, like, two hours and could use a few more. How about we head back to the room and get going around noon?”

Closing his notebook, Solomon nodded. “Great. I love being invisible. Just what an agent should be. I’ll text you when I’m free, if you guys want to grab dinner later.”

He was incorrigible. “No, thanks.” I kissed Solomon on the forehead as if he were a little kid. “Just stay away.”

He bowed his head. “I’m nothing if not obedient to a beautiful girl’s wishes. Goodbye. Be good.” His words put me on edge—why was he so accepting of my rejection? He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would squall about it, but still, he didn’t even mention it.

I let him have the last word. With a little smile, I turned and walked away. No doubt we’d run into him again, but if I was lucky, I wouldn’t have to speak to him.

And then I marveled at my ability of self-deception.

I DIDN’T REALIZE HOW exhausted I was until I lay down. The long night, my intense workout, my mind battering me, and seeing Solomon all amounted to one tired girl.

I woke up still on top of the covers with one shoe barely on and the other missing. Bending down, I found it under the bed and then noticed the time—after one in the afternoon. So much for starting our day at noon.

Mandy was snoring and had one hand draped over her face. I decided to let her sleep and go hit the gym. I could feel the stir of whatever slept inside. It needed out, and one of the best ways was a good hard workout. Not that I needed another one today, but I had to do something. I ended up just doing some push-ups and sit-ups, but it felt good to move some energy.

Twenty minutes later, I was spent, but felt better. Mandy was still out like a hibernating bear. I wanted to freshen up, so I stepped into the bathroom.

Turned out my hair had made it through my mini workout. I brushed my teeth, changed into shorts and an athletic tank, and braided my hair.

After I considered splashing water on Mandy’s face and then rejected the idea because I valued our friendship, I decided on a much nicer way to wake her.

Taking out one of my pens, I started drawing a rose tattoo on her forearm. She stirred. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead.” Her arm twitched, and just as I finished the last leaf, she bolted up. She yanked her arm away and gasped.

“You ruined me.”

“Ha. It’d take a lot more ink than that.”

She scrubbed at her arm and then gave me a glare that had a smile simmering behind it. I pushed her legs off the bed. “You said noon, not one. Noon, Mandy. You still have so much to cross off your list.”

She groaned and rolled over, pulling her legs up under her. “Go away, demon spawn. I take back what I said. Lists are terrible ideas on vacation.”

I shoved her off the bed and laughed when she cursed.

“Come on, I’m all dressed.” Mandy didn’t move. “I look hot,” I teased.

“You always look hot. Now go away.”

“Fine. I’m going down to get a coffee—text me when you’re coming. And don’t go back to sleep or we can’t shop. You know how badly I need new clothes.”

Taking a room key card, I put it in my purse and walked to the elevator. I had at least an hour to kill, as Mandy was not the fastest riser.

This day was going nowhere fast, but that was fine with me. Walking the four-hundred yards to the beach, I took off my shoes and casually strolled in the sand. I couldn’t get enough of the ocean air, the sand between my toes, and the sight of the greenest mountains I’d ever seen. Palm trees lined the beach, and their leaves rustled in the salty breeze. The sun warmed my skin and I couldn’t help the smile tugging my lips. Being outside was good for the soul.

A little tiki hut stood to my left and I smelled something delicious. My mouth started watering when I saw what the man was serving.

“Three shots of espresso, a little cream, and a shot of coconut,” I ordered. Most of the people here spoke English. It made sense—this was a tourist trap built just for us.

Marco, our valet driver from the hotel, waved at me from across the street and I took my coffee to go.

“Hey, Marco. You working all day today?”

“Yes, Miss Steele, all day. You going out, see the sites?”

“Maybe. Mandy’s taking her time so I’m down here again, waiting like a dutiful wife.”

“Miss Steele, you a dutiful wife? Hm. I no judge.” Marco shook his head and I laughed, letting him know it was just an English expression.

Marco took my hand and held it out to inspect me. “You a sweet lady. You remind me of my daughter. She your age.”

“Well, thank you, Marco.”

“Very good, Miss Steele. I tell your friend where to find you when she comes down?”

“No, thanks. She’ll text when she’s on her way. Have a good one.”

“Good, good. You need anything, or you want someone to take you to see the real Rio, you give me a call?”

I winked at him and walked on.

The espresso was good, but as soon as I drank it, I remembered the time. To my body it was morning, but outside it was the middle of the day, and hot. I started to sweat, and looking out at the ocean made me want to go for a swim.

Tossing the empty coffee cup in a trash bin, I turned to find myself standing in front of Eddie Lofton’s hotel. Checking the time on my cell and not seeing a text from Mandy, I decided to go see how Eddie was doing. Maybe the FBI had discovered some new information on the case.

AS I CROSSED THE lobby, I noticed two men reading newspapers in the plush chairs. My eyes roved past and then went back to them. One had a slight bulge just under his shoulder, and the other had a cane beside him. That, paired with the way they watched the door and their lack of attention to their papers, convinced me they were feds. I wondered if Solomon was watching me now. As I waited for the elevator, I looked at my phone again and sighed. Dang that girl—she must have fallen asleep again.

The elevator doors opened. I stepped inside and hit the correct button. A man in bike shorts punched in a higher floor. As it’s impossible not to look when someone’s wearing bike shorts, I checked him out. His build was muscular and athletic, except for his chubby baby cheeks. He seemed like the kind of guy who only wore organic clothing and ate seeds and berries. I was about to make small talk when he ripped one. Just like that. I scrunched my nose and tried not to breathe. The smell saturated the air, and I gagged. The elevator seemed smaller and slower than any elevator I’d ever been in. By the time we reached the fourth floor, I was praying. God, if I get out of this alive, I swear I’ll start volunteering at a soup kitchen. I watched the floor numbers tick by.

The doors finally opened and I fell out, sucking air. No way was I ever getting on an elevator again with a protein-munching guy in bike shorts. Too risky.

Regaining my composure, I walked toward Eddie’s room. A pretty blonde girl with jet-black eyes was coming down the hall and for a second I imagined her to be one of the gang. That was a weird thought. Perhaps it was because her dress and boots were a designer label and looked right off the shelf. Or maybe I just had an overactive imagination.

She avoided eye contact as we passed. I turned left down a short hall and knocked on Eddie’s door. A minute later, the door opened. Eddie Lofton greeted me and smiled, even though his eyes were groggy and he looked like he was still in the clothes we left him in last night.

“Sarah.”

“Can I come in?”

He nodded and I stepped forward, wishing I could make this all go away and that Mr. and Mrs. Lofton could go on to fix their marriage and live their lives together.

Something ground under my heel and I looked down. A gold chain glinted in the carpet. I picked up the necklace and examined it.

Eddie snatched it from my hands. “This is hers … this is Tanya’s necklace. She was wearing it when she was taken.” He looked at me and blinked as if trying to figure out how it came to be in my hand. He had an unmistakable air of distrust about him. “Where did you get it?”

“I stepped on it. It was on the floor—”

It must have been the girl I passed in the hallway. She left it!

I turned and ran down the short hall and toward the elevators. The doors were just closing and I glimpsed the blonde girl standing inside. Reeling to a halt, I punched the down button, but I knew I was too late. And by the time another elevator came, she would be long gone.

I took the stairs two at a time and crashed through the first-floor door. I knew it was her—my gut told me. She’d come to give it back, but why?

The lobby was filled with people—new people checking in and guests checking out. The agents were still in the chairs. They’d let her pass right by. That was okay—I wanted to handle it myself.

I scanned the crowd as I ran, but didn’t see her. I headed straight for the front door.

Pushing past a bellhop, who yelled after me—sweet words, I’m sure—I stopped and turned, looking for the small girl in the crowd. Heat slammed into me and my lungs burned.

There, past the palm tree. I saw her shiny hair glint in the sun. I ran toward her and she looked over her shoulder. This time she made eye contact—and then she ran.

THE GIRL TURNED DOWN an alley, and I started to panic. I would lose her—the only lead, one of the actual gang members—because she was faster than me. It was the stairs. They’d done me in. I promised myself I’d start working on the StairMaster when I got back home.

Gasping for air, I pushed down the pain forming in my left lung. Giving up was not in me, at least not yet. I’d track her urban-style if I had to. I was on the hunt now. I rounded the corner and saw that it was a dead-end alley. My hopes soared.

The blonde girl had a lock-pick set out. She was trying to pick a locked metal door. When she saw me, she dropped the tools and put her fists up. She backed up to a brick wall.

“Hey, just calm down. I want to talk—I won’t hurt you.” My breath came in gasps, which I tried to hide by evening out my breathing. I positioned myself between the wall and a large Dumpster. In order to get past me, she would have to squeeze by me. I could grab her if I needed to.

The girl was sweating, and she shifted from foot to foot. She ran her hands through her damp hair and we stared at each other like two cats trying to size the other up.

“Look, I just need to know why you brought the necklace back. I’m his friend and I need some answers.”

She shook her head. Her fists were still in position, and I noticed she had good form. I expected her to attack me, maybe lash out or pull a knife. My hand went into my purse and my fingers wrapped around a keychain can of mace spray. But she didn’t move. Instead, she bit her lower lip.

I relaxed my stance and softened my eyes. “Do you speak English?”

“Yes.”

“Did you bring the necklace back?”

She nodded.

“Why?”

She paused, and that’s when I saw her regret behind the mask she wore. “She deserved better. Never should’ve got shot.”

“Who shot her?”

“Not me—I just snag and grab. Thought it would always be that way. Things are changing. I just wanted him to have it back … Tell him I’m sorry.”

“I can help get you out.” I took a step forward, and she launched to one side and bolted past me. I grabbed for her shoulder and got her purse strap. In a split second, I made a decision. It’d be easier to secure a bag than a human, so I decided to keep holding the purse at the risk of losing her. She punched at my stomach, but I easily dodged and tightened my hold on her purse. Twisting free of it, she ran down the alley.

She rounded the corner. I stood holding her small handbag, wondering if I should chase after her.

I didn’t think she would tell me any more, but it would have been good to bring her in and let Solomon question her. By that time I decided it was too late. And I was tired.

The high sun made heat waves on the concrete. I looked after her. What had she gotten herself into?

EDDIE LOFTON SAT ON the edge of his bed and stared at his hands. The golden pendant dangled from his fingers.

Mandy was on her way up. I told her I’d fill her in once she got here. I dialed Solomon and he picked up after the first ring.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“You should come to Mr. Lofton’s hotel right away.”

Solomon sighed. “Sarah, I told you to let me handle this. What did you do?”

“It’s not my fault. Right place, right time. Besides, this is a lead, and you need all the leads you can get.”

“You are a magnet for problems, aren’t you?” I picked up a hint of teasing in his voice.

“Just get over here.”

“Okay. Try to stay out of trouble till I get there.”

“No promises.” I hung up and there was a knock at the door. I let Mandy in, and she looked me up and down and snorted.

“Wow, what did you do to yourself?”

Looking in the mirror, I saw that my hair was a frizz fest, and it was clear that I had been sweating up a storm. “Went for a run. I have something to show you.”

She peered into the bedroom. “How’s he doing?”

“I think he’s in shock. He should get home to America as soon as he can.”

Mandy plopped down on the sofa. She looked and sounded nonchalant, but I could tell this meant something to her by the way she cased the joint when she walked in.

I filled her in. “I was going for a walk, sipping my espresso, waiting for this annoying so-called best friend, when I decided to stop in and see how Eddie was doing.”

“Annoying and smokin’-hot best friend.”

“Sure, whatever. On the way up, I passed this blonde girl in the hall.”

“Uh-oh, I see where this is going.” Mandy’s eyes went sharp as she thought. “Why would one of them return?”

“An attack of conscience.” When I said it, it brought me some hope. If one of them had the fear of God eating away at them, the chances of finding them were much greater than if they’d all been going in the same direction.

“So she ran, I chased, and got this.” I held up the purse.

“Hers?” Mandy said.

“No, I snatched it from some stranger,” I scoffed. “Of course it’s hers. Here, wear these.” I handed her some latex gloves. I put mine on and laughed at the moronic look she was giving me. “What? I borrowed them from the house-cleaning cart.”

Once we had our gloves on, I dumped the contents of the purse on the small desk. The purse was a small cream deal with a flower on one side. It looked like Coach and Mandy confirmed it by whistling.

“Dang, this is a spendy bag. It could be a knockoff, but I doubt it. Was she dressed in designer clothing?”

“Yes. She looked like any other tourist. Not overdone. She blended in.”

“Guess she would if she was smart. So, what do we have here? Makeup, high end. Little mirror. Travel Kleenexes. Two tampons. The usual girl stuff.”

I flipped open a wallet and found a pre-paid Visa card, but no ID. “She sure is careful. Cell phone is prepaid, and so is the debit card. Guess we could find out who they’re registered to. No ID, nothing to lead back to her.”

Mandy dug through a small notebook and a receipt fell out. I picked it up and looked at the address, and then I pulled out my cell and took a picture of the receipt and the contents of the purse.

“So does this mean we can go shopping now?” Mandy waved the card in the air. “It seems I suddenly came into some money.”

“It’d serve them right, but no. This has to go to Solomon.”

“Wow, you’re no fun at all.”

VITORIA KNEW THE MURDER had rattled the girls. They’d had no idea it was coming and it would take some work to get them to see her side. But she lived by the adage, “It’s easier to apologize than ask for permission.”

They ate the takeout Emilia had picked up. Everyone ate silently, giving Vitoria furtive glances.

In the gentlest voice she had, Vitoria began. “I started this so we could have a future, not live in the muck of the slums like a bunch of second-rate degenerates. I dragged you out of the trash and now look at you—wearing Prada and sipping drinks more expensive than your papai’s weekly salary.” She needed to appeal to their past. “Mia—you’d never have left your pimp if not for me. Lili—you were bored out of your mind at that girls school. And Emilia—“ Her voice lowered. “Your boyfriend would still be using you as a punching bag every night if you hadn’t escaped. We have a good thing here … a good family. Don’t let it go.”

Their eyes had softened at her words, at the memories she’d invoked.

Mia, her right-hand girl, spoke up first. One word. “Why?”

Vitoria spoke quickly. “Money. Why else? That’s why I’ve been taking trips to America. By doing this one simple job today, we made twice as much money as we have the whole time we’ve been working. Take a few of these jobs and we can get out of here. Live the high life in New York or New Orleans—”

“Or Las Vegas, baby,” Lili interrupted. She really had no clue what was going on.

“But this is on you. I need you all behind me. I’m not messing around anymore. You have to start taking this seriously.”

“We do, Vit, but I never wanted this,” Emilia said. Out of them all, Vitoria expected the most trouble from goody-two-shoes Emilia. She was a softie.

“Things are different now.” How was Vitoria supposed to tell them this little operation was not what they thought it was, that she only gave them one-fifth of all the money she made, and she was working for some very powerful people? There was some hardcore pressure involved. If they didn’t keep their word, they’d have more than cops after their tail.

She softened her tone. “We were kids when we started. We aren’t kids anymore—time we acted like it.”

Mia stood up and stretched. “As long as you keep splitting it up even, I’ll always have your back.” She walked over and gripped Vitoria by the shoulder. Everyone tensed. “But if you ever pull one on us like this again, I’m out.”

Vitoria nodded, staring her down until she let go.

Emilia crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Vitoria.

“Got something to say?” Vitoria asked.

“Yeah. This started as a team—all of us in as equals, and we were supposed to talk about everything. Who made you the leader?”

Vitoria managed to keep her cool, even though this little brat had no idea how much went into making things work. “You think you can do better? Fine, you pick the marks. You work out a price with the buyers and make sure we don’t get ripped off. Be my guest.”

Emilia looked up at Mia and then back to Vitoria. “I wasn’t saying that—just that we should all be in the loop.”

“No, you were saying that. If you don’t trust me, then go. No one will stop you. But if you want to step up, I suggest you keep your trap shut.”

Vitoria turned and walked out the back door and into the night. Her face felt hot, and her hands were shaking. Who did Emilia think she was to challenge her like that? If anyone was the weakest team member, it was Emilia. She didn’t know half of it, and Vitoria would keep it that way. As Avó told her, “Never tell all or you’ll be stuck with nothing.”

Closing her eyes, she let a deep breath fill her lungs, then let it out on a ten count. The back of the warehouse was overgrown with weeds and vines. A few yards past a rusted-out VW bus was a small outhouse, or what used to be one.

Vitoria pulled her new Glock .45 from her shoulder holster and checked the chamber. After taking the lock off the van door, she opened it. The hinges screamed in protest.

It was dark, but the moon was full so she could clearly see the two women inside. They were tied and gagged, a mother-daughter duo. The two wriggled and moaned when they saw the door open, but it wouldn’t do them any good. They were dead already—they just didn’t know it.

WE WERE ON OUR way to go surfing. I pulled a knit dress up over my hips and used it to cover my bikini. Stepping into sandals, I was once again waiting on Mandy.

“Are you taking another hour to get ready just to end up wet and salty?”

“Now that sounds like a good time. But no, I’m just about done.”

Clicking on the TV, I found a local station and read the subtitles. A storm was coming the day after tomorrow, but today would have perfect weather.

“Have any news on my dragon bracelet?”

“I swept the room again, but didn’t find it. The next thing to do is search the bellhop’s locker. Although she probably wouldn’t be stupid enough to keep it there—who knows.” I was teasing Mandy, but she thought I was serious. I wouldn’t search some poor maid’s locker because my best friend lost her bracelet.

“You should do that now.”

“I should do that after we surf. Come on. We’ll be late.”

Mandy shut off the bathroom light and stood in all her bikini-clad glory. She never bothered with swimsuit cover-ups. She said that if people saw it on the beach, they could see it on the way to the beach.

I said something that had been bothering me since the talk with Solomon. “Do you think he just didn’t tell me to keep me safe?”

Mandy knew exactly which he I was referring to. “Of course. Solomon’s with the FBI, for goodness’ sake. So I’m sure he wants you out of harm’s way.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress.”

“I know. But take it as a compliment. Relationships are really hard for agents. Haven’t you seen James Bond? Even starting a relationship means he really likes you.”

I crinkled my nose. “Well, this is much deeper now. This isn’t about me or him—it’s about justice. The Blondes have murdered two people so far, and who knows how many more will die if someone doesn’t stop them.”

“I know, Sarah, but this isn’t your job. You’re not a detective or a cop.”

I just wanted to know why they started killing their victims. Was someone forcing these women to kill?

My train of thought broke when Mandy motioned toward the TV. A reporter stood in front of a small rundown house. In the background, police and emergency workers milled about.

Mandy sat heavily on the bed and turned up the volume. Even though we couldn’t understand the language, we read the subtitles. “They found two more bodies. A mother and daughter…”

I looked at Mandy and my skin tingled. “They were found in the same area of the slums where Mrs. Lofton was discovered. That could be their home base.”

“Looks that way. That’s four deaths. So now what?”

“We go surfing and then we follow up with the receipt I got from the girl’s purse. Oh, and we try not to get kidnapped by the Blondes.”

“HERE IT COMES—THIS time I’m staying up.” Mandy was next to me on a hot-pink surfboard. We took the hour lesson and then decided to go at it alone; the young instructor seemed to know less than we did about surfing. The next wave was huge, so I readied the underwater camera Mandy had bought and clicked a picture just as she stood on the board. A second later, her foot slipped and she went face-first into the wave. Gasping for air, she scrambled back on her board and asked me eagerly, “Did you get it?”

“You mean, did I get you standing on the board for that split second?”

“Yes.”

I chuckled. “Yes, I got it. Rick will be so impressed.”

Another wave was coming. I tied the camera to my wrist and readied myself for the hit.

Mandy called to me over the sound of the surf. “I’m gonna beat you this time.”

“Sure, when manta rays fly. I’ll try not to show you up too bad.” I hadn’t known what to expect when we first started, but I was blown away by how much I liked surfing.

“I can’t help it if I’m better suited for a Harley than standing on a stupid board,” she said.

The weather report showed that the big storm would hit late tomorrow morning, which meant the waves all day today and early tomorrow would be killer. The water was peppered with surfers, but I felt like we were the only tourists. After the news hit about the murders, there was a rush at the airports. Basically, all the rich foreigners were leaving. The resort and the entire coastline looked like it was in the middle of winter instead of the height of tourist season. This would hurt the whole town.

“Here it comes.” I started paddling toward the shore. As the water rose, I got to my knees, stood, and caught the front side. Picking up speed, I kept my knees bent to adjust. I turned to match the angle of the curve and saw Mandy stand, then slip and fall. I choked on a laugh.

Shifting my weight, I leaned to the inside and wind blew my hair behind me. It was crazy fun. For a moment I forgot all about Solomon and the Blondes. The top of the wave broke around me and I kept my edge. The wave flattened out and I went to my knees, then turned to find Mandy. She tried to paddle to shore, but she kept getting swept away from land. I should have put her on a leash.

I headed toward the beach, reached it, and stuck my board in the sand as if I was conquering the land.

It was beautiful out and I was hungry. Mandy wanted to go for a hike up to the famous statue Cristo Redentor later, and I needed some calories. Digging through my beach bag, all I found was a hard candy. It would have to do.

Mandy was still pretty far from shore, so I flopped onto my huge, cushiony beach towel and the sand molded underneath me like a bed. Starting at my shoulders, I consciously relaxed all my muscles, melting into the fabric. The sun kissed my cheeks, warming them. I vaguely heard the sound of seagulls and children’s play, but it didn’t sink in. I concentrated on … nothing.

But then a thought blew in and splattered in my mind like unruly paint. It had been niggling in there since I’d heard what the Blondes did to Tanya, and now it saturated my peaceful rest. I tried to shut it down, tried to think back to nothing, but the thought was there and wouldn’t leave.

The Blondes deserved justice.

And I should give it to them.

Unbidden plans of how I could track them down came to mind. Flashes of surprising them in their lair, disarming them, and then … I closed my eyes against the violence. That wasn’t me. I had to put that side to rest.

But my peace had been shattered. I couldn’t stay still any longer or the thoughts would return. I sat up, shading my eyes against the sun, and saw Mandy still paddling her way to the shore. Very awkwardly, I might add.

My phone beeped. Eager for the distraction, I picked it up, thinking it might be Eddie or Solomon. It was Joshua, my intern in Boise.

“Hello,” I said brightly.

“Hi, Sarah,” he said, and I could hear the smile behind his voice. Joshua was three hundred pounds of pure Samoan muscles. He could probably wrestle a great white shark and win. And he was one of the most trustworthy, dedicated people I’d ever worked with. He kept me focused on my tasks. It was good to have him in my corner.

“I found something for you,” he said in his gentle voice.

“That’s what I like to hear. Get results or you get the road,” I said in a mock gruff voice.

“You couldn’t find your car in the parking lot without me.”

“Yeah, yeah—I want you, I need you, and all that jazz. What’s the information?”

“Eddie Lofton. He won in a landslide against Rob Pearlman, who’s run against him every election since then and really wants his seat back. But the people love Eddie, and it looks like he does right by them. He’s never associated with any corporation, or even unions. He gives out his number on his website and takes calls from anyone. He listens to the voice of the people, and apparently acts on it.”

“That’s the fairy tale. What’s the reality?”

Joshua paused. “At first I didn’t find any big bad wolf, but after some stalwart digging into his past and a call or two to his office, I found that the next two bills he’s pushing are regarding green energy. And they greatly favor a certain type of energy that only one company possesses.”

“What company?”

“Williams, Inc.”

My stomach dropped. Based in Boise, they were one of the most powerful energy companies in the country. I’d recently gotten really friendly with them when I was in charge of prosecuting their owner, Hank Williams, for kidnapping, rape, and murder. His daughter, Hannah Williams, now ran the company. And from the times we’d talked, I’d gotten the impression she was just as ruthless as Williams. In a less-bloody, more white-collar kind of way.

“Is Eddie golfing buddies with anyone at Williams?”

“Nope. If he has a connection with Williams, nobody’s seen it. However…” his voice lit up, “his wife, may she rest in peace, was suing Williams Inc. for three different violations of health and environment code. She blogged about the unjust way they treat their employees, posted pictures of the harm they did to a camp in South America, and in an interview, she even said her life mission was to shut them down.”

That was very interesting. Williams, Inc. had a lot to gain by Tanya’s death. No one else in her small office would probably pick the case back up.

“That’s good,” I murmured. “Remind me to get you a raise.”

“And dental?”

“Don't push it,” I said.

“Hey, hurry home. I don’t like being here in the office without you. I’m afraid of lawyers.”

“Lawyers are jerks,” I said. “Watch your back.”

“You got it.”

I hung up, thoughtful, sifting through the information Joshua had given me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mandy approach.

“I hate you.” Mandy dragged her board up, looking exhausted.

“I know. At least I got a picture of you upright. Don’t worry—you can’t be good at everything. I suck at computer-hacking stuff, and you’re a wizard at it.”

Mandy dropped down next to me and closed her eyes. We dozed off and on … or, more accurately, I pretended to doze off and on.

Then Mandy shocked me by saying, “Do you think they suffered?”

Sitting up, I turned to her. “Who?”

“The ladies they killed. I mean, the file said Mrs. Lofton had been assaulted.”

“How did you know that?”

“I looked at the report.”

“You hacked the FBI database?”

“No, stupid. I’m not a real magician, nor do I want to be a felon. I accidentally logged into Eddie’s email, as he was connected to the hotel’s Wi-Fi. Then I accidently saw a report the police had sent him to answer his questions. It said that Nancy had a burn mark on her arm and her face was battered. And it said Tanya had multiple contusions on her body and face, plus a fractured arm.”

I imagined for a second what the victims went through, and was pulled away from reality. I didn’t feel the sun on my back or the wind on my cheeks anymore. “Someone’s behind all this. I wonder if the leader has been corrupted by an outsider.” Then I told her what Joshua had discovered.

Mandy ran a hand through her hair. “I really wanted to just chill, be on vacation, but I can’t get them out of my head. I close my eyes and see their bodies …”

That was normal. When I closed my eyes, I saw the Blondes’ bodies. Which made me a psycho freak.

Mandy said seriously, “So, can we sneak out, lie to our parents, and get into trouble?”

“That about sums it up. And when you say ‘parents,’ I assume you’re talking about Solomon.”

“Okay, just let me tan for an hour first. I need to get a good one so when we go back home, I can make everyone jealous.”

“You’ve got to sort out your priorities.”

“HEY, MARCO.” I WALKED up to him and held out a hundred-dollar bill. “Want to do some driving for me?”

He put his hands up, not accepting the bill. “I’d drive you around for free, Miss Steele. For free. I want to take a beautiful woman to see my beautiful country.”

“How about a beautiful place to shop?” I laughed and handed him the address.

“Let me call my replacement. We can go straightaway.”

I’d left Mandy in the room, deep in her hacking mode. We could get more done if we split up. I’d given her Eddie’s bank login info and she’d run with it, trying to find out where Mrs. Lofton’s money went.

Marco returned, driving an old Volkswagen. He was ecstatic to be showing me around and chatted almost nonstop about the history of Rio. His story of the past sucked me in, and before I realized it, we’d circled the main road twice.

I tried to politely butt in, but after five minutes went by and he still hadn’t taken a breath, I raised my voice and said, “You’re a delightful tour guide, but I really need to get to the address I gave you.”

“Ah, right, right, Miss Steele.” When he took another look at the address, his face fell. “Are you sure you want to go here? It is bad part of town, the favelas. You know this word favelas, Miss Steele?”

“The slums. I should be fine—I have you to protect me.”

Marco beamed. “I will keep you safe—just stay with me. I was a boxer when I was young and agile.” He clenched his fist.

I spotted a Starbucks up on the right and about had a heart attack. “Can we stop, Marco? I need a Starbucks like no other.”

“Ah, yes. You American ladies love the Starbucks.”

“Yes, we do.”

Marco pulled up to park. It was the only American-looking place I’d seen in a mile or so. We were getting away from the tourist part of town and into the real Rio.

“Do you want anything, Marco?”

“No, Miss Steele. I’m not a Starbucks girl.” He laughed. “I like my coffee clean and fresh. Starbucks tastes like burnt motor oil.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that,” I said, fairly bursting from the car when he stopped.

The place was packed with locals. I thought I was dressed down in jeans and a T-shirt, but I looked different, very American. This was a problem because I needed to get around without being remembered.

Back in the car, I sipped my black-and-white mocha—they didn’t have coconut, much to my annoyance—and Marco looked in the rearview mirror at me.

“What do I look like to you, Marco?”

“Like a pretty American girl.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“We go now, back to hotel, yes?”

I shook my head. “I need to go to this address.” I held up my phone again. It was zoomed in on the address printed on the receipt. “Here.”

“Yes, but I don’t like it. Place is bad. Not a place for a pretty girl like you.”

“I thought you were going to protect me, Marco.”

Marco sighed. “Okay, but you should be careful. Don’t stay long.”

I agreed, and he pulled away from the curb. I had to follow my gut, and it said that the only way I would find the blonde girl again was to track her. I had one lead and I was going to take it.

My phone buzzed with a text from Eddie. I’m at the airport. Goodbye. Thank you for everything. If you need anything in the future, you have my #.

I texted back. Likewise.

It feels wrong to leave, but I have to. It’s too hard to stay when the killers are still on the loose.

I sighed and then answered, not knowing if it was a lie. They’ll be caught. In the meantime, catch some peace.

I will.

But I knew what it was like to lose a loved one to violence. I knew it would be a long journey before Eddie found any peace.

THE SIGHTS CHANGED DRASTICALLY the farther we went.

The slums, or favelas, were like a town within the main city. Scattered all over in clumps, housing a hundred thousand people to upwards of a quarter million. Shanties, sometimes stacked five high, twisted up the forested hill in what looked like a stack of Legos.

The streets by the hotel had been perfectly swept. Here it was dusty and littered with rank garbage. But it wasn’t all bad—music wafted in the air as if it had a life of its own. I’d been told that if I really wanted to learn how to dance, I could learn here. Most parts were safe enough, but other parts were controlled by gangs and drug lords.

Narrow streets made it hard to get around, not to mention the constant pedestrian traffic that crowded the roadway. Marco grumbled, pulled into a short alley, and parked. “The store is up there a block.” Getting out, he walked around to my door and opened it for me.

“Wait, aren’t you coming with me?” I hoped he would translate if need be.

“No, no, Miss Steele. You leave a car like this in the open for five minutes and the tires and radio will be gone before you return. I stay with the car, Miss Steele. You go do your shopping.”

I could protect myself, but the language barrier worried me.

“I will stand here and keep my eye on you. One hour and I come looking for you.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

Under Marco’s watchful eye, I wandered down the street and looked at each vendor along the way. Fresh fruits and veggies were laid out for sale. Shoes, handbags, and the normal open-market knickknacks were displayed for the casual shopper.

Some of the storefronts were well kept and even had painted windows announcing sales. Others were ransacked and gutted and in need of a good burning.

I avoided talking to anyone and soon found the store I was looking for. MaxxaM & Co. It was one of the nicer ones on the street. I pushed open the door and met a whoosh of air from a hard-working air conditioner.

Racks lined each wall, and benches faced rows of shoes. Mandy would have loved the shoes—all spiky stilettos or strappy platforms. They looked more like torture devices than anything I would want to wear.

I’d blend in a lot better wearing these clothes. I might as well get what I needed. On one of the bottom racks I found wide-soled skater shoes. They were black with pink camo details. Ghastly. But they’d do the trick. Then I flipped through the clothes in the racks until I came to a gray zippered sleeveless hoodie, with “I take what I want” written in silver glitter on the back. After grabbing some skinny black pants with metal studs lining the hem, my outfit was complete.

Then I went up to the register to talk to one of the only people who could identify the Blondes.

THE LITTLE OLD WOMAN at the cash register reminded me of my grandmother, which brought a bad taste to my mouth. She had silver hair pulled up in a bun and wrinkles so deep her face looked like a carving. I gave her the receipt and asked if she remembered who’d bought the listed items.

“Well, let me see now. I’m not sure I remember who bought what. I do get a lot of people through here everyday.”

“She would’ve been blonde, using a credit card.”

“I’ve travelled all over the world, but this is my home and I ended up here after getting married. Are you married, dear?”

“No, I’m not married.” Not even close.

“A sweet girl like you deserves a nice young man.”

I wanted to bring her back to the reason I was here. “So, this blonde girl. I really need to find her.”

Looking over her glasses at me, the older woman lowered her voice. “I will tell you, dear, that around here you won’t get any help. We don't like talking to strangers. Especially about anyone blonde.”

I took her meaning, but I wasn’t about to let up. “They’re killing people.”

“Oh, come now. That can’t be them—the police are lazy and want to pin it on someone. I haven’t seen any blondes come through here. None at all.”

I just stared at her. I tried to widen my eyes and look sad.

She glanced up and then back down. Then she spoke as if she were spilling a secret. “The Blondes give back to the people. Sure, they steal. But the money goes to help our schools and orphanages. They’re not hurting anyone.”

“Yeah, they’re modern-day Zorros. Except Zorro never killed innocent women, did he?”

Her eyebrows lowered in confusion. “I’m warning you, if you ask around, you won’t get what you want, and you may get a few things you didn’t ask for.”

I sighed in frustration. “So, you do remember the girl and just won’t tell me, or you really can’t remember?”

“A little of both, dear.”

My only clue was coming to nothing. Looked like buying a loyal crowd was better security than buying the best technology on the market. How would I catch them before they killed again?

LEAVING THE STORE, I looked down the street for Marco. He was sitting on the back of the car talking on his phone. I texted Mandy and told her this trip was a dead end. I hoped she was getting better results.

I’d only burned thirty minutes. I wanted to walk around a little more and get a feel for the Blondes’ territory.

I carried my new clothes in my bag, and because of all the stares I was getting, I wished I’d changed. A flower stall caught my eye and I went up to it. Half the blooms arranged in bouquets I didn’t recognize—the supermarket at home never had these. I inhaled the scent of my favorites and asked the vendor their names. With a smile, he gave me a thin little white flower. “It is luck,” he said. I put it behind my ear. I’d take all the luck I could get.

“Obrigado,” I murmured thanks.

Four girls played double Dutch in an apartment alley that smelled like grease and rotting food. Despite the smell, I had to stop and watch. They did twists and flips and moves like I’d never seen. When they saw the small crowd growing, they perked up and put an extra spark into their routine, outdoing themselves. When they finished the song, I clapped. They giggled and nodded, giving each other knuckle bumps.

I wandered deeper down the street, taking in the sights and smells. Most people kept their homes and porches neat and swept, and there was lively conversation from window to window. It didn’t look dangerous—it looked like home. Until I heard a low voice behind me. Then all the good feelings were gone.

“Ei o gatinha, you lost?” I turned slowly, as if unconcerned, and faced a tall black man. He had a red bandana on his head and a dark sweat-stained V-neck.

“No, just shopping. Do you know where I can find a good set of sandals?” I felt the tiny hairs on my arms stand up and my heart pounded in my ears.

Someone moved behind me and I realized it wasn’t just one guy. Three others stepped from where they leaned against a parked car, and at once the street seemed empty. Whoever these men were, they had scared everyone off.

“Yeah, chefe, I want me some meat—white meat.” All of them were dressed alike. Tough-guy tank tops, shorts, tattoos, and lots of piercings. I should have been scared, but I was just plain pissed.

And, call me suicidal, but I was itching for a fight.

The smallest of the group hissed something I didn’t understand and circled me. I took a deep breath. I knew what would happen. I didn’t believe I could talk my way out of this, so I had to be smart and quick if I wanted to get out alive.

I slipped one hand around my keychain mace and pressed the other one against the brick wall behind me. I inched toward the main street, trying to put distance between me and the cramped alley.

“Whatever you have, I don’t want any.”

“Oh, but you do. You just don’t know it yet.” The leader, Mr. Red Bandanna, took a step forward and the other three fanned out. They blocked the exit. No flight outta here. Time to fight.

I mentally put them each in a danger category. The leader was probably the weakest, physically. His gang did all the work, fought his battles, and therefore he’d lost his touch.

Now the little guy, on the other hand, looked fast and deadly. He had more to prove, and usually he was the one overlooked. I wasn’t going to make that mistake. I couldn’t make any mistakes.

Mr. Bandanna moved closer and brushed my breast with the back of his hand. I tried not to flinch. “My name is Hector. You want to remember that name because you will be screaming it, begging for more.”

I lowered my voice and whispered, “Hector, you should step back.”

Hector threw his head back and laughed as if I’d told the best joke he’d ever heard. Then his grin turned into a sneer. He motioned to the two quiet ones who looked so similar they could have been twins. “Take her.”

I held up my hand. They paused. “First you must forgive me.”

Red Bandanna looked at me quizzically. “For what?”

“For embarrassing you and your little girlfriends in front of God and everyone.”

THE TWINS MOVED IN and I sprang into action. Pulling the mace from my purse, I sprayed it into the left twin’s eyes. He screeched like a wounded bird and clawed at his face, gagging. I took advantage of his incapacitation. I nailed him in the balls with my knee and grabbed his shirt at the same time, spinning away from the other twin, before dropping him. He fell to the ground. The smallest guy stood flat-footed and stunned. Lunging toward him, I emptied the rest of the mace into his face. Rolling the empty can into my fist, I landed two jabs—then a fist to the throat instead of a hook. He went down, sucking air.

“You cachorra.” Hector pulled a knife and pushed the remaining man toward me. I hastily backed up. With a surprised cry, I tripped over the guy who was on his back, clutching his throat.

Skidding on the concrete, I scraped my elbows and saw stars. The twin hauled me to my feet and hit me in the midsection. I couldn’t breathe. Pain shot through my gut and chest.

“You like that? You want it rough, that it, little white girl?” the twin said.

My vision cleared. The twin was looking over his shoulder at Hector and held me up by my shirt. Bringing my knee up, I racked him again. When he doubled over, I smashed my knee into his face. Blood poured from his nose and he fell over, gurgling and cursing.

Stumbling backward, I managed to regain my balance and run. Each step hurt. My eyes were burning and lungs gasping from the mace floating in the air.

Hector’s heavy footsteps chased after me, cursing and promising what he’d do to me. Didn’t sound like he was offering a foot massage and pedicure, so I kept running. I thought I was heading in the direction of the car, but I might have gotten turned around. Marco was parked just down the street. Or was he one block over to the left? I couldn’t get my bearings.

Left it was. Dodging a trash can, I almost twisted my ankle. The alley I chose was a dead end … so much for my good female intuition. It smelled like feces and rotting cheese, not a pleasant combo.

A sense of irony hit me. Not too long ago, I was the one chasing someone else into a blind alley. There was nothing I could do—no doors, nothing to fight back with. Even my purse was back somewhere between here and where three guys sucked wind.

Boots grated on the ground and a deep, guttural laugh echoed off the walls. Hector stood at the mouth of the alley. He had a pipe in his hand about the size of a baseball bat. Now I was scared.

He walked slowly toward me. “This is the fun part.”

My fear brought out something in me that liked to fight. The dark monster that lurked, just waiting for someone dumb enough to come close to its cage. And I was dumb enough to voice it.

I glared at him “Fun for me. By the time I get done with you, you’ll be breathing out your belly button.”

Growling, Hector rushed at me with the pipe raised. He was muscular, but he wasn’t fast or flexible. I think those were the only two things I had to my advantage. Swinging at my head, he grunted and I ducked. The pipe slammed into the wall. Hector cursed. I tried to get around him, but he blocked me. He was faster than I’d anticipated.

My head seemed to clear, as if the fog of fear was vanishing, and in its place was the same feeling I felt when I baited and killed Williams. Hector was no different. A part of me wanted to kill him … and not just to survive. “That all you got, little boy?”

Twisting the pipe around, he clipped my shoulder and I went down face-first. My hands took the brunt of it and I rolled instinctually. The pipe hit the concrete where my head had been a millisecond before—that was a killing blow. He was in a rage.

Grabbing a broken crate, I blocked his next blow and kicked him in the knee. I heard it snap and he cried out. But that was like a spear poked in a bull’s side, slowing him down but enraging him further. He raised his foot to kick me—I saw my opening. Jerking my knee up, I swept his leg out from under him. It didn’t knock him off his feet, but it unbalanced him. He staggered back, opening up his chest area. Now was my chance to hit his throat. I pulled the crate back.

But before my blow landed, I heard a hollow thud. Hector hit his knees. I watched as his face smashed into the ground and blood burst from his lips and nose. He was not even a foot away from me, so close that I could smell his sweat and the iron in his blood.

I didn’t move away, didn’t look up—just stared at him. He was out cold and would have one epic headache in the morning. I watched the blood stream down his head and the bruise pool under his skin.

“Sarah.” Solomon’s voice ripped me from my trance. He held his gun—he must’ve used it to pistol-whip Hector.

I lifted my eyes to meet his. “Solomon?”

He helped me to my feet and wrapped me in a hug.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” He held me at arms’ length and looked me up and down. I touched my forehead, where a bruise was forming. He hugged me again, and I went limp in his arms.

“I’m okay,” I said, my voice shaking. “Just had to say hi to some of the locals.”

His eyes lit up, and then he yelled. “What were you thinking?”

SOLOMON MARCHED DOWN THE alley and I followed in silence. A few people started coming out of storefronts and shanties. My purse and sack of clothes lay on the ground and I picked them up. They appeared to be intact with all my stuff still inside.

“I have a car waiting. Marco will take me back to the hotel,” I said.

Solomon didn’t turn around or even acknowledge that I’d said anything. We walked back to the main street and I saw Marco standing by the car with a worried look on his face. Next to his car was a dark blue SUV.

Solomon walked ahead of me, but turned now and again to make sure I was behind him. My whole body was starting to tremble, and my throat clenched so bad it hurt.

Marco waved when he saw me, and I waved back. His smile turned to a concerned stare when he saw my disheveled appearance.

“Miss Steele, what happened to you?”

Solomon stuck out his hand and flashed his badge. “FBI. Miss Steele was in an altercation. I need to bring her in to get a formal statement. I’ll take it from here.”

Marco stared at Solomon and then shook his head. “I promised I would drive her back to her hotel …”

“No need. I will drop Miss Steele off after we get her statement.” Solomon opened the passenger door and I got in. I nodded to Marco and he grumbled something and got in his car. If I’d been in complete control of my voice, I would’ve said something reassuring to him, but I was too shaken up.

Solomon got in and started the engine. He didn’t look at me, wouldn’t say anything. I got that he was upset because I, well, I guess I’d lied. But I didn’t need him knocking heads when I was fully capable of knocking heads myself.

But then I also realized how completely thankful I was that he showed up when he did.

WE WERE OUT OF the slums and heading back to the hotel. The line Solomon gave about taking my statement was just so he could drive me. My hands were shaking. It wasn’t often that I craved alcohol, but I could really use a drink. Now.

Solomon gritted his teeth and then jerked the wheel to the right, pulling off the road into a small lot next to a surf shop.

“We agreed that you’d stay out of this. That you’d let me do my job.”

“I know, but—”

“But what? This isn’t Boise. You can’t go walking around here alone. Most of all in the slums.”

I swallowed, trying to make my voice sound tough. “Not sure you noticed, but three of the four guys who jumped me were on the ground when you showed up. I know it’s not Boise. What you need to know is that I’m an adult, I can do whatever I want, and I had a lead.”

“A lead? That wasn’t your lead. That was our lead. You gave us the purse—we know that the Blondes shopped at the shoe shop. What do you think this is, some game where you play Nancy Drew and get the bad guy? This gang is out killing people, Sarah, and the point is that you lied to me.”

“You’re one to talk,” I said, then fell silent.

He cleared his throat. “You could’ve been killed out there today. If you had a lead, you should’ve called me. If you want to help, do it by filling me in, not going around me.” Solomon turned in his seat and I could see something in his eyes. It wasn’t anger—that was all over his face, but not in his eyes. What was it? Was he afraid for me? He swallowed. “I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened to you today.”

I stared out the window and tried to be somewhere else, not wanting to acknowledge the warmth I felt at his care. “Just take me back. You don’t have the right to care anymore—you’re just some guy I went out with a few times.” I regretted it as soon as I said it.

I looked at him from the corner of my eye and saw hurt flash in his eyes. “Some guy?” He cursed and slammed the SUV in gear.

I think I just broke up with Solomon. For the second time.

THE ELEVATOR DOOR OPENED and I marched down the hall to my room. Solomon followed me—why, I don’t know. Probably to lock me in. I felt like I was seventeen again, sent to my room for sneaking out.

I pushed in the key card and it turned red. I tried again—nothing. My hands were still shaking from the assault. Muttering a curse, I tried once more and the little light finally turned green. I pushed into my room, turned, and started closing the door to keep Solomon from coming in.

“Sarah—”

“Just leave me alone.” He had his body half in the room and half out. He slipped in without much effort.

“Don’t act like this has anything to do with me, or this case, or even you lying to me. You’re mad about something—”

“Dang it, Solomon, quit analyzing me.”

He turned away, and my eyes started burning.

I turned him back around and pushed him against the door. Heat flooded my system and I was kissing him. He kissed me back and I pinned his arms against the door.

I had never kissed him like this—most of the time, our kisses were tender. This was forceful and aggressive. It made my head swim and my body burn with desire. It certainly wasn’t unpleasant.

“Why do you like fighting in dark alleys?” Spinning me around, he pushed me onto the downy bed.

“Yeah, and you like playing the knight in shining armor.”

Solomon loosened his collar and tossed his suit jacket. How he could wear a suit in this humidity was beyond me.

“I can’t believe you said I was just some guy. You push every button I have.”

I sat up and grabbed him. Pulling him on top of me, I kissed him. His lips anticipated everything I wanted. He put one hand beside my head and the other he wrapped around my waist, pulling me to him. I gripped his shoulders, my heart racing and my breath caught in my throat.

I wanted to forget everything and just lose myself in him. Be in his world, by his side. Yet I knew I couldn’t get any closer to him. How could I feel something so strong for someone I hardly knew?

I couldn’t let myself do this.

With a gasping breath, I pulled away. “Easy, tiger.” I propped myself up on my elbows and tried to keep my tone playful. He kissed me on the cheek and stood. Once again, he didn’t push me.

“I have to go. The local police will have the four men who attacked you in custody by now. I called it in and I can go ID them so you don’t have to. I’ll get your statement later.”

“Okay. Besides a statement, do you need anything else from me?”

Solomon winked. “I need you.” Stepping closer, he moved his hand to my waist and kissed me softly. No matter what my brain was telling me to do or the hurt inside screaming for me to back away, I couldn’t. The fact was, I didn’t want to.

“Now. You will stay here, won’t you?” He put on his suit coat.

“I don’t think you intended that to be a question, did you?”

“No, but I won’t treat you like a child. That was wrong of me. Can you and Mandy just promise me you’ll let me know if you’re going into something dangerous?”

“Sure. Speaking of Mandy, where is that girl?”

MANDY TOOK ME TO a nice, quiet beachside restaurant. It was a luau-style place with the pig and all. I was very tired—all the emotions of the day and the street fight had drained me completely. I craved a good, comforting meal and then a long sleep.

“If not for the kidnappings, murder, and gangs of rapists around here, this could be a great place to vacation.” Mandy grinned like a dork and I laughed in spite of myself.

“Yeah, yeah. We have only two days left here—the time has flown by. So what’d you find out with all your hacking?”

“I think I may have found something, but I need to follow a few more threads. Let’s not talk about it tonight—you and I need a break.” She took a bite of coconut rice. “So, you and Solomon. Spill it.”

“What? Nothing. I mean … something.”

“Uh-oh.”

I wanted to avoid this conversation, but only because I didn’t know what to make of it all. Solomon was not the mouth-breather Neanderthal type. He seemed mature and like he was living up to his potential, which was really all I could ask for. “Why can’t things ever be easy?”

“Because this is how life goes. Life isn’t fair. Things go wrong, people do bad things, and I gain weight when I sit around all day eating Bunny Tracks. Sarah, you are making this hard for yourself.”

“No, I’m not. I want to be happy, to be loved, but …”

“But what? No one knows who you are. You keep it all hidden and it takes a really persistent person, like myself, to dig under that hard shell and see you, the real you. And you haven’t told me anything about your past. Not really. You can be happy, but I’m not sure you really want to. And I think it has to do with all your secrets.”

She was right. I hated when she was right.

“Why bring out your cattle prod all of a sudden?”

Her mouth quirked up. “I think you really like Solomon. You haven’t ever had a guy who can keep up with you like he has.” She shook her spoon at me. “And I don’t want to see you mess it up. So I’m trying to get to the bottom of your psychosis, which, of course, means digging into your past.”

Biting my lip, I tried my hardest not to fight her. I had a past I didn’t want to think about. I had buried it deep, thinking it would stay buried. “You know about my mom, how she’s in prison for life?”

Mandy nodded.

“I don’t ever talk about it because no one knows the real story, and I’m scared that if anyone finds out, it will—” My throat closed, and I could barely say the words. It had been so long.

“What, Sarah? Do you think you’ll lose Solomon or me?” She reached across the table and took my hand.

“No, I’m scared that I’ll lose me.”

I was scared that I already had.

MANDY ORDERED COCONUT ICE cream and we moved to a private area on the beach. There was a large, round bed to lounge on, and our ice cream came a few minutes later.

“Now this is more like it. Ocean breeze, the sun setting on a cool bed, eating your favorite ice cream.” Mandy was trying to lighten the mood and it was working.

“The food is amazing. Not to mention being here with my best friend.” I took a bite of ice cream and decided I should get it all out. “There is something, Mandy, something that happened after my mom went away. Today reminded me of it.”

She looked out to sea, giving me room to tell the story.

It was now or never. “I first went to stay with my aunt, and I was with her until she died of lung cancer. Somehow I thought it was my fault, not the four packs a day she sucked on. If it hadn’t been for a nice Sunday School teacher, I probably would have lost all hope then. I was ten years old and without any family to speak of, so I was put into foster care.

“Mr. and Mrs. White were my first. They were the good ones. But she got pregnant and they didn’t keep me long. Then I landed with some bad ones. It took eight homes before I landed with the Gibsons. They were amazing people and I was so lucky to be raised by them.”

“And they died in a car crash. Sarah, I’m sorry.”

“Nineteen. I was nineteen. You’d already moved to California to go to college. So once again I was alone, no real family and going off to college by myself. I met this older student, Andy. He was so sexy and kind of a bad boy. No, not kinda. He really was a bad boy. I liked him almost immediately.”

“I don’t remember you talking about him.”

“I never talk about him, to anyone.” I sighed. “We went out three times before he hit me. It was a slap. He was drunk, and I thought it was my fault because I’d spilled my drink on his jacket. I knew a lot of girls who were abused by men and I never understood why they stayed, why they didn’t just leave or have the guys arrested. But once it happened to me, I understood. It’s like this weird connection happened in my brain. When he raged at me, I took that as love. If he could feel so much, get so worked up over something I did, that was a form of passion.”

I gripped my spoon so hard it bent. Dropping it in the ice cream, I paused and took a shaky breath.

“That doesn’t seem like you,” Mandy said. “I mean, if a guy ever hit me, I’d want to kill him. Leave, do whatever it took to put him away, but not think it was love.”

“I know, Mandy, it was twisted. I was seeing something and my mind was telling me lies about it. This went on for a few months when something clicked. I saw what I was doing, what I was letting happen. And I finally realized it was wrong. So one night when he came to my apartment drunk and in a rage, I fought back. I was already doing a lot of kickboxing, so I was in really good shape. He hit me and I fell. I always kept a baseball bat by the door for protection—I know, imagine that—so I swung it and broke his knee. He hit the floor so hard I thought I killed him.”

“Dang,” she whispered. The compassion on her face soothed me.

“Yeah, well, I had some pent-up hostility. I beat him pretty bad. Broke four ribs, his arm, and leg. After he passed out, I dragged him to my car and drove him to this old park where all the druggies hung out. I waited for him to wake up. Then I put a knife to his balls and told him if I saw him again I would kill him. Never heard from him again.”

Mandy stared out at the beach and I could tell she was processing it all. She also had a look of righteous anger on her face, and this was the side of her that made me feel safe—when she got defensive on my behalf. I’d never been more thankful for her.

I took a slow bite of ice cream. “You know, it’s kind of like what’s happening with this case. Everyone sees a twisted view of it. The poor want the Blondes to be heroes, so they see them that way. The rich want to see the Blondes as evil criminals. Even Eddie and Tanya’s story might be twisted in a way I don’t see.”

Mandy thought for a moment and then said, “We all twist things to see them our way. It’s how we cope. And I think you see things clearer than most. At least, now you do. You’re a lot different than who you were. You seem like you want to find out who you are, and you’re really strong. If I can help, I hope you know I’m here for you. Always. Even if you are a crazy bat-wielding psycho girl.”

“Hey,” I said, but couldn’t help the smile that peeked through my frown. “Everyone’s a head case. You just gotta decide if they’re a head case worth putting up with.”

“I guess you’re worth putting up with a bit longer. Since you’re so exciting.”

“Speaking of exciting, are you mad we wasted tonight and didn’t get to check anything off your list?”

Mandy took her notebook from her purse. “Naw, see here …” She wrote in her scrawling handwriting: Have a heartfelt talk about Sarah’s past. Then she checked it off. “There. We’ve been so productive tonight.”

BLENDING IN WOULD BE harder now that over half the tourists were gone. A few days ago, the private beach was so packed that at times it was hard to find a spot to lay out. Now it looked like a ghost town.

We were in our room. Mandy sat on her bed cross-legged, typing on her laptop.

I was thinking about how I could get more information from the slums without asking strangers. I needed to talk to someone who heard all the news and wasn’t known for keeping their mouth shut. I knew just the place. “Want to go get our nails done? I also want to dye my hair so I don’t stand out so much.”

Mandy looked up from her laptop and gave me a flat stare. “So nearly getting raped and having a huge fight with your sort-of ex-boyfriend wasn’t enough to keep you from dropping this thing?”

I put my hands on my hips and glared at her. “What do you think I am? A pushover? You’re still on board, aren’t you?”

She shrugged. “Well, yeah, but I didn’t get attacked. I’m all safe behind this here computer.”

“So are you coming with me or hiding out here?”

“Fine, I’ll go. I’m keeping my hair just the way it is, but I need to get my nails painted with palm trees so they’ll match my new suit.”

“There’s nothing more satisfying in life than matching your nails with your outfit … Sounds like something Mother Teresa would say.” She threw a bag of Sour Patch Kids at me.

Glaring at me with her signature “I’m pretending to be mad at you” stare, Mandy shut down her laptop and dug in her bag.

She changed into a dark blue sundress and I tore open the package of candy and found a green one. I loved Sour Patch Kids—well, any candy, really—but the sour ones held a special place in my heart. I popped another green one in my mouth. “We should rent motorcycles while we’re out.”

A huge grin spread across Mandy’s face. “Brilliant.”

She slipped off her dress.

“No. What are you doing?” I tapped my watch. “Let’s go already. It’s like I’ve spent half this vacation waiting for you.”

“I gotta look the part.” She made a rocker face with her tongue out, which I couldn’t help but laugh at, and then she changed into jeans and a black tank top. She put on a black collar necklace and bemoaned the fact that she didn’t bring her steel-toed boots. After she put on smoky eye shadow and dark red lipstick, I raised my eyebrows, impressed.

“From girly to Goth in thirty seconds.”

“What this outfit really needs is my dragon bracelet,” she said with a sigh.

It was true. The bracelet was the missing link to the outfit. “Tell you what—when we get back, I’ll snoop through that bellhop’s locker.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

After Mandy was ready and I was out of green candy, we took the elevator to the lobby.

Marco wasn’t on duty, but I got the other valet to tell me the closest place to rent some motorcycles. He told me the address with a smirk, which I wondered about … until we arrived at the shop three blocks away.

It was a scooter shop. Cute little scooters lined the lot in all kinds of pastel colors: blue, purple, pink, and green—it was like the Easter bunny had decorated them.

“He sent us here on purpose. We’ve been punked,” Mandy said, looking sorely out of place. After we checked with the salesman and he told us that the nearest motorcycle rental was ten miles away, we just had to accept our fate.

“Let’s do it.”

“Over my dead body,” Mandy argued. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

I motioned around us. “It’s not like paparazzi will snap a photo of you on a pink scooter.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know?”

I laughed. “Come on, Mandy. It’ll be like we’re fourteen again. And your list didn’t specify which type of ‘cycle.’”

“I didn’t mean this type of ‘cycle,’ for sure.” But then her lips spread into a grin. “I’ll do it, but only if you ride the pink one.”

I wrinkled my nose.

“And I get to put a picture of it online.”

I groaned, pretending it would be torture for me, and then readily accepted. I was never very excited about big motorcycles—their power scared me, although I never let Mandy and Rick know. My view of danger was rather enigmatic. I loved taking risk in some areas, but liked most things simple and safe.

After we signed the leases and got our keys, we picked out helmets. I got a Hello Kitty one, just to complete my look. Mandy snapped a picture of me in it, and then she chose a purple sparkly one.

The gentle purr of the scooter felt good. It felt safe. As we pulled onto the road, Mandy shouted, “I need to tell you what I found out on the money hunt.”

“Spill it,” I said, eager to hear the details.

“Later. Fun vacation scooters, nails, and your new hairdo—then work crap.”

“Lead the way, scooter butt.”

Suddenly, a car swerved right in front of us. We slammed on our brakes, narrowly missing the bumper. Mandy exchanged a colorful repartee with the driver, which made my ears turn red, and then the car sped away.

This would either be a lot of fun, or we would both die.

VITORIA ADJUSTED HER REARVIEW mirror and continued through the light, past the Bank of America building. She’d been to Chicago three times in the last fifteen months. She hated going to the States. They reeked of pride and arrogance.

She turned into a parking garage and found a spot on the third floor. The garage stank of rubber and urine. She’d heard American tourists claim that Rio smelled bad. Well, that was like the zebra calling the jaguar spotted, or whatever the old saying was. She took the elevator to the ground floor and walked up two blocks, her head down to keep from having to look at the morons who infested this city.

Checking her cell for the time, Vitoria cursed and picked up her pace. She was a few minutes late, and they didn’t like it when she was late. Last month, she had some conference call and it took forever to get the landline set up. They had said no cell phones and they were starting to get pushy. This could become a problem if they expected her to be the fall guy.

“Morning, Miss …?” The guard sitting behind a desk in the lobby smiled and looked from her to a chart.

“Beth Young. I have a meeting in Suite 3201.”

The dark-skinned man with a Celtic tattoo peeping out of his shirt rubbed his brow and typed on his laptop. “Uh, yes, there you are. Can you sign in for me, please?” He pushed a clipboard forward and Vitoria signed in. She had to stop herself before she wrote her real name.

“Thanks, Miss Young. You can go up—elevators are to the right.” He smiled and motioned toward a bank of three elevators.

“Thank you.”

Vitoria took the middle elevator to the 31st floor and found suite 3101. It was different every time. Sometimes they met out of the city; other times it was in a high-rise like this one. It drove her nuts.

She took a breath and opened the door. The small office was sparsely decorated with landscape paintings and cheap fake plants with dusty leaves. There were two chairs against one wall and a door leading into what she imagined was a conference room. The door was open.

“Glad you could join us.” Mr. Grant stood and buttoned his suit jacket. His gut pushed against the poor jacket and it was a wonder the button held up.

She didn’t care to give a reason why she was late. It was none of their business, and who were they to give her a guilt trip?

Grant cleared his throat and motioned toward a blonde woman sitting on the far side of the table. “This is Susan Moore. She is handling distribution. And you know Gil Manchester.” He nodded to a wiry man with a scar under his eye and teeth stained with cigarette tar. He stood and stuck out his hand, staring at her chest. Vitoria took his hand and tried not to cringe.

Gil Manchester was her main contact and she didn’t mind him so much over the phone, but in person he put out the rapist vibe.

“Vicki, so good to see you again.”

Was that the new nickname he’d made up for her? “Gil.” She pursed her lips and wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of conversation.

Grant poured water into a glass from a crystal pitcher and handed it to her. Then he shuffled a few papers and sat down. “Let’s get to it. First thing we need to go over is the status update on the shipments to the States. Port to port, what have we got?”

Susan Moore handed a report to each of them. “Our deadlines have basically been derailed. Baltimore was on schedule until yesterday when they hit a few problems. I’m not sure if they’re on schedule anymore.”

Grant grunted. “Figures. Our people over there are high half the time. Any way to get around them, or get the shipment in by train?”

“No, we need the port. We have some people on it, but it could take some time to get our goods processed. As you can see from the report, we are short across the board. We need more supplies and we need to get our permits through.” Her voice rose and Grant held up his hand.

“The permits are not your department. Let corporate handle that.”

“I would if they would get them through the city. We’re behind by six months here in Chicago, and that’s just here.”

“I said it’s not your department. Get the shipments in and keep out of the rest.”

Susan relented and sat back in her chair, red in the face. Seeing her so mad was almost comical.

Taking a sip from his glass, Grant sighed and pushed the report away. “Moving on. How are things on your end?” He looked at Vitoria, and she smiled.

“Right on target. Give me three months and I’ll have the whole business wrapped up so tight they’ll be able to kiss their own elbows. And the cash I pull in will even out Miss Susan’s obvious deficits.”

Susan glared. Gil chuckled and Grant acted unimpressed. “You have two months. Keep doing what you’re doing, and then our moderator will step in and start handling business. You’ll be under him just as long as it takes to get him caught up.”

Vitoria seethed inside. Being under a man was exactly what she was escaping—she thought this job would give her that independence. At least it would be the last time she’d be beneath one. “And then you’ll get our passports and visas and get my team out of Rio. You’ll do everything you promised.” Even though it was a statement, not a question, Grant answered.

“Of course.”

She scanned his face, looking for a trace of dishonesty. Usually something in their tone or behind the eyes let her know when people were lying. He had none of that. So why did she feel like he wasn’t telling the truth? Vitoria felt surrounded by the enemy. She couldn’t wait to get out of here, to the airport, and back home by the next day.

But they had a few more things to cover first. She leaned back in her chair with a sigh and bided her time. One day she’d be in control. And it’d all be worth it.

WE FOUND A NICE day spa called La Pushe and Mandy picked a manicure-pedicure package. She went into a different part of the spa and I followed a thin guy with a fro so big, I had to sneak a picture with my phone.

“Right this way. Do you like this chair here?”

“It’s fine.” I sat down and he spun the chair so I faced the mirror.

“Now, now, my blonde beauty, what are we doing to you? A splash of red? A strand of white? Maybe go crazy and cut it all off—it is very modern for a beautiful woman to shave her head.”

I cringed. “Oh, no, nothing like that. I was thinking of going dark.”

He furrowed his brow and shook his head. “You girls always want what you don’t have. The blondes want to be brunettes and the brunettes want to be blondes.”

“Yeah, we’re never happy.” I winked at him and he grinned.

He took my hand and ran his finger up my arm. “You know, you could pull it off. Maybe not dark black, but a blue-black, yes.” He shook out a shawl and placed it around my shoulders, where it settled around me like a blanket. Leaning me back, he washed my hair and massaged my scalp. I couldn’t have kept my eyes open if I’d tried. It was so relaxing. But the hairdresser wasn’t having any of it. He wanted to be best friends.

“What’s your name, buttercup?”

“I’m Sarah Steele. What’s yours?”

“Reggi, just Reggi. Now, do you want to have some curl to match your new color?”

I thought about it for a moment. “Why not?”

Reggi was a talker, and I soon found out he’d grown up in the slums. He learned English from his aunt, who was a teacher. “She told me it would get me out of the slums, and she was right. I love being a hairdresser. Don’t tell anyone, but I bought into this here spa—half owner now.” I bet he told everyone that.

“That’s smart. So if you’re on your way to the big times, why are you still doing hair?”

He puffed out his lips and muttered, “Oh, girl, I love this stuff, and if I was stuck back in the office, I wouldn’t get to talk to lovelies like you, now would I?”

I closed my eyes and relaxed as he combed my hair and started on the dye job. We chatted about this and that, what we liked to do in Rio, the clubs to go to and the ones to avoid, and I tried not to sound like a tourist. I carefully formulated my next question. I’d appeal to his flair for the dramatic—which I’d noticed he had in plenty.

My lip trembled and my face closed in mock pain. I took a shuddering breath, squeezing one lonely tear from the corner of my eye.

“Why, buttercup? What’s the matter?” He was all concern.

I sniffed. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s never nothing that makes someone cry.” He turned my chair around and took my hands. “I’m not touching your hair again until you tell me. Out with it. What’s the matter?”

I hid my face in my hands for a few tense seconds and then whispered, “The Blondes.”

Reggi cocked his head in confusion.

“I want them … no, I need them.”

He was really confused at this point. “You need them, honey?”

I pressed my hand to my heart. Okay, maybe that was too much. “It’s my friend—Mandy—the one I came in with. The doctors just told her she has cancer.”

Reggi gasped. My lip trembled and I nodded.

“She looked so healthy,” he exclaimed.

“Her cancer is spreading fast,” I said. “The thing is, she doesn’t have enough money for the treatment. I don't either.” This is when I laid it on thick. “And…” dramatic pause, “we’re both orphans and have been taking care of each other our whole lives. I can’t imagine a day without her.” I covered my mouth with my hand.

“But what does that have to do with the Blondes?” Reggi asked.

“If only I could contact them and ask for some money for her treatment.” I took a hiccup-breath and dabbed at my eyes. “I know they give money to orphanages and churches—they could save her life.”

“Of course, buttercup. They’d do that in a heartbeat, I know. Especially Emilia.”

Hope lit up in me at the mention of a name. “You know them?”

“No, no—uh, I don’t know them personally.”

“Where can I reach Emilia? Can I leave her a note … anything?”

He stood up and rocked back on his heels, thinking. He turned me back around and started on my hair again. Frowning, I let another tear slip down my face.

Biting my lip, I asked, “Is it because they’re changing? I mean, it’s not like them to kill.”

He lowered his voice and leaned in. “Look, Sarah, their leader is getting crazy. I mean, off-the-rails crazy. They were just girls out having fun and making some money, but she’s the one doing the killing.”

“I promise I won’t—”

Reggi interrupted. “If I help you, what are you gonna do?” He ran a comb through my hair, which was now dark black with a hint of blue. “I want to help you, but I have to trust you.”

“I’ll just leave her a note. I don’t even have to see them or anything.”

His face closed in thought.

“Reggi, if Emilia is a good one, she could save my friend’s life.”

He blow-dried my hair in silence for what seemed like an hour. I didn’t want to say anything. I learned a long time ago from working with witnesses that once I asked for a commitment, I should shut up. Whoever talked first lost.

Finally, he shut off the blow dryer. “I’ll give you an address—not for Emilia, but for someone who can reach her. You can drop the letter off there. Don’t go inside or talk to anyone or even knock on the door, understand?”

I stood up and threw my arms around him. “Thanks, Reggi.”

He grunted and turned me toward the mirror. “There, you look even more beautiful than before. Dark hair suits you.”

I did look good. My hair was styled with part of it piled high in a messy bun and the rest curled just past my shoulders. “You’re a magician.”

Mandy walked up to us, and Reggi rushed to her and nearly started crying. “I'm so sorry to hear about your health … such a lovely girl… so young. Stay brave, okay? We’ll get you some help.”

Her jaw dropped and she looked to me in shock. “Act sick,” I mouthed.

She instantly drooped, putting her hand on her head. “It’s kind people like you who make me want to keep up the fight. Bless you for your kindness.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Bless you.”

I gave her a thumbs-up. Mandy really was the best friend a girl could ask for.

Now I had a decision to make. Should I take the address straight to the FBI, or should I do this on my own?

“THAT WAS FUN. LOOK.” She held out her hands and I cooed over her polished nails, which had a garish palm tree painted on each one.

“You look like an official tourist now, but I’m glad you had fun. I got a lot done.”

“Only you would say that after going to the salon.” Mandy eyed me as I climbed on my scooter. “So what did you get? You have that look again, like you just kissed a boy or robbed a bank.”

“I have an address.” I waved a piece of paper and grinned.

“Whose address?”

“Oh, just an associate of one of the Blondes.”

“You’re like a magnet for this stuff. You sure you don’t want to open up our own private investigator agency? We could solve, like, three cases a day with your ability to dredge up information.”

“But I like my job, and I like having money to buy food and pay bills and go to movies and stuff. Now tell me your findings. We had our fun and you promised.”

Mandy put on her helmet. “I tracked down all the places where Mrs. Lofton’s credit cards were used and put together a list. I bet one of the stores has a security camera. And if we’re real lucky, we can get a look at one or more of our blonde friends.”

I whistled. “Good job, Mandy. Where to first?”

“What do you mean? Your address is a way better lead—we should go there.”

“I want to find a face for one of the Blondes first. And then I want to take it and the address to Solomon.” As soon as I said it, I knew it was the right decision, the wise one. After all my dark musings about what I’d do if I caught the Blondes, I knew I shouldn’t meet one face-to-face.

Mandy agreed and I texted Solomon to meet us for dinner. I looked at my watch. “Well, it’s a long time to wait for him. Let’s run your leads.”

“You know it—don’t mess with Idaho girls.” Mandy started up her scooter.

I snapped a picture of her and texted it to Rick before she could stop me. She’d probably be more embarrassed by that picture than if I’d snapped one with her next to a male stripper.

WE DROVE ALL OVER town from one end to the other. I was sweating so much that the front of my shirt was soaked—not an attractive accent to my outfit. Sitting on a scooter was more exhausting than it should’ve been—perhaps because of the stress of driving through traffic. The other vehicles seemed like they purposely aimed to run us over.

After a bus turned into our lane, forcing us onto the sidewalk, I screamed at Mandy over the road noise, “We’re using the metro tomorrow.”

We were striking out big time. Most of the stores didn’t have cameras, or they didn’t have a clear shot of the Blondes. Or so they said.

We pulled into a gas station to fill up and Mandy stretched. “This is not going as well as I hoped. The last one is a motorcycle dealership. If we strike out there, we’re up a creek.”

I was so glad I had GPS on my phone—getting around would be a nightmare otherwise. We would take the metro tomorrow if we went anywhere, but I was glad we’d tried the scooter thing today. Seeing the city from the street level made me feel more connected, mainly because my life was flashing before my eyes every three seconds.

After buying some junk food to settle our nerves, we followed my GPS to a large dealership. Bikes of all sizes and shapes took up the oversized lot.

As we rode in, a few salesmen looked at us as if we had just defiled their temple with our scooters. Mandy was blushing to the roots of her red hair, and I felt a twinge of compassion for her bruised pride. She usually rode a badass Deus Grievous Angel, which she and Rick had saved up years to buy.

“I hope they don’t kill us and burn our scooters,” I said. “I don’t think our insurance will cover it.”

“I don’t care if they kill us,” Mandy said morosely. “We deserve it.” And then her eyes lit on a motorcycle. “Hey, look. Is that a Street Tracker?” Her embarrassment forgotten, she went to pore over the bike’s engine.

After I dragged her away from it, we went into the office. “I’ll take front man on this, okay?” I whispered, and she nodded.

The air conditioning hit me hard, making me shiver. A tall black man with a huge smile held out his hand and I shook it.

“Welcome. I see you girls like to ride.” I wasn’t sure if he was making fun or not, but under the circumstances, I assumed he was.

“I’m a casual rider, but Mandy here likes all kinds.”

“You have a nice selection,” Mandy said.

“We do. We are the largest dealership in Rio. May I ask, if you two aren’t looking to buy, what brings you in today?”

I cleared my throat. “We’re working for the FBI as consultants on a case concerning the Blondes and the murder of Mrs. Lofton.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mandy grit her teeth. Oops. I should have warned her about our cover.

The tall man put his hands on his hips and his smile faded. “I’m not sure what we have to do with that.”

But Mandy was nothing if not flexible, and she jumped in. “We followed one of the stolen credit cards here. It seems that one of the gang members used it to buy a bike.” Mandy pulled out her phone, punched a few buttons, and said, “It was last week. Let me get you the date and time.”

“Do you have security cameras?” I asked.

“We do. We have four on the lot and three inside. As you can see, we have a lot of property to protect.”

“Could we take a look at the tapes?” I crossed my fingers, hoping this man was not a Blonde sympathizer.

“I would need to see some kind of ID. I can’t give out information like that.”

My anger began to boil. I was hot, sweaty and tired. “Look, you can deal with us or you can deal with the FBI and the police. Do you want the police all over this place, scaring your paying customers, taking official statements, making you go in for questioning?” I took out my phone and pretended to put in a number. “I can call them right now, have them force you to give up your tapes …” I looked up. “Or you can let us see them—no hassle, no mess.”

He held up his hands. “No, no, don’t call.” He took a long breath and looked around. “Truth is, the manager isn’t here. I’m in charge, and he would kill me if he knew I was talking to you. You can look at the tapes, but you can’t take any of them—just look.” He rubbed his hands together nervously. “And if you see anything in the tapes that would be of interest to the police besides the Blondes …”

Mandy smiled coyly. “We won’t say a thing.”

IT TOOK THIRTY MINUTES to find the right tape. Mandy kept our nervous salesman busy as I watched the videos. I fast-forwarded to the time of the sale and watched two blonde women walk up to the register. Both kept their heads down as if they knew where the camera was.

“Dang it.” Just as I was about to give up on getting the money shot, one looked up, exposing a clear view of her face. She had smooth brown skin, a mouth that looked comfortable in the frown position, a cute little-girl nose, and empty black eyes. They made the deal quickly and left.

Turning, I gave Mandy a look. She got the hint and asked if he sold any Harleys. “Sure, I’ll show you.” They both left the small back room. I backed up the tape and paused it right when the blonde woman was looking up. I took a picture with my phone, fast-forwarded the tape, and left the room.

We thanked the salesman and hustled out of there before his boss came back.

“What’d you get? Did you see anything?”

I took out my phone and showed her. “Looks like we have our first picture of one of the Blondes.”

WE WENT BACK TO the hotel to shower and change before dinner with Solomon. I also needed to keep my promise to Mandy about looking for her bracelet, which she reminded me about every five minutes or so.

Putting on a plain, button-up white shirt, black pants, and tennis shoes, I followed one of the bellhops down to the basement. I tried to look all business, and I griped with him about the lack of tourists as we rode the elevator down.

The place was buzzing with laundry bins, rows of warehouse racks full of cleaning products and supplies, and about two dozen staff hard at work while the managers barked orders. Everyone spoke English, even down here, as it was required at the hotel.

I quickly found the women’s locker room. Just as I slipped in, I sneezed. Then I leaned against the wall and put my head in my hands. Stumbling forward, I “accidentally” brushed a woman’s shoulder.

“Oh, so sorry,” I said. Then I sneezed again for dramatic effect.

She took a step back. “You not feeling well?”

I shook my head miserably. “I’m so sick and I really need to slip a note to my sister, who’s working. But she won’t answer her cell, of course, and I need to know what locker she’s in. I wouldn’t even go to the trouble except I’m watching her kids, and I can’t leave them alone with my cousin for long …”

“Don’t worry, honey. I will help you.”

I was always a bit surprised when people were eager to help. I wished I were as open to the world. Holding back a sneeze, I said through a stuffed nose, “Her name is Lucy.”

For a second, the woman narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t know Lucy had kids.”

“Maybe because I’m the one who takes care of them all the time.”

Her eyes lit with understanding. “Yeah, Lucy seems the wild type, not exactly one to sit at home with toddlers. She’s always rushing from one adventure to the next with that husband of hers. That’s her locker.” She pointed. “227U.”

“Thank you very much. You saved me so much trouble.”

“Feel better soon, okay? Drink lots of fluids and orange juice.”

Her kind, motherly advice almost made me feel bad for being such a total liar. I gave her a smile. She watched me walk to the locker, and I slipped a blank piece of paper from my pocket through the opening at the top.

I sighed with relief when I heard her leave the locker room. Only a few women were showering in the back, so I had the place mostly to myself.

The lock had a three-digit combination. Easy peasy. Most people only twirl the first number after they lock it and don’t worry about changing the rest. It’d take one out of nine tries. On the fourth try, the lock popped open.

The locker was neat. It had an expensive mountain trekking backpack, and … ah. Her bruises suddenly made sense. There was a paragliding shoulder harness hanging on one of the hooks. That would definitely cause some bruising, even on the smoothest of trips.

I dutifully went through the rest of her bag, but no dragon bracelet showed up. Looked like Mandy was wrong. Our vision of things could get so screwed up—we see what we want to see. Because this girl was a bellhop, we thought she was in need of our compassion. Instead, she was happily engaged in a hobby.

Guess I’d just have to tell Mandy her bracelet was gone for good. I frowned. I hated being the bearer of bad news.

WHEN WE WALKED INTO the restaurant, my eyes caught on Solomon’s figure in a polo shirt and khakis. He looked like he was about to play a round. Mandy’s eyes caught on something else. She clasped her hands together as if she were in a fairy princess movie and then pointed.

A huge macaw, as big as my forearm, with bright green feathers and a gorgeous red chest, was sitting on a perch on the hostess’s table. “Oh my God,” she breathed. “He’s beautiful.”

“He’s beautiful,” came the bird-voice reply. It eyed her with interest. “Polly got a cracker?”

Mandy gasped and surged forward. The bird took a few cautious steps back on the perch and I laughed.

“If you say ‘Mandy,’ I’ll give you all the crackers in the world.”

The parrot nodded its head up and down. “Sandy.”

“No, Mandy.”

“Candy,” the bird repeated.

“Mannnn-deeeee,” she annunciated loudly.

“Dandy.”

Mandy exchanged a glance with me. “Okay, now it’s just messing with me.”

I laughed. “I’ll leave you to your bird-talk. I’m going to Solomon.” I left her repeating her name, her nose two inches from the bird’s face.

As I made my way across the room, I checked out the restaurant, wondering if Solomon had any backup or partners around. The place was almost empty—an elderly couple crooned sweet nothings in each other’s ears at a booth, five young men laughed and drank more than their share at the bar, and a family of four sat at a table beside Solomon’s, sharing a bucket of shrimp. I guess he came alone.

Before I sat down, I knew Solomon was angry, but he tried to hide it by not looking at me. What did he have to be mad about? Brazil was a free country too. I knew he wanted me to stay out of all this, but now it was in my blood. I had to see it through. Or maybe he was angry that I’d dyed my hair. It was a toss-up.

After I gave him the information I’d gathered from Reggi and the bike shop, I looked away as if I didn’t care whether he took it or left it.

He spoke grudgingly. “As much as I hate the fact that you two played detectives, I think I can use what you gave me.”

“If by that you mean ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m super impressed at your skills,’ then you’re welcome.”

He took a big gulp of his red wine. “Right place, right time?”

I held back a smile. “It’s a gift.”

Mandy’s voice was getting louder and louder. I wondered for a second if I should intervene, for the bird’s sake, but then decided I shouldn’t spoil her fun.

The waiter came and took my order—a white sangria and a tall glass of water, no ice. I’d heard that some restaurants made ice with unfiltered tap water. “So what’s next?”

He replied without thinking. “I think we should get the locals in on this. They may know the blonde woman by sight. She probably wouldn’t be in any of our systems. And I’m sure they’ll have information on the address you got.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You think they’ll do a sting, maybe go in with guns blazing?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Solomon said, not realizing I was joking. “We need to find out who lives there first. With the picture and the address, I think we have a good shot at bringing them all in. I’ll tell Eddie it was thanks to you.”

I couldn’t help but feel proud. And a bit more partial to Solomon than I had realized. Maybe we would never be close, but this—sharing a meal and talking about evidence—this was fun.

Solomon took a bite out of his rockfish and I followed the movement of his jaw. When he glanced up, I quickly looked away.

“I like your hair. It looks good dark.”

I smiled and looked down at my fork. “Thanks.”

“Did you hear about the three bodies they found today?” Solomon asked.

I put my hand to my mouth. “No.”

He took a sip of his red wine. “Yeah, three women. They found each of them in their cars, all were robbed, and the Blondes used their credit cards and checks. It looks like they’re not even kidnapping them anymore—just killing them and leaving.”

I wondered if the crazy leader had turned her followers into murderers. Of course, they didn’t see it as evil. Everyone is the hero of her own story. Not the sidekick or antagonist or mentor or minion. The hero.

Someone had to stop these heroes.

“Something has definitely changed. With serial killers, there’s an evolution that takes place, and it seems like a similar pattern is going on.” Solomon stared out the window as if lost in thought. “Every murder is the same—with a gun, at close range. The leader is taking over, forcing his or her agenda on the group.”

“Or she’s converting them.”

It was like they wanted to scare the public, to show they could do anything and kill anyone at any time. They were spreading terror—losing Rio its tourist business. But why, to what end? And did it have to do with just one psycho, or was it bigger than that?

I wished I could go behind the lines, into their place, and see what they were saying. The police and FBI had a subjective view—they could only see it from an official perspective. I wondered if my view was real—untwisted.

“What are we going to do?” I asked.

Solomon took a breath and looked right at me. “We’re going to find them and do whatever is necessary to stop this insanity.”

We were distracted by a shriek of happiness from Mandy. She kissed the bird on the nose and called over, “It said my name. I think it really likes me, too.”

“Man-dee,” came a squawk. Mandy fed it a cracker. Then she took out her notebook and marked that line off her list of to-dos.

ONCE SOLOMON AND I had finished eating, we left Mandy to polish off her dessert and went outside to walk along a short boardwalk. The sun was setting in a glorious array of orange and pink and other fantastic colors I couldn’t name, and for a few minutes we just stood in companionable silence, enjoying the view.

Then Solomon attempted to hold my hand and the good feeling was gone. I crossed my arms and said, “I’d like to see this through to the end. Let me go with you to the police.”

He tried to tell me that it would be better if he went to the police alone. Something about how they would want to know why I was getting involved in a police matter, and he didn’t have an answer for them other than that I was a nosy citizen.

On a whim, half-joking, I said, “Just tell them I’m a freelance contractor for the FBI. You guys hire them for different things, don’t you?”

He paused. And then, as if he had been thinking it all along, he said, “Okay. It might be smart to make it official, though. This case is getting big, and if we go to trial, we could lose on a technicality. But having an attorney on contract would be helpful. I’ll tell the office at home to send the necessary paperwork.”

I froze, not believing what I was hearing. Did he actually just say I could work for the FBI? My mind whirled, processing the info. Perhaps he’d wanted this all along and had been waiting for the right moment. I brushed that thought away but didn’t dismiss it entirely. He was, after all, FBI.

Then he said something that made my blood turn cold in my veins. “I know you have secrets, Sarah, and I don’t need to know them all.” His big brown eyes widened and he spoke earnestly. “I know about the evidence at your mother’s trial and the mismatched dates that made the judge throw out the case.”

I wanted to run so badly, but I couldn’t move. I heard myself say, “What dates?”

His voice turned gentle. “Your father was walking dead long before he received the blow to the head.” I swallowed. Tears came to my eyes and I hated myself for them. “He was being poisoned. Your mother wasn’t the only one involved, as she was gone on a trip during one of the doses, so she had help.”

I turned my back to him, unwilling to let him see any kind of weakness that might be playing on my face. It was one of my greatest fears—hearing my father’s death brought up by a law enforcer.

“I—I—”

He brushed a stray hair off my neck. “That’s ancient history. It involves you, so I was interested, but I promise on my own mother’s grave that I’ll never bring it up again unless you do.”

I had a good BS detector, and I could tell he wasn’t lying. I believed him. Was I stupid?

“Why did you tell me that?” I asked in a rough voice, then cleared my throat.

“Just so you’ll know you can trust me to keep a secret and not ask questions.”

Those were the two best qualities I thought anyone could possess. My shoulders sagged and I leaned my head against his chest. My cheek rubbed his soft shirt, and I closed my eyes.

His voice returned to all business “So, you working on contract for the FBI. Whaddya think?”

This idea was complicated; a lot of risk would be involved for me. Even though my faith in Solomon was rising, it was still too much to decide so spur of the moment. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Text me your answer by eight o’clock,” he said, turning away.

Eight o’clock. Ugh. There went another chance to sleep in.

SOLOMON AND I MET up for breakfast in the lobby café while Mandy got ready. Before my coffee had even arrived, Solomon set a stack of papers in front of me.

“They’ve already sent the contract.”

I narrowed my eyes. Maybe he’d had it with him the entire time. Was I being set up?

He continued, leaning over my shoulder to go through the papers. “I had someone go by this morning to print them off.”

He riffled through the papers until he got to the last page, where a line had been highlighted as if I were a second grader who needed to know where to write my name. Did he really think that would work? I always tried it on clients I wanted to hurry through the process.

“It’ll take me all morning to look through this—“

He interrupted with a cough-laugh. “Oh, yeah … you’re a lawyer.”

“Which means I’ll analyze these papers inside out and upside down.”

He turned his face. We were so close—almost cheek to cheek. He smelled like mint, coffee, and faintly of sea water.

“Did you go swimming this morning?” I asked.

“Yes. I can’t pass up an ocean swim.”

“And you don’t sleep very well,” I surmised.

His eyes roved over my face, taking me in. A longing in his expression drew me in. Without a thought, I leaned in and kissed him. Our lips barely touched, but it sent warmth through my body. Then he pressed his lips gently against mine, moving his tongue into my mouth, and before I knew it I’d grabbed his neck and pulled him closer to me.

“A-hem.”

We broke apart to see Mandy standing there with raised eyebrows as if she’d just caught us making out during church.

Solomon put on his sunglasses and I poured sugar in my coffee. Mandy just looked at me as if thinking, “I can’t leave you alone for one minute.”

Tipping his head Mandy’s way, Solomon said, “While you study your papers, I’ll talk to your witness. What was his name…?”

“You can’t talk to him. He gave me the address and I don’t want to bring him in on this. Can’t you tell the FBI that a confidential informant gave the address to you? Or that it was me? All part of the service I provide as a freelance contractor.”

“Potential freelance contractor. Or you could sign the papers right now and we could go down to—”

“Not on your life,” I said in a flat tone.

“Okay, then. I hate to do this, but I’ll fudge the dates so you’re covered for all last week.”

It was hard to draw the line when it came to the law. I used to be a down-to-the-letter girl, but in the past year I had found myself more concerned with justice than following every rule. Was it wrong? Maybe, but sometimes two wrongs do make a right.

I SAT ON A lounge chair on our patio. Poring over the papers with a skeptical eye, I didn’t find any words undefined or anything I couldn’t agree to. I even called Joshua a couple times to confirm things.

Mandy had gone out shopping, and by the time she was done, I had signed my name with a flourish at the bottom.

“You may now call me Special Agent Steele,” I said as she lugged her pile of bags into the room.

“That has a nice ring to it,” she said. “Hey, look, since you’ve been so busy catching criminals, I went ahead and bought you an entire wardrobe.”

My eyes widened in shock as she pulled out shirt after shirt and dress pants and skirts and leggings and even a couple pairs of shoes. I was even more surprised to find that I liked them. I smiled when she pulled out a T-shirt that said, “Another day went by and I didn’t use algebra.”

“Good friends can order meals for each other,” I said. “But only truly great friends can pick out a wardrobe for you.”

“And lookee this.” She pulled out neon-green bikinis that looked like they glowed in the dark. “No matter what you say, we’re going out in these tonight.”

“After all this shopping you did for me, I’ll do anything you tell me.” Feeling an overwhelming affection for her, I gave her a big hug. “Thank you.”

She squeezed me back, then handed me an outfit. “Put this on. You’ll look the part of secret agent.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The matte black tuxedo pants were a perfect fit, as was the mint-green blouse with a mock collar.

“Are you meeting Solomon now?”

“Yeah.” I paused. “I have a bad feeling about all this. How things will finish with the Blondes, I mean.”

Her eyebrows creased. “Things like this never end well.”

“No, I mean, I feel like we’re missing something. Things don’t add up. Why would they kidnap people for over two years and one day just start killing?”

“Who knows? Maybe they figured it was easier with no one alive to ID them.” She took out a small compact and began retouching her makeup.

“It’s more than that—it has to be. The other thing is Eddie Lofton …”

“What about him?”

“I don’t know—just got a hunch. Do me a favor. Look into all the murdered women’s financial situations. If they were married, see if you can find anything out of order.”

Mandy hopped up on the edge of the desk. “You mean beyond the stolen credit cards?”

“Yes, everything. It feels like when they started killing, they also went from picking random people to specific targets. So far seven women have been killed, including Mrs. Lofton. See if they’re tied to anyone important. They were assaulted—they could have been tortured for information, passwords, usernames, bank accounts. The police haven’t released the names of the three most recent victims, but they should soon.”

“I bet Solomon knows. I could get their names and run a background check on them, see what I can find.”

“Sorry to leave you again,” I said before heading out the door. “I know this—“

“Shut it,” she said, engrossed in her laptop. “We’ve got work to do.”

I RODE TO THE police station with Solomon. We parked in a small lot in front of a faded yellow two-story building. It was in need of repair and a paint job, but so were most buildings in this part of town. Solomon had called ahead and we had a meeting with the police chief and the lead investigator in ten minutes.

A large man in a uniform and glasses met us and offered us coffee. It smelled like dirt water, so I declined, but Solomon took a cup. Once again, I had to question his taste.

“This is Chief Lucas.” Inspector Paulo waved his fat finger toward an even fatter man in a white button-up shirt with a tie that was much too short. “Chief, this is the FBI—Mr. Solomon and his consultant.”

“Nice to meet you.” Solomon stuck out his hand and the chief shook it. He eyed me with open suspicion.

The chief didn’t stand up, merely leaned over his desk. I decided to lay low on this one. The vibe in the room was that a woman should not be in this line of work, and it was not the time to fight for my rights.

“I am very interested in what you have to say about our little problem.”

Solomon nodded and took a seat in a chair next to mine. The cramped office was cluttered with boxes, files strewn here and there, and crooked pictures of girls in bikinis on the walls.

“I emailed you our report so you should have everything we have, but I wanted to go over it with you personally. The last thing the FBI wants to do is step on your toes.”

Paulo cleared his throat and scooted his chair forward a little. The three of us were on the other end of the desk—it felt like a meeting with the school principal. “I looked over this report—you have some good intel here. What do you know of this woman?” He held up the picture off the security camera.

“In the course of her investigation,” Solomon motioned to me, “Miss Steele had a run-in with this woman after the murder of Tanya Lofton. Sarah works with the FBI as a freelance consultant and we brought her on this case because of her special skill set.”

Chief Lucas wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and looked at me. “What special skills?”

I decided to go in soft. “I have a knack for finding people and making them talk. Call it a gift.”

“Miss Steele is also a criminal lawyer back in the States and a very good investigator.”

The room fell quiet and both men looked me over as if I was the newest animal at the zoo. Chief Lucas finally spoke, and I let out my breath. “Very well.” Motioning to Paulo, the chief cleared his throat. “What did you find out about the girl?”

Shifting in his seat, Paulo glanced through the file and back up to the chief. “We got lucky, a much-needed break. One of my people recognized the girl. We confirmed her to be Emilia Lopes.” He handed us all a file on Emilia. “She’s been in and out of juvie on drug possession charges. We don’t know where she’s living, and the address doesn’t match anyone in relation to her.”

“What do we know about the address?” Chief Lucas asked.

Solomon took out a piece of paper and handed it to Lucas. “We discreetly asked around and found out that the house is owned by an elderly woman by the name of Margret Caio. She has two children—one daughter, and a son who died a few years ago in a local gang war. Not sure of her connection to Emilia or even if there is one. We’re going in somewhat blind.”

“We’ll send a man down there to talk to Caio, see what she knows,” Chief Lucas said.

Paulo mumbled something and the chief shot him an irritated look. “Speak your mind, Paulo. What’s wrong?”

“We’ve been trying to get this gang for a long time. Up till now we’ve had nothing—no leads, no pictures or anything to give us a hint of who the girls are. Now we have a name, a face, and an address. We can’t blow this. I think going in as police would be a mistake. You know how everyone feels about the Blondes on that side of town.”

Solomon agreed. “Maybe go in undercover, see if we can get her talking before we take the hardline approach.”

The chief pushed back in his chair and licked his lips. The buttons on his shirt strained under the pressure of his girth, and I was prepared for one to pop off and fly across the room.

“For once, I agree with you. It should be handled differently.”

Paulo looked straight at me. “Miss Steele, you blend right in. You should go talk to her. We could put a wire on you and see if you’re as good as the FBI claims.”

Solomon stood up as if a bee had stung him. “No, I’ll do it. Sarah isn’t trained for this kind of thing.”

Chief Lucas snorted. “You reek of America. And a few minutes ago you said Steele is one of the best. Didn’t you hire her to do this sort of thing? She goes in with a wire, she has backup. It’s not a dangerous situation. Our people will be on it. You can assist, but this is my show now.”

Solomon’s face flushed and his jaw worked.

I stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be fine. I know her face; if Emilia is there, I’m the best person to talk to her. And if only Margret is there, you know that I’m more likely to get an old woman to talk than you are.”

After a respectful nod to the police, Solomon turned and left the office without a word. I let him go. This wasn’t his call. I held back a smile at the thought of going undercover. The rush was the same as when I was in the courtroom—the challenge of getting someone to break and give up something they wanted to hide. I was good at getting people to talk, and now all my skills would be put to the test.

I was ready for it. Time to see if I was right about the Blondes.

BEFORE THE POLICE ATTACHED the wire to me, Solomon took my hand and pulled me to an empty meeting room. He said with a wry look in his eye, “When you’re out there, don’t do anything stupid.” He’d been short with me ever since the meeting with Chief Lucas. “Find out what you can, but don’t push unless you think you can get her to talk.”

“It’ll be fine. I bet she’s one of the girls’ grandmothers or aunt or relative. Or maybe their crack dealer.” I winked.

He took me in his arms and whispered in my ear, “I don’t like this, Sarah. It feels wrong.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I would have gone to talk to her alone if I wasn’t trying to keep you in the loop. What’s the worst that can happen? She’ll jump me and I’ll have to fight off a senior citizen?”

“Not funny.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“You better.” He kissed my cheek and all at once I wanted him so badly I ached. I leaned in for a kiss just as he pulled away.

He was so confusing. He was the one who wanted me on his team, and now he was acting all prickly. He was getting to me, and I wondered if I was getting to him in the same way. I knew he liked me, but to what end?

What was I doing, thinking about our relationship at a time like this? I’d better start doing what I did best—catching the bad guys. Or in this case, the bad girls.

I was dropped off a few blocks away from Margret Ciao’s house. Trash littered the small road, but the shady palm trees lining the sidewalk made it cool and comfortable. The houses weren’t nice by a long shot, but they weren’t shacks, either.

Paulo and two other officers were in a small, unmarked car around the corner. Solomon was on the street, dressed like a homeless wanderer. He didn’t have access to the wire feed, so he’d be the eyes. I suspected he was there just to be close to me in case anything happened.

I started knocking on doors a block away from her house. I pretended to be a missionary trying to raise money for a children’s shelter. The police had some flyers made up and I handed them out to seem legit, just in case she was a peep-out-the-window kind of woman.

Almost everyone I talked to gave me something. I promised myself I’d get the money in the right hands. Their generosity humbled me because everyone who gave me money looked as if they could really use it themselves.

I was soon at the rickety door of Margret Caio’s small house. The door’s glass window was broken and covered with black paper. I knocked and then quickly stopped. The door shuddered on the hinges, and I feared I might take it down if I knocked again.

An old lady swung the door wide open. A threadbare floral muumuu hung around her fragile body, cinched with a leather woven belt that looked handmade, and she wore black leather boots that didn’t really complement the outfit. Her face was caked with foundation and green eye shadow was smeared over her eyelids. She looked up at me and a smile cracked her face.

I smiled back. “Hello, I’m with the West End Children’s Shelter. I was wondering if I could talk to you about what we’re doing to help out the local homeless children.” I tried to use my sweetest voice without sounding too cheesy.

She looked at me over the top of her glasses, and her hand shook a little as she took the flyer. She had the whitest hair I’d ever seen. It was pulled back in a French braid.

“Come in, dear. Standing in the door is bad luck.” I relaxed my stance and stepped inside. “Do you look after children with no families, or all homeless ones you find?” Her English was good. I didn’t even hear an accent.

“We accept kids who are orphaned and also teens having trouble with the law—drugs and gangs.”

Her expression turned wistful, as if thinking of a happy memory. “We’ve been having so much trouble with gangs lately. Sit down, dear.” She shuffled to a small kitchen and I sat down on an uncomfortable wool sofa that smelled like Lysol. Every inch of the wall was covered in framed cross-stitch. From the traditional “Home Sweet Home” sampler, to intricate landscapes, to Betty Boop, to quotes from the Bible. It was like a museum for cross-stitchers.

“Tea?” she called from the kitchen.

“Yes, please.” I started to relax and scanned the room for pictures or some clue to the connection she had with the Blondes. I suddenly felt a bit overwhelmed. Reggi might have lied and this could all be a wild goose chase. And if it was, I would have a lot of people none too happy with me.

“Here you go, dear.” Margret handed me a small teacup. “Now, tell me about this program you’re working with. Or you can just tell me the real reason you’re here.”

My pulse kicked up a notch. She was a sharp cookie. “It’s Margret, right?” I took a big sip of tea. It was sweet—too sweet—but I gulped it down.

She nodded.

“I’m here because I ran into someone you may know, and I was worried about her. Do you know a girl named Emilia Lopes?”

“Are you with the police? You’re American—what do you want with Emilia?”

“No, I’m here as a friend, nothing more. She’s in trouble.”

The old lady smiled. I shifted in my seat.

“Serious trouble. I need to talk to her. I want to help.”

Margret took a lump of sugar from a small glass dish on the coffee table and put it in her tea. “Ah, yes. We love it when Americans help us. Oh, wait—” She shot me a pert look. “We’re both Americans, aren’t we?”

What should I say to that? The way her eyes were lit up and always smiling, while her body language was tense, made me feel strange. Did she want to help?

She continued. “I was her teacher in the sixth grade. Taught all of them before they got mixed up in that gang.”

“The Blondes?”

“Yes.” She raised her chin.

Why was she, out of everyone, admitting to knowing them? She must have something on top of me—I just couldn’t see it. Her ease and confidence set me on the edge of my seat. I eyed the door. It wouldn’t take much force for me to barge out of here if I needed to. But until she made a move, I’d listen and get as much information as I could. She appeared to love talking.

“Emilia’s a good kid, but scared. Scared people do bad things.”

Something thumped in the next room. I turned just as the door opened and the girl from the motorcycle security camera stepped in. Margret set her teacup down.

I stood, but my legs wobbled. What was happening? The ground shook under me and my ankles gave way. I fell to the ground, scraping my hip against the coffee table. Although my mind was still sharp, my eyelids grew heavy and they closed before I could stop them. It was as if my body had completely shut down while my mind remained alert. A perfect nightmare.

I heard Margret get up and stand over me. “Two things you should know about this place,” she said. “One, never drink anything you didn’t see poured in front of you. Two, in the slums we live together, we die together, and we’re willing to take a bullet—or even kill someone—for one of ours.”

“I’ll get her off your hands, Avó. I’ll take her—”

Margret’s voice was harsh. “Shush, shush. She can hear everything. She’s just paralyzed.”

I knew what was about to happen. Internally, I braced myself. Emilia brought a gun butt down on the top of my head. Darkness descended and I tried to fight against it, but I couldn’t move. Then something metal knocked against my head. Searing pain filled my thoughts, and then … nothing.

MY HEAD POUNDED. ROUGH cloth was pulled over my face. Blended colors and lights filtered through the bag or blindfold, but nothing clear. I was in the trunk of a vehicle, with my hands tied behind me. The car smelled like vinegar-based cleaner and baking soda. It had an acrid tang of metal.

Then I remembered the hit on the head. How long had I been out? I would have one big-time migraine in the morning. It felt like a beast in my skull was trying to claw itself out.

The vehicle turned and the road got bumpy, and I smelled the unmistakable odor of dry dirt. I breathed in dust through my nose and sneezed. My hands were bound behind me with what felt like zip ties and my mouth was gagged. I was in pain, sweating, and tied up. So yeah, I was in one heckuva tight spot, to put it lightly.

We stopped after what felt like a few more miles, but I didn’t know because I couldn’t tell how fast we were going. A door opened and closed and I felt the dark side of me start to move. It was like a calm fog rolling through me, and I let it take over.

Heels clicked on pavement, moving away from the car. This was my chance.

First, I tried the backseat. Kicking off my shoes, I examined the back of the trunk, feeling nothing but smooth plastic. Hauling back, I kicked it. The thud reverberated through the little space. It was a solid box—no outlet to the backseat. I cursed whoever built this model.

Next, I tried the weak spot—the lock. Slipping my shoes back on, I kicked the middle of the trunk lid over and over again with both feet. My face felt hot and sweat poured down my back. Someone banged on the lid of the trunk and I stopped.

The trunk opened. Someone grabbed my shoulder and heaved me up. I didn’t fight—my feet were free and I wanted them to stay that way.

“Get up, and don’t try anything funny.” She spoke in a low voice, as if to sound tough. Was that Emilia?

A moment later, whatever covered my head was yanked off. I blinked in the sunlight and saw Emilia. She took my arm and guided me toward the warehouse.

My hands were still tied behind me, but at least I could see. I still had the wire on me, so I wasn’t afraid for my life. This would go one way or another, but I knew I had what it took to come out all right. At least, that was the pep talk I gave myself as she walked me toward a large old structure.

I didn’t see any other buildings around, and only two cars were parked on the side lot. The place looked nondescript. I could see how useful it’d be as a hideout—there was a quick exit to the freeway, and quick escape routes in almost every other direction. If trouble came, they could split, fast.

Emilia whispered forcefully at my side. “You had to keep pushing. Why didn’t you just leave me alone?”

The girl’s eyes were erratic and scared. Why was she so scared? She was the one with the gun tucked in the back of her jeans.

“Look, I can help you. Just talk to me. Let me go and we’ll talk to the FBI. I can get you a deal. You don’t have to do this.”

She turned and shook her head. “You don’t get it, do you? You can’t help me. No one can beat her.”

THE FEELING OF BEING in total control, though on the outside it seemed like I was the one in danger, reminded me of when I was waiting for Williams. It was addicting. This darkness I felt was like a drug, making me see, smell, and hear things better.

Emilia took me inside, past an open area filled with crates and boxes. Hundreds of them were stacked, with long roller tables for sorting. It was a packing and shipping area.

In the corner was a small office and I spotted a few rooms to the right—maybe bedrooms or a bathroom. A tiny blonde girl came out from one of the rooms and stared at me. She wore high heels and was dressed like one of the Real Housewives of L.A. I was looking at one of the Blondes.

“Emilia, what are you doing? Who is she?”

Emilia pulled me closer as if I was some sort of prize she didn’t want to hand over. “Vitoria found her snooping and asking questions. I guess she found Avó.”

The small woman rushed into the office in the far corner and Emilia pushed me into a chair. “Stay put and keep quiet.”

I nodded, then went still. Carefully, when Emilia wasn’t looking, I noted all the exits. And waited. I should have been scared, but I felt calm and ready for whatever was about to happen.

A door slammed and three women rushed around the corner. I pegged the tallest one as the leader, Vitoria. She wore black cargo pants and a tank top. She was very pretty, but her eyes looked dead, as if she were one of those replica dolls—they looked real, but had no spirit.

“Vitoria, what are you thinking?” a dark-skinned girl asked. “Who is this and why did you bring her here?” She looked like the most athletic and militant out of them all.

Emilia shrank back and stood next to me.

Vitoria took out a cigarette holder. She opened it with a click, calmly tapped one out, snapped her lighter, and drew in a deep lungful of smoke. Her crew shifted, uncomfortable. I knew what she was doing. She was changing the atmosphere—making it hers, not theirs.

“This snowflake was at Avó’s house asking questions. She knows who Emilia is. I think she’s a cop or something. Avó said we should kill her.”

The skin on my arms tingled with excitement.

Vitoria smoked as the other two girls watched, standing a few feet behind their leader. No matter what this gang had started as—a sisterhood or a way out—it had obviously developed into a one-girl show. Except for the dark-skinned one, these girls looked anxious and afraid. Afraid of Vitoria.

Vitoria finished her smoke and threw it on the ground, then pressed it with her boot. “How would she know who you are, Emilia? Did you do something? Something stupid?”

Emilia looked at the ground. The small blonde behind Vitoria cleared her throat. “She went back to the hotel to give the husband his wife’s necklace. She got chased by some woman—I’m guessing this is her.”

Emilia gasped. “Lili, you promised.” Her voice cracked and I knew this would get ugly fast.

Lili shrugged and looked down at her feet. Emilia, on the verge of tears, bit her lower lip to keep from crying. I wanted to help her—I knew that much. I just didn’t think I could say anything in her favor, so I kept quiet. The next time we were alone, I’d use all my wiles and convince her to leave with me. She had to. I had a bad feeling about her lifespan if she stayed with these chicks.

Vitoria turned to Lili. “Check outside—make sure we weren’t followed. Mia, check the American slut for a wire.”

Lili ran to the front door and disappeared outside and Mia walked toward me. My heart began to pound. I had a small wire running around my ribcage and up my bra. If she checked my shirt, she would see it. My former excitement turned to fear for the first time.

I knew it was a risk, but I was dead no matter what. I had to stall and let the people on the other end know it was going down… now. “We know who you are. I’m Sarah Steele, FBI.”

Vitoria moved past Mia and tore my shirt open. Buttons ripped off and scattered across the floor. Gasping, Emilia took a step back and Vitoria grabbed the small wire and yanked it hard. I winced as the cord stung my skin when it broke free.

Lili walked back in the door and shook her head. Vitoria gave her a nod and held the broken wire in front of Emilia’s face.

“You stupid little brat.” I didn’t even see the gun. One second, Vitoria had the wire in her hand, and the next, she had a Glock pressed to Emilia’s forehead. The report made my ears ring—someone screamed. Blood sprayed my face. Emilia’s head snapped back and she went down.

LILI WAS CRYING AND yelling at Vitoria. She held Emilia and rocked back and forth, cursing through her tears. Vitoria spit at me and then turned and walked back to the office. My head pounded. I had to do something and do it fast. If she would kill one of her own, I had no chance of survival.

Mia paced and tried to get Lili to stop crying, but nothing was working. Mia opened a can of beer from the fridge and held it to her forehead. “It’s her own fault.” She took a gulp of the beer. “She was always the weakest one.”

Lili groaned. She tried to wipe blood from her hands, but it was all over her. I wriggled my hands, trying to free them, but the bonds were too tight.

“She’s dead, Lili. It’s over. You need to calm down.” Mia tried to pull her from Emilia’s body, but Lili punched at Mia.

“You did this. You ratted on her and now she’s dead,” Mia said.

I had to convince Lili to leave. And take me with her. “You’ll all be dead if you don’t get out of here soon. Cops are already on their way.”

Mia stepped back and looked at me as if remembering I was there for the first time. Her face registered fear. “How much time do we have?”

“Ten minutes, maybe less.” I had no way of knowing, and as far as I knew, Solomon and the police had no idea where I was. “I can help you and Lili. Things don’t have to get worse. You don’t have to end up like Emilia.”

Mia looked down at Lili and the dead body of her friend. “Vitoria will take care of us—she always has.”

“Like she took care of Emilia? The police know your names; they’re interviewing your families as we speak. They’re moving in. Nowhere will be safe. They know what you look like. This is over, Mia. The best I can do is get you off easier for helping me.”

Lili sobbed and muttered something, but I didn’t understand what she was saying. I twisted my hands in the ropes, but couldn’t get them to loosen. I could get up and run, but with my hands tied, all I could do was run.

Why did I let them put a wire on me? I should have done this alone. The police, the FBI, Solomon—they made things more complicated. I knew in my gut that I should never have trusted the police and the whole wire thing. Every criminal moron on the planet knew to check for a wire.

“How?” Lili asked.

I was getting through to her. I didn’t know if it was the bloody body in her arms or the realization that the police were coming. “If you help me take Vitoria in, they’ll let you off because you helped capture her.” I knew it was a lie, but this was not the time to be a saint. Not when these girls’ lives were on the line.

Lili seemed to consider this, but before she could make up her mind, Vitoria came out of her office, gun drawn. “What are you doing, Lili? Kill her.”

That was my exit line. Launching to my feet, I ran as fast as I could. My shoulders jerked back and forth, as it was awkward sprinting with my hands behind my back. A gun sounded and I heard something scream by my ear.

I DODGED BEHIND A row of crates and kept running toward the back of the building. Their footsteps sounded behind me. I wondered if it was just Vitoria or if Mia was coming after me too.

A shot rang out, and wood splintered the spot where my head had been a second before. I twisted left and saw a door at the end of a long hall. It didn’t look like it could hold up to much pressure, so I put my shoulder down and crashed through, falling in a mess of legs and broken wood.

Rolling, I arched my back and pushed myself up. Having my hands tied would get me killed.

I found myself facing a long canal and a dock. It was some sort of inlet. Farther down, it opened up to the sea. Other than some tall grass, there was nowhere to hide. Running around the building looking for an exit wouldn’t work, as there was a fence on each end. And even with my athletic abilities, I couldn’t climb a fence with no hands.

My lungs burned and I tried to calm my breathing. Two options: outrunning Vitoria, or hiding in the water from her. Since Vitoria had numerous vehicles to choose from, swimming would be the lesser of two evils. I ran down the dock and jumped over the side. The cold water shocked my system. I went all the way under. Struggling, I kicked my legs and broke the surface. I caught a glimpse of Vitoria clearing the broken door.

Sinking under again, I analyzed my choices. If Vitoria didn’t kill me, I would drown. I had to get my hands out of these ropes, or at least in front of me.

Hunching over, I pulled my arms under my feet, but couldn’t get them around. My shoulders burned with the strain—I needed air. Tucking up my legs, I forced my hands down and felt my left shoulder slip out of its socket.

Blinding pain shot down my arm. But I used the extra space, got my legs through the hoop my arms made, and kicked to the surface. Even though my lungs were on fire, I managed to gulp air quietly. I pressed my arms to a wooden dock support post and wrapped my legs around it, keeping just under the overhang.

Vitoria ran to the end of the dock and looked out toward the ocean. Her shadow darkened the water.

She screamed a curse. “Steele, don’t try to hide from me—this is not a game. You have no idea what you’re involved in.” She moved slowly back up the dock, getting closer to where I hid.

“You think this is some small-time gang kidnapping women for a few credit cards? You think this is just me and my girls? They’ll come for you.”

My mind raced and my shoulder ground bone on bone with each breath I took. Vitoria stopped and listened. I knew she would find me—the sound of my breathing was so loud in my ears.

She stomped her foot like a spoiled girl.

Her voice rose. “I’ll kill you slow, Steele, cut off each finger and force feed you them one by one. Then I’ll cut off your eyelids and make you watch the rest. You think you’ll live? There’s nowhere to go. You can’t swim all tied up, so if you’re hiding in the grass, I’ll find you. Give up now and I’ll make it fast.”

Sounded like I wouldn’t be invited to her slumber party.

Just when I thought I would get away free and clear, Vitoria looked down and laughed. I stared into the dark pools of her eyes. I sucked air and pushed myself under the water, but it was too late.

VITORIA DROPPED TO HER knees, looking down into the water and holding the Glock out, ready to shoot. If I could see her, she could see me.

My feet hit the muddy bottom. I bent my legs and pushed as hard as I could, launching myself up and out of the water. I looped my hands over Vitoria’s neck. I fought through the pain grinding through my shoulder. Her face slammed into the dock, but she didn’t fall into the water. I hooked my leg over the dock edge and hauled myself up. I still had my arms around her neck, so I took advantage of the momentum and wrapped her in a chokehold from behind.

Vitoria gagged and thrashed under me. I twisted my legs through hers, forcing her flat on her stomach. She was strong, and she curled her legs under and flipped onto her back just as a gun fired.

Vitoria screamed—her body stiffened. I snapped my head around to see Mia standing at the water’s edge, holding a gun. She ran forward and kicked me hard in the ribs. I felt one crunch. I gasped, and the pain was so intense I couldn’t breathe.

Mia was talking, but all I heard was my own inner monster growling at me.

Move, get away, and find the gun. Don’t think, just act, or you will die. Let go and live.

Squirming out from under Vitoria, I scrambled sideways, trying to get away. Another shot echoed over the water and I felt something sting my neck.

I looked down the dock, but couldn’t find Vitoria’s gun. Rolling to my knees just as another shot rang out, I saw the Glock lodged under Vitoria’s leg. She was on her back, coughing and gagging.

“You’re not the leader anymore, Vit. I’m gonna run the show now, right after I take care of this American.”

Mia was on the other side of Vitoria, holding a silver gun. It was trained on me. I looked her right in the eye and winked. Her face registered shock and it gave me the second I needed. I dove for the Glock, grabbed it with both hands, and fired.

Two blooms spread across the front of her shirt. Mia hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity. Her hands went limp and the gun slipped from her fingers. Her knees buckled—she hit the dock hard.

I stuck the Glock to Vitoria’s temple. “Move and I put you in the ground.” Time seemed to slow down. She twisted away and backhanded the gun from my hands and into the water. Dang, she was fast. Blood seeped from her side—she couldn’t run. We both got to our feet at the same time and I managed a low sidekick to her right hip. She fell to one knee.

My body was overheating from adrenaline and pain, letting me know that I had a shoulder out, broken ribs, and had been shot. I pushed through the pain. This was not the time to nurse a wound.

Mia’s silver gun lay just within Vitoria’s reach. She went for it. I kicked again and this time her arm snapped, bending the wrong way. I heard yelling and the sound of boots pounding down the dock.

My hand wrapped around the gun at the same time Vitoria’s did. We each pulled and fought for it. I wrapped my index finger around the trigger. Pushing the gun barrel toward her face, I squeezed.

Vitoria jerked. Her eyes flashed fear for the first time. Blood bubbled from a hole in her neck. I fell back, exhausted, body and soul.

I DON’T REMEMBER THE ride to the hospital or the doctor wrapping my ribs. I don’t remember Mandy yelling at me for being so stupid as to go and get myself kidnapped again, or Solomon kissing me on the forehead and telling me I’d done a good job and he was proud of me.

I was just glad to be alive. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, and it hurt even worse to laugh—which Mandy tried to make me do at every opportunity, because she was evil like that.

“God, Mandy, stop making me laugh. Please, you’re killing me.” I was lying in bed in our hotel room and had sworn to stay off my feet for a few days. Solomon was fiddling with the TV and Mandy was acting crazy.

“I’m not trying to make you laugh, but you do laugh at just about anything.”

“It’s the drugs,” I said and took a bite of pudding. I had one arm in a sling. Eating was a bit of a challenge.

Solomon sat on the edge of the bed and I winced. “Sorry.” He got up hastily.

“It’s okay—just hurts to move.” I reached out my good arm and took his hand. “So you’re not above slipping tracking devices into my pocket?”

This time, I got an expression of surprise out of him. “You knew?”

“Of course,” I said. “Why else would I let you hug me when you smelled like garbage?”

He snorted. “Yeah, so, you can never have too many backups.”

“As a computer guru, I say a hearty ‘amen’ to that,” Mandy said.

I was looking forward to getting out tomorrow, even if it was only for a walk. The FBI was covering our hotel and flight home as my fee for consulting. However, Dan was now calling me about every ten minutes, asking when I’d be back at work.

Lili was the Blonde who made it out alive, and she was in custody. I knew there had to be a mastermind behind all of it, an outside man. Lili confirmed it, but she didn’t know who it was. All she’d said was that Vitoria had flown to the States every couple of months to meet someone. “So as far as we know,” I said, “Vitoria is the mastermind and the girls thought they were selling their stock to a buyer in South Africa.”

“You can’t stop thinking about this, can you?” Mandy said.

“Well, I’ve been out of it, and some things are still fuzzy.”

Solomon popped open a mineral water and took a drink. “Lili said that something changed six weeks ago, a new buyer or something, because Vitoria started acting strange and then the killing began. The kills were all by Vitoria. The others stood by, and everyone was too scared of her to do anything.”

“Can we trace her phone? See if we can track down the buyer and the boss?”

Solomon nodded. “Doing it as we speak. Chances are that if we follow the money, we’ll find them. But this is just a small operation. Most of these outfits have small hubs like this one and the rest deal in human trafficking and drugs.”

I wondered if that’s the path the Blondes had started down. It was only a matter of time before they went from stolen watches and credit cards to moving girls and drugs.

Taking another spoonful of pudding, I thought about Emilia. If anyone had a chance to get out and start over, it was her. I told Mandy and Solomon that I was tired and could use a nap, so they went out to go shopping. I gave Solomon props for taking my best friend shopping. He would survive and achieve knighthood in my book, or run away and forever be a martyr.

When I was alone, I closed my eyes and the tears came. I was so overwhelmed with mixed emotions that I didn’t know what to think or how to feel. Her eyes—I could still see them—the life slowly trickling from her body.

Vitoria was a murderer. How were we different? I had no intention of ending a life when I walked into the warehouse. But I had killed people. Where was the line drawn? And how could I see it before it was too late?

My shoulders shook with sobs and I hoped I wasn’t twisting into something I wasn’t, like Vitoria had. I had to stay strong. I had to stay me. I couldn’t let that dark side take control ever again.

THAT EVENING, SOLOMON CAME up to my room dressed in a suit and holding a red rose. He handed it to me and leaned down to kiss me. I looked like the bride of Frankenstein on a bad hair day, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

“You are one of a kind, Sarah Steele. I thought just one rose would do—any more would not say what I really want to say.”

I flashed him a smile, holding my breath. “And what is it you really want to say?”

He sat down in a chair and scooted it closer to the bed. “Sarah, from the first day I met you, and from the moment you picked up that gun …” He laughed, and I had a dumb perma-grin on my face. “I knew you were different. And you know what? I like you—I like you a lot. I can’t think of anyone else I’d like to be around, so if you feel the same way, I would love it if you would be my official girlfriend.”

Memories and old fears flooded to the surface, but I shoved them down. For once, I listened to the lighter side of me, the optimistic voice.

Besides, if Solomon really was the enemy… What did they say? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. This guy was one who would be nice to hold close.

“I would love that, Solomon. Do I need to sign any paperwork, you know, to make it all official?”

He chuckled and leaned down. He gently kissed my neck, nibbled my ear, and made his way to my mouth.

No, it wouldn’t be bad to keep this man close at all.

THE NEXT DAY AT our hotel, Mandy and I were getting ready for a day of sun and something served in a coconut.

She stuck her head out of the bathroom, mascara wand in hand. “Hey, so you remember when you told me to look into Eddie Lofton’s financials?”

I was attempting to dress myself. Even though my sling was off, my ribs were really tender.

“Yeah, you find out anything?” I’d totally forgotten about it after all that had happened.

“I’m not sure, but there is something very strange going on with his records.”

I walked into the bathroom. “And?”

“He wired fifty thousand dollars to an account in Norway, which isn’t that strange considering he has a cousin who lives there.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Geez, you went through his life with a lice comb.”

“I do research the right way,” Mandy said. “And thanks. Anyway, this money wire went to an offshore shipping company which has a local branch here in Rio.”

“Sooo?”

“That facility is where you and the Blondes had your little showdown. Oh, and guess where this shipping company gets all its money from?”

My gut balled up, and I had a bad feeling I knew all too well. “Williams,” I whispered with one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, the one and only. So that means Eddie paid Williams Inc. and he didn’t want to be connected with it, hence the ring around the rosie.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yup, data doesn’t lie. It’s all on my laptop.”

“Fifty K—the going rate for a decent hit job these days. Do you know what this means?”

“It means we should talk to Eddie.” Mandy stopped, her eyes growing sad. “He must’ve hired Vitoria to kill his wife.”

I BLINKED SLOWLY, AS if in a dream. The soft white comforter pillowed around me and I felt warm and at home. Every muscle had melted into the bed. I felt attached, as if I couldn’t move if I tried.

The window was open. The cool sea breeze and the smell of sweet flowers wafted in.

Gradually craning my neck to the side, I looked at the time.

Ten o’clock.

I had done it. I had slept in for the first time since college.

This vacation was officially a success.

WE PACKED UP AND went over the room one last time, making sure we’d grabbed everything. “So, Mandy, we didn’t get to everything on your list.” I made a pouty face.

“That’s okay—the list was more like a guideline, anyway. You were right—I’d make a terrible mom to a street kid.” She smiled her big, sparkly, full-of-life smile. “We got to surf and talk to parrots and solve mysteries, and even stop a few criminals.” She dusted off her hands and I smiled. “Not a bad vacation at all.”

“I got to sleep in, so I’m happy.”

“You’re easy to please.”

As I followed her out the door, wheeling my suitcase, I swept the room with my eyes one last time. My eye caught on something and I stopped. The light reflected on something in the air vent next to the desk. I knelt and peered into the metal grate.

“Would you look at that …” Taking two pens from my purse, I used them like chopsticks to grab what had fallen between the slats—Mandy’s dragon bracelet.

I smiled. I guess not every mystery had something twisted behind it. And I was glad of that.

For Klayton—you’re a little monster, but I love ya.

Good and evil press together, fighting each other, only to melt into something stronger than steel.

HOTAH SQUEEZED HIS EYES shut and tried to ignore the sounds coming from the next room. He hugged his bear and hid his face in its soft fur. But try as he might, his being was focused on his grandmother.

It sounded like a muffled scream, as if she was being held down. The thin walls didn’t do much to conceal what was going on just past his bedroom, and yet the noise was muted.

“Don’t you dare, whore. One sound and I’ll tear your tongue out. I like my women quiet.”

A muted whimper made its way to him. His grandmother was in pain and he knew what it sounded like, what it smelled like, and what it felt like.

Hotah covered his ears and rocked back and forth on the floor. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered. Even through his hands he could hear her crying, his grandfather hitting her over and over again like some kind of drum. It had a sick rhythm to it, as if he was playing an instrument and her pain was the music.

Pressing his temples, Hotah groaned.

His grandfather raised his voice. “Why do you treat me this way? Why do you make me have to punish you?”

His grandmother didn’t answer—she never answered. Hotah wanted his grandfather just to end it, to kill her and be done. But he didn’t. Why didn’t he just do it? Maybe Hotah should. Maybe he could show him what it meant to finish things off.

A hollow thud made his bedroom wall shake. Now he was throwing her.

Hotah opened his eyes and picked up the hunting knife his uncle had given him for Christmas from where it lay by his left foot.

“It’s okay,” he told himself. Catching his reflection in the blade, Hotah stood, barefoot, and gripped the hilt so hard his knuckles turned white. He smelled weed and sweat and heard the music of fists. A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

Holding up his right hand, Hotah dug the knife into his palm. It cut through the skin. A rivulet of blood ran down his wrist. He grunted and cut a second line across, making an X. He imagined making the same mark on his grandmother’s forehead. That would make her sing.

IT WAS SUNDAY MORNING, and I was the closest I’d been to a church in a decade. Mandy and I sat in a rental car across the street from the Indian Hills Community Church in Lincoln, Nebraska.

Mandy sipped loudly on her chi latte, studying each person who entered. I tried to calm the butterflies in my stomach. We were here to face Eddie Lofton. Two weeks ago I’d have said it would be a congenial encounter, but that was before we found out he’d hired a hit on his wife.

“What do you think he’ll do?”

The more important question running through my mind was, what was I going to do? I recited the list of events that happen when you deal with murderers. “He’ll lie and tell us it was all Williams, Inc. We’ll keep pushing him and he’ll threaten us and when that doesn’t work, he’ll try blackmail—or something worse.”

Mandy looked at me, eyes wide. “You mean he’ll try to steal my Yankees baseball card collection? Or—” She gasped. “Make me listen to the latest tween pop star?”

“Something like that.”

“Dang, seems like you’ve got high hopes for this little outing. You know, he could confess and make our job easier. It happens on CSI: Miami all the time.”

“Nothing wraps up in forty-two minutes like it does on TV. Eddie Lofton has way too much on the line—he didn’t have his wife killed and go through all that he did just to get caught by the likes of us.” I drummed my fingers on the armrest, wishing I could be back in my apartment in Boise. Things were simple in Boise.

“The likes of us? Oh, girl, we’re like Nancy Drew married the hot Hardy Boy and their twin baby girls grew up to be us.”

I turned my head so Mandy could see my full eye roll, but I laughed before I could complete the maneuver. “You’re such a dork, Mandy.”

“I think the word you’re searching for is ‘awesome’, because I’m … You know… awesome.” She rambled when she was nervous.

“Mmmhmm.” I zoned out again, running through the information we had on Lofton, rehearsing the little speech I’d prepared. It would get me in a lot of trouble with him, and possibly get him fired. But I needed to see this out, for all the women who had been killed. They needed justice.

“When does church get out? I think you, Solomon, Rick, and I need to go on a double date when we get back. Rick still hasn’t signed off on Solomon yet, and you know they’ve gotta click if your relationship is going to go to the next level. Oh, and how’s Joshua? I miss that guy. Hello?” Mandy asked. “Hey!” She snapped her fingers in front of my face. “You’re off in la la land again.”

“What? Sorry.” I blinked and then focused on her.

She jerked her head toward the church. “When is the last amen?”

I took off my heels and stretched my toes. “I think around noon. You got somewhere to be?”

“Yeah.” She pursed her lips, but didn’t meet my eyes. I knew she was about to say something I wouldn’t like. “I’ve got to get all cute for our news interview.”

“You didn’t…” I cursed and shot her a death glare. “I told you just to call Pam.” She was a long-time journalist friend who I wanted to give this story too. “This was the only way, Mandy. We have nothing. The only proof is so shaky that a drunk hillbilly lawyer could get it thrown out of court.”

“I know. The law is useless here. We have to ruin his reputation. We have proof that he works with Williams, Inc. Once that gets out, there’s no way he’ll be reelected. And that’ll keep the bastard from getting what he had his wife murdered for in the first place. Irony’s a bitch.”

“Is that what we want?” I bit my lip. There was more, so much more that I wanted to do to this man who had ordered his wife killed. A dark alley, a Bowie knife, and a Dumpster came to mind. Closing my eyes tightly, I took a deep breath. I couldn't let myself think like that.

“Easy, Sarah. This is going to be a huge win for us. For you. He’s a big shot and you’re taking him down. The press is going to find out one way or the other, so you might as well take advantage of it.”

I was so angry, I gripped the armrests until my fingers hurt. A few more words that were definitely not church-approved slipped off my lips. “I’m not getting in front of the camera—I’m only talking to Pam. If you want to be famous, go right on ahead. Without me.”

“Oh, chill out.” She took a sip of her drink and sighed as if I were the one being pigheaded.

“Mandy, it’s not just that,” I said. She looked at me with eyebrows raised. “I have to know that you’re on my side.”

“What? Of course I am.”

“No,” I said sternly. “I have to know you’re on my side.”

“I heard you.” She leaned forward. “I’m on your side.”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

“Than you’ve got to stop doing things like that. You can’t keep going behind my back. You’ve got to trust me.” I took a shaky breath. Having Mandy with me meant everything, but I had to know that she wanted to be there. “With everything.”

She touched my arm.

I looked at her intently. “I’ve got to know I can trust you.”

“You can. I swear.” She shifted to face me. “I’m sorry. I . . . I shouldn’t have called the press. But Sarah, I am in your corner. I’m your best friend.”

I sighed and gave her a small smile, then looked out at the front of the church. My heart sped up when the double doors opened and people filed out. It was now or never, and I let myself get angry all over again. Eddie Lofton let his power go to his head. He walked over everyone in his life, including me. And press or no, he was going to pay.

EDDIE LOFTON STOOD TALKING to the pastor at the doorway of the church. And he laughed. How could he stand there laughing at jokes and go on living his life just a few weeks after having his wife murdered? What would everyone say if they knew? Sometimes I wished there was a mark on the faces of murderers, like the one God gave Cain. I’d have one. But still, it’d save a lot of people a ton of grief. And the prisons would probably be a lot fuller—or at least the graveyards.

I marched up the stone steps and Mandy followed. Eddie spotted me and his smile broadened. He was a handsome man, broad shouldered and muscular. It’d helped him win the women’s vote. It worked on me in Rio, but it wouldn’t work on me this time. “Sarah Steele? Is that really you?” He seemed happy to see me. That wouldn’t last.

“Yes, it’s me, Mr. Lofton.” People stood around, but all I could see was his face. Smug, confident—not at all like the last time I saw him when he was begging me to find the Blondes.

“Mr. Lofton? We’re on a first-name basis after all we’ve been through, don’t you think?” He moved forward and gave me a hug. I let him, though I was as stiff as an icicle.

“Eddie, how are you?” I said with as much fake concern as I could muster.

“I’m good. I mean, as good as I can be.” Right on cue, his face fell as he took on the role of grieving husband. He took my arm and started walking me down the steps toward the road. I had planned on talking to him alone, but after I saw his face and remembered his wife’s body in a Dumpster, I decided differently.

“Cut the crap, Eddie.” My voice was hard. He stopped and looked at me, confusion splattered all over his face. I said it just loud enough for everyone within ten feet to hear. “I know you had your wife kidnapped by the Blondes, had her murdered, and sent me on a wild goose chase . . . all the while acting like you were a broken-hearted husband. Tell me, is everything about you a lie, or just the fact that you’re in Williams, Inc. back pocket?”

His smile vanished, and fury flashed across his face. Everyone’s eyes were on us, and the pastor had out his phone as if he were about to call the police. “Now hold on . . . ” Eddie said, holding up a hand.

“No, you hold on. Go ahead—deny it, Eddie. Tell me you had no idea—tell me you didn’t pay fifty grand to have her killed. Tell me you had no idea that Williams, Inc. needed her pesky environmental lawsuits out of the way. Go ahead. Tell me more lies, Eddie.” My breath was coming in short waves, and Mandy took my arm. It grounded me, and I secretly loved her for it. She knew when to break in, but she also knew when I was on a roll and to keep quiet.

Eddie looked around at all the staring faces and grinned wildly. “Sarah Steele, you’re a hoot. I know you like practical jokes, but this is too much.” It was a lame attempt at saving face, but it bought him a minute or two.

Lowering his voice, he growled. “You keep this up, and I’ll tell Hannah Williams about you and how you got in the way and almost blew the whole thing.”

Anger gripped me and I clenched my fists. “Please, tell Hannah Williams. And give her a message for me.” I hit him with a right hook, sending his head twisting to the side. He tripped over his own feet and sprawled face-first on the concrete.

Mandy giggled, clapping and jumping up and down as if we had won a bunny at the fair. I was just pissed. The pastor rushed to Eddie. “I’m calling the police,” the pastor stated, then glared up at me. “Leave here at once. This is crazy!”

Eddie stared up at me, his eyes filled with loathing. Blood poured from his nose and the crowd of onlookers stood there with shocked expressions, whispering and pulling out their cell phones. It was strange how in moments of trauma or excitement, it never was like the movies. People didn’t scream or run or jump to action. Most of the time they just stood, staring, not able to process what they were seeing.

My knuckle throbbed. It hurt like hell, but the pain felt good. It made me feel alive. At least it wasn’t broken, as far as I could tell. “He had it coming.”

Eddie cursed, and I heard sirens in the distance. So much for canned speeches and keeping myself in check—now I’d have a lot more to explain to my boss, Dan Butler, when I got back home. If he let me in the door, that is.

Mandy tugged my arm and pointed. A white news van turned the corner and was heading our way at an alarming speed. “News van’s here. Showtime, babe. Let’s make some media people happy.”

As I told the reporters what happened in Rio, I felt a balm over my heart. Although I wished I could do more, it was something. His reputation would be shadowy, at best, from now on.

Eddie ran away, shielding his face from the cameras, and jumped in a waiting car. I hoped I’d never see him again.

HOME.

I was finally back in Boise where the air was clean, the drivers were either geriatrics or Speed Racer, the crime rate was lower than the average American city, and the mountains constantly called at me to be climbed. I loved to travel and needed to get out of town every once in a while, but I also loved being back home in Boise. All I wanted was a shower, to crawl into my bed, and to sleep for a year.

But first I had to get off this tin can of an airplane. We had landed about fifteen minutes ago and were waiting for the doors to open. People shifted in their seats, the air grew stale, and a baby started to cry. Perfect—next thing you know, it would poop in its diaper and smell up the plane before we all got off.

The overhead speaker crackled and a woman’s voice sounded. “You may now use all electronic devices, and we will be opening the doors in a moment. Thank you for flying with United Airlines.”

“About time,” Mandy muttered. “That baby makes me want children in a bad way.”

I rolled my eyes and was thankful, not for the first time, that Mandy and her husband, Rick, had decided not to have children.

She took out her cell phone and began talking to herself and texting. She was probably letting Rick know we were here. I checked mine and saw a text from Solomon. Let me know when you get home. I will be back in a few days. We are wrapping up a case and I miss you like crazy!

My body heat kicked up a little. I ran a hand through my hair. Mandy nudged me, one of her signature dumb grins plastered all over her face.

“What?” I said, annoyed already.

“You like him, I can tell. Whenever you get all hot for him, you play with your hair. It’s cute.”

“He’s okay,” I lied.

“Nice try, lover girl. You’re so gone for him, and you should be. He’s a stud and knows how to keep up with you. God knows I’ve tried.”

I put my phone back in my purse and tried to hide the panic I felt at having a boyfriend. I was a little stressed after all the TV interviews, the mounds of paperwork I had to do for the local authorities, and my voicemail had at least eight messages from Dan Butler. To top it off, I found myself involved in a serious relationship with Solomon, who worked for the FBI and had more secrets than he let on. I knew all about secrets—I had my share, and they made me more aware of other people who were like me.

All I wanted was a vacation, and somehow I even screwed that up and almost got myself killed in the process. I sighed. If I stepped back and examined it, I’d have to say that I wouldn’t give up a thing. All the tension kept the darker side of my soul at bay. It kept back the horrible dreams and violent fantasies that had followed me since I was a child. I wished I were normal, whatever that was.

“Come on.” Mandy grabbed my arm. “Rick’s waiting.”

The airport was small and clean, full of familiar faces and small-town friendliness. As soon as we rounded the corner to baggage claim, Mandy squealed.

“Rick.” She dropped her purse and ran, flinging herself into his arms. I picked up her purse, shaking my head.

“Babycakes, I missed you so much.” They kissed as if the world was about to end, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. The sounds they were making were a mix between an exhausted runner and a dog licking from a water bowl. Ick. I became a little uncomfortable at their public display, but I should’ve been used to it by now. They’d never been shy about PDA.

“What? No hello for me?” I asked. They ignored me.

“Oh, Rick, you’re so going to get it tonight.” People gawked as they passed and were secretly jealous, I’m sure. It made me long for Solomon, and the feel of his lips on mine.

I decided to go get the bags and let them finish their exuberant welcome-home ritual.

I couldn’t help but be happy for them. It was hard to find true love, and they were one of the only couples I knew who really poured a lot of work into their relationship. I wondered if Solomon and I would ever get there. Did I even want to get there?

Before I knew it, I was home. I made the rounds, checking every room and drawer like a mother hen checks her eggs, making sure nothing was disturbed while I was gone. It was as it should be. I liked to keep my house simple and clean. My décor was so simple that Joshua called me a monk, and Mandy begged me to let her redesign it. But I needed simple—everything else in my life was complicated.

Putting off checking my e-mail just a while longer, I stripped down and slipped into the shower. After a few handfuls of soap, the travel grime was off my skin, but I stayed and relaxed under the sharp jet until my fingers were prunes and my mind felt soggy.

As much as I wanted to slip under the covers after my shower, I had work to do. I logged into my work e-mail and saw five hundred and fifty messages. It was going to take me hours to go through everything.

Vacation was officially over.

HE LIKED TO SIT in his car in the dark and watch. There was nothing all that exciting about an abandoned trailer on the outskirts of town, but it was not what he saw—it was what he remembered. He lit up a smoke and took a long drag. The burn in his lungs felt good.

Much like any killer, a memory brought on by some trophy could be almost as powerful as the event itself—sometimes more powerful. The mind, the imagination, was amazing. He had the ability to recall every detail down to the droplets of blood seeping from around her eyes.

She cried blood. She cried blood for him.

Rolling down the window to clear out the smoke, he panted for a moment before catching his breath. Yellow crime scene tape flapped like a broken arm in the soft breeze coming up from the river.

Was it really a few weeks ago? It felt like he was standing over her just the other day. Time was funny—it was as if he could walk through a thin spot and move in and out of time at will.

Getting out of his dark purple Honda Civic, he shut the door quietly and made his way toward the empty trailer. Everything was dark and quiet except for a dog barking in the distance. All the trailers in this park were far apart, which worked against him. It made it harder to get around unseen, and someone like him could sneak up and surprise him. He laughed—as if anyone could sneak up on him.

What are you doing? You’re going to get caught returning to the scene of the crime.

Stopping to consider this, he shook his head and moved closer to the front door. He had to see it again, where he had choked her to death and the spark in her eyes went out. It moved him, and changed him. There was nothing so spiritual as experiencing a soul leaving the body. It was as close to God as a human could ever get.

But it was a thankless business. She cried as he squeezed the life out of her and pissed all over his shoes. Why did she have to go and piss on his shoes?

He touched the end of the yellow crime scene tape and let the memory flood through his mind.

There she was—he saw her in his mind’s eye. He smelled her shampoo—her skin and her fear. Muttering, he let the tape fall and reached for the doorknob. As soon as he touched it, his body jerked with pleasure. Like a jolt of electricity, memories of that night ripped through his very core and he went to his knees.

He could see her white neck, the smooth part that connected to her collarbone. This was it, the very moment he’d dreamed about—the part he needed to feel again.

A bulging, panicked look had lit her face and he couldn’t help but smile. She knew he was here to kill her. He could see it in her eyes, knowing that this was the end and just who he was. And who had sent him.

Still on his knees, the killer gripped the air and ground his jaw. “Now die.”

How could something so hated be so beautiful? This was not murder—it was love. He loved her, loved each one of them—loved them to death.

“STEELE.” DAN BUTLER YELLED at me from down the hall. Whenever he used my last name, it meant a butt was about to get chewed, and that butt was going to be mine. I nonchalantly turned the corner, pretending I didn’t hear.

“Steele, don’t act like you can’t hear me.”

I turned to face my boss. He was dressed impeccably in a designer suit, with a haircut that was more expensive than my shoe budget, and he would look absolutely charming if I didn’t know him for the pretentious ass that he was. He acted as if he was the chief justice of the United States, not the district attorney of Boise.

“Hello, Dan,” I said offhandedly. He hated it when I downplayed his anger. I loved what he hated.

“Steele, you’re on paid suspension till further notice. Pack what you need and be out by the end of the day!”

I assessed him, reading the danger level on his face. He stared back at me intently. Dang, I wish I had answered my intern’s phone calls that morning. This was probably what he was warning me about.

Looking down, I tried to steady my voice. “Why?”

“Because you’re a killer,” he said flatly. I opened my mouth to say something, but he held up his hand. “You shooting Williams was a disaster, but it was a disaster we could handle because the police were there and you were attacked and it was all self-defense. Easy-peasy to feel sorry for you and the public to go on their merry way.” Then he lowered his voice, and it had a hard edge. “But killing two young, beautiful native girls while on vacation? Sarah! Even if they were murderers, it doesn’t erase the fact that you killed them. I can’t let this go unpunished, or at least without investigation.”

I glared and opened my mouth to speak again, but he stuck a finger in my face. He wasn’t done.

“Not only that, but you’ve ignored my calls. I have to see you all over the news and find out about this case you were supposed to be done with from TV. I should be the first person you call. How do you think that makes me look—how that makes this office look?” He ran his fingers through his dark hair in exasperation.

I clenched my jaw, unwilling to say anything I’d regret. I was a lawyer, after all, and knew it would be held against me. But I wasn’t going down this way—that much I knew. Taking a deep breath, I gathered my thoughts. The office was quiet. Everyone must be listening.

His eyes softened. “When I hired you, it was out of pity. And because you had a view I didn’t have—namely, that of a guttersnipe. I thought the press would love a good Cinderella story, you coming from the foster care system and poor as dirt and working your way through law school. Hell, even your parents’ story is so pathetic, no one could help but feel sorry for you.” He leaned forward. “But you know Cinderella’s magic doesn’t last.”

Now I knew exactly what to say. “You’ve told me that a hundred times, and you know what?” I came within an inch of his face. “I’m not Cinderella, I’m not the ugly stepsister, and I’m not the fairy godmother. This isn’t a fairy tale. You don’t fire lawyers. You don’t fire me. I’m going to come at you with everything I have, and I won’t do it in public, either.”

He winced, confused.

I whispered, “I will ruin your life from the inside out—I’ll show every political friend of yours what you’ve done behind their backs. Every client you cheated will find out, every dirty little thing you’ve texted me over the years will come out, and you’ll have to account for every law broken and every law you’ve made us break. When I’m done, even your mother won’t work with you, and you can kiss running for mayor good-bye.”

He stepped back and laughed without humor. “What is wrong with you? I thought you’d be all relaxed and happy after your vacation.” When he said the word “vacation”, he made air quotes. “You’re getting paid, so what’s the big deal? Besides, I can throw you some freelance work, if you want. You know, to keep you in the loop, maybe get back in my good graces.”

I swallowed and stepped back, but kept my eyes on him. “What do you want?” I said through clenched teeth.

“I want to hire you, Sarah. This office can’t take on every case, and some of these cases could help me—I mean, help us. You could be my girl on the outside and stay the payroll at the same time—you should be thanking me, not acting all hormonal.”

I took a shaky breath. My mind was reeling. Something had to change—something was bound to change because of what I did in Rio—but I didn’t expect this.

“Just have your stuff cleared out by tonight. I’ll tell the press it’s only until the internal investigation is over and that you’re our pride and joy and other nonsense. Oh, and Joshua’s in your office with your first job. A journalist has been calling for you. I want you to help him, no matter what.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you’ve got one thing wrong.” Things had to be on my terms. I had to take this break and run for it. He’d always pushed me around, and in the past I had put up with it because I loved my job so much. But no more.

“What’s that?” he asked with an edge on his voice.

“I’m not going to be your girl.”

He frowned.

“If I’m going to do this, it’s my way. I’ll run it under my own business, no under-the-table payments, and it all has to be legit. I’ll have a consultation fee and take the jobs I want to take, not the ones you hand out. You pay me half up front—that is, if you can afford me.”

I moved toward my office door and glanced in. Joshua, my intern, was in the corner, grinning from ear to ear. Then I turned back to Dan. “I’ve still got a fully packed suitcase at home, I slept like two hours last night, and I’m greeted back with you yelling at me. Don’t say another rash word, and I may think about it.”

Dan crossed his arms and considered me before nodding. “Very well, Sarah. I need you on this case. We want this journalist to owe us a favor.”

“Okay.” I brushed him off.

Dan scowled at me like a disapproving father. “And…?”

I groaned. “And I’ll have a resignation on your desk by the end of the day.”

“Good.” He leaned in as if he was about to tell me a secret. I knew his secrets were never good. “Look, Sarah. I’m sorry I got up in your face right off. It’s just that no one’s quite as much fun to work with.” His eyes flickered to my chest.

I wanted to vomit.

But he didn’t let up. This guy didn’t have an off button. “I have a reservation at the Arid Club tonight. We could talk about your new business and have a glass of wine. I can help you with it.” He saw the look of horror all over my face and backpedaled. “Just business, of course.”

I considered punching him in that big nose, but I didn’t want to go to jail. “Dan, no. I don’t want your wife to get the wrong impression.”

“I can keep a secret.” He winked, and it took everything in me not to rack him.

“I’m sure you can, but no. I have a boyfriend.”

Dan straightened as if I’d just punched him. He huffed right into my face. “I see.” His scowl then turned to a smile, and he asked if I at least had any pictures of me and Mandy on the beach. I turned, walked into my office, and slammed the door.

Joshua laughed, and I flipped off the closed door.

“I missed you, boss. No one else treats Dan like that. You can’t leave.”

My anger melted and I let out a long sigh. “I missed you too.” My office was just as sparse as my house, though I did have a statue of blind Lady Justice on my desk and an oil painting of Themis and Astraea, the Greek goddesses who were the personifications of justice. They helped me remember my purpose here and why I took the job with Dan in the first place. “Tell me some good news, Joshua. Something about cute kittens or world peace or that I won a lifetime supply of Godiva chocolate.”

He just laughed. “If you want that, you’ve got the wrong job.”

FROM THE FIRST DAY of working together, Joshua and I clicked, and I haven’t let him out of my sight since then. He was a tall, rotund, muscular native Hawaiian who had the best taste in music, a quirky style, top-of-the-class smarts, and a beautiful accent. I’ve proposed to him numerous times, but he keeps telling me that his girlfriend would probably object.

I sat down behind my desk and closed my eyes. “Can you get that number for me, for the reporter Dan mentioned?”

He got on his phone and started tapping. “You’ve got to see the newspaper on your desk too. It came out yesterday.”

I pulled it out from under a file. “Did they finally discover my background as a pirate in Somalia?”

He winked. “Something like that.”

My mouth fell open when I saw the headline with a picture of Hank and Glen Williams.

Killer ADA Strikes Again

My heart skipped a beat. Surely they didn’t—they couldn’t have discovered the holes in my story to the police. No one could know that I was the one who set the trap for Williams and not the other way around.

“Yeah, you’ve been the talk of the building for the last few days. How does it feel to be a young girl’s hero?”

What? Hero? I was pissed, scared, and giddy all at the same time. Scanning the page, I took in as much of the story as I could.

One sentence especially stood out to me. Assistant district attorney Sarah Steel is known for her killer instincts in and out of the courtroom. In the last 6 months, she has killed two people in what seems to be a winning streak for the good guys.

The last thing I wanted was for people to know about me or poking around into my past. There were a lot of secrets I wanted to keep in the shadows. First and foremost, the stories of how I killed Hank and the Blondes. My gut clenched. What scared me was that I had no idea if I’d be able to quit. I still had that dark urge, that need for vengeance that was never quiet. I sighed deeply, unclenching my jaw.

“Where are they getting all this? They have some stuff in here that only someone in this office would know.” Some of the information was easy to find, like the fact that my mom was in prison for killing my dad. But the paper had mentioned my kickboxing mentorship program, and I didn’t talk about that much.

Josh lifted one eyebrow. “I thought the same thing when I first read it. According to the paper, they have a source, but won’t disclose it. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Most people think it’s cool—you’re like a hero. It’ll blow over.”

“Yeah, right. Just something else to put on my résumé—hero for hire.” I snorted. Me being a hero was the furthest thing from reality. More like crazy killer for hire—comes with mental baggage and an overactive sense of justice.

“Maybe you should start your own agency or something—”

“Joshua, come on.” I gave him a wry look. “I know you overheard what Dan and I talked about.”

“You mean argued about.” He grinned at me, making his eyes look like small black dots. “But in all seriousness, if you are going to start an agency, I want in.” He stood up. “We can get things done for people who really need it, not these corporate douchebag clients Dan always seems to attract.” I held my breath. Was he being serious? The DA’s office was his dream job. He continued. “Clients bring us a wrong, and we’ll right it. We’ll hunt the baddies down, grab the evidence, and make the problem go away.” He laughed. I stared at him. After a second, he stopped laughing and blinked at me. “What?”

“Serious?”

“Me? Always.”

“You’d really quit this job.”

“Come on, Sarah.” He sat back down. “You know you wouldn’t be able to find your own car in the parking lot if it wasn’t for me. How could you run your own company if I wasn’t there to bring you coffee?”

He motioned to the steaming cup on my desk and I grabbed it, raising it in a salute. “You’re right. I wouldn’t dream of going out into the big old scary world without my java . . . er, I mean you.”

He went back to his phone, scrolling through pages.

It scared me witless to think about giving up my regular paycheck and backing out of what I always considered my dream job. But dreams change, don’t they?

“Okay.” He tapped his phone. “Just sent you the contact who’s been frantically calling Dan for the past two hours.”

My phone buzzed. I opened the text and instantly called the number.

The phone on the other end rang three times and a young man answered. “Hello?”

“Is this Timothy James?”

“Who is this?” His voice took on a higher tone.

“Don’t worry, Mr. James. I work with Dan Butler, but he said this had to be unofficial. My name is Sarah Steele.” I tapped my pen against the desk. “Now, you’ve got some trouble, have you?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m in trouble. And I need you to get me out of it before I end up dead.”

JOSHUA SQUEEZED HIMSELF INTO the passenger seat of my car. “An Indian reservation? I didn’t know there were any around here.”

“There are only a few in Idaho that I know of, and most are small. But I’m definitely not a specialist on Native American law, so I’m not sure what we’re getting in to here. And he seemed panicked on the phone.”

“Did he tell you why he had to see you today?”

“Nope, just that it was a matter of life and death.”

“Same ol’, same ol’.”

Timothy James was a reporter for NPR and, according to Joshua’s iPhone, he had won quite a few awards. He specialized in equality for ethnic minorities and appeared hard-working, driven, and very handsome, judging from the picture Joshua showed me.

The ‘burbs and malls and concrete were long behind us, and the mountains, creeks, and beautiful wildflowers rose in front. I felt better each mile we drove out of town. The reservation was 105 miles from Boise, and I was enjoying every one of them. Billboards displayed colorful pictures of blackjack tables, waitresses in short skirts, and luxurious hotel rooms. They even had a Wild Wild West show with real horses and wagons and trick shooters.

“So, how big is the Somneset tribe?” I asked.

Josh stared at his phone. In his big hands, it looked like a kid’s toy. “Wikipedia says there are 1400 members as of last year. It looks like they have a bit of a feud going on.”

“How so?” I asked.

“There are half a dozen police reports all involving fights. Body count thus far is eight. One involved a standoff at a school after a local election—guess one side thought the other was cheating, and two women in their seventies killed each other.”

I gasp. “What?”

“Yeah, I guess one had a heart attack after beating the other to death in her wheelchair.”

“You’re making that up.”

He shook his head solemnly.

I remembered a case a few years back that involved a tribe member—our office couldn’t step in without the permission of their council. They were a nation within a nation.

I sighed and relaxed back in my seat. “Timothy wouldn’t be dumb enough to get involved in a feud now, would he?” My impression of the NPR reporter was sinking.

“Let’s just hope he ran up a gambling debt or something.” Joshua pointed to my exit and I took it. The car turned so sharply that Joshua gripped the armrest.

“I have a feeling this is going to get complicated in a hurry,” I said.

“No joke.”

I pulled into a broken-down café on the side of the road and shut off the engine. The parking lot was full of cracked concrete and potholes half the size of my car. A sign boasted that it had been the home of world-famous chocolate shakes. I saw tables through the dusty windows—some even had plates still on them. This place was trapped in time. The 1960s, from the look of it.

An older car was parked to the side of the building, only its fender peeping out. A man leaned against the back of the car, his arms crossed, staring at us intently. From his body language, I guessed that the big secret he had was hidden in the trunk. I studied the man. He had short blond hair and a rough-cut face with baby-blue eyes. His red polo was wrinkled and splattered with food and his jeans were baggy and limp, as if he’d worn them for a few days in a row. And he could have used a shave and a shower.

“Okay, here we go.” I should have been nervous, but I found myself excited. I loved the mystery of it all—the random phone call, a long drive to a creepy dive to meet a stranger over a life-and-death matter. The dark places in my mind stirred, but not in warning—more as if to let me know that here, I was the predator.

“I’ll stay in the car, if you don’t mind. Depending on what he wants, you may not want me to know.”

Josh had a point. He was thinking like a lawyer, and some things could not be unheard. “From first glance, it looks like he’s been holed up somewhere. He has that red-eyed, glazed look about him. Keep an eye out and if anything funny happens, come save me.”

“What do you want me to do? Cite facts about Hawaiian history until he dies of boredom? Lull him to sleep with a lullaby? ’Cause that’s all I got.”

I laughed. “You do have the prettiest singing voice.” Reaching in front of him, I opened the glove box and took out my gun.

Joshua’s eyes turned solemn. “What’s that for?”

“It’s a gun. You point this end at the bad guy and pull the trigger, and a bullet—”

“Sarah.” His voice took on a warning tone.

“I’m not planning on using it. But whenever I’m facing a stranger who weighs twice as much as me, I can’t just rely on my kickboxing skills. Now stay sharp.”

Stepping out of the car, I tucked the gun in my purse and walked toward Timothy James.

He rushed toward me. Then he looked past me at my car and the huge man sitting in the passenger seat.

“He’s my bodyguard,” I said, offering my hand.

“Oh, yes. I see.” Mr. James was tall, at least six foot three, and lean but fit. I saw panic in his eyes, shiny and raw. But behind that was a deep sadness, marked by the wrinkles around his eyes. “Thanks for meeting me, Miss Steele.”

“Sarah.” He had my hand in a death grip and I pulled it away.

“Sarah. I’m Timothy—just Timothy. I’m sorry I’m acting like this. I can’t put my head in thoughts. I mean, I can’t put my thoughts…” He stopped and pressed his lips together.

“We’ll deal with this together. First, you have to swear something to me.”

His eyes widened. “I didn’t do it!”

That was not a good sign—he was defensive, and I hadn’t even asked him a question. “I’m not the judge. I’m not the jury. Just promise me you’ll tell me the truth, no matter what. I am the one person you do not lie to.”

He looked in my eyes for a minute, assessing me. The wind gusted, ruffling his hair. “I promise.”

“Okay.” I clapped my hands once and pointed to his car. ”Now tell me what’s going on. And why you wanted Dan Butler on the case.”

Timothy nodded nervously and cursed. “Okay, I’m good.” He seemed to gather himself and motioned for me to follow him to the back of his SUV. What was in that trunk? I shot Josh a look and he waved at me.

“I see he didn’t tell you—Mr. Butler, that is. I requested you, Miss Steele . . . er, Sarah. I’ve been following your work for a year or so, the cases you work on, your style. I have an eye for talent, for the story that will become a story. It’s my job, and I’m the best there is.” He said it with confidence, not pride. Just like I’m sure he knew he was good-looking.

“Good for you.” I reached for the trunk handle, but he moved in front of it. I folded my arms across my chest. “Now what kind of trouble are you in?”

“Yes, trouble. I’m afraid I’m in the worst kind. I called you because out here, the law is of no use. On the reservation, the law is created by the council. They do what they want. And with your set of skills, I thought you could help me get around the law—or at least, weed through theirs.”

“Timothy,” I said sharply. “What laws have you broken?”

He grunted, lifted the hatchback, and took a step back so I could see inside. My stomach churned at the sight and smell. I put my hand over my mouth, wincing. No matter how many times I’d seen it, nothing prepares you for the shock of seeing a dead body.

“Yeah, it’s just what it looks like.” Timothy paled.

Crammed against the back of the rear seat was the twisted body of a girl. Her lifeless eyes stared into nothing, and there was the tail end of an arrow sticking out of her chest. Dried blood caked the front of her dress, and the carpet was soaked with it.

I turned and opened my mouth to say something to Timothy, but nothing came out. He looked at his feet and kicked the dirt.

“Can you help me, Sarah Steele?”

I NARROWED MY WORLD TO this car, this body, this moment. Nothing existed outside of it. There was only so much time, and I had to employ every second to memorizing this scene and deducing facts from that knowledge. It helped to shut off my emotions and view this as a puzzle, a game, and the players as objects. There’d be enough time for emotions later.

I broke it down into parts, examining them up close, but not touching. The trunk had been pried open—crowbar marks marred its edge. The girl wasn’t bound—she’d either been drugged or forced in here by someone stronger than her. No bruises were visible on her wrists or ankles. Her dress was cheap, short, and covered in teal sequins. One of her black pumps was missing. She wore a heart-shaped necklace with “A” etched on it. There was a tattoo of a bird on her right ankle. The arrow was hand-fashioned from wood and feathers, but had no workman’s logo. It had been driven into her heart by hand, judging from the angle. I swept my gaze over the scene one last time.

Then I took Timothy’s hands and held them up to the light. That was the last piece of the puzzle.

“Call the police right now,” I said in a tone that gave no room for disobedience.

He backed up. “What? I thought you were going to help me.”

“I am helping you! We’ve got to get the county sheriff out here as soon as we can to document this.”

He trembled.

“Timothy.” I gave him a steady gaze. “You didn’t do it—I can see that. Now let the law prove it.” I pointed to his pocket, where his phone was. “Call and tell them you’d like to report a murder and a conspiracy.”

He did as I said. After he had hung up, I turned to him. “Talk fast. Tell me what happened here.”

“I woke up this morning, went to my car, and the door was unlocked. I always lock my car door. At first, I thought maybe some kids broke into take the radio or something.”

“And you found her?”

“Yes, she was cold. I freaked and drove out here… I had to get away, to think of what to do.”

“You called me and who else?”

He shook his head. “No one. I would never…” His voice cracked, and I saw the fear and sorrow in his eyes. “I want to hire you. I can pay whatever you want, but you have to help me. I know you think for yourself, that the truth is more important than the law sometimes. I need you to do whatever you can to find out what happened and keep me from losing everything.”

I worried that this man knew me a little too well. His perception was good—maybe being a reporter gave him the ability to see through the article in the newspaper to the real story.

The sun beat down, warming my skin. Sweat trickled down my back and I wiped my forehead with my blouse sleeve. After staring at the girl for a few minutes, I had to look away. No matter who she was, she deserved more than this. Someone had treated her like an expendable pawn in their game to trap Timothy, and that made my blood run hot. This wasn’t just about Timothy, or Dan, or my business—I had to find whoever did this. I had to teach them a lesson about what happens when they treat people like garbage.

Sirens wailed in the distance and my palms started sweating. “Is there anything else you can tell me that will help?”

The wind scattered up dust and I squinted through my lashes and pursed my lips. “Well?”

Timothy’s eyes reddened and he cleared his throat. He undid a key from his key ring and handed it to me. “Get my laptop at my hotel room and read my notes on the women’s shelter here. That was my story. I was about to blast some leaders for their lack of response to battered women.” I leaned forward, not wanting to miss a word. “They want me out of the way. Also—” The police cars were getting closer. And I could see them off in the distance coming from both directions. “Talk to Yona.”

A big white Ford truck with a magnetic red light on top pulled up, making dust and dirt fly. I shaded my eyes from the sun and watched as a leathery-faced officer got out. In big bold letters on the side if the truck, it read “Indian Tribal Police”.

Two Idaho State troopers in black-and-white Chargers came from the opposite direction. They pulled to a stop. Four officers stepped out, but didn’t make a move to come talk to us.

I grabbed Timothy’s forearm. He looked at me intently. “Now you listen to me and do exactly what I tell you. Not a word—you don’t tell them your name, not one breath. You got that?” He nodded. “Good. Now as far as they know, I’m your lawyer. Who knows if it will even matter, but we’ll deal with it as it comes. Just remember, not a word. Make them need me. You only talk through me, understand?”

“Yes…” He hesitated. Then, as the officer approached us, he said quickly, “Just promise me something.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t believe what they say about me.”

“COME WITH US, SIR.” The older man wore a flat expression and didn’t even glance my way. He pushed Timothy around and clicked handcuffs into place. He was of medium build, with long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. He took out a cell phone and dialed, tossing me a deadpan look. “Got two here and four pokers and one cold one. Set up room one and bring in Chaska. He’s gonna want to be there for this.”

The second Indian tribal police officer was a young boy of no more than twenty, I guessed. He stood by the truck, holding a shotgun, and appeared to be taking in the scene with more understanding than his age should have allowed. The anger on his face at the sight of the dead girl was palpable.

Joshua was talking with the state troopers. They looked bored and pissed all at the same time—they didn’t have any authority on Indian land, but had to respond to the call anyway.

After a short back and forth, the ITP officer replaced the phone in his pocket and turned toward me. “And you are…?”

“Sarah Steele. I’m his lawyer. And that is my assistant.” I motioned to Joshua, who was standing over by the state troopers.

“You realize you have no real say here, just what we give you.” He spit and dug the tip of his boot in the dirt. “But I’m okay with it as long as you keep out of our way. Everyone deserves the chance to defend themselves.”

I was taken aback. All my instincts were telling me I was in for a fight, and to hear him sounding like a caring human being made me wonder who this man was and if he could be an ally. “Thanks. I’ll do all I can to abide by your laws.”

“I can deal with that, Miss Steele. I’m Tahatan, head of security around here and head of the Indian Tribal Police. In terms you will understand, my only boss is the chief, Chaska Tate. You may find our ways strange, but no matter how you feel about it, when you’re on Indian land, you’re in our nation. What I say goes. My word is law around here. Got it?”

“Understood. May I ride with Timothy?” I asked. Tahatan looked at Timothy, who sat meekly at our feet just like I told him. I was glad he took my advice to heart.

“I see that I’m not going to get much out of him without you there. So, yeah, you can ride in the back with him.”

“I’m going to go talk to the state police and my assistant. Can you give me a few minutes?”

“Just hurry it up. Them Pokers don’t have a lick of business being here. They can watch all they like, but you tell them to go back to their caves and keep out of our affairs.”

His dislike for them was thick. I wondered what had gone on to warrant such a feeling. I was sure I’d find out soon enough.

As I talked to Joshua and filled him in, I saw another pickup truck pull up. Two guys got out and began to take pictures of the body and the SUV.

Josh lowered his voice and took a few steps away from the state troopers. “So as far as I can tell, the police hate the Indians and the Indians hate the police. They have orders to note what happens, but only as observers,” Josh said. The two were getting back into their cars and were about to head out.

“I told them we would keep them up-to-date and they seemed relieved. I don’t think they like playing babysitter.”

The state trooper eyed me and I gave Timothy a wave. He didn’t respond. “I’m going to ride with Timothy. Can you follow us and call Mandy?”

“Sure, but why do you want me to call her?”

“Because this is our company’s first case, and if you’re in, so’s Mandy.”

Josh nodded. “Does she know that?”

“She will after you tell her,” I said.

WHEN OFFICER TAHATAN SAID I could ride in the back, I assumed he meant the back seat of his quad cab truck. I was wrong. Lowering the tailgate, he motioned for us to get in. Then he took out a second pair of handcuffs and looped one to an eyehook in the bed and the other to Timothy’s ankle.

I put my hands on my hips. “You can’t be serious.”

Tahatan raised one eyebrow and slammed the tailgate shut. I sat down next to Timothy and groaned. “Well, this day is not going like I thought it would. Most guys would at least buy me dinner before inviting me to go to jail with them.”

“I know a good place, but you’re going to have to take a rain check. I’m a little tied up right now.” He laughed at his lame joke, and I was glad he was keeping his spirits up.

“At least you have a sense of humor.” I checked my phone and saw a text from Solomon. He was going to be home tonight and wanted to come over. My skin warmed at the thought of seeing him. I got a twinge of regret when I texted him that I’d be out tonight, but I’d catch up with him tomorrow—regret that I wasn’t a normal person who could welcome her boyfriend home with a normal night of Chinese and making out on the couch. With a sigh, I texted See you tomorrow and put away my phone.

Solomon did something to me that I couldn’t deny. We had chemistry, and the more I got to know him, the more I liked him. But I was on a case, and determined to see things through even if it meant not welcoming Solomon back with open arms. That was the price, and it was worth it. A girl was dead, and that trumped my boyfriend.

I pierced Timothy with a stare. “Time to tell me a story. We’re alone, and I am not sure we’ll have this luxury again anytime soon.” The truck started and we pulled out onto the highway.

Timothy started talking loud enough for me to hear over the road noise, but not loud enough for them to hear inside the truck. “I’ve been researching sexual abuse in Indian communities for a story. There is a high rate of rape and domestic abuse. Almost all of it goes unpunished. Out of the fifty-three cases of rape and sexual abuse reported last year, only one man was convicted and thrown in jail.”

The truck hit a pothole and I bounced, hitting my backside hard. “Ow.” The wind made it hard to talk, but Timothy leaned close to my ear so I could hear him.

“Nice transportation, huh?”

I grimaced.

“Anyway, I did most of my research online, but I had to finish it up on the ground. I flew in ten days ago from my hometown in Chicago. I’ve been staying at the casino hotel, and that’s where it got interesting. At first, I thought this was just going to be about women being abused and the men getting away with it. But once I got here, I discovered it went much deeper than that.”

“What do you mean?” I yelled above the wind.

“Sex trafficking, drugs, money laundering—the works. There have been three casinos built in three years. All of them are used to move girls and drugs in and out. All the tribe members work for the casinos, and the income supports the entire tribe. I was really getting some good info when suddenly, the witnesses shut down. Someone scared them—scared them bad because no one will talk to me.”

I nodded. It was a common story, one I’d heard a hundred times. It was why corruption went on unhindered.

He cleared his throat. “I had one woman, a local writer, who was trying to help me, but now no one will even look at me, let alone talk to me. I was told to leave, the hotel doubled my room rate, and I got a note under my door yesterday telling me that I was in danger, that if I stayed and kept asking questions, someone would die.”

The thought hit me and I kicked myself for not asking sooner. “Did you know the girl?”

“Yeah, she was one of the good ones. Her name is Lina Sever. She was being abused by her father and talked to me three days ago. She died because of me.”

THE TOWN OF LITTLE Bear was a joke. It was as if someone built three huge casinos out in the middle of the desert and then had a road put in. Despite the remote location and the odd setup, the large parking lots were all full. Business was good.

The rest of the town was located past the neon lights and glittering signs. Small row houses lined the main street. There was one way in and one way out, making this a dead end.

We turned down a dirt lane that wrapped around and opened up to the back of the largest casino, the Golden Nugget. Parking next to a black BMW 5 series, I waited for our great and mighty god to come and give us permission to get out.

“Remember, don’t say anything unless I tell you to.”

Timothy nodded. He was pale and his hands trembled. That was good. I wanted him to stay afraid, as this was no light matter. Of course, I didn’t want him bawling on my shoulder, either. So I said reassuringly, “We’re going to work this out. Just you wait.”

Both truck doors opened and the young boy opened the tailgate. Tahatan removed the handcuffs from the eyehook and Timothy’s ankle. “All right, both of you get on out of there.”

It had only been a twenty-minute ride from the old café to here, but my body ached as if I had just played tackle football with a bunch of jacked-up Texans.

“Don’t you have an ITP building or a jail?” I asked.

Tahatan spit nasty chew out the side of his mouth and grinned, showing flecks of the stuff in his teeth. “Don’t need one. We have it all right here in the Golden Nugget. You see, it’s not just a casino and hotel. In the main lobby is everything you need—day spa, mini mall, food court, and we even have a post office.”

“So you’ll be keeping Timothy in the spa, then?” Sarcasm probably wasn’t my best move at the moment, but I couldn’t help it.

He grunted, and his mouth twitched. Was that a smile?

I kept going. “What about other city essentials—a gas station, food market, courthouse, dungeon, and such? Every good casino has a dungeon, right?”

He spit again and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “All here. The lower floors are where the real action is. Courthouse, our offices, and even the jail—you may call it the dungeon if you wish. As far as the other stuff goes, across the street at the Silver Mine, they have a local food market, and the Bronze Star has a full-service gas station.”

I whistled. “Wow, you have quite the setup here. It’s like the casinos are the town.”

The back door opened, and a skinny man in a guard uniform stiffened and avoided eye contact with Tahatan. Speeding past us, he left in a hurry, keeping his head down. Tahatan had these people running scared—maybe he was God.

“The original town of Little Bear had two main streets with a small market, one gas pump, and a few other outbuildings, but all that’s left of it is what you saw on the way in—some cheap houses and a few old school members who won’t adapt with the times. The rest of the tribe is scattered about on plots of land from here to about one hundred miles thataway.” He pointed south.

Ushering us past another guard, he took the lead and we walked down a wide hallway to a bank of elevators. Someone with style had designed the casino. The lighting was low, the art was modern, and the accents were bold but not too much. I bet this drew every bored housewife with a good nose for brandy and money for blackjack from the surrounding four states. Appetizing smells wafted through the lobby, making my mouth water. Were those chocolate chip cookies on the counter? I grabbed one and started munching. Mmm, it tasted fresh from the oven, and the chocolate was still gooey. Although I’d never been one who enjoyed casinos, the atmosphere made me relax. Pass me a martini and I just might hand over all my money. I gulped. I’d better stiffen up or my client might rot in jail while I got really good at craps.

We went down two floors and into one of the nicest offices I’d ever seen.

“This is the courthouse, jail, and headquarters for the Indian Tribal Police.” He tipped his hat to a couple of men who were talking and sipping coffee. They stared back at Timothy, their eyes glinting in anger. So they’d already heard why we were here. I studied each one—memorized their faces and took in as much as I could from their mannerisms and their desks. One of these guys might have framed Timothy. From here on out, I couldn’t trust anyone. Not even Timothy. Especially not Timothy. He had the most on the line.

We followed Tahatan back to a room with one door and a big one-way mirror. Inside were a single table and two chairs. Tahatan motioned. “Have a seat. Get comfortable. I’ll have my man show your big friend into the waiting area.”

I couldn’t let him get the last word. Widening my eyes, I said with a pert smile, “I’d be a lot more comfortable if you brought me a latte.”

He snorted and slammed the door shut. Looked like my petition was lost on him.

I sat down on one of the cold metal chairs and Timothy started pacing the room. His hands were still cuffed behind his back. I had to pee, but I was afraid they’d start grilling Timothy if I left him for one moment.

And there was still so much I didn’t know. It set me on edge—I was the person who liked to have three truckloads of information and research on a case before I even took it. This was out of my comfort zone. “Okay, what’s going on with this place? It’s nicer than some of the places in Vegas. Color me impressed.”

“How many holding rooms in Vegas have you been to?” he asked.

I gave him a deadpan look.

Timothy chuckled. “I know. These casinos are stylish and brand spanking new. This is the main one, but all three are nice. They went all out and that’s half the reason people drive clear out here to gamble. They have some of the highest payouts of any Casino in the U.S.”

“And all the money goes back to the tribe?” That couldn’t be all bad. More money for education, social services, roads, and other ways to improve the tribe’s quality of life. At least, that was it in theory. Did they really put the money where it should be?

Timothy’s shoulders tightened. “Its a scam, that’s what it is, and the reason why I’m even in this room. None of the money reaches the town, and people suffer because of it.”

“Wait, hold up. You’re telling me that once the State recognized their tribal status, they got free land and money just for being Indian? When?”

“It wasn’t until the 60s, when Chief Hara Tate proved this was their original land and fought to get it back. He was a hero. And when he died, his son, Chaska, continued his work. This land was stolen from them in the first place, not to mention that most of their civilization was almost wiped out several times. We owe them more than land and money, but that’s another story for another day.” He sighed. “Once they had the land and official status, they set up their laws. So it was all going well until Chaska and his best friend, Takota Watters, had a falling out—over a girl, nonetheless.”

“How romantic,” I said dryly.

“The fight was on. It was family against family, each trying to take control of the council, who can do just about anything they want without consulting the tribe. And the chief has final say on the council.”

“Who’s in control now?”

Timothy sat on the chair next to mine. “Chaska Tate. He owns the town and has had the council for years, but this is an election year. His former best friend is running this next term, though. He’s the reason the casinos are making money. In a few weeks, they hold the elections, so things are supercharged.”

I scratched my fingernail against the table. “How does the best friend make all the money?”

“See, Chaska is loved by the people. He keeps everyone happy and things have been peaceful, for the most part, under his eye. But Takota Watters is one smart businessman. He went off to an Ivy League college and came back and started the Golden Nugget casino—which, at the time, was a dive bar with a few slots. Everyone employed at the casino, which is basically everyone in town, reports to him.”

So Chaska owned the government and Watters owned the trade. “So what’s the problem? If they work together—Chaska takes care of social and legislative matters and the Watters guy makes them all money—everybody wins.” Even as I said it, I knew what power did—it made people hungry for more.

“You’d think, but they hate each other. And with Takota Watters controlling the casinos and Chaska controlling the council, they’re at war. If Watters takes the council, Chaska won’t stand for it and the whole tribe will be split, broken, and maybe never recover.”

I rubbed my temples. “I think I’m following you, but how would he get rid of Chaska? They have tribal rights.”

“Yeah, every approved member gets a share of the profits. And most of them work for the casino in some way, so they’re getting paid a wage on top of their royalty. Wait till you see the houses they live in. All around here in the foothills, you’ll find million-dollar homes, pools, and parks, and all the Watters are on one side of the river and all Chaska Tate’s people are on the other.”

“I gotta find me a nice Indian boy to marry.” I touched my ring finger.

“Good luck. You ready for the end game?”

“Of course. This is getting interesting.”

“For the past few months, Watters has been calling into question the blood rights of the members. The council is making members prove their bloodline.”

Then it hit me—the play, the final blow that would destroy one family and leave the other that much richer. “They’re kicking members out—fewer people at the table means bigger pieces of pie. And they’ve been using any means necessary.” I eyed him. From his history of peacekeeping and social justice, I could see how this story appealed to him—but everyone had secrets, and Timothy hadn’t told me any yet. There had to be more to this story. “Now, how the heck did you get tangled up in this?”

He stared at the black window. “Penchant for trouble, I guess.”

“I’m not buying that. Give me more.” I leaned forward, trying to see his eyes. They were sad, almost haunted. My heart turned for him. “There’s a dead girl in your trunk. How did it get to that?”

“She was one of my leads.” His voice broke. “And now she’s dead.”

Heavy footsteps came from the hallway. We both looked up. They were coming.

A MAN BURST THROUGH the door. He was a red-faced man in a cream-colored cowboy hat and thick bottle-cap glasses. His hair was black with white streaks, thick and shiny, and his face was worn and weathered, as if he had been through his share of storms.

Tahatan followed him in, but his mannerisms had changed. He was not the highest authority in the room anymore. His expression was meek and wary.

The tall man pointed at me and said to Tahatan, “I don’t care who she is. Get her out of here and throw him in a cell.”

“He deserves a defense. You of all people should know that.”

The big man in a cowboy hat—I gathered this was the chief—came unglued. “You dare say that to me? After I’ve been the one defending you to everyone? I say who is guilty, I say who deserves what. You got that? Now do as I say or so help me, your name will be the next one called.”

Tahatan swallowed hard and shot a look at me that I couldn’t read. It was time to speak up.

“I am going to assume that you’re the man in charge—Chief Chaska Tate.”

He spun toward me and opened his mouth to respond, but I cut in before he could.

“Look here, Chief. I get that you say jump and the world says ‘how high’. But I have some information for you. This man, Timothy James, is innocent. You’ll easily be able to deduce it from the evidence—it didn’t take me more than five minutes of looking at the scene and I’m sure your men are twice as sharp as I am, right? He didn’t kill that girl, and we both know it.” I stood up and squared my shoulders. “Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

He narrowed his eyes, but I didn’t look away. I wouldn’t let him intimidate me. “You a lawyer?”

“Yes, sir.” I braced myself for the barrage of abuse most people heaped on lawyers. But he surprised me.

“Then you should know that the easy way is not always the best way. I don’t get to think just about Timothy’s innocence or guilt. I have an entire society to consider.”

Timothy froze, and his eyes revealed the panic he felt. My mind cleared, and the same feeling I had fighting the gang of men in Rio washed over me. It was as if this darkness in me liked to be in a fighting position. I should be scared, terrified because I was outnumbered and confronting men who had more authority and power than I’d ever have.

But sometimes what is flies in the face of what should be.

Taking a step toward Chaska, I lowered my voice to a growl. “Now, I know I have no authority here, but if you do not give that beautiful, dead young lady some justice, your quiet little operation here might not be so quiet anymore. The last thing you want is outsiders snooping around, checking up on you, interviewing people, writing articles, gathering an audience. Timothy and I are not just two people. We have access to thousands of listening ears. So I suggest you let me do what I do best and give my client a fair shake.”

The room fell silent. Chaska puffed out his chest and seemed to calm a touch. “Well, maybe I did come on a little strong. There’s no need to be fighting when all anyone is interested in is the truth.”

I leaned back, flickering a smile. “I’m glad we see it the same way.”

Chaska took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Now, miss, what is your name?”

“Steele. Sarah Steele.”

AFTER THREE HOURS OF back and forth with Tahatan and Chaska Tate, we were no closer to any sort of agreement. By their law, they could hold Timothy for up to three years on a charge, so things were not looking good. They put him in a holding cell, and I had Tahatan promise he’d call me if anything new happened or if they needed to speak to Timothy again. I wanted to believe that he’d keep his word.

I had Joshua call Dan to let him know that he was right and we couldn’t get our office involved due to tribal law, but that I would keep him updated on the case. I speed walked out of that place, my mind buzzing. There was so much to do. I had at least six mental lists running through my head. Joshua had the car waiting for me in the circular drive. I pulled my notebook from my purse and started scribbling my notes feverishly.

Joshua pulled onto the highway. “Watch it. Your pen might start smoking any moment.”

Biting my lip, I finished. “There. We have so many leads and so much research to do, I’m afraid I’m going to have to hire this out to foreign markets. Do you know any good research teams in India?”

“Very funny. Now where do you want to go?”

“I don’t think we can do anything more here tonight,” I said.

He pulled into a gas station in front of the Silver Mine. We got out and I stretched, walking along the curb. Little white flowers poked out of the sandy dirt—specks of beauty in the drab ground. I picked one and twirled it between my fingers, thinking. The wind blew my hair across my shoulders and I shivered. It was getting chilly.

I needed coffee. The beverage they had in the gas station pot resembled engine oil that had been scraped off the pavement outside, so I opted for some canned caffeine. I also grabbed Joshua’s favorite candy bar, and a bag of pistachios for me.

Joshua was just putting the gas pump back in its cradle when I walked up. “I want to get Mandy up-to-speed on our little plan and see what she thinks. Is there any way you can write my resignation for me, and on the drive back I’ll tell you the story?” I handed him his snack and drink.

He snorted and then laughed. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. I want to be on the phone all night—I know some Indian rights lawyers and tribe advocates and I need to get their perspectives. Writing a resignation for Dan Wandering Eyes is the last thing I can do tonight. I wouldn’t know how to tie my shoes if it weren’t for you. You’re my sun, my moon, my starlit sky—“

He held up his hand. “Okay, okay. I’m on it. Should I add in your trademark snark and a few memes just for the fun of it?”

I unshelled a couple of pistachios and popped them in my mouth. “Of course. And don’t forget to misspell several words. That’s another of my trademarks.”

Josh ate his candy bar in two bites. “Sure. That’s what I am here for, boss—to do your bidding.” He laughed. The sound was deep and comforting.

“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

After filling up at the gas station, I took in the sights. It was an odd thing to see three huge hotels and casinos sitting out here in the middle of the desert. They lit up the sky, and neon lights of every color accosted the natural surroundings. All of them were beautiful, and I noticed for the first time a new golf course being put in up on a small bluff. They were going all out.

“Not quite right, is it?” Josh said as he began the process of squeezing his large body into my car.

“No, it’s not. It’s like a movie set or something. Like it’ll all blow away in a few weeks’ time.”

After we were on the road, I started going over this mess I found myself in.

“So what’s the plan, boss?”

I punched him in the arm and he pretended to be hurt. “Enough with the boss crap. I am your boss, but you say it all stupid, like you’re mocking me.”

“’Cause I am.”

“I thought so. I talked to Mr. James, and he has agreed to my terms. Dan will cover the rather hefty price quote I put on the case. I told him that we would act like personal assistants, but cover all fronts.”

“So what are we going to call this band of misfits?”

“Hey, speak for yourself. We’re the people you call when you’re in need of the best. Between the three of us, we can do just about anything. You’re one of the best researchers I’ve ever seen, and Mandy can hack into anything.”

“And you’re a shark when it comes to finding the truth and getting people to do what you want.”

“I’m glad you can see my skills clearly, young one.”

Staring out the window, I let my mind wander. Sometimes the best way to think is not to settle on one idea and to see where the paths lead. The landscape went hazy—trees and grasses and shrubs blurred together until it was so dark that I could only see the stars glistening above the tree line.

By the end of the road, I’d decided on my own path in all this. And like most things in my life, it was going to be messy.

MY SUITCASE SAT ON my bed, mocking me. The last thing I wanted to do was unpack, but I had lugged it onto my bed so I couldn’t procrastinate and now I started sorting clothes into piles. That mundane task set my mind free to think about the case.

”Now, girlie, how’re you going to solve this murder? And try to do it without killing someone this time, aye?”

I knew that talking to myself was not the sanest thing in the world, but I lived alone and I needed someone to talk to—even if it was me. Though, sometimes I wasn’t the best conversationalist.

Facts. That was what I was craving—like an adrenaline junkie craved their next fix, except nerdier. Dialing my friend, Simone Nelson at the Bureau of Indian Affairs, I got her on the first ring. She had been my workout partner in law school.

“Sarah! It’s been a long time. Bet you’ve gone soft,” she said. “Need me to fly over and remind you what a real workout is?”

“Oh, please,” I said. “The only thing you taught me was where the five-pound weights were. I didn't know gyms even had them.”

We bantered back and forth a bit until I told her about the case. She gave a long sigh after I ended, which gave me a bad feeling.

“You’re not gonna like what I have to say.”

I braced myself. “Hit me.”

“The Justice Department is in charge of prosecuting most of the more serious crimes on the reservations, but they only file charges in about half of all murder charges, and take only one-third of all rape cases.”

“What?” I gasped. “That’s preposterous.”

“I know. So even if the ITP filed this murder charge, there’s only a fifty-percent chance that the Justice Department would take it to court.”

My throat tightened. Here was another place where Lady Justice was not only blindfolded, but she was bound and gagged too. That meant that the murdered girl wasn’t going to be the only one with no justice—Timothy wouldn’t get any either.

“What can I do for my client? They still think he killed her, and he’s been jailed.”

She paused and then said, “That’s not right. Only a federally certified agent has that right. Was there an FBI man there?”

“No!” My voice rose in glee. “There wasn’t. We have them—they illegally detained a non-Indian. Heck, I could even charge them with kidnapping.”

“But be careful,” she said. “Everything’s a lot more complicated on the rez.”

“You know me. Careful is my middle name.”

She scoffed.

“Thank you so much!” I threw some shirts in the washer while I spoke. “Anything I can do for you, let me know.”

“Fly over and visit me and I’ll whip your butt in spinning class. That’ll be thanks enough.”

I smiled and hung up, mulling over what she’d said. Then I spent the next hour unpacking and tossing clothes into the washing machine. The same thoughts kept buzzing through my head, so I turned up the radio and danced around the room pretending I was on The Voice. Things around me weren’t perfect, but I suddenly felt good about my life, as if the storm was where I belonged. That was the magic of music.

Spinning around, I flipped my hair back and belted out the chorus to the One Republic song that was playing. I screeched in surprise when I saw Solomon leaning against the doorjamb to my bedroom.

“Now that’s hot,” he said with a lopsided grin.

My hand was over my heart and I gasped, and then laughed. “Goodness, boy, you scared me. What are you doing here? I mean, how did you get in? And what a jerk! Couldn’t you call or text or something? Or knock? God, the least you could do was knock.” I was rambling, and he didn’t move. He just looked at me as if I was the most amusing thing he’d ever seen. I couldn’t stop. “How long have you been standing there? I can’t believe you …” I was embarrassed and flushed all at the same time. Solomon grabbed my hand, pulling me into his arms.

He kissed me, and my head cleared of all my questions. There were times when I wanted to fight him, to pull away because of my own fear, but in his arms all I could do was give my heart to him over and over again.

“I missed you,” he said.

“I missed you too.” I kissed him again, and he held me close. Our bodies fit together like two long-lost puzzle pieces. I loved the way he smelled, the warmth of his body, how he was the perfect mix of hard and soft, strong and gentle.

Pressing my hands on his chest, I leaned away from him. “When did … How did you get in?” My mind was not helping me out. Thanks a lot, Benedict Arnold.

“You left your door… unlocked?” He gave a cheesy grin. “And if it was locked, well, I’m the FBI, and I’ve been trained in the art of lock picking.” He looked like a little boy when he was teasing me. I melted.

“Maybe I should get a dog. With big teeth.”

“Dogs love me.”

He slid his hand behind my head and kissed me hard. A tingle shot up my body, starting at my feet and ending at the top of my head, leaving goose bumps all over my skin.

We settled into the couch and I let him take the stress of the day from me. I wanted him, to be with him, but my mind was my best friend and worst enemy. Tonight I wondered which role it would take on.

MY CHEST WAS TIGHT. Each breath was work, and it hurt all the way through into my spine. I was stressed, and the pressure made me want to run. To run away and never look back.

Mom was in the kitchen cooking dinner. She saw me sitting at the table and gave me the look that said so much more than words ever could.

Do it. Do it or you’ll be next. If I do, it’s all on you.

I knew it was a dream—or was it a memory? It was hard to tell. I was a little kid—I can’t remember how old. Five or seven?

Mom sliced celery so fast that I lost myself watching her hands move with precision. She turned and glanced at me again with the same look. Her eyes were hard, but deep down they were sad. A dark purple bruise surrounded her left eye and a new one was beginning to show on her cheek. I jumped when a rough voice came from the living room.

“Sarah, what’s taking you so long? It’s just Scotch. Pour it in a glass, one ice cube. You know how I want it. Now quit dawdling and hurry up. Sarah Ann!” His voice was harsh and grew more insistent. “Sarah, answer me.”

“Coming, Dad.”

He muttered something, but all I could make out was “Lazy kid … stupid …”

I stared at the glass sitting in front of me on the table. It was half full, one cube of ice. Next to it was a small glass bottle with a dropper. I knew what it was, knew what Mom wanted.

Tears ran down my cheeks and I couldn’t breathe. I knew I had to move, to pick up the glass and bring it into the living room where my dad sat in his old recliner. The TV would be on, and he would have an old tobacco pipe in his hand and bruises on his knuckles.

Dad hollered, and I heard the recliner pop as he released the footrest.

I moved. Grabbing the glass, I ran into the dark, smoke-filled living room. His face was red. He snatched the glass from my hand and tossed back the drink. His dark hair was matted and he glared at me. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it and his face softened. “Come here, Bits. Give me a hug.”

I burst into tears.

A rush of emotion snapped me awake and I realized I was crying. Solomon was stroking my hair, holding me and gently whispering, “It’s okay. It was a bad dream. I’m here. It’s okay…”

My body shook uncontrollably, and sweat soaked through my T-shirt and panties. It was dark in my room and so I let the tears rage. I wanted to lock that part of my heart away forever and hide from everything and everyone.

Slowly I got control back and remembered that I’d fallen asleep in Solomon’s arms. He had never stayed over before and I really wanted to want him too, but something stopped me—my dang overthinking mind stopped me. I must have been a lot more tired than I thought because the last thing I remembered was him holding me and telling me about his trip home. I felt so safe in his arms, as if nothing else mattered. Then I woke in my nightmare, the one I would never be able to escape.

HOTAH WATCHED THE WHORE get dressed and played with the scar above his right eyebrow. It was a mark, one he would never let himself forget. It was his first attempt to kill himself during the worst winter of his life. Even the light had seemed dark then, and he’d lost his way. After he’d returned from a hunt empty handed, he’d shot one arrow straight up into the air and waited for it to drive itself home. It hit him, but it didn’t fracture his skull. Turned out he was only good at killing other people.

She dressed as if she had somewhere to be. Hotah imagined that he was good with the ladies, and he was often confused as to why some resisted him like this.

“You like how I make you feel, baby?”

The tiny blonde turned, pulled up her mini skirt, and half smiled, flipping her hair. “Yeah, you were the best I’ve ever had.” She picked up her high heels and gave a small giggle. At first, Hotah thought she was serious and her giggle was due to his charm, but then it dawned on him that she could be mocking him.

Maybe she needed to be taught some respect. “Watch it, slut. I’m an important man around here—you know who I am?” Hotah slid his hand under the covers, reaching for his knife.

“Of course, Hotah. Everyone knows who you are. Your face is on every sign from here to Boise,” she said from the bathroom, her tone still mocking as if she thought he was some dumb pre-pubescent boy.

“You’re the world-famous trick shooter in the Wild Wild West play at the Golden Nugget. No one’s better.”

He gripped the knife tighter. “It’s not a play, it’s a show, one of the best shows around—even better than Vegas! Everyone says that. And I’m the star, I’m famous, and you act like I’m just some John.”

She shuffled from the bathroom and scooped up her shirt, purse, and coat. “What do you want from me? I made you happy, you had a good time—what more do you want?”

Hotah threw the knife at her. She screamed, covering her mouth with both hands as she dropped her purse. The knife buried itself into the wall next to her head and plaster dusted her shoulder. She bent down and grabbed her purse, shaking like a scared rabbit.

“I meant to miss,” he reassured her, hoping she wouldn’t tell her handler. He liked the lineup of girls and didn’t want to jack up his personal play time.

She slammed the door, and Hotah cursed. Aw, who cared—no one would believe a second-rate whore. Who did she think she was? He was somebody, a star, a killer, and soon, a member of the council. She was just paid entertainment.

Getting dressed in a dirty T-shirt and jeans, he took the elevator to the Watering Hole. It was one of the casino bars, and his favorite. He drank for free, a perk of being a valuable member of the tribe.

“Jack and Coke, Buck.”

Buck was the shirtless bartender. It wasn’t his real name, but the customers liked it.

“You believe these girls?” Hotah motioned to three giggle-factory girls at the end of the bar. They were flirting with some soft city guy. “You’d think they’d know a good thing when it was right there in front of them. Guess they just want the dregs.”

Buck put a drink in front of him and grunted. “You working tonight?”

Hotah tossed back his drink and wiped his mouth. “Do I look like I’m working tonight? Do you see me wearing a feather in my hair? Do you see my bow and arrow?”

Buck held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. Just askin’, brother.”

“I’m not your bro.” Hotah threw his glass at Buck and missed. It shattered against the wall. Buck wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and his whole upper body flexed.

A moment later, two big men in suits came up behind Hotah. He saw them coming in the big mirror behind the bar and he rubbed his scar, hoping they would lay a hand on him.

“Time to go, hotshot. Party’s over.” They grabbed him and pulled him from his barstool.

“Get off me. Do you know who I am? I’ll have your jobs … Come on, Buck.” He realized he could lose his favorite drinking spot if Buck had any lasting hard feelings. “Hey, I didn’t mean nothing.” He twisted, and the two men released his arms. He smoothed his T-shirt and looked each man up and down. He could take them. Maybe he should—teach them that it was never okay to cross a man like him.

“Wise choice.” He nodded at them. “Now go guard something.” He took a swing at the shorter of the two and connected, but the big man didn’t seem to care. He even winked one eye as if he was happy to get a fist to the face.

“That’s it? That’s your best punch?” He rubbed his jaw and looked to the other bouncer. They grinned, grabbed Hotah, and dragged him from the bar.

“Let me go,” Hotah screamed, and the packed bar watched him. It was the looks on their faces—they were all smirking, mocking.

“You have no idea who I am, what I can do. I killed a girl—shot her in the chest. You think you can just throw me out?”

“Easy, tiger.”

”Keep talking, twinkle toes.”

Hotah stumbled out into the parking lot and the two bouncers laughed. “Now sober up before your next show and consider this bar off limits from now on.”

Hotah spit and reached for his knife. But it was not in his hip holster like it was supposed to be—he must have left it upstairs. He stared at the bouncer he punched and made a mental note to come back later to kill him. No one made Hotah look like a fool, especially not a ten-dollar-an-hour bouncer.

BREAKFAST WAS JUST WHAT I needed to forget about my awful nightmare. Solomon and I met Mandy at Berryhill Bacon downtown. While waiting for Joshua, Mandy and I ordered, and Solomon got a black coffee to go.

It felt great not to wear formal business wear like I had to at the office. Since the men at ITP weren’t wearing suits, I wasn’t going to dress up, furthering my outsider look. Instead, I opted for tailored black pants, comfortable flats, and a simple blouse. Usually I wore heels so I could be taller—it lent to more people taking me seriously. But this time, I was confident I could get what I wanted without them.

What I wanted was Solomon’s advice on the case, but he had to jet off to his FBI job and I was starving. I gave the short version on the car ride over and asked him who the FBI contact was at the rez. This would all be figured out soon.

Solomon sent a few texts and found out who was assigned to the tribe. It was someone named Watters. My heart sank. No wonder the FBI had no clue what was going on—they had an agent who was in the family.

“There has to be another agent, right?” I asked. “How could one man be assigned to the whole town?”

“Well…” Solomon shrugged. “Money is always tight. And if they have one agent who’s handling things, why send another?”

“Yeah, handling things.” I gritted my teeth.

Our food came in record time, and Mandy began her divide-and-destroy method of eating. “Geez, this is amazing. Have you have you tried this sage-and-honey bacon? It’s like a party in my mouth.” Her cheeks pooched out as she chomped away, and I tried to look as disgusted as I felt.

“You’re eating like it’s the end of the world. Try chewing first.” I handed her a napkin. “And you’ve got some syrup on your chin.”

“I am chewing,” Mandy said with her mouth full. She had her hair up in a messy bun today with a drumstick rammed through it like a spear. Honest to God, a drumstick. She must have taken it from Rick’s drum set.

Taking a sip of my coconut latte, I opened the file Joshua had brought. He was up at the counter ordering his food, and even though he was late, he acted all hurt because we didn’t wait to order. The file had some background information on the dead girl, Lina Sever. Age 21. I was surprised at how emotional I was over this. She was so young—too young. Joshua was good at his job. He had copies of her driver’s license, public record, history of residence, and a list of next of kin. I slid the file to Mandy, and she pawed though it with her sticky fingers.

“You can keep that copy,” I said, a little annoyed. “So you know how we’ve talked about doing our own thing?”

Mandy nodded. “Yeah—like Nancy Drew, but cooler. Joshua told me all about your mess of a case. Way to start us off right, Sarah.”

“Yeah, well, try not to let it bother you too much. This is how it goes. If it was easy, anyone could do it. I talked to Joshua, and I think that between the three of us, we can cover all the bases. Maybe pick up one more person for grunt work down the line—”

She put the file down and gaped at me. “Whoa, hold up. You mean you’re quitting your job? I thought this was extra—you know, a spare time kind of thing?”

Though I didn’t know why, I was suddenly embarrassed about my job situation. “More or less.”

But Mandy saw right through me. “Sarah, what happened?”

I glanced at Solomon, who was standing over by the window reading something on his phone. “I’ve been asked to resign. My history is too dirty for their clean halls.”

“What?” Mandy screeched, then looked around and lowered her voice. “That douche bag fired you?”

At the memory of Dan’s face, I was suddenly glad I didn’t have to go clock in that day. “He still wants to work with me, of course. He’s footing this bill. But he wants to keep me on at a distance. You know how he is when it comes to bad press. I thought we could take the opportunity and run with it.”

Mandy’s eyes sharpened and she leaned back in her chair.

I continued. “We’ll see where it goes.” I finished the last of my latte and ordered another. “You never know—might be the start of something fun.”

Mandy gave me the “I see through all your B.S.” look and sighed. “So what are we gonna call this agency or whatever? We need a rockin’ name, like the Three Avengers or the ND Crime Fighting Crew.”

Solomon walked over, bent down, and kissed me. “I gotta go. Let me know later what your evening looks like.” He nodded to Mandy, and she smiled like an idiot.

When he was gone, she blinked at me and sipped her orange juice. “What a hunk.”

I made a face and laughed. “Yes, he is. And as for your other thing … Uh, no. We’re not a girl band, and if we want to get high-level cases, we have to come across as professionals.”

Joshua sat down. “We are professionals, but what are we offering? I don’t even have a clear idea of what we are doing, so how can we sell it to the public?”

“We offer awesomeness,” Mandy exclaimed.

I ignored her. “We can’t offer legal counsel in other states and I don’t want to be just another law firm. We’re the people who get things done behind the scenes, the fixers. You have a problem, who you gonna call…?”

We all three looked at each other, and it was Joshua who broke down first. “Ghostbusters,” he whispered.

I’D MEMORIZED EVERYTHING IN Lina’s file, but I went over it one more time in case I missed something. The picture on her driver’s license showed a smiling, fresh-faced girl. Joshua sat in the passenger seat of my car and kept looking over at me like I was a pot ready to boil.

“No, Josh, I’m not going to talk about it.” I knew that in some ways, my job gave me my identity, and with it slipping through my fingers, I didn’t know how I felt about myself.

“I didn’t ask.”

“Your silent asking is just as annoying. I’ll be fine.” I bit my fingernail absentmindedly.

“Your last two weeks have been crazy, enough to make anyone have to see psychologists for the rest of their life.”

“I’m fine. And I’ve had psychologists in my face my whole life. I’ve memorized exactly what they’d say in this situation.” I snapped the file shut. “I’m fine.”

“You are far from fine, but if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine too.” He shook his head, and his big cheeks jiggled like Jell-O.

“Fine.”

We were twenty minutes out from the reservation, and I had Mandy doing research from her place. I didn’t want her in the line of fire in case things went south.

“So we’re really doing this consulting gig?” Joshua asked.

“Ready or not, here we come.”

Joshua said nothing. After a minute of silence, he nodded. “Okay,”

“Okay.”

I smiled and looked out the window. Sometimes life seemed nothing more than a shower of unfortunate events, but with Joshua, Mandy, and Solomon, I felt like I’d be okay.

TAHATAN CHEWED ON A toothpick and had his feet up on his cluttered desk. I’d gone straight to see him when we got to the reservation. Country music was playing on the radio, and a basketball game was on the big screen TV mounted on the wall.

“You can’t just hold Timothy. You’ve got to charge him with something,” I said, restraining my voice.

He smiled and went back to reading the newspaper. “Those aren’t the rules here, Miss Steele,” he said offhandedly.

“According to your own laws—I looked it up—in the case of a murder, rape, or abuse of a minor, you have to inform the FBI.”

Tahatan didn’t even act surprised. He kept on reading. Why was he suddenly so aloof? “The FBI has been informed, and Special Agent Watters is looking into the situation.” His voice was flat, unimpressed.

“I would like to talk to him.”

“No.”

“I need to see Timothy James.”

“No.”

“You can’t deny me access to my client. He hired me to act on his behalf.”

Tahatan lowered his paper and looked at Joshua and me. He seemed to consider what I was saying and then shook his head. “No.”

I shifted my weight, about to lose my temper, when someone spoke from the doorway. “Now, now, let’s not get into a fighting match again.” Chaska stood behind us, holding his cowboy hat and chewing on something. “I don’t see the harm in letting her talk to her… What is he, your client? Or are you two a thing?” He grinned, showing stained teeth and flecks of chew ground in between.

He was poking at me, trying to push my buttons. Well, he’d have to do a lot more than that. “I would like to talk to him. And if we’re going to find out what really happened to Lina Sever I need to be free to investigate.”

Tahatan stood up. “Not going to happen. We have it under control.”

Chaska held up a hand, and Tahatan clamped his mouth shut. “The FBI is in charge here. If he’s good with Miss Steele helping out, who are we to get in the way of justice? Besides, he is guilty. Mr. James was seen snooping around, bothering our people, and even made a few threats. He had her body in the back of his SUV, and he was the last one to talk to her. Maybe they fought, things got out of hand—who knows—but this is a simple case, so there’s no need to make it more complicated than it has to be.”

So he was playing both sides. I knew deep down there was a heart in there, that a part of him really cared about his tribe and who really killed Lina Sever. Or did he want to keep Timothy quiet and deal with the murderer on his own?

“Yona, will you please show Miss Steele to Mr. James’s cell?” Chaska Tate said over his shoulder. A thin woman with jet-black hair and a gorgeous green silk wrap-around dress came into view. She smiled politely.

“This way,” she said in almost a whisper.

Walking past Chaska, I motioned for Joshua, who was waiting out in the lobby. He hefted himself out of the chair he was crushing and followed me and Yona down a long hallway. She looked back at us and seemed to be sizing us up.

“He is this way.” She turned and pushed the down button on a single elevator. It looked to be a service elevator, maybe used just for the jail.

“Have you worked here long?” I asked.

She nodded. “I’m Yona Watters.”

“YONA.” TIMOTHY REACHED THROUGH the rusting bars and the two embraced as much as two people could through prison bars. They kissed. I stood flatfooted, not sure what to do or say.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” Yona stepped back and looked Timothy over.

“I’m fine. They pushed me around a little, but nothing to worry about.” The lights flickered. I looked around for cameras, but didn’t see any.

“So … I take it you two know each other?” I said, breaking the moment. “Or is this how every prisoner is treated?”

Timothy smiled and looked around nervously. “Cameras?”

Yona shook her head. “Just at the main doors. We should be safe.”

Joshua spoke up. “Miss Watters, what relation are you to Takota Watters?”

She squeezed Timothy’s hand. “I’m his sister. Much younger sister. And I’m afraid that my relationship with Timothy makes this case a hundred times more complicated. My brother would like nothing more than to keep him behind bars.”

From the way her voice trembled and the worry in her eyes, I could tell she was under a lot of stress.

I was feeling the stress too. So much to do, so little time. The longer he stayed here, the harder it would be to get him out of this situation and find the real killer. “Joshua, can you do me a favor?” I whispered. “Go see if you can find out where Lina Sever worked. I’ll follow up with you after we’re done here.”

He nodded and turned toward the elevator at the far end of the hall.

“Can you unlock the door so we can talk a little easier?”

Yona shook her head. “I don’t have a key, and unless we are in an interrogation room, they wouldn’t approve of letting him out.”

“They, meaning Chaska Tate and—”

“And me.” Everyone jumped at the sound of a deep voice coming from the open elevator doors. I spun around, and Timothy and Yona pulled apart like two teenagers caught by a parent.

The very tall and very Indian man walked toward us with slow, confident strides. He wore a designer suit and had an expensive haircut—he had a white streak above each of his ears, and a scar on his lip. I wondered if he’d seen Yona and Timothy kissing. “I see you found the prisoner. I’m Takota Watters.” He put out his hand and smiled as if he was about to ask me out to dinner.

“Sarah Steele.” His hand was warm, and he shook mine with the perfect amount of firmness.

“Yes, I know. My head of security said you were beautiful. I see he still has a good eye for women.” Turning to Yona, he frowned. “You can go now.” She hung her head and hurried back down the hall.

I was about to make a jab at how he was being domineering toward his sister, but I wanted to gauge him better before I stepped into a hole I couldn’t get out of.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say that you are the FBI contact.” I wondered how that ever got pushed through.

“You’re smart, too. Impressive.” His dark eyes searched mine and it made me uncomfortable. He was a stunning man, well built for his age, with amazing skin. “Yes, I work for the FBI as well as for the tribal council. And I own this casino.” He chuckled. “Well, all three casinos.”

Timothy grunted. “You treat everything as if you own it. Even your sister.”

Watters shot Timothy an amused look. “Mr. James, I see you’ve got yourself into more trouble. I thought I warned you to keep out of things that were none of your business.”

“The abuse of women going unpunished is my business. Or don’t you care about your own family? Yona could be next!”

Watters didn’t flinch. “I care a great deal, but you have your job and I have mine. Now, Miss Steele. You may talk to the prisoner, but do not touch him or get close enough to pass something to him. If you wish, I can have an interrogation room set up for you.” He lifted an eyebrow and leaned closer to me. I could smell his aftershave, and it was not altogether unpleasant.

“That won’t be necessary.” I didn’t want anyone listening in on our conversation.

“Very well. I wanted to meet you and let you know that as long as you respect our rules, you are welcome to visit Timothy during regular visiting hours.”

“Thank you. And will you be in charge of the investigation?”

“I am, but there is not much to investigate.” His eyes hardened. “We have our killer. You can start preparing for the trial. He’ll be judged fairly for his crimes.”

Anger welled up in me, but I choked it down. “We both know he didn’t do it.” I was having a hard time keeping my voice calm.

He put his hands behind his back. “You have your version—I have mine. We will work to get a trial date as soon as possible. People will want to see justice done.”

Justice? What is that? “And if I can prove he didn’t do it, what then?”

“I’m not interested in poking holes in this case, Miss Steele. If you come up with evidence, I will listen. But I will not be swayed by anything that points to some unknown killer. You produce a murderer, and I will free your man.” He leaned down so he could look me in the eye. I wish I’d worn heels. “But I’d say your evidence is long gone. Don’t waste your time.”

With that, Watters turned and left the way he’d come. I stood staring after him and all at once felt completely helpless. He pushed the elevator call button and turned his head back down the hall. “Tick tock, Miss Steele. We don’t like drawn-out trials like you white people do. Justice must be swift and sure. If you plan to prove your client’s innocence, I suggest you get to it.”

With that, the doors slid open and he stepped inside. I stood in stunned silence, not sure what to say or do next. There were times when I got stumped. Not many times, but I knew that, in a minute or two, I would think of a great comeback. Damn him.

I had to figure out who the real killer was before Timothy’s trial. There were people to interview and evidence to collect—no time to waste feeling helpless.

I crossed my arms. “Don’t get comfortable,” I called to Timothy. “You won’t be in this dungeon long.”

He gripped his hair and closed his eyes. My heart wrenched in sympathy. “You’ve got to tell me more,” I said. “Tell me anything, everything you know about this place and your work here.”

Single bulbs hung down the center of the long hall and barred cells lined each side. There were maybe twenty holding cells in all, no windows, not much light, and it felt like the air wasn’t moving at all.

“It doesn’t look good, Timothy. They have their own rules here and you really must have pissed off some important people.”

“Just wait till they read my story in the paper.”

I stopped pacing. “Are you going to print it?”

“I have to. That or use it to force them to make some changes.”

I shook my head. “No way. Your life is on the line.”

He nodded and looked down at his feet. “I know, but you don’t understand. What goes on around here—it’s wrong. I have to tell the world about it, especially if I end up … well, if the worst should happen, it can’t be at the expense of my silence. I have to get word to my editor.”

I admired his courage, but wondered why he cared so much. “Why haven’t you sent it in yet?”

Timothy rubbed his jaw and sighed. “Yona. She wants me to hold it, to wait until she talks to her brother and Chaska Tate. She wants to reason with them, talk to them and change what’s been going on around here before I call them out. She has a lot at stake here too. She’s written the U.S. government trying to get aid for the women’s shelter program. She founded a shelter ten years ago and uses her own money to find housing for single mothers, abused women, and the like. She’s convinced she can get through to them.”

“Does she have any pull with Chaska?”

He nodded. “Yes, she’s the only thing standing in the way of all-out war between the two. They both respect her, and at one time, Chaska was in love with her.”

This surprised me a little. They both seemed to treat her like a slave, as if she were just some secretary. “Yeesh. She’s so much younger than him.”

“By at least twenty years. I don’t know what happened, but I know if Chaska finds out that we are … that …”

“That you’re in love with each other?”

Timothy blew out a shuddering breath. “They would kill me.”

AFTER AN HOUR OF talking with Timothy, I felt like I had a good handle on what he was working on and the nature of what I was getting myself into.

“The first issue is that the casinos are used to smuggle in drugs, women, and money. Everything is about the casinos,” Timothy said. “They employ most of the tribe, they bring in a lot of money, and every member gets a fat check each month—bribe money to keep quiet about anything the powers tell them to keep quiet about. The second issue is the abuse of women in the tribe. There were more than fifty-two rapes in the past two years and only one man was ever incarcerated—and he had spent a whole sixty days behind bars before he got out on bail.”

I typed notes in my phone as he spoke. The situation was bad, and I could see now that Timothy had stirred up a hornets’ nest. “No wonder you were set up. You can make a lot of unwanted trouble for the tribe members if you go public.”

“I know, but someone has to do something. Men from outside the reservation know that what happens here stays here. It’s like a rape Vegas, and it brings in gamblers and lowlife from all over. The women aren’t safe, and they’re starting to stand up for themselves. That’s why Yona was ready to work with me when I showed up to research my story.”

“How did you hear about all this? I mean, what led you to your story idea?”

“I got a tip from a source—I can’t say who, but it was good enough that I had to follow it up.”

Standing, I stretched and looked up and down the hall to the poorly maintained jail.

“This is like the mob. Power, abuse, and corruption. Only problem is, they’re their own nation and don’t have to report anything. It’s the perfect setup for organized crime.”

Timothy agreed.

“Okay, I think I have enough for now. I need to talk with my partners and see what they found out. But I have a much better picture of what we’re dealing with here.”

After making my way up the elevator, I was about to leave the office when Yona came from behind her desk and took me aside. “Miss Steele,” she said in a whisper. “Please be careful. I don’t want you to end up like Timothy, or worse. He was asking the right questions of the wrong people and look what happened. It may be best if you let me handle it by myself.”

“I’ll be fine. Besides, I have you to look out for me.” I was trying to lighten the mood, but she didn’t crack a smile.

“I don’t think you understand.” Her eyes darted around like a scared child’s.

“Why don’t I stay with you for a day or so? That way, you can keep an eye on me and I won’t get myself killed.” I was hoping I could get her alone, and nothing makes a girl open up more than a night of wine and ice cream.

Yona looked at me and then over her shoulder as if she was worried someone was eavesdropping. “That’s not a good idea—you’re an outsider. Just go home and don’t stay here in the hotel, whatever you do.”

“Yona, you’re not alone anymore. I’m here, and I won’t let anything happen to Timothy.” She didn’t seem reassured, but there was only so much I could do.

I texted Joshua and he said he still needed another hour. So I decided to jump in the car and explore the town—the real town, not this casino façade. After a five-minute drive down a two-lane highway, I pulled into a beautiful town square surrounded by boutiques and cute restaurants. A shabby little building sat in the corner with “Women’s Clinic” on the awning. It looked out of place, like it was the only building no one cared about. There were walking paths through the square, a huge fountain in the middle, and little ponds lined with trees and beautifully landscaped lawns.

I picked up a sandwich from the café and took a walk around. There was a lot of money flowing through this place, and expensive cars were parked on the street.

It was warm, and I found a bench where I could wait for Joshua and people watch. He texted and said he was almost done. I finished my sandwich. It was getting close to dinnertime and I had to decide if I was going to stay here tonight or drive back to Boise.

Some boys were skateboarding up and down the square, hooting at any girl they passed. I rolled my eyes at the youthful mating calls. I guess it was the same no matter your blood background—boys were boys.

“You lost, white girl?”

I turned toward the voice and saw a man who looked to be in his twenties. He had two other guys with him, all with long hair and tribal tattoos.

“Nope, I know just where I am.” I gave him a confident smile. Far from being scared, I was aware of everything. If this guy wanted a fight, he’d picked the wrong girl.

“I don’t think you do. You must be lost because you’re sitting on our bench.”

THE THREE YOUNG MEN laughed and walked around me like sharks about to feed. “I think you should run along and find somewhere else to sit,” one said, sneering at me.

I didn’t think they were that dangerous, but as soon as they began taunting me I saw the group of skaters hurry over. From their gleeful expressions, I didn’t think they’d come to help me.

“Look, I’m just sitting here eating a late lunch. I’ve had a hard day, and if you’ll wait a few minutes, I’ll be done and you can have your bench back.” I was tired and my mind was going over the case backward and forward, beginning its overthinking craziness, so I knew I was in for a sleepless night to boot.

“But we want it now, don’t we?” The ringleader waved a hand to the others and they nodded. I counted eight in the group. I was beginning to wonder if this bench was worth the fight to keep, which just pissed me off more.

“We don’t like people like you around here—stinks up the place. The casino is crap-full of your kind—run back there. So if you don’t mind . . . ” He took my arm and began to lift me up.

My body flooded with electric energy. I spun toward him and kneed him in the groin as hard as I could. He let out a girlish moan and I came down on the back of his neck with an elbow. He hit the ground hard and everyone stood staring at me in shock.

“Now,” I said lightly, barely panting. “Anyone else want this bench?”

If they did the math, they would see that no matter how strong I was, they had the numbers. But I was betting these guys weren’t great at math. Just as one turned angrily to me, his hand raised, Yona came running into the middle of the circle.

“Boys, what are you doing?” When they saw her, their demeanor changed instantly. Their shoulders hunched and none of them would meet her eyes. She spoke in a motherly tone. “This is our guest. Why are you disrespecting her like this?” The group hung their heads, and one kid kicked the ground with his boot. I could tell that they knew her, even feared her—or maybe just feared her brother.

“We were just messing around, Yona,” one of the boys said. “Meant no disrespect to you.” Yona helped up the guy I’d kneed and he hobbled away.

“You should be kind to women, especially guests,” Yona scolded them, and the group meandered off.

Yona turned to me and wagged a finger in my face. “I told you to be careful. What were you doing?”

“Trying to eat my lunch.” I sipped from my water bottle and brushed the wrinkles out of my blouse.

Yona sighed and put her hands on her hips. “You can stay with me tonight, but only because you’re trying to help Timothy.”

I smiled. “Thank you so much. Got room for two?”

YONA’S HOUSE WAS STYLISH and beautiful—designed with lots of natural light and dark wood trim, and her color palette was earthy and warm. I instantly felt relaxed, and the wine glass she handed me full of pinot noir helped me relax even further. We sipped as she gave me a tour. I stopped at a vintage photo, framed, that hung above her fireplace. It was of a young Indian woman with a tiny baby on her lap. Her big eyes sparkled as she held the child.

“Who’s this?”

Yona’s mouth pulled down in sadness. “That’s my grandmother. She was an amazing woman, full of joy and love for her family, and the best at making fried pies in the whole town.”

“Fried pies? That’s a thing?”

“Yes.” She smiled.

“I need one.”

“We’ll find you one tomorrow.” She looked back up at the picture. “She died in childbirth. I hung it up there to remember. It gives me purpose.”

“What do you mean?”

She looked back at me. “Gram could easily have survived if there’d been proper health care here. It’s my goal to get every woman and child good health care and safe homes.”

I nodded. “That’s why you got involved with Timothy. He was going to bring about change.”

Her cheeks grew rosy and they offset her smooth complexion. “I never knew it would end so badly for him.”

I set my jaw. “Yona, you’ve got power here to stop this.”

She shook her head, and her petite shoulders sagged. “I can’t turn on my family. I know that Chaska and my brother seem horrible to you, but they didn’t start out that way. They’re legends for fighting for the rights of their people. A lot of us, including Chaska, were disappointed when Watters started casinos because we wanted to rise through other means. We have really gifted people in our tribe—writers and athletes and a young man who even won the state science fair last year. But Watters’ business is pulling us down. There’s a high rate of alcoholism and teen pregnancy and a low rate of college degrees, not to mention the horribly high rates of murder, drugs, rape, and sexual abuse.” She sighed. “Chaska votes against the casinos every year, but Watters has a lot at stake. With the elections coming up, Watters will do anything to become chief so his beloved casinos will stay open. And Chaska is cornered.”

“Cornered men are very dangerous.”

“Exactly, and with the money the tribe makes off the casinos, he’s swaying the vote.”

She went on to explain some of the laws and cultural expectations surrounding a murder of one of their own. If they let Timothy go right now, it’d look like Chaska was catering to him—and if he started an investigation in the tribe, he’d be kicking an already-angry tribal council.

A crazy thought went through my mind. “Unless he killed her himself.”

“Sarah!” Her voice took on a chiding tone. “How could you think that? He’s a respectable man.”

“Right, sorry. But everyone’s a suspect, and I have to follow the facts if we want to help Timothy and find out the truth.” I took a gulp of wine. “Listen, thanks so much for talking, and for taking me in.”

“I’ll do anything to help Timothy. Or…” she amended, “almost anything.”

“Then help me!” I tried to say as gently as possible, but my frustration must have shown through. “Please, how can I prove Timothy’s innocence? Who has the most to lose if that story gets out?”

Her eyes widened. “I don’t know, I swear. God, of course I don’t know. But …”

“What?”

“You should talk to Mika and Skah at the Wild Wild West show. They know what goes on behind the closed casino doors that I don’t. My brother tries to keep my hands clean.” She took another sip. “But no one’s clean. We’re all guilty.”

I was about to ask what she meant by that when she turned away. She showed me into my room, which was a nice, albeit simple, guest room. Then she softly said good night. She was done talking, and I wondered if I’d pushed her too far.

I gave a long, drawn-out sigh and closed my eyes. Yona talked as if she were powerless, and I wished she could find the strength within herself. At least she’d given me something to go on.

Just as soon as I flopped down on my bed, my phone buzzed. It was Solomon.

“Hey, babe, you home tonight or out hunting?” he said with a hint of humor in his voice.

I missed him, and even with everything going on right now, a part of me wanted to skip town with him and forget the world for a month or two. “I’m staying at the reservation. Don’t worry, I’m okay.”

“You’re hard not to worry about. Trouble seems to like you.”

“Tell me about it. That’s why you like me—because I’m trouble.” I laid my head back on the pillow.

“Maybe. I like a little adventure in my life.” He was flirting, and I changed the subject.

“I sent Joshua home. I don’t really need a car around here, and he has to work tomorrow.”

“Why do you do that? When I try to flirt, make a sexual joke, or just tease you, I get the cold shoulder,” Solomon said, tension lacing his voice.

“I’m sorry. I’m just in the middle of this case and my mind isn’t, you know, in the mood.”

“Sarah, you started it. You made a joke, and this isn’t the first time. I thought we had something here, that you and I were official and working toward something …”

He let his voice fade, and I hated myself for doing this to him. I wanted to be close, but it was so hard. Why did I shut down and push him away? I knew I did it, but I didn’t know how to stop.

“I’m sorry, Solomon. I could give you a million reasons why, but they’re just excuses.” I wanted to cry but held it back, pushed it away like I did with so many people in my life.

There was silence on the other end and I wondered if he would end it with me right here and now on the phone. “Sarah.” His tone was soft, forgiving. “I care about you, I want to be with you, but you have to let me in. Quit pushing me away. I can take a lot, but the one thing I can’t take is being pushed away.”

“I know.”

“I like you and your sexy legs, your sweet smile, and the way you kick butt in and out of the courtroom. You are the perfect mix of badass and sweet sugar.”

“Now who’s starting it?”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop being a sap bucket.” Changing gears, he grunted and cleared his throat. “So are you making any headway on the case?”

My insides melted and relaxed all at the same time. Solomon knew how to push me, and sometimes he knew exactly what I needed. And right now it was to stay focused and to put him and our relationship problems on hold.

I RATTLED ON ABOUT the case, and Solomon listened and said yes and no and hmm in all the right places. “Joshua found out that Lina Sever was a cocktail waitress at the Golden Nugget. I’m going to run down some leads, see if there’s any connection between the murder and past killings.”

“How many have there been?”

“Five, maybe more. And that’s just in the past year.”

Solomon whistled. “And you say there’s going to be an election?”

“Yeah, a big one. If Chaska loses his seat, his whole family could be kicked out of the tribe one way or another. If that happens, it’s going to get ugly. Chaska won’t go down without a fight.”

On the ride out to her house, Yona had told me that people were getting tribal council letters bringing their blood heritage into question. They demanded proof of tribal membership by a blood test or direct birth line.

“It’s like this twisted power play, with so many different angles to look at. I think Timothy James just happened to get mixed up with the wrong tribe at the wrong time.”

“So what are you going to do?”

I was wondering the same thing myself. Without finding the real killer, I would never get Timothy out of jail. And to make matters worse, nothing about the murder was public. There was a local paper, and so far, nothing had been said about it. They were working hard to keep it under wraps. “I don’t know. I have to find the real killer, but I’m scared that it’s someone they’ll fight to protect. Either Chaska or Watters knows who it is already. Heck, maybe both of them do.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do on my end. I’ll help out as much as I can.”

“Thanks, I will. So, I need something nice to think of while I go to sleep.” I smiled and hoped that our little spat didn’t put him off too much. “What are you wearing?”

Solomon laughed and lowered his voice. “Just a smile, babe, just a smile.”

After we were done talking, I hung up and got into my pajamas—aka yoga pants and tank top—and cozied up under the plush comforter and downy pillow, and then it happened. My insomnia woke up. It’d plagued me ever since the Williams case and it was beginning to get on my nerves. With a huff, I got out of bed and went to the kitchen to get a glass of milk so I could down two melatonin pills.

The house was insanely nice. Wood beams throughout every room, tall windows looking out to the desert and stone accents around the fireplace and in the kitchen. Distracted, I walked from room to room and did the math, guessing the house was around fifteen thousand square feet.

Yona lived alone and drove a black BMW. The casino was paying all the tribe members really well. And even if they had to live out in the middle of nowhere, they did it in style.

I found a Key lime pie in the subzero double-door fridge and took a slice to go. It was just what I needed—a little cold and sweet mixed with the perfect amount of sour.

Wandering from the kitchen, I found myself in a long hall with floor-to-ceiling windows on one side overlooking a pool. It was blue and illuminated by small lights placed in the landscaping around the outdoor oasis. Not bad—palm trees and everything.

The feeling of being on some other world washed over me. It was like this place—the casinos, the way everything was set up—was just not right, as if it was a kids’ playhouse in the courtyard of a maximum security prison. But here it was, in all its glory—its lonely, sad glory.

All the way in the back of the house and down a flight of stairs was a full basement and game room. Pool table, big movie screen, and even an old-school arcade game, The Lone Ranger. I liked her style.

Everything smelled new and unlived in. I wondered if she ever used half this stuff, ever had parties or people over. Somehow I doubted it. I had expected her to live a little less extravagantly with how much she gave to the shelter. Something was not right, not right at all.

I was about to go back upstairs when I saw a wooden door almost hidden in the corner. I assumed it was storage or something like that, but it was placed wrong. Yona’s office?

Pushing the door open, I saw a cluttered desk with books all over it, like a used bookstore blew up and it all landed in this room. Now this was more like it—this room was used.

Flipping on the light, I shut the door behind me and sat in the big well-worn chair and ate the last bite of Key lime pie.

Yona’s office was not huge like the rest of her house. It was dimly lit, with stacks of books on the floor, all over the desk, and bookcases around the room stuffed with paperbacks and papers. There was just enough room for the door to open and the chair to move around on its little plastic floor pad.

Pictures tacked to the walls showed Yona and much younger versions of Chaska Tate and Watters. In the pictures was the sad story. Smiles, Yona holding a fishing pole, and Chaska kissing her on the cheek. Watters and Chaska sitting on a log eating their lunch. Even though Chaska was at least ten years older than Watters, it was clear they were best friends at one time.

What happened to them? How could they go from being three best friends to enemies?

I flipped through old photo albums and saw more of the same. The bottom drawer of the old desk was locked, but I worked it with a bobby pin. Inside was a box covered with soft pink flowers. It was coming apart at the seams, and inside were letters. Love letters.

I felt bad looking through them, but they put more of the story into focus. Yona and Chaska were lovers. He told her he wanted to marry her. Once she was old enough and her brother was back from college, they would set a date. Chaska wanted Watters to be his best man.

Finding the envelope with the most recent date, I read the last letter Chaska wrote to Yona.

Dear Yona,

My love, my heartbreak, my pain. All I ever wanted was you. All I ever dreamed of was you and the life we could have as one. But you have betrayed me, left me for him, to take the side of your traitor brother over the man who has given up everything for you.

Why?

I see you and my heart is torn open all over again. I remember holding you in my arms, kissing you, loving you, and now you won’t even look at me.

Can’t you see what he is doing? He wants the casinos, is hungry for money and filled with greed. That school, the one I paid for, has turned him against us. Yes, we are all making more money, but at what cost? At the cost of our love?

I will not fight him. I love you too much. Let this act be the proof of how I feel. I will give Watters the casinos. He can have them, make them into what he wants, and I won’t stand in his way.

I do this for you. You mean more than any amount of money, more than any earthly possession. Come back to me, love me like you did once before the poison of bitterness swept over your soul.

I will never give up on us. I will always love you even if from a distance.

Yours always and forever,

Chaska

I folded the letter back into its faded envelope and put the box away. My heart felt heavy and I could see now that all this was because of two lovers who had to choose between love or family.

Some say blood is thicker than water, but I never believed that—sometimes blood was just blood.

THE NEXT DAY, I decided to wear something a bit more salacious. I wore a skirt, black leggings, and a V-neck top. A hint of my cleavage popped out, and when I slipped into my red heels, it completed the transformation. Now I looked like I would fit in at the casino if I were there to gamble.

After a simple breakfast of eggs and toast and rich coffee, Yona took me to the Golden Nugget, where the Wild Wild West show was. She said she was going to visit Timothy. I gave her my number and wished her luck.

I easily found the theater, as signs were plastered for it all over the place. The cowgirl in the photo was cute, and looked to be about sixteen years old. The man in the picture had war paint and leather buckskin pants, pulling back a bow. There was a scar on his forehead. He was handsome, but had the body of a boy, not a man. Something about him made me uneasy.

The theater held at least five hundred people with stadium seating, and up front was a VIP section. There were even box seats up top, and I could only imagine the ticket price.

Walking with an air of confidence and hoping no one noticed I didn’t belong, I made my way backstage. It was total chaos, with horses and carriages and more weapons than I’d seen in ten years in the city. It smelled like a strange mixture of horses and hairspray. I asked around for someone named Mika.

A young man who wore a tight leather shirt and looked as out of place here as I felt as he held a shiny bay gelding motioned down the hall. “She’s in her office—down the hall and second door on the left.” I thanked him and found a small office marked “Director”.

“Mika?” I peered in and saw a middle-aged woman with black-and-silver hair bent over some papers. “I’m Sarah Steele, assistant distri—” I caught myself. “I mean, I’m here because of Lina Sever.”

Mika slumped in her chair. Her eyebrows creased and a deep sadness washed over her face. “What of Lina?”

I sat in a dusty folding chair and put my elbows on my knees, leaning forward. “I am trying to save a man’s life and find the real killer, but it’s very important that you tell me everything you know about Lina. I know you’re a strong woman and can help me see this through until the end.”

Her bottom lip trembled and she bit down on it as if to cover up how she felt inside. “Are you that lawyer everyone is all worked up about?”

I folded my hands in my lap. “Yes, and Yona said you were a good woman. You’re the one who wrote The Horse Herder, didn’t you? And won several awards for it.”

Something flashed in her face—was it guilt? Or shame? “I’m a long way from the college girl who wrote that.”

“You’re who you choose to be,” I said with a little smile. “Now, can you tell me who would gain if they harmed Lina?”

She sat for a moment, picking at her nails. Music blasted from the stage, muted by the door. Finally she said, “We not only have to find out who killed Lina—we have to find out who had Lina killed.”

“And who framed Timothy James for it.”

She sighed. “That poor reporter. He had no clue what he got into. And Lina—foolish girl with her foolish tongue. Talking about things that she should’ve kept quiet.”

I felt like she was going to be one of my best allies if only I could get her talking. “So Lina was collateral damage?”

Mika put her face in her hands and wouldn’t respond.

“Who’d be worst off if Timothy published his piece?”

Mika appeared stressed and shook her head. “I can’t talk about this right now, not to you.” Her eyes grew wide and her right hand shook, so she shoved it in her lap.

Why was she so afraid right now? She glanced down at her desk, and I wondered if maybe someone had bugged the place or monitored her here. I nodded, not wanting to push her or get her into trouble. “You know, when I’m stressed, I like to work out. Pound away on a heavy bag or go running to burn it off. Do you like to run, Mika?”

She swallowed and then nodded.

“I was thinking of going this evening. You could join me if you like. Eight o’clock? At the lovely little hiking trail south of town?”

She nodded again. I stood and held out my hand. “I’m going to watch your play later today.”

“Oh, please don’t.” She flushed. “It’s terrible. Completely trash.”

I winked at her. “But the masses love it.” I sighed. “The show must go on, huh?”

“Yeah, the show must go on.”

A young girl with a clipboard came from another room in the back, passing racks of costumes. She smiled at me, then said to Mika, “They need you upstairs. Hotah got hammered and punched a guard. They need you to check to see if he’s still able to go on stage.”

Fire lit Mika’s eyes and she stood and stomped out of her office. “I’ll deal with him.”

“Be careful!” the girl called after her.

Mika stopped and took note of me. “Skah, please show Sarah around and get her a good seat for the two o’clock. I have to go see if our star is going on stage or to bed.” She stormed off, muttering something about babysitting.

Skah smiled. She was a cute college-age girl with glasses and a small mouth. “Come with me. We’re running late and our actors are divas today, but you’re welcome to spy on us if you like. ”

“How’d you know about my secret identity?” I smiled.

“Oh, everyone knows about you by now, Sarah Steele.”

IT WAS A RUSH, like the first time he picked up a bow at his grandmother’s prodding. He took to it at once, became the best shot in the tribe, and traveled to archery competitions all over the States.

Now he stood, arms out as the crowd cheered. Smiles and nods of approval filled him with so much delight. The first act was his favorite—shooting a fire arrow through a hoop into a target. The crowd cheered at everything he did. The feeling of control filled him with such joy that he couldn’t hold back a proud grin. Hotah bowed and left the stage, wondering what his dad would think of him now. He was sure he was off somewhere living the life, making love with celebrities, making millions. Or maybe he was a spy, like James Bond. He’d never met his father, but he knew he was a great man, nothing like his whore of a mother.

He threw open the door to his dressing room and placed his bow in a large safe. It was the most important thing in his life. Sometimes he felt like it was magical, the way it made his arrows fly true no matter what. He ran his fingers over the handmade arrows in his quiver. He’d made every one himself. Though his patience was short with everything else, he felt peace when he sat down in his wood shed and made arrows. It was an art. His grandmother taught him that by doing so, magic connected the maker with the arrow. He didn’t believe it at first, but now he did.

Closing the safe, he took off his costume and began wiping off the war paint. His chest was hairless and smooth. He was never in to working out, so his body was not well muscled like some of the other guys his age. But he knew that the real power was in the will, the gut. And his gut was strong.

He heard someone go in the next dressing room and his heart sped up. He deserved a reward, something to celebrate his success. Going out into the hallway, he barged into the next room. In front of the mirror was Mika’s little intern. What was her name? Skal? Skah? Whoever she was, she looked delicious.

“Hey, babe, good show, huh?” He ran a hand down the center of his own chest.

Skah turned and stared at him in disgust. “This is not your dressing room and I’m not your babe.”

Hotah walked in and slid his arm around her waist. She smelled like lavender, making him want her. Skah twisted away and Hotah laughed. He’d always thought Skah was hot, though a little young for him. But her body wanted him—he could read the signs.

“Get out.” Her voice shook, and he could see how scared she was of him. Now he wanted her even more. Taking a step forward, he reached for her, but she dodged and pushed him.

“If you touch me, I’ll tell Watters.”

Hotah snorted. “He said that I had his blessing. We’re supposed to get married this spring. Didn’t you hear? I just want to know what I’m getting. You know how it is—give the old horse a test drive.”

Her face fell—or did it brighten? “You pathetic liar.” She spat. Hotah started to unbuckle his belt, and she ran. He stood there in her dressing room shocked and confused. Why would she do that? He gritted his teeth and walked into the hall. Two dancers were coming his way. He slid his knife out of its holster and forced them into Skah’s dressing room.

He wanted dessert and he was going to get it one way or another.

I SPENT HALF THE day sniffing around the Golden Nugget, asking about Lina Sever. Her mother was a housekeeper at the hotel, but hadn’t come to work that day. When I called her, I couldn’t hear much past the sobbing and the accusations that Watters didn’t keep any of his waitresses safe. Then she told me that Timothy needed to rot in hell and hung up. I spent a little time with one of Lina’s friends, who told me more about her than I expected. She was broken-hearted and wanted a shoulder to cry on, which I provided. I learned that Lina dreamed about becoming a home designer and was taking classes online. She’d had a boyfriend who she broke up with, but he’d moved away shortly after that. Her friend had no idea why anyone would want to kill her.

I spend the rest of the day going through my e-mail. Joshua sent over a ton of information and most of it was on tribal law. At the end of the day, I had a lot of little puzzle pieces in my mind, but no clue how I’d put them together.

Frustrated and sore from sitting on hard chairs, I stood up and stretched. Maybe it was time to find some supper and catch up with Mandy.

My phone buzzed. “Sarah, Sarah,” Yona yelled on the other end of the line. I pulled the receiver from my ear, afraid she’d burst my eardrum. She sounded desperate, and scared.

“What?”

“Meet me in the Golden Nugget parking lot. Now!” Then she hung up.

I rushed down the hall and met her in the circular drive. She’d already pulled up to the doors. I jumped in and she sped off, tires screeching. “What is it?”

“Just wait.” She ground her teeth and wiped tears from her cheeks. Horrible scenarios flew through my mind, but I knew better than to ask. “They’re meeting us at my house.”

“Who is?”

But she clammed up again.

When we got to her house, she ran through the doorway, me shadowing her. Mika and Skah were pacing in front of a large stone island.

“Mika, what’s going on? Are you okay?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

Skah spoke up, her voice cracking as she wiped her face with the back of her hand. “He killed them—there was blood everywhere. Why did he have to kill them?” She shook her head and looked at me as if I had the answer.

“Who? What happened?” I pulled out a bar stool and made the smaller of the two girls sit. Yona poured water in a kettle and took out a box of loose-leaf tea.

“Start over so Miss Steele can hear the whole story,” Yona said. “She is Skah, and that’s Mika.” She motioned to them.

“Yes, we’ve met,” I said. Skah cried in silence for a moment before Mika took her in her arms. I dreaded the story she was going to tell me.

Skah took the mug of hot tea Yona handed her and drew in a few labored breaths. “It’s Hotah. He came in—”

“Did he touch you?” I interrupted, livid.

“No. He tried to goad me. You know him—he’s always trying to get girls to sleep with him, but we all think he’s a creep.”

“He is a creep,” Mika mumbled. Yona handed her a cup and one to me. I took it and wrapped my cool hands around the rim, glad for its heat.

“So he made a move on me. I’d seen him gawking at me the last few weeks and knew it would happen sooner or later, but he was drunk and being a total jerk.”

The phone started ringing and Yona glanced at me, but didn’t make a move to answer it.

“I tried to throw him out, but he wouldn’t go, so I ran. I was lucky…” Skah choked up again and put her head in her hands. “He killed them.”

Mika took over, holding Skah’s hand. “Skah found me and we went back to her dressing room together. We found them—dead. There were two of them. One had an arrow in her chest, and the other looked like her head was almost cut off.” Mika clenched her jaw, and I could see the anger boiling just under the surface. This was Lina all over again.

“Did you call the police?” I said.

Mika shook her head. “No. I went to Watters, and the casino security took over. They told us to keep quiet until they figured out what to do.”

“What to do?” I exploded. “It’s simple! Call the police!”

This time Yona spoke up. She’d been quiet the whole conversation, but I saw how upset she was now. “They will just cover it up. Two girls are dead—how many more are going to die before we do something?”

How could they not see that if they wanted change, they’d have to do it? “Mika! Remember when you wrote about love and justice?”

She nodded miserably. “Now I’m writing cheesy lines pitting Injuns against the white men. I hate it.”

“Than change it!” I was about to spout out a Gandhi quote, but figured it’d be too much. “Could it be much worse? One out of three girls gets raped . . .”

Yona turned sharply. “Not by our men. It’s psychos from every state within five hundred miles who know they can get away with anything here. The Justice Department never prosecutes.”

Skah chimed in. “Only one man has been convicted of rape in the past three years, and he got off on parole. We don’t even have the money at the women’s shelter to buy rape kits anymore. That’s why we had to—” She cut herself off, suddenly embarrassed. What’s going on?

I raised my eyebrows. “That’s true, but it’s one of your own who’s murdering. And we’ve got to stop him. What are you willing to do to change things here?”

They looked at each other, making a silent agreement. “Anything,” they said.

The phone rang again and Yona finally answered it. She fell silent and then said “yes,” “no,” “yes,” “yes,” and hung up.

“An emergency council meeting has been called. I have to go.” She stood.

“I’m going with you,” I said.

Yona shook her head.

Skah and Mika stood and said in unison, “Us too.”

YONA TRIED TO KEEP Mika, Skah, and me from going, but we were having none of it. We all got in her car and she took off.

We were almost back in town when Yona made a turn on a dirt road and started heading the other way. I looked out at the lights in the distance and wondered where this council met. As if reading my mind, Mika touched me on the shoulder.

“The council likes to meet out away from everything. It’s part of the old ways. Under the stars, back to our roots. It brings peace.”

“Yona?” I asked. “Can Skah and Mika go into the meeting as witnesses? Skah’s story could help prove that Hotah was at the scene of the crime.”

Yona nodded. The dust made a cloud behind us and I smelled it through the car window. “They will accept them as witnesses, but they may not listen to them. We’ll have to see.”

I coughed. “But there’s no way they’re going to let me in, so I think I have an idea.” I’d been racking my brain the whole ride over, trying to scheme a way into the council meeting. “Skah, do you have a phone? I don’t have mine on me.”

“Yeah.” She pulled out a new iPhone. “Why?”

I took it, checked the battery, and sighed. It had only 15% power left. “Yona do you have a cell phone?”

Yona shook her head. “I left it at the house.”

“Blast.” Mika’s phone had 50% so hers would be good, but the iPhone was going to be a problem. I hit the power button and closed out all the open programs in the hopes of conserving juice.

“What are you doing?” Mika asked.

“Getting me into the council meeting.” I handed her phone back and said, “I’ll call you once we get there. Put me on mute and put the phone in your pocket. I’ll listen in with this phone. All you have to do is try to speak up and get as close to the action as you can. You think you can do that?”

Mika nodded.

“Good. Now let’s just hope the battery holds out.”

I HIT SEND AND connected with Mika. All three girls were walking up to a stone archway into a huge building. The moon was big and cast long shadows over the landscape. I snuck around to the side and made my way up a small rise. I found a small outcropping that had a good view of the meeting below.

Yona walked through the archway and into the middle of an open square. Broken stone walls surrounded the square and a few side rooms were still intact. A fire burned in the middle and I counted twelve people, including Yona.

“Yona, glad you could make it. Please sit.” The voice was clear—I thought it sounded like Watters. From my vantage point, I couldn’t make out faces, but I could guess who was who.

Watters wore a headdress and a dark suit. He hugged Yona, and I could feel the tension from here.

“This has to stop, Watters. We have to do…” Her voice trailed off, and a young man without a shirt stood up. The firelight cast an eerie light across his bare chest. His body was one of a teen boy.

“What is he doing here?” Yona asked. Behind her, Skah straightened up.

Chaska stood. “He’s my apprentice, as I see you’ve brought yours.” He motioned to Skah and Mika. The young man winked at Skah, and I knew it was Hotah.

“We are all here. Everyone, please sit, and the council meeting will come to order.” Chaska sat at the top of the circle, and Yona and the girls found a spot and sat on the ground like the rest of the council.

Drums resounded through the small building.

“That is Hotah,” Yona whispered so I could hear it. “He is here to mock us, to rub it in. He thinks he is invincible.”

I looked down at the phone I held and saw that the battery was at 12%. I cursed.

The drumming abruptly ended and there came a chant that I heard up the hill. The meeting was getting underway and I was nervous. Or I should have been, but that dark thing inside was more excited than nervous.

“THEY’RE LYING!” HOTAH WAS on his feet again, screaming at Skah and Mika. “Skah has tried to get me into bed a few times, and I turned her down! She wants what she can’t have and it drives her crazy.”

“You bastard.” Skah lunged toward Hotah, and he spread his arms and laughed. “You would have raped me if I hadn’t gotten away.”

“So you say, whore.”

Chaska held up his hand, and Tahatan moved as if to strike. The big man was wound tight. “Enough. This is childish. We have heard your testimony, and I am heartbroken about the events of this night. There are two dead because of this tragedy, and it has put our whole tribe is at risk. The last thing we need is for the outside to come in and mess with what we have worked so hard for.”

Yona stood and spoke up. “Hotah is out of control. We all know he’s Watters’ lapdog, killing at his command. Watters needs to get him back on a leash. This feud is over—it ends tonight. I am sick of all the fighting, the killing—when will it end? When will it be enough?”

Watters sat in silence as if the council meeting was a sports game and he was a half-interested fan. When he stood, Yona sat, and everyone looked toward him. A calming mood fell over the council. “I have sat in many council meetings. My family has been a part of this tribe from the beginning. I was once a proud member. I saw my bloodline as a blessing, but now it is a curse. All I hear is accusations, lies, and stories.”

Grinding my teeth, I fought my rising anger. The council members shot fearful looks at each other and the mood of the meeting turned. Yona and Chaska were the only ones who seemed immune to the trance Watters managed to put on the rest of the council. True power was not in money, but in what people thought of you. Even if it was a created illusion, Watters knew his people well, and just what to say to get them to bend to his will.

“We have a scorned woman lashing out at our own Hotah. Did anyone see him attack Skah? Did anyone see Hotah kill those women? No. The fact is that we have a murderer on the loose and all this meeting is doing is wasting time. As we fight and bicker, there is a killer out there, maybe killing again right now.”

Chaska held up his hand and Watters sat. “I agree with Yona—this feud needs to end. I do not want to have more bad blood between us. This, as you know, Watters, has cost us much. But you have to face the truth—you have to be happy without control of the council.”

“We shall see, brother,” Watters said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Chaska leaped to his feet in a rage and Tahatan reached to stop him. I was already on my feet and running. The council meeting was not going to get past the families’ blood feud, meaning a killer was going to walk free. That was something I couldn’t sit by and watch.

THE CONTROL OVER MY inner monster was still there, in place and strong. But I just didn’t care anymore. Dodging sagebrush and rocks, I vaulted a low part on the broken wall and shot through the archway. The council members turned to stare at the crazy white woman who had just busted in on their meeting.

“This is ridiculous,” I shouted. “You have the killer right here.” I pointed to Hotah and he lifted his head, smiling.

Skah and Yona were huddled together, scared, but Mika had a fire in her eyes, like she was cheering me on. Two other men I had never seen before held Chaska back. “What’s the meaning of this, Miss Steele? How dare you come into the council? This is an affront to—”

I crossed my arms. “Skah was assaulted by him today, and an hour later two girls are found dead in her dressing room. What more proof do you need? Hotah’s arrows stopped the hearts of two girls. Don’t you think he should be the first suspect?”

Hotah jumped up. “They were stolen from me! Anyone can walk into my changing room. People out there are jealous of me, and this is a clear setup to ruin my good name.”

“Liar.” I marched to stand beside Tahatan, pointing at the people in a circle. “And whoever hired him needs to be his cell mate.”

Tahatan swore and grabbed my arm, spinning me around. He pulled me close and growled in my ear. “Watch yourself. Steele. There’s only so much I can do to protect you.”

This threw me. I saw the man as an enemy. Why would he warn me? “Let me go.” I could feel my own heartbeat where his hand gripped my arm.

“Tahatan, I demand you arrest this woman,” Watters said in a voice that rang throughout the room. “She is an outsider and is trespassing on sacred ground.” Watters lost his stone-like countenance. Hotah sat to his left and had a huge smirk on his face.

“Arrest me? Really?” For a wild minute, I considered fighting Hotah right there, right then, and seeing who would come out alive. “But you have the real killer sitting right behind you. Arrest him and let Timothy go. It’s clear he’s not the killer.”

Watters took three steps forward and backhanded me across the face. Hot tears rushed to my eyes. I yanked free of Tahatan’s grasp and hit Watters in the throat with the palm of my hand.

Someone yelled, and it sounded like I was about to be run down by a stampede of cattle. I turned to see Yona pushing past a tall man, trying to reach me. He threw her to the ground.

Watters yanked my hair, and I hit the broken concrete hard. My knees burned. A palm to the throat would put most men down, but he acted like I had only slapped him.

A hand hauled me up and I struggled to get free. I saw Watters in front of me, and he was in a defense stance. I kicked him in the balls. He buckled and went down. I smiled in spite of myself and pain shot from my neck down my left arm … Then my world went black.

THE DECREPIT CABIN SAT at the end of a long driveway, hidden by trees. The sun set in glorious hues of red and orange, and the stars began twinkling on the horizon. Thick forests teeming with birds and wildlife surrounded the little road. Hotah had spent his boyhood hunting in those woods. His grandma had come to depend on the rabbits and deer meat he’d bring home for supper. It was his getaway, his safe place.

That’s why he’d asked to meet his employer here. On his territory.

Hotah put his feet up on a wooden desk and shoved a stack of papers onto the floor. They were in his way, and he didn’t like things to be in his way.

“You think this is funny? Some sort of joke?” Chaska poured a glass of Jack for himself and downed it on one gulp. “How did she find out you were hired to kill that girl?”

Hotah grinned. “Who cares? She thinks I work for Watters, so let it ride. Besides, she hit him. Charge her for assault and let her rot. I could play with her in jail and she’d regret ever speaking out against us.”

Chaska slammed the glass down and glared at Hotah. “You are missing the point. She knows too much, and is learning more every day. By tomorrow, she could have our list of suppliers! Who knows what she would come up with by the end of the week. How am I supposed to protect the tribe if I lose the council? All I need is some outsider snooping around, making trouble.”

“Let me kill her. That’d fix it.”

“No. You are done killing. You killed two showgirls? What’s wrong with you?”

“It would have been fine if that Steele woman hadn’t butted in. She is a problem and I deal with problems, remember?”

“Yeah, but she did butt in, and now we have to lay low. You are finished.”

Hotah stood up, took the glass from Chaska, and poured from a bottle of Jack. He sipped it casually. “I don’t think so. I’ve been your errand boy for far too long and what this tribe needs is leadership, which you are lacking.” Before Chaska could react, Hotah brought the half-empty bottle around and hit Chaska across the side of the face, splitting his ear open. Blood leaked out of a large gash and Chaska wobbled.

“Sit, old man.”

Chaska fell into his chair, and Hotah kicked the door shut and locked it. This was going to be more fun than the girls. Taking out his hunting knife, he walked around to the big man and grabbed his hand.

“Try not to struggle. I might accidentally cut off two fingers instead of just one.”

MY HEAD POUNDED AND my eyes stung. I blinked a few times before I realized where I was.

Jail.

Timothy was in the next cell over, and he smiled at me through the bars as I sat up.

“I see you’ve been making some progress in the case.”

“Ha, funny. I think all I did was show my hand.” I rubbed the back of my neck and winced when my hand touched the lump. That was going to leave a nasty bruise. “I think I made an impression on Watters. He’ll be walking a little bowlegged for a few days.” The place smelled like mold and dust, making my nose itch. I slowly sat upright on the metal cot with a skanky blanket at its foot. When was the last time it had been washed?

I filled Timothy in on the information I found at Yona’s house. He took it all in and said, “Maybe that’s why I am in here, half because what I found out about the tribe and the other half because of Yona. Chaska was in love with her—still is, from the sound of it, and she and I . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Do you love her?”

Timothy nodded. “I never intended for it to happen. She was helping me. She really believes there can be peace between Chaska and Watters. I don’t know if it will ever happen—so much blood has been spilt.”

I tried to put it all together in my mind. “So Chaska is in love with Yona. Watters was sent to business school on Chaska’s dime and comes back to run the casinos, but then takes them over. Chaska has the council and Watters has the money, controls people through their living, and if they step out of line, he calls their blood rights up for question.”

“Something like that, and don’t forget the drugs, prostitution, and who knows what else. There are dirty hands on both sides. It makes me want to get out of here and forget this ever happened.” Timothy sighed and hung his head.

“And let them get away with murder? Look how many are dead. It’s not the council that’s suffering—it’s the people. Yeah, they get loads of money, but it’s all a sham, a way to control them, and if they mess up or fight back, they’re killed. This has to stop, and you and I are the only ones who have any ability to do it. But first, we have to get out of here.”

“How do you propose we do that?”

Before I could answer, the elevator at the end of the hall opened and light flooded in. The shadow of a man crept along the floor, and a second later, Hotah stood staring at the two of us as if we were monkeys in a zoo.

“Well, well, well. The two troublemakers.”

“What do you want, Hotah?” I spit out his name as if it tasted bad.

“We’ve never been introduced, not officially. I’m your god, and you’ve angered me.”

Timothy sat still and I laughed. “Ha. If you’re God, then I’m Elvis come back from the dead.” I knew I shouldn’t mock him, but he was so arrogant, and I couldn’t believe he believed his own crap. I bet he drove a jacked-up 4X4 and popped his collar.

“Laugh all you want.” He pulled something out of his pocket. Was it a pale cigar? “But I’m out here and you are in there. If you still think you’re in control of things that happen around here, you’re as dumb as you look.”

“Something I shall soon remedy.” I stood up and sauntered over to him. “You might not be so confident if I were on the other side of these bars.”

This time he laughed. “You’re funny. Maybe I’ll do you like I did the others.” He tossed the object at me. I caught it as it tumbled down my shirt, leaving a little red trail. Was that a—? I screamed and lurched back, dropping it on the floor.

It was a human finger.

“WE’VE GOT TO GET out of here,” Timothy said.

“It would seem like a good idea.” We were once again alone. I’d thrown the finger out of the cell, but could still see it from the corner of my eye. “Do you think Yona or Mika will help us?”

Timothy sighed. “I’m not sure. Yona loves her people, but hates what is going on. Did I ever tell you about the book Mika wrote?”

“I’ve heard of it. Do you think it can help us?”

“It’s all about a fictional tribe and the abuse of women, greed, and well, it’s about this place, but with different names and locations. It did really well and even won some book awards. She used the money to start a woman’s rescue shelter with Yona. It’s a small building outside of town. It was there before the casinos went big. Now no one is in need of money.”

“Didn’t the book anger the tribe? They had to know it was about them.”

“Yeah, but it was fictional. I suspect Chaska had something to do with the fact that she wasn’t shunned for it. He has a blind eye when it comes to her.”

I sat down on the edge of the metal bed and rubbed my temples. I had to get a hold of Joshua, Solomon, and Mandy. This was not looking good.

“You think I can get them to give me my phone call?”

“What do you want to do, order a pizza?” Timothy said. My stomach rumbled, and I didn’t think that was a half- bad idea.

“Yeah, with a key mixed in the tomato sauce.”

Hours passed, and Timothy and I were no closer to finding a way out. For the first time, I was starting to get worried about my own safety. I knew that if it went a few days, Solomon would come looking, but in that time, they could have us killed and buried out in the desert somewhere.

My eyes were getting heavy and I had a headache. I lay down and tried to think. The last time I’d felt this helpless was when my father died. I know how bad it is to stuff feelings, but sometimes what is good for the mind is bad for the soul.

The elevator bell dinged and Timothy and I both jumped. The click of heels on concrete made me tense up. I smelled coffee and cigarettes. Was it Hotah again?

Watters stepped into the light. He had two cups and was dressed in jeans and a nice button-up shirt. He handed me one of the cups and I almost hugged it. Never had coffee tasted so good. Why was he being nice, and what did he want?

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I nodded and took a sip of my drink. It would take a lot more than an apology and coffee to fix what he’d broken, but it was a start.

His eyes were sad. “I know what you must think of me, but I’ve had some time to mull things over. In the council meeting, Yona said something that bothered me.”

It was hard to look him in the eye when the last time I saw him, he’d backhanded me. But I tried. He was my only chance out. “Oh, so you listen to women after all?”

He ignored my comment.

“She accused me of hiring Hotah. As if he was my henchman or something.”

“You claimed him.”

“No, Miss Steele. I trained him for the show, and I hoped he would go to college like I did and get away from the tribe. But her accusation got me thinking. If she knew that he was hired and it wasn’t me, it must have been Chaska. Now before you speak or makeup your mind, please hear me out.”

I took another sip of my coffee. Timothy listened in from the next cell, leaning toward us. From the corner of my eye, I could see him trying not to draw attention to himself.

“This feud started out small—just some hurt feelings—and now it’s out of control. I take ownership of my part, but I’ve never killed anyone or hired anyone to kill for me. Yes, I have fought back and called into question some of the members’ bloodlines as a way to get the tribe split and see it my way. I even have used money and the casino jobs as a way to control them. I see now that it was wrong, and I plan to end it. The most important thing is that we fix what is wrong in the tribe, not go to war over who sits as chief.”

If my jaw could have hit the floor, it would have. This was unexpected and a little strange. I didn’t trust him. “Why now? What brought on this change of heart?”

Watters sighed. “My sister Yona. She is a noble woman and good at protecting the girls in the village. They need it. But now, even she is not able to save them. Like her, I do not want to see more people hurt. But I am in bed, as you may say, with some bad people. Changing things will take some time, and it could cost me my life. But I am willing to do what I have to. That’s one thing I have always been good at.”

He wasn’t cozying up to me for a listening ear. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to prove that Chaska was behind the murder of that girl. I believe he has people spying for him and she was one of them. But I need proof to be able to have him tried before the council.”

I eyed him. “And what do you get out of it?”

“I will become the acting chief.”

So he was still trying to take the council. I wondered if this was all a ploy or if he really wanted to see change. I thought about it and shot him a counteroffer. “Make Yona chief and let Timothy come with me and you have a deal.”

He frowned. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Steele.”

“I always do.”

THE DRIVE HOME WAS like a dream. Unreal, as if I watched my body from afar.

Joshua and Timothy talked in hushed voices in the front. Joshua came to get us as soon as I’d called him and gave him an update.

Hotah was a monster, and I knew that the only way to stop a monster is with a bigger monster. Something in me liked the thought, liked whatever I was gearing myself up for—what I might become.

I stared out the window as the black sky speckled with stars. It looked empty out there. All that remained were my thoughts. Thoughts of Yona and her burden. She begged me and Timothy to stop Hotah and Chaska. She said this would happen to more women if we couldn’t get someone better as chief.

“Without a new chief, someone who cares about how women are treated and are not controlled by money, the tribe will be torn apart.”

“Why don’t you do something yourself, Yona? You’re not helpless.” I was angry at her for expecting me to do something when these were her people, her family. “You started the shelter, and the leader of the council is in love with you. If anyone has the power to change minds, it’s you.”

Yona hung her head. “I know, but I’m caught. If I keep quiet, I have money coming in, and I can use it to help. If I get cut off, it all goes down. No more shelter, no help for the girls. I can’t risk it. That’s why we need outside help.”

Yona wasn’t telling me everything she knew. I could see that she was hiding something, and her guilt was not just about this. But what else could there be?

Once we were on the road, Timothy looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Sarah, you’ve got to let this go. The best thing you can do is run. Keep away, and forget that I ever contacted you. When I reached out to you, I had no idea what it would mean. I can’t have your life and your friends’ lives on my hands.”

“What about you? What about Yona?”

Timothy shrugged. “I’ll do what I can, but for now I have to keep my distance. I’ll publish my story and see if I can raise some awareness. And hope some other news sources pick it up and it creates a buzz. Yona will never leave the reservation. I was a fool to think she ever would.”

My heart broke for him. He found love only to have it torn from him by the very one he loved. She had to stay in order to protect her family and by staying, she would lose the man she loved. Why did it have to be so hard?

BY THE TIME I got home, it was after four in the morning. Timothy was sleeping on Joshua’s couch, and I was so tired that I had trouble inserting the key into my apartment’s deadbolt.

“Come on, little key, get in there.”

I realized that it was already unlocked, and before my mental warning lights could flash, the door opened and Solomon pulled me into his arms. My body flexed and it took a full minute before I melted into him. Something about his warmth made me feel completely relaxed.

Tears welled up and I let them fall. Without a word, he scooped me up in his arms and carried me inside. I wanted to be strong, not to let him see me like this, but I was just too tired to care.

“Baby,” he whispered. It wasn’t a question, just a soft note of affection.

Placing me on the bed, he pulled off my shoes and socks and started taking my pants off. I let him. After I was tucked in, he slid in next to me and held me. I fell into a fitful sleep. For now, nothing mattered. I was in the arms of the one person I felt safe with. I was home.

“GOOD MORNING, HOTTIE.”

I opened one eye and groaned. Solomon stood beside my bed, holding a mug, and it smelled of coffee—glorious coffee.

“Go away. I want to be dead a little longer.” I pulled the covers over my head and Solomon laughed. Not even coffee sounded better than the covers and more sleep.

“Come on, sleepyhead. It’s getting late and if you stay in bed any longer, you’ll miss my coffee-breath good-bye kiss.”

I cursed. “And you might miss my zombie morning look.”

“You do look a little undead. It’s the hair.”

I threw a pillow at him and he caught it. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he looked at me and brushed my cheek with the back of his hand. I couldn’t help but melt. “You are so beautiful.” He kissed me and said, “For a zombie.”

“Whatever. You were lucky I let you spoon me all night. My other boyfriends had to date me for a few years before they were allowed past the gates.”

“I see. Well, I thank you, my lady. It was a great way to fall asleep. Now, tell me about your adventure.”

For the next hour, I told him everything that happened. Hotah killing two girls, the finger he threw at me, and my deal with Watters. Solomon listened and nodded in the right places, and as I was talking, something dawned on me, and I about kicked my own butt.

“What is it?” Solomon said.

I shook my head. I must have zoned out. “Why did he kill her?”

Solomon looked confused. “Who?”

“The girl, Lina Sever. She was talking to Timothy, but that was in secret and she was a known spy for Chaska. And even if they knew, they wouldn’t kill her for that. So why did they kill her? How did I miss this? I mean, it should have been the first question I asked myself.”

“Maybe she was a double agent of some kind, working for Chaska and Watters. If the other side found out, they would take her out, from what you describe. It would make sense.”

I nodded. “That has to be it. I’ve gotta call—”

Solomon held up his hand. “Hold on now. I really don’t like the idea of you going on with all this.”

My jaw clenched. “What?”

Solomon sighed. “I don’t want you to work this case anymore. It’s too dangerous.”

PUSHING SOLOMON, I STRUGGLED out of bed, but the sheets were twisted around my legs. I was seconds from losing it, and I really didn’t want to have another fight when things were going so well with him. But he had to stop trying to protect me.

“Let me clue you in. You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do. You get to support me, help me, but not put me on the sidelines just because you think I might get hurt.”

Solomon stood up and glared down at me. I was still caught in my blasted web of a bed. “Hurt? Hurt? No, Sarah, this is more than that. You could get killed. Girls have died, and their murderers get away with it. What part of this don’t you get? You’re not a cop. This is not your job—”

Wrong. It is my job. I was hired to help Timothy—”

“And he told you to run. Your own client told you to go, to drop it so you would be safe. What more do you need?”

“I was just fine before you, and I don’t need you to save me.” I saw at once the hurt in Solomon’s eyes. Why did I always do this—push away the people who loved me, build myself a wall and defend?

I rushed to tell him that I didn’t need him, but that I wanted him. He stormed away before I could get the words out. What’s wrong with me?

Swearing, I ripped the sheets off my legs and pulled on gym shorts and a tank top. I needed to work out, to blow off some stress and clear my head. My life felt like it was out of control, and I had to keep it from falling apart. If I melted, what would I turn in to then?

SWEAT RAN DOWN MY back and soaked my tank top. I pounded the heavy bag with a knee, front kick, and knee combo. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to forget the world and lose my mind in a flurry of fists and feet.

Ducking as if an attacker was in front of me, I came up with my elbow and hit the bag hard. It was like seeing Hank Williams all over again, fighting for my life. It was like battling the Blondes—my body sucking air, trying not to drown or get shot in the face.

Jab, jab, hook.

I was crying and grinding my teeth as I punished the bag—and myself.

Leaning over, I wretched and threw up in the trashcan in the corner. I was so glad I was the only one in the fitness room because I was a mess, not fit for human viewing.

I felt better after my gut was empty, but I knew there was more in me—more anger and pain. Like something was knotted. How could I ever feel normal?

Solomon. My boyfriend, the man I was falling for—he just had to be the hero. Why did my prince have to be so freakin’ . . . princey? I was not his little girl. Just let me take care of myself. I wanted a lover, not a father. I’d had enough of fathers.

I smashed the bag and let it all out.

Screw you, Hotah, you gutless sack of worthless flesh. Why won’t you face someone your own size? And Yona, you hide like a mouse. You have the power to change things, but instead, you let murder and destruction continue on as you watch. How many more have to die, how many more have to get raped? I wanted to scream at Hotah, at Yona and the lot of them, get them all to wake up, but it wasn’t my job. I got Timothy out. That was my job, and it was done. What more could I do?

Roundhouse, jab, jab, jab.

Now who was the lying rat? I stopped hitting the bag and sank to my knees. It wasn’t Hank, Glenn, or even my parents—I was angry at myself. I was the one hiding in plain sight, keeping people away, and all these things in my life were just a reflection of what I was. I was hiding from myself.

I fought monsters because somewhere in me was one. I hated to see people hurt the ones around them because that’s what I did. By keeping everyone out, I was hurting them. Even my best friend, Mandy, didn’t know the real me. Did anyone know me?

It was time to stop running, stop hiding, and be who I was born to be. Whatever that was, I didn’t know, but I knew I had to find out. If I had to be melted down and reformed into something new, so be it. I was ready.

I CALLED JOSH AS I drove home from the gym.

“Hey, boss.” His voice was a breath of fresh air.

“Hey, partner. Enough of this boss stuff.”

“I like to annoy you, boss.”

“I can see that. I need a favor.”

Josh sighed. “I have a feeling that I am not going to like this favor. I thought we were done with this one.”

“We are. Just trying to put a few things together for myself. Call it closure.”

“Whatever you want, boss.”

“I’m not sure what I want yet. Depends on if we get another case and more money. Oh, Timothy paid us. I saw that it went through this morning. We should have a company meeting and see how we want to spend this money. I vote Skittles. A lifetime supply of Skittles for each of us.”

“Perhaps we should hire a CPA before you touch the money.” He laughed. “Name the time and place and I’ll be there. Now, what do you need?”

“I want you to find out who invested in the casinos back when they first started. Just see what you can dig up.”

“Will do. What are you thinking?”

“Oh, that some of the investors may be connected to organized crime. Wouldn’t they hate to have a press release stating that they’re involved with a casino’s crime ring? E-mail me the info when you’re done.”

I hung up and cursed the red light as I wound through downtown. I hit all green when I wasn’t in a hurry, but today, all reds. It was time to take care of Hotah. I needed a record of him confessing to show to Watters. But more than that—he needed justice for what he’d done. I wasn’t about to let him get away this easily. For a second, I was tempted to take him out to the desert and try every means of making him talk that I’d ever fantasized about. But even as the thought ran through my head, I knew that wasn’t me—and it would change me in a way I could never recover from.

He needed justice—public justice. I not only wanted to out him in front of the law, but to shame him on his own turf. An idea flickered in my mind, and I smiled. If it worked, Hotah would be paid back in a very public way.

But first, I needed to do some research on him. I made it home and felt like I needed to go back to the gym after the stressful drive. Logging on to Google, I began my own version of research. I wouldn’t dive into this unprepared.

After pulling up all Hotah’s public records, I discovered that his dad had abandoned him when he was little, and his mother had been convicted of prostitution six times. She’d died from a drug overdose when Hotah was twelve, and he’d gone to live with his grandparents. His grandfather was a wife beater. She’d died under suspicious causes, but no one had ever been convicted. It was a trend in that county, it seemed. Then he’d gone in and out of friends’ homes until he turned eighteen. He started working at the show when he was fourteen, and had received international acclaim for his archery skills. He bought a little cabin when he turned eighteen and an apartment when he was twenty. I was shocked to find out that he was only twenty-four. How had things gone so wrong for him? He had a tough life and I felt for him, but that was no excuse—he was a murderer.

I packed a backpack. I pulled my hair back in a cap, put gloves in my pocket, and laced on hiking boots. Then I opened my safe and packed my gun in my holster, which fit in the small of my back. I didn’t intend to use it, but lots of things in life happen that you don’t plan on. It was time for me to go hunting.

I called Mika. She sounded surprised to hear from me. “Figured you’d be long gone by now,” she said.

“You can’t get rid of me that easy. Has Hotah come into the casino yet today?”

“No, I haven’t seen him, and from what I hear, he’s banned from talking to me and Skah.”

I told her part of my plan, and she gave me a few numbers for local doctors. She said she’d have the women’s clinic open for me just in case. Perfect.

“Now all I have to do is get you a patient.”

“Good luck!”

After that, I texted Mandy and Solomon, and my weekend of rest was underway. Don’t bother me. I’m going to stay in bed and watch dumb action flicks and eat ice cream.

Getting in my car, I picked up a few items from the outdoor gear store. The usual—Coleman’s oil, black powder, fire extinguisher, and zip ties. I grabbed a bag of Skittles, too. A good deed deserves its reward.

It felt so good to finally be free of the constraints I’d put on myself—I was thinking without walls, without rules. I couldn’t stop grinning. “I’m coming for you, Hotah. This is your last show and there is going to be a surprise ending.”

HE WATCHED HER PULL out of her apartment parking garage and followed at a safe distance. She was prettier than he was told, but that meant nothing, really. Picking up his cell, he punched in a number and hit send.

After three rings, a woman answered. “What is it?”

The man spoke slow, deliberate. “I have her. She’s going back.”

“You have your orders. Follow her and take care of it.”

“Done.”

The man hit end and terminated the call. He had been bored the last few days and he was glad to get some action—or at least a distraction. There was nothing like a little chase to get the blood flowing.

He was a careful man, detailed, and he prided himself on being the best. It was not always easy being the best, but there were a few ways to ensure that his competition remained a distant second.

Training. He spent hours upon countless hours at the gun range, pushing his mind and body in the gym and sparring with the local MMA guys. He was fit, quick, intelligent, and deadly. But sometimes, pure psychical and mental conditioning was not enough. He ran across some who were bound to be a thorn in his side, so he hunted them and made sure they took an early retirement so he could remain at the top of the food chain.

So far he was the highest paid and most sought-after hit man in the lower 48. But he had plans to travel … maybe Dubai, or Shanghai.

Stepping from his car, he left the door open to draw the eye of anyone who might walk by and smoothly walked to Sarah’s car. Dropping to a knee, he placed the tracking device under the right end of the fender. It was amazing how few people checked their cars for such devices or ever even thought to walk to the passenger side of their vehicle to inspect it before driving. He never failed to do so. He was no fool, and he banked on others being just that.

Standing, he turned and got back into his car and drove out of the parking garage. A sense of power washed over him, a knowing that he was not only in control, but he was the master of life and death.

Turning up toward Capital Boulevard, he made his way into the alley, parking in what the locals called “Freak Alley”. Paintings, art, and other such nonsense cluttered the walls of the buildings in what to him looked like graffiti. One man’s art was another man’s defacement of public property.

Pulling up his GPS app, he saw that her car was still in the garage. Closing out the app, he opened another one—one he had made for him special—and it opened a live camera feed. She was in her living room on her laptop. He licked his lips and allowed himself a moment of preemptive pleasure.

Time to die, Sarah Steele.

“A LITTLE BIRD TOLD me that you let Hotah bite you.” Watters sucked in on a cigar and blew smoke into Chaska’s face.

“He is your creation, not mine.” Chaska held his bandaged hand and grimaced.

“I had nothing to do with him. Everyone knows he’s insane and I’m wondering how he got so close to you. Are you lost in his ways of seduction or something?” He said it with a mocking air.

Chaska growled something unintelligible.

“Fix it,” Watters said.

Chaska cursed. “What am I supposed to do?”

Watters glared at him, and his eyes betrayed a hunger for blood that Chaska could feel in his bones. For a moment, he feared that Watters was going to kill him right then and there, but instead, Watters said, “Kill him—make him disappear. I don’t care. Just take care of it.”

Chaska turned in his chair, trying to break the tension in the room. No wonder things were a total disaster. Like his favorite comic strip Dilbert, he was surrounded by morons. He stood and poured himself a glass of Cardhu 12 year and threw himself into his overstuffed chair and closed his eyes.

Watters set his glass down and left without a word. Chaska could feel the stress crawl up his spine and wrap around his neck. He was caught in a web of his own making, and it was falling apart.

“Chaska…” The soft voice jarred him and his eyes shot open. Yona stood in the doorway with her hands folded in front of her. She peered up at him, and he felt his heart tighten.

“Yona. What brings you here?”

“We need to talk.”

He hated when women said things like that. It was never a good thing—why couldn’t they “need to talk” when it was good?

“Sit.” He motioned to the plush chair in the corner. “Can I get you anything?”

Yona shook her head.

“What are you going to do about Hotah? He’s killed three girls now, maybe more, and you almost hung an innocent man for something he didn’t do.”

Chaska gritted his teeth and held in his growing anger. “Your love, the reporter? There is no proof that Hotah had anything to do with that girl’s death. As to the other thing—well, it is being taken care of.”

Yona’s face turned red. “Taken care of? That means it’s being swept under the rug, It means you’re going to keep pretending that everything’s okay when it’s clearly not.”

“Yona, you overstep.”

“No.” There was a brightness to her eyes that he hadn’t seen in years. “What happened to the man I once loved? The man of honor, the Chaska who was a proud chief of a proud people? Look at you. You’re a cover-up man for a gang of thugs. This is nothing more than a mob.”

“Enough.” Chaska stood up and pointed to the door. “It’s time for you to go.”

Yona left and slammed the door so hard that the glass window in the top half shattered. Chaska raked his hand across his desk, sending the contents across the room.

Fumbling for his cell phone, he found Hotah’s number and hit send. When the crazy kid answered, Chaska growled out his orders.

Hotah laughed. “It must be Christmas, because this is like ripping open the best present ever.”

Chaska hated Hotah more than anyone he had ever met, but he was done playing games. “Just do it. Make it look like an accident.”

“Will do, boss. I’ll finish her after my next show.”

ONCE AT THE GOLDEN NUGGET, I pulled around to the delivery entrance, where food trucks were busy unloading. It was an overcast day, with the smell of a storm in the air. My hair stood on end and I took a deep breath. Time to start the chase.

Weaving through men carrying boxes and hauling dollies, I made my way to Hotah’s dressing room with my bag of supplies. He wasn’t there. The place was cluttered with cigarette butts and beer cans and trashy magazines. What a fine specimen of humanity he was. I took his costume from the rack and rushed down to the laundry room. After making my adjustments to the pants, I ran back up to his room and returned them to the rack. Then I leaned back in his chair, propped my feet on his makeup table, and closed my eyes. I relaxed entirely, putting everything from my mind.

The door opened behind me, but I didn’t move. I could smell him, though. Day-old sweat and booze. He was finally here, and it gave me a thrill. There was not one doubt in my mind that he deserved what was coming to him. I pressed record on my phone.

Without turning, I said, “Time to confess to the murders, Hotah.”

He grabbed the chair I was sitting in and swiveled it around, getting up in my face. His horrible breath made me lightheaded. “You don’t want to mess with me—not right now and not in my own dressing room.”

I gave him a pert smile. “I don’t mess with people. I finish them.”

His green eyes were creepy—they were wide and intense, like a snake zeroed in on its prey. “I’d like nothing more than to teach you some respect. But I’ve got orders.”

“From who? The president?” I laughed.

He grunted. “I don’t take orders from him.”

“Who’s your daddy, then?” I said in a baby's voice. I was trying to push every button he had. It was more fun for me than it should be, but I couldn’t help it. I lived for this.

“You think I’m stupid?” he shouted.

I stood up and pushed him back. “You don’t want me to answer that.”

He raised his fist and my heart sped up. His reflexes were so slow, I knew I could dodge anything he threw my way and still stay three moves ahead. But he hesitated.

“Get out. I’m not going to talk to you. If you have a problem with me, talk to someone else.”

I got an inch away from his face, gritting my teeth. He backed up half a step. “You killed those girls.”

“No, I didn’t.” His eyes flitted back and forth. He was lying.

I wouldn’t look away. He shifted his feet under my gaze, angry. “You know what happens to liars?” I said in a low voice.

He sneered at me. “What?”

“They burn,” I whispered.

THE SHOW STARTED IN ITS spectacular array of fireworks, lights, and galloping horses, as usual. The crowd cheered and clapped, “ooo”ing and “ahh”ing at the theatrics. I stood in the shadows behind the entrance where the wagons rumbled out in single file. Mika stood behind me. Her eyes were scared, but determined. I gripped her hand and squeezed, willing her to be strong and stay beside me.

“Here it comes,” I said. “If only it’ll work.”

Hotah galloped out on a gorgeous black horse, shirtless and proud. The bonfire in the middle of the arena flickered and snapped. Smoke trailed up to the ceiling. His arrow was padded with an oil-soaked tip for his fire trick. He gave a war cry that sent shivers down my spine. He reached the middle of the stage and backflipped off the horse as he pulled back the bow. Almost time. Little Annie ran into the arena just as fake pigeons dropped from the ceiling. She shot them all down as the crowd cheered.

Hotah’s turn. “Aiaiaiaiai,” he cried, and then stuck his arrow in the fire.

“Come on,” I whispered. All it needed was a spark.

He shot an arrow at a target and it burst into flame.

“No!” It didn’t work. All of this had been for nothing. “Time for plan B,” I said to Mika.

“Wait,” she said, staring at Hotah.

The crowd whooped and hollered again. Hotah raised his arms in the air, took a step back, and bowed. A spark from the bonfire jumped out and landed on his pants. They burst into flames with a loud whoosh. He screamed like a girl. White-and-yellow flames consumed his legs and smoke covered his body. He sprinted for the exit—our exit—his eyes panicked. As he passed, I grabbed his arm and threw him against the wall. He hunched his shoulders, gasping. Raising the fire extinguisher, I sprayed it at the flames. People surrounded us. Mika barked at them to give us space. White powder filled the hallway.

Hotah slumped to the ground. The flames had burned bright and hot, but not for long. I doubted the burns were deep, but they’d be painful. He trembled and moaned, his eyes clenched shut.

“Should we call an ambulance?” a girl said in a panicked voice.

“No,” I said, hauling him up. He cried out, and I can’t say I even felt a twinge of compassion.

“We’re taking him to the hospital now,” Mika said.

“Or thereabouts,” I whispered.

HE WAS A CRYING, drooling mess on the exam bed. The lighting was low. His pants were charred and red, and swollen skin was exposed. He trembled violently and then screamed, “Get me a doctor!”

I grabbed his wrists and tied both his hands to the bed’s rail. “What are you doing?” he yelled.

A female doctor and nurse walked in, crossing their arms across their chests. Their faces were like stone. Mika glared at him from the corner.

I pointed my finger in his face. “How does it feel?”

He writhed in agony and screamed at us again like a wild animal.

“Now you know what it’s like to be alone, in pain, with no hope of anyone standing up for you. This is what the girls you attacked went through.”

“Argh! Get me to the hospital!” He pulled his hands, but the restraints held fast.

I leaned in and he bit at me, so I jerked my head back. “Whoa there. You know your boss just ratted you out? The police will be here to arrest you any minute.” I silently pressed record on my phone again.

He ground his teeth and tried to wrench his hand out of the zip tie. “Chaska owes me! He’s mine! There’s nothing but cowards’ blood in him. He’s soft and afraid. I’m the true leader of the tribe.” He growled. “I don't do anything for him that I don’t want to do.” Aha, there it was. He was singing like a canary. His eyes rolled back in his head and he gasped from the pain. “And those girls,” he whispered. “I was doing them a favor. They were traitors to the tribe. I set them free.”

I leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “Do you want to be set free, Hotah?”

He hauled back and tried to headbutt me. I easily dodged. “Get away from me! Get away! I will get you back for this!” He motioned to Mika. “I will see you all dead.”

“A fool digs his own grave, Hotah.”

We left him to his screaming. It was a pathetic end for a pathetic man. I had what I needed for Watters—this confession would solidify his place as the new chief, and than he could elect Yona as leader and turn Chaska in to the authorities.

Mika was crying, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“What is it?” I put a hand on her shoulder.

“I just can’t believe our chief is the one who ordered the murder. He must have known Lina was talking with Timothy.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I hate the thought of him working against his own people that way. It’s all so horrible. If it weren’t for you coming here—I can’t believe it worked.”

I gave her a hug. “It’s time for you to get a good leader. Now wipe up your tears. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

I texted Yona that an emergency elders’ meeting needed to be called—and everyone had to be there.

Mika wiped the tears from her eyes.

I looked up at her, and something suddenly dawned on me. “It was you.”

From her expression, I judged she knew exactly what I was talking about. “And Skah,” she said.

The pieces finally fell in the puzzle. “You found Lina and knew Hotah had been hired, and knew he’d never be prosecuted. So you dragged her body into Timothy’s car.”

Guilt and sadness flashed over her face. “It was awful, finding her. And the last straw. That’s when I knew we had to get someone from the outside involved. I’m so glad it was you.”

I smiled. “Well, it’s not over yet.”

“I’m ready to stop working for that stupid show.” She smiled. “And start working on my next novel.”

“Let’s settle this once and for all so you can get on with your life.” I squared my shoulders and strode outside, feeling like things might work out after all.

“THE COUNCIL IS CALLED to order,” Chaska said after the drums stilled. He held up a wounded hand and I put two and two together. Hotah took his finger and would have taken the tribe as well if it wasn’t for Watters.

“Yona has called this emergency meeting in order to deal with—”

Watters stood and interrupted. “I would like to take the floor, if you don’t mind, Tate.” Chaska flushed red in the cheeks, but nodded.

“Thank you.” I knew what was going to happen. Watters would accuse Chaska of murder, of hiring Hotah to kill for him. He would call for Chaska’s immediate removal as chief and to vote Yona in as acting chief. We went over the details in person before the show and I had his word. I felt like this was the last play before things were set right.

We sat in a circle in the old room. Dust filtered through the light beams that shone on the floor. The tension was thick. Everyone was eyeing each other as if they were about to be stabbed in the back. Yona looked stronger than I’d ever seen her—she held her chin high, she’d worn a long skirt, and there was a fierce light in her eyes. She looked like a queen. Chaska looked scared and in pain, though he tried to hide it. He eyed me distastefully, as if I were garbage he couldn’t wait to throw out. Watters was as calm and businesslike as usual.

“I have been doing a lot of thinking, and with the feud, bloodshed, and lawlessness going on around here unchecked, it has forced me to take action.” Watters shot me a look and continued. “I was informed by Miss Steele that she has some evidence to share with the council, and I believe you all should hear her out.” He paused. “Miss Steele?”

Tahatan stood in the doorway with a young man also in uniform.

I was only allowed in the council meeting because Watters got me past Tahatan. In this case, money talked, and Tahatan knew who signed his checks. I set my phone on the little table and pushed play. They heard Hotah hollering his confession. Mutters and whispers filtered through the council. Chaska cringed when he heard his name and then his face wrinkled in anger. “Stop this!” he said, fear flashing in his eyes.

Yona’s face darkened. “Exactly. We need to stop this.” She stood, and Watters lifted his hand to gain the floor.

“Based on this confession and the detailed report Miss Steele and her associates have provided me, I am placing you under arrest.” Motioning to Tehatan, Watters still did not move to introduce Yona, but he was gearing up for something.

The council bubbled over, people talking over each other, Chaska yelling and waving his arms wildly. My alarm bells went off and I watched Yona, vowing to protect her if it got any more out of hand.

“Quiet!” Watters boomed. He held up a talking stick and the people calmed. Some even sat down again. “I hold the talking stick and I have the floor.” Chaska put his hands on his hips and glared at Tehatan and Watters. No one moved, and Tehatan seemed confused as to what to do.

Yona pointed at Chaska. “I’ve defended you my whole life, hoping that one day you’d remember who you were and see what you’ve become. I used to love you!” Yona’s voice cracked, but she recovered. “What you’ve done, been a part of… it makes me sick. I hope you rot in an American prison.”

Chaska lunged at her. I rushed forward. Taking a defensive stance, I kicked his knee. With a cry, he went down. I punched him in the temple, and he didn’t move. Two-hit knockout. My kick-boxing training had served me well.

“He’s done here,” I said.

Tahatan came forward, a heavy crease to his brow. “You sure you want to start this, lady? That’s our chief!”

“Not anymore,” Watters said, holding up a hand. “I am stepping in as acting chief, as head of the family and rightful bloodline of the tribe.” No one moved and my face was throbbing. He was going to betray us—his own tribe and his sister. “I had the votes anyway, and now that Chaska’s crimes have come to light, this is the way it must be.”

Yona went pale. She moved her mouth, but no words came out. Watters turned to Tahatan. “I told you to arrest him. Now do your job or I’ll have you removed from your position and have someone put in who can follow orders.”

Tahatan slid his hand to his sidearm, then pointed a finger at me. “You ruined everything! I’m not going to let you get away with this.” Glaring at Watters, he cursed and spun around, storming out muttering.

I relaxed when I heard his truck rumble away. I could see that Watters and our evidence had won the council--they looked to Chaska with hatred. I cursed myself for trusting Watters, and now he had the council and the casinos, just like he always wanted. Yona was shifting her weight and I knew that her anger would eventually turn to submission if something didn’t happen, and soon.

Watters spoke up. “Because of this betrayal of our people, we risk our laws being overruled by the laws of the U.S. government. We risk losing our right to be a tribe, our way of life.”

Watters turned to the remaining tribal police and commanded them to arrest Chaska. “Put Chaska in the holding cell and then I’ll file proper charges against him.”

Two men in uniform stepped forward and took Chaska. They cuffed his hands behind his back and held his arms, and Yona faced Watters. “You made a deal. You promised. How could you?”

He hesitated. For a moment, he looked so old and sad. “You never did understand how the real world works.” Lifting his hand, he said loud enough for all the council to hear, “Yona will be the new head of the tribal police and oversee that justice is done, that the abuse against women comes to an end!” With this, the council cheered, and I wanted to tear his head off. He lied, and now he was making himself look like a hero.

Yona took his hand, and with more self-control than I’ve ever seen, she said, “Greed. Power. They turn people into something unrecognizable. Old ideals are smothered by a lust for more.”

She was going to make a great leader—she could stop the crime at the casinos and keep everyone safe. What started out as simply getting Timothy free from a false murder charge had led to a change in the whole system, yet it all left a bitter taste in my mouth. Watters used me, and I would not rest until I found out to what extent he was involved and if the casinos were still going to be in the underground smuggling operation.

Yona came up to me with a look of sullen victory in her eyes. “Well, I guess things didn’t go as we planned. I’m so angry with my brother for using this situation for his personal gain. I should’ve known better.”

“We both should have seen it coming, but I wanted to believe him. So, what now?”

Yona sighed. “I do what I can with the power I have. The girls will be safe and I’ll do what I can to make sure my brother stays on the right path. He may have won this battle, but I plan to win the war.”

I hugged Yona tight, and tears welled up in my eyes. “You are going to make a great chief one day. This is your tribe, you are a great leader, and most of all—you care. I am so proud of you.”

“I owe it all to you, Sarah. You believed in me, and that made me want to stop hiding. Thanks for putting yourself on the line for me, for us.”

I hoped that Yona would have what it took to keep in front of her brother, but a part of me wondered if she could. He was not only smart, but he was ruthless. Yona was nothing close to ruthless, and sometimes bad things have to happen to make things change for the better.

Yona was talking to a group of council members and Watters was grilling Chaska. They were in some sort of deep, heated conversation and I half listened, suddenly wanting to be home. The longing for Solomon’s arms around me was acute. Then my cell buzzed in my pocket “Hello?”

“It’s Mika. Hotah escaped. He got free somehow and knocked out the doctor, and the nurses were locked in a closet!”

I cursed fiercely, striding to the exit. I knew exactly where he was heading.

“Sarah, what are we going to do? He’s dangerous.”

I closed the phone and walked into the night. “So am I.”

I COULD SEE LIGHT up ahead, so I killed the headlights and stopped my car. I wanted to go in on foot, keep the element of surprise for whatever I planned to do. I didn’t have much more of a plan than that. Most of it was to get in unseen and take Hotah in whether he liked it or not.

I glanced up at the stars and glowing moon and felt a wave of peace fill me. This was who I was. This was what I was supposed to do. Hunt the bad guys down and give them what they gave out.

Taking my car keys, I put them in my pocket and double-checked my gun. It felt good having it there. If he was in there, for sure, his truck sat parked out front.

I unzipped my backpack and took out the package of zip ties and duct tape. I put a few ties in my pocket and made sure I had a spare set of clothes just in case. I closed the trunk as quietly as I could and began walking toward the light blazing on the porch of the cabin. The cabin was old and rotting—what an eyesore. A rusted-out truck sat on the lawn, and junk littered the porch. There was one door and two small windows in the front of the cabin—this would be a good place to set up.

Crickets and cicadas and frogs made a cacophony of noise, muffling my steps. The woods surrounding the cabin were thick and choked with brush. The hair on my neck stood on end and I got the unmistakable feeling that someone was watching me.

The thought that I was taking this a little far did cross my mind, but like a good little crazy person, I stuffed it under. Maybe the skill of stuffing feelings could work for me instead of against me.

“Hold it right there.” A low voice spoke behind me. “Ah, hands up and turn around slowly. You think you were alone?”

I turned. Tahatan held a handgun straight at my head. He must have parked somewhere else and walked back here to take care of Hotah.

“Tahatan, why on earth would you defend such a piece of pond scum like Hotah? Have you no pride?”

“What makes you think I was here to help him?” He swallowed. “Hotah’s a loose end, and I hate loose ends.”

I laughed. “So you plan on killing him?”

“What are you doing here, Miss Steele? I thought you got your way. You even managed to get out of jail and yet here you are again, shoving your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“I thought I’d bring in reinforcements.” I put my hands behind my back casually, feeling the familiar bulge of my gun. “You know—the FBI, the police, a few of my friends from the DA’s office.”

This time Tahatan laughed. “Nice try, but you are alone. I watched you drive in all by yourself.”

“Okay, so now what?” I hadn’t put a round in the chamber yet. Tahatan had his gun at his hip, held loose in his hands. Could I draw faster than him? The thought gave me a thrill. He hadn’t even checked to see if I was armed. The best part about being a woman was that I was constantly underestimated.

“I think we should go for a walk.” He motioned with his gun to the dark forest. “I don’t want to have to drag a body if I can get you to walk to your grave before I kill you.”

He was going to kill me. ”You think ahead. Good for you.”

I walked toward the tree line. The thick grass caught on my ankles, and I let it slow me down. If the distance between us was shortened, I’d have a better chance of beating him or catching him off guard. It was the longest walk I’d ever taken. My senses were on full alert—my skin tingled and my heart surged with adrenaline.

When I walked through the tree line and into a small open area, I saw that a hole had been half dug. A shovel stuck in the dirt like an arm pointing to the sky—or a grave marker. I expected a bullet anytime. My hands trembled, and I took a deep breath. The moon cast a glow on everything. I heard a rustle of clothing as he raised his arm. This was it.

I dove behind a tree and pulled out my gun as I landed. He shot and bark splintered, showering me with grit. I rolled and came to my feet on the other side of the tree, firing twice. Tahatan staggered back three steps and fell to his knees. The gun slipped from his fingers. He looked at me in shock. “You had a gun?”

I blew the smoke from my barrel. “The great Tahatan, beaten by a girl.”

He gurgled blood and fell face forward in the dirt.

I held my position for a minute and when no one came running, I slid my gun back into its holster. I thanked Solomon silently for encouraging me to keep up my shooting. The gun range knew my name and I felt comfortable with it now, like it was a part of me.

My heartbeat pounded in my ears. I let out a long breath. There was so much energy in me, I felt as if I were on fire, as if I could do anything. Was this what true power felt like? I had finally accepted who I was, and it felt amazing.

Now I had to hide my tracks. Tahatan was a big man, and the hole was meant for me. I holstered my weapon and grabbed the shovel. It was soft dirt, so the digging was not that hard, but I was sweating buckets by the time I was done.

I rolled him to the grave. By the time I got him there, I was covered in dirt and my muscles trembled with fatigue. I pushed him in and he lodged at the bottom of the hole. I covered him, put a few big rocks on top, and moved some underbrush on top to mask the fresh dirt. After that, I covered my tracks around the site, rearranging the grass I’d plowed through, rustled up crushed leaves, and buried my footprints in the dirt. It wasn’t a perfect cover-up, as any dog would be able to find him on a warm day, but it was good enough for me.

Thirty minutes ago, I was led into the forest to die, but now I came out the victor. Triumph surged through me as I walked to the brightly lit cabin with my shovel in hand. I figured I might need it again before the night was through.

IT WAS NOT A brilliant plan, but it was something. I was hunting, running on pure instincts, and it felt good. Was it smart, immoral? I didn’t care—it was what I felt I had to do. I had to make things right somehow, even if that meant killing along the way.

I did a circle around the cabin and saw Hotah sitting on a ragged couch in the living room with a bottle in his hand. He was alone. Maybe he would be drunk by now and kill himself with pain meds. I figured he would be in serious pain with how bad his burns were.

I held my gun out in front of me and down, like Solomon showed me back when I first learned gun safety, took a deep breath, and opened the door. It creaked on its hinges. I jumped in the room and dodged to the left in case Hotah was armed.

The couch was empty, and before I could react, I heard the unmistakable pop and electric crackle of a Taser. Something struck me in the shoulder. My body wrenched in pain and every muscle convulsed. I fell to the ground, shaking, my teeth chattering. Tears ran unbidden down my cheeks and I groaned.

My mind shut off and everything was a blur. Funny thing about pain—it makes everything else seem not to matter. I just wanted it to stop.

Hotah’s fuzzy form limped from the corner. I gasped for breath, but I couldn’t get my lungs to cooperate. My muscles didn’t respond, but my mind was alert and overloading all at the same time—I was helpless. He leaned down and jammed something into my neck. It stung and then his hand trailed down my chest. Screams rose in my throat, but I couldn’t get them out.

“Your skin is so smooth.” He still smelled of charred flesh and his voice echoed like we were in a large bathroom. “It’s not going to be so smooth after I cut you again and again.”

Think, Sarah. Focus on one thing. Try to relax.

Hotah looked around and he came into view a little clearer now as the electricity began to fade away, but I felt weird, and unable to move like I should. “You meant to get me alone, didn’t you? You have the hots for me. I could see it in your eyes the first time we met. You want me—you all do. It’s not a stretch to believe that you white girls would want a little dark meat.” He grinned, and there was something in his eyes that scared me. There was a monster in there—I knew well what it looked like. “You didn’t have to burn me to get my attention, but maybe that’s your thing. Are you into the hard stuff? Like it rough, huh?”

“Dirty . . . bastard,” I choked out.

I had been so foolish to underestimate Hotah. My own pride and zest for the chase got in the way of my common sense. But it wasn’t over yet. I thought fast, sizing up the room and looking for an out. The place was filthy. The floor was covered in dirt clumps and dust. A little bed, without a frame, sat in a corner with a ratty quilt on it. There was another room, but I couldn’t tell if it was a bathroom or bedroom. A fireplace took up one wall and I spied a little shovel, broom, and poker that could be used as weapons. The shovel I had with me lay a few feet away—that was my best bet. I couldn’t find my gun I must have dropped it when I got Tasered.

“I gave you something to calm your nerves, it is mild but should make you feel good, don’t you want to feel good?” He chuckled. “I’m gonna prepare a little place for you over here so you’ll be comfortable in the days to come.” He limped to a chair and set it in front of the fireplace, then attached four handcuffs—one on each leg.

Hotah looked over his shoulder at me and winked. “You know this is where I killed my grandmother?” He laughed. “She didn’t fight me, but then, she didn’t really think I’d do it.”

With all my might, I tried to move. I felt a bit of warmth in my fingers—was the feeling returning?

He leaned over me, pressing his cheek against mine. And he bit my ear. Oh, God. Please, God. Let my feeling return. “Your blood tastes good.” He pulled the Taser darts out and scooped me up in his arms and moaned in agony when I my body brushed against his burned thighs. Heat swept up my body. This was it!

I swung my fist, connecting with his chin. Hotah’s head snapped around. He dropped me. I rolled to my feet and lunged forward, but fell facefirst as my legs gave out. Crawling away from him, I managed to get my feet under me, and when I was up, he was on top of me. “You do like it rough. You’ll pay for that one kitten!” He thought this was a game? He was insane, and his speech seemed a little off kilter but maybe that was due to whatever he injected me with.

I dodged his fist and hooked my ankle behind his and pushed him back. He fell, hard. He screamed a curse and writhed on the floor.

Scrambling for the shovel I spotted my gun under the edge of the couch. I reached out and grabbed the gun holding it with two hands. “Hands up, Hotah! Not a move, not a single move. My hands are all shaky from that Taser, so I may shoot you by accident.”

Hotah was on his back and blood seeped from his lip. Our eyes met and he spat at me.

“You nasty whore.” Hotah wriggled, trying to get to his feet, and I steadied the gun and pointed it at his face. He froze and raised his hands.

I pressed my hand against my ear to stem the bleeding. “Sit down in that chair.” I motioned to the wooden chair he’d prepared for me.

“And if I don’t?” He should have been scared, but he seemed more annoyed than anything else.

“If you don’t, I’ll kill you,” I stated in a flat tone.

“You don’t have the guts. You’re just a girl.” He was on his rear with his knees up and his hands in the air, but as he talked, he was lowering them.

I shot him in the kneecap. He yelped like a wounded dog and collapsed, clutching his bloody knee.

“Next one is to your head.” My voice trembled. Not from fear or terror, but from pure rage. I was using every ounce of my self-control not to plug him in the face.

“You crazy bitch.” Hotah dragged himself to the chair and pulled himself up into it, breathing hard. I smiled tightly.

Hotah sneered at me, both hands over his bloody leg. Blood seeped through his fingers. I could smell it, its rich, vibrant scent.

That switched something inside me. “You like killing women, don’t you, Hotah.”

He laughed. “They deserved it, but that’s not all I like to do. Come closer ad I’ll show you.”

Walking behind him, I was still a little woozy but able to snap the cuffs into place around his hands first and then his ankles. He moaned through gritted teeth and muttered a curse.

“And Lina Sever—did she deserve it?”

“She got off easy. She was a rat. I should have killed that stupid reporter, too.”

I wanted to keep him talking. The more he talked, the stronger I felt. “You’re just a lapdog to Chaska. You’ve never had an original idea in your life.”

Hotah rattled his restraints and cursed. “I’m no one’s lapdog. You think you have it all figured out, think you know what’s going on here? You know nothing. I tell you what I want you to know, and what are you? You’re nothing.” If he was drunk or high on something, the shot to his knee must have sobered him up.

I winked at him. ”Wow, you really thought that would work? Let me guess. In your little childlike mind, I would get angry because you’re insinuating that I’m weak. Maybe I’d even slip up and give you a chance to get the upper hand? Come now, I thought you were smarter than that.”

Hotah grinned. “Yeah, I guess I did. So what now—you gonna shoot me again?”

His face wrinkled and he licked his lips, scanning my body up and down. “Now run away and go call your white cop buddies. Have them get the Justice Department to come and slap me on the wrist.” He laughed. “This isn’t your place—it’s my place. Now get the hell out!”

He was right. I could send evidence to the Idaho State Police or to Solomon and ask him to pass it to the right people. I would send it to Timothy James and Yona—have them spread the news through the country. Everything might wrap up in a neat little package, but it wasn’t enough. Lina Sever, his grandmother, the two casino girls, and however countless other victims deserved more, and I couldn’t deny it. I needed more. I could feel the tension in my shoulders, the desire to give in to the need growing in me.

“You’re right, Hotah. The only way to end this is to end you.” My back was to him. I spun around and squeezed the trigger and put a bullet into his forehead. Blood sprayed the fireplace behind him, and his eyes rolled back in their sockets.

Something in me released and I found that I was breathing hard. My skin tingled. And as much as I hate to admit it, I felt alive. Hotah’s head slumped backward and his body went limp. I should have been horrified, should be sickened by what I’d just done, but all I could feel was the surge of life that was flowing through me.

“Why?” I said to the air. But it was not, Why did I just kill a man who was tied up and who I could have easily sent to jail. It was, why did I want to kill him? Why did I like killing him?

That was the question my soul would have to answer. But not right now.

I felt myself reshaping into something new. Something stronger. Something truer. For the first time in my life, I knew that this was a part of me I could no longer ignore. I couldn’t just hide the demons in the dark and pretend they weren’t there. Time to face them and live up to who I was.

I LEFT HOTAH EXACTLY where he was, but I searched the ground where I had been Tasered for any signs of hair or lint I may have dropped. It was so dark, I couldn’t be sure. My DNA would be all over the cabin, so I grabbed the bottle of Vodka he was drinking and poured it all over him and around him on the floor. I removed the handcuffs and put them in the cabinet under the sink next to the scrub brushes. That should do it. They would find him shot and Tahatan missing and figured Tahatan shot him and left town. At least, that’s what I hoped they’d believe.

I walked through the cabin one last time, put the shovel next to the door, and threw the Taser into the fireplace. I was about to leave when something stopped me. He was shot, and them believing that he was killed and the killer was missing was too far-fetched. It had to be an open-and-shut case.

After a moment, I came to the only conclusion I could, and it would be poetic to boot. Suicide. I walked back outside and dug through Hotah’s truck. Come on, you have to have something I can use. I didn’t want the gun to come back to me, and there had to be a gun. My idea was that he was in pain and guilty, so he drank himself silly and shot himself. The bullet sparked the spilled Vodka and the cabin went up in flames. It wasn’t perfect, but it was darn good on short notice.

There.

Hotah had a small nail file on his key ring and they dangled in the ignition. It took some doing, but I managed to file the serial numbers off my weapon. I hoped that it would be burned enough to destroy any DNA. If not, I could say he stole it from me. I laughed in spite of myself for how dumb this all was. Yona was the new tribal police and this was a reservation. The chance of this even going to court or even getting back to me was slim.

Tossing the keys on the kitchen counter, I lit a rolled-up newspaper and watched Hotah ignite. Somehow it was beautiful and horrible all at the same time. Leaving the cabin, I got back into my car and drove away with flames rising in my rearview mirror.

ALL I WANTED WAS a shower and to go to bed and forget the whole thing. But I was a complete mess and still had to make sure things with Yona were okay. I’d left in a hurry and no one knew where I was. Mika would be the only link to the truth, and I didn’t think she would talk.

Every muscle in my body was still sore from the Taser, and my ear throbbed. The bleeding had stopped, but there was going to be a scar. I picked up my cell and called Mika back.

“Hey Mika, can I come over to your house? I need to talk to you.”

“Sure. Are you okay?” She sounded concerned. “Yona was looking for you. We’re are all down at the casino, but you can use my place if you want. I’ll come let you in.”

“Thanks, and don’t tell anyone anything, okay?”

“Uh, okay, sure.”

I hung up and drove to the address she texted me. Mika lived in a modest home that was still beautiful by today’s standards. Her car was parked in the driveway, and I pulled in next to hers and got out.

“Sarah!” Mika bounded from the front of the house and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw me. “Whoa, you look awful!”

“I know. But you should see the other guy.”

“Come inside. Let’s get you cleaned up. You can wear some of my clothes if you want.”

“It’s okay—I have a fresh set in my trunk. Old habit from college days,” I said.

The shower was glorious. And afterwards, I told Mika what happened, but left out the part about Tahatan and added in a few details such as Hotah attacked me, took my gun, and I shot him in self-defense. A fire broke out, and I ran and lost my gun. Every good lie was laced with truth, and this one was one I felt like I had to tell.

“So I need you to cover for me if my name ever comes up in connection to Hotah’s death.”

Mika hugged me and kissed my cheek. “You were never there, and all I told Yona was that he escaped. I’ll make sure this never comes back on you, Sarah. You saved us. I owe you this.”

“Thanks, Mika.”

After my hair was dry, we both drove into town but in our own cars. I put my bloody clothes in a bag in the trunk to deal with later and felt a huge sense of release. I knew that I’d never be free from what I’d done, but I needed to sever as many connections as I could.

When I pulled into the valet parking drive of the Golden Nugget, Yona was there. She looked tense and worried—what was going on? Why was she out there, as if waiting for someone?

I jumped out of the car. “What is it, Yona?”

She set her jaw. “I’m glad you’re here, Sarah. I need to set things right with Watters, and after everything that’s happened, I can’t go on being quiet about the truth.”

Then the world erupted in a volley of sirens, flashing lights, and yelling. Men dressed in riot gear, SWAT trucks, and men with FBI printed on the backs of their jackets swarmed the building. I grabbed Yona and we made for a corner to get out of the way.

“FBI. Everybody down. This is the FBI. Put your hands up.” I could have picked Solomon out of any crowd and he led the charge with his Glock out, looking like a world-class stud.

People were screaming and running around. A helicopter beat the air overhead. The FBI and SWAT team had the area locked down in a matter of minutes.

Yona’s face was full of satisfaction.

“You did the right thing,” I told her. “They’ll find all the drugs, guns, and girls in the basement and have this place cleared out.”

“And closed down,” she said. Then she took a deep breath. “We’ll rise through other means.”

I took her hand. “Nothing will keep you down.”

Someone touched me on the shoulder. It was Timothy James and Solomon stood behind him, smiling at me.

“You really know how to party,” Timothy said. He hugged me, and I was so glad to see him. “My editor says this is the best investigative article I’ve ever done. And I’m finishing up a huge personal interest article on Miss Yona Watters.” He gave her a side hug and she glowed with happiness.

“Pulitzer Prize, here you come! Now, you two go find a quiet place somewhere.”

Yona winked at me and they walked off, hand in hand.

Solomon stood a few feet away with his hands at his sides. The chaos behind him made it seem like he was frozen in time. I walked to him, swinging my hips from side to side like I used to do when I was in high school.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi.”

He looked so good. I wanted to be angry with him, but I just couldn’t. “You have to stop barging in on me. It’s totally indecent.”

“But what if I like barging in on you?”

“Hmm, I guess we could work something out. You got a white horse to take me away on?”

Solomon took both my hands and pulled me in close. “No, you’re more of a black dragon sort of girl. Now kiss me.”

I decided that this command I would obey, but only because I wanted to. Lucky him.

SOLOMON HAD TO DO a ton of paperwork, but he was going to come over after he was done. I had promised him a backrub and a bottle of wine. I loved being with him, even if he frustrated me at times.

I was almost to Boise, driving my trusty car back home. Mandy made me swear to go to coffee in the morning with her and Joshua so we could plot our new company and go over everything that had happened in the last few days. I agreed.

A white BMW was following me—at first I thought we were just part of the traffic heading from the casino to Boise, but when I pulled off at the exit, the BMW took the exit too. My alarm bells went off and I mentally ran through my options.

After gassing up at a truck stop, I checked my voicemail and texts. My poor phone was flooded with texts from both Mandy and Solomon. They went from inquiring to annoyed to worried.

One from Joshua simply said Call me.

It wasn’t too late and I was still a good thirty minutes out, so I dialed him. After two rings, he answered.

“Do I get extra pay for working after hours?” he asked.

“Ha, no way. I’ve been on the job for days.”

“Slave driver.”

“Yeah, yeah. So, what do you have for me? Tell me some good news.”

Joshua sighed. “Not sure it’s good news, but it is news. I did a search on the casinos, like you asked. Some of the first investors were hard to track down, but once I found out their real names, I got a good line on where to go from there.”

“And what did you find out?”

“Seems your best buddy at Williams, Inc. had a vested interest in the groundbreaking.”

My brain kicked into overdrive and I looked in the rearview mirror to make sure the BMW with the mystery man was still there. It was.

“You sure?”

“Yup, I’ll e-mail you all my research. But something else, Sarah. This thing is much bigger than I think you know. The underground smuggling system is not just this tribe, not just one reservation.”

“I know. Something like this has to be bigger.”

“Yeah, try nationwide, as in, 90% of them are all linked back to Williams, Inc. Think about it. They’re not under U.S. law, they run by their own rules—it’s the perfect pipeline for smuggling. Even if they get caught, no one can do anything about it.”

“What do you mean? How can that be? Why would they—” But why not? Like the mob back in old Chicago, organized crime was like any business. It needed outlets, a way to get goods in and out. If Williams, Inc. was involved, than it was just as I suspected—they weren’t just developing energy-efficient batteries, paving the way to taking over energy development. That was their offense. They were playing defense as well, taking over as the new mob, except no one knew it.

“I see by your silence that you’re putting the pieces together,” Joshua said.

I nodded. “Yeah, this is big, Josh. I mean, really big. Like, we could spend our whole lives on it big.”

“Or die for it big. These guys are ruthless. I think we may need some help on this one, Sarah. If this is just one arm of their operation and Rio was another, who knows what else they control. They’re dangerous, and you’re on their radar.”

I hated to admit it, but he was right. I had the tiger by its tail and it was turning to bite me. I glanced into the rearview mirror once more and muttered to myself.

“Who are you, and what do you want?”

I WAS AT MY favorite local coffee joint, at my favorite side table with the cushy chairs, drinking my favorite drink. Life had finally returned back to normal.

“Chai tea? What happened to your coconut coffee?” Mandy had on a leather jacket, boots with spikes, and her hair up and tangled around a No. 2 pencil.

“I’m trying to kick the coffee and go with tea instead.”

“Why? Coffee rocks.” Mandy sipped her mocha, and Joshua wisely stayed out of the conversation.

“And your outfit this morning rocks as well.” I rolled my eyes.

“You’re just jealous.”

“Extremely.”

Joshua munched on a bran muffin and had a stack of paperwork in front of him.

“Okay, Joshua, what do you have for us?”

“Oh, just some contracts. It makes our little adventure all legal and real, so to speak.”

Mandy groaned. “Boring—so we become an LLC or S Corp. Who cares. Tell me what’s going to happen to Yona and that creepy guy.”

“Well, according to Solomon, Watters and Chaska were arrested. Both will serve jail time, probably life sentences. Hotah’s body, or what remained of it, was found in a little cabin. It seems that there was a fire. They’re not sure what happened, but it could be a suicide. Tahatan, their chief of police, is missing, but it looks like the FBI is going to let the tribal police do most the heavy lifting. Yona has a mess to weed through—I’m glad I'm not in her shoes. But she’s completely capable. All the drugs, weapons, and such were confiscated, and that little stop on the pipeline is out of commission.”

“Cool—we so rock. I mean, we did that. Well, you did most of it, Sarah.”

I snorted. “So glad you noticed.”

Sipping my tea, I scanned the road over Joshua’s shoulder and saw the same white BMW that had been following me for the last few days parked up the block.

Joshua cleared his throat. “We got lucky. In the future, we need to have a plan. I want clear communication, not this run–and-gun sort of thing.” He eyed me as if I was the culprit.

I turned to stare at Joshua. “But I like guns.”

He frowned. I held up my hand. “No, I’m sorry. You’re right—I should have been better at communicating. Next time I’ll do better.” He smiled and shook his head.

As they talked about where to get an office and what kind of logo we should have, I tried to concentrate, but like a magnet to metal, I was pulled toward the BMW. We needed to have a proper introduction. My mind spun with ideas on the best way to provide that opportunity. It was all so natural and easy—this ability to hunt and catch, seek and find. No longer did I feel any need to push it down or quiet it. This was me. And I felt free.

I would seek justice for the innocent. With or without the law behind me.

A Preview of USA Today Bestseller:

SWEET DREAMS

Book 1 in the WJA series

A Mark Appleton Thriller

Chapter One

JULY. TEHRAN, IRAN. IT wasn’t just hot. It was hell. The heat would melt shoes to the pavement if a person stood in one place too long. The night air should bring some relief with its cool, musty smell of sand and sweat. However, it seemed this evening the cooling desert would not give up any of its pride and send a much-needed breeze into the city. No, this night was muggy, sticky, and just plain miserable.

Despite the heat, tonight was like any other night for Hokamend. Seated on a pillow in his private quarters, he was reading, like he did every night. This evening, the book was The Fall of America.

He and his best friend, who’d been killed in a bus bombing six years earlier, had spent countless hours together going over the plans and drawings of the Chicago metro system, trying to find the perfect place to set off the explosive.

Muttering a prayer to Allah for success, he looked through the open window at the sky and noticed it was devoid of stars. A storm was moving in to tease them with the possibility of sweet relief from the godforsaken heat. But he knew in the end the cloud would leave without so much as a drop of rain.

He envied his friend, who was in a place beyond this world, a place he could only dream of. He turned back to his book, reminding himself of all the work yet to be done. Someone had to complete the job, someone had to finish off those arrogant Americans.

His hatred for America and disdain for the people who infested the land made him want to spit. He pictured their smug faces and fancy cars. He would bring the infidels to their knees. He would wake the sleeping giant, then rip its head off.

A bodyguard walked past his door. He heard footsteps and it jolted him out of his daydream. His guards were the best that money could buy. They walked in four shifts and in different patterns every hour to keep lurking enemies confused. Hokamend was a careful man. He never took chances with his own life. True, he demanded his followers to give up their lives in service to Allah, but he was different. With a half-million-dollar American government bounty on his head, he was worth more, much more.

On the other hand, such a reward for betrayal could cause even friends to consider the offer. But he was no fool. Chopped off fingers, toes, and even a tongue now and then had a way of driving the truth home—under no circumstances should one cross Hokamend.

He slipped to his feet and walked to the double French doors leading out to a balcony, lighting up a cigar.

He touched the small scar above his right eye and smelled the cigar. “A battle wound,” he would say. He was proud of his many scars. They proved his devotion to Allah. They proved he was not just an administrator but that he’d fought in the battles.

A small flicker flashed against the night sky as he struck the lighter and drew on his hand-rolled Cuban. He scanned his property, searching for snipers or anything that might be out of place but found nothing amiss, which didn’t surprise him. After all, this was the perfect location for his palace. Situated at the apex of a hill, the mansion was surrounded by a high wall with guard towers at each corner manned by armed snipers. Beyond the wall, two chain-link fences made a wide circle around the perimeter of the grounds. Razor wire coiled across the tops of both fences, and fifteen highly trained guard dogs roamed in between. If someone were to make it past the first fence and was lucky enough to avoid the dogs, then the snipers would ensure he didn’t see another sunrise.

An open lawn devoid of obstructions surrounded the palace in a one-mile circle. Deliberately designed so an enemy could not hide behind anything, the grounds looked more like a park than a secure compound.

He watched the city lights in the distance twinkle and blink like little bat eyes staring back at him, trying to ascertain if he was friend or foe. He took a deep draw, let out a cloud of thick smoke and wondered when they would figure it out, if ever. No, they don’t have the stomach for it. They are weak.

A mosquito landed on his arm and started sucking blood like a miniature vampire. He swatted at the pest but missed as it dodged just in time to save its worthless life. “Stupid bugs,” he muttered. They were out in force tonight, and there was no cool breeze to fend them off.

The mosquito buzzed by him again. He swung his hand at it and cursed. This time, he made contact with the bloodsucker, spreading a red smear across his arm.

He swore again. The nasty pests were ruining his quiet time. With his busy life, he treasured this hour of the day when he could think and clear his head, not to mention enjoy a good cigar.

He felt another prick on the side of his neck. More like a bee sting than a mosquito bite, this one hurt. He rubbed his neck but didn’t feel anything unusual. In fact, he didn’t feel anything. Nothing at all. His fingers were numb, like hard rubber chafing against his neck. A cold shiver ran up his spine. It was as if someone else was touching him. He had sensation in the rest of his body, but his hands were dead.

The bite began to throb, and a terrible heat burned through his body. He stumbled back into his study, drenched in sweat.

Screaming, he fell to the floor, clutching his head with unfeeling fingers. He dug his nails into his skull as if that would make the pain stop.

He yelled for a guard—anyone—to help him, but no one came to his aid.

The pain sharpened. His ears rang with a deafening sound like the air horns he’d heard as a boy just before a bomb exploded and more people died. Writhing on the floor, he shouted again for help. Then reality hit. No sound came out of his mouth. Just air.

Every nerve in his body flashed with impossible heat. Curled in a ball on the floor, he grasped his ears, trying to stop the noise that pounded against his skull.

Something was wrong with his ear. He pulled a hand away and blinked, not believing what he saw. Plastered in his palm, his right ear sizzled like a piece of hot bacon. He tried to focus, to make his brain work. But he couldn’t think. The pain was beyond maddening. Mouthing a curse, he crushed the bloody ear in his hand as pain swept through his body like a wave of molten lava. The agony was so sharp and excruciating all he could do was writhe on the floor, clawing at his head and face.

Outside his door, his bodyguards took wagers as to which one he would curse tonight for not getting him his drink on time.

MARK APPLETON QUIETLY MADE his way down from his rooftop perch, where he had just carried out another flawless hit. No one seemed to be aware of his presence, which was the way he liked it. Hokamend’s guards wouldn’t discover his body until the next morning. Most guards for hire these days were lazy alcoholics.

He’d hidden his blond hair under a dark baseball cap that matched the rest of his attire: black cargo pants, a long-sleeved black shirt with patches on the elbows and a tiny pocket on the left arm for his throwing knife, and black boots. His hands were covered in dark, lambskin gloves, which fit like a second skin. He silently slipped across the rooftop to a zip line, his access to this particular building.

Made of a small, woven cable used in airplane wings and developed by NASA, the eighth-inch line could support as much as three-thousand pounds. Using a high-powered yet small crossbow, he shot a tiny anchor at an adjacent building five hundred yards away. Once the anchor penetrated the brick it would spread to form a solid hold.

He slung his weapon over his shoulder, hooked himself to the line, and started his soundless descent to the shorter building. A door on the rooftop led to a back stairway. He crept through the abandoned building, which was empty except for a homeless drunk here and there. He wrinkled his nose. The smell of urine and mold made even the musty air outside seem like a fresh ocean breeze. He made sure he didn’t wake any of the drunks as he traversed the twelve flights of stairs.

Once he was on the main level he made a right through a broken, wooden door into an empty room. Half of the wallpaper was torn off the walls and the carpet was long gone, leaving warped plywood behind. This part of town reminded him of tornado country. Some buildings were beautiful and untouched by the bombs. Others were about to cave in on themselves. War had a way of leaving its mark on more than just the people.

He quickly disassembled his weapon, and as he did so, searched the room for anything he might have left or any sign that could tie him to the dilapidated building. He folded the gun in half where the black barrel and plastic stock met. The scope snapped off with a soft click. His weapon of choice was custom made and could fire a paper round up to three miles, if the wind was right. He shoved the gun pieces in a backpack and hefted it onto his shoulder. Once everything was secure, he pulled a small remote from his pocket and stepped outside, where he peered around the corner, made sure no one spotted him, and pushed the button.

He could hear a faint sizzling sound as the zip line above him melted, then turned to ash and floated down in small flakes. Good, no trace. He ran across the street and walked three blocks south.

Tehran, like most cities in the desert, came alive after nightfall. People smoked outside the bars and griped about the heat. He could hear laughter from inside one bar he passed. Outside another he heard a thump, like someone falling off a chair, then the sound of glass shattering.

The streets were made of concrete and asphalt. Some intersections were lined with cobblestones. A multitude of blinking lights over storefronts strived to draw traffic to look at their wares. He made his way down a back alley, keeping his head down and avoiding eye contact. All he wanted was to get back to his place and get some sleep.

He stopped at a one-story shop with graffiti sprayed alongside the faded front door. A Persian sign above the door read Sporting Goods. The brick building wasn’t much to look at with thick, black steel bars embedded in the wooden front door. The boarded-up windows also had the local kids’ handiwork spray painted on them.

He inserted a key. The lock clicked. Using another key, he released the deadbolt. The heavy door creaked as he pushed it open and stepped inside. Pulling off his ball cap, he tossed it on the coat rack.

The shop was an open room with two rows of metal shelves in the middle stocked with a complete line of camping supplies: Coleman stoves and dehydrated foods ranging from stew to peach cobbler. Or for the old-school type, he could buy the original MREs and hope his taste buds were on vacation. The racks against the walls went all the way around the room and came to a stop at the front desk, which was topped by a cash register and a glass case containing pistols and knives. Behind the counter, guns of every shape and size, from shotguns to M16s, were racked from floor to ceiling. All of them had been previously owned but were in good working order.

The shop was not much, but it was clean, and it provided a good place for him to hide as he researched his target. The owner was a native who worked for the same organization he did. As far as anyone else was concerned, Mark was an out-of-town guest.

He stepped to the back of the little shop and stopped in front of a shelf full of books on how to fish and hunt and stay alive in the desert. He ran his fingers along the back of the books. When he located the fingertip-size button, he pushed it and a deep, groaning sound sliced the silence. The floor on his right split in the middle and opened up to reveal a concrete staircase. The hole was six-by-six and the concrete lid opened downward and hung like bomb bay doors on a plane. He started down and the floor closed above him with a solid thud. Wall lights flickered and came to life. At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped before a metal door with oversized rivets and bolts around the edges. A small, red light behind a glass bubble protruding from the wall glowed like an evil eye.

He placed his hand on the LCD screen mounted to the right of the door. The screen lit up and ran a scan of his handprint. He leaned down and spoke into a box, making sure to pronounce each syllable perfectly. “Appleton, Mark.”

The red sensor above the door hummed as a red laser shot out and fanned at the end. Beginning at the top of his head, it scanned down his body, taking readings of his frame and measurements of each bone like an X-ray, though much more advanced. The light turned green when the scan was finished and the door unlocked and slid down into the floor.

What lay beyond was not a concrete bunker or a dingy underground hideout. Instead, it was a house. Not a real house, but it was as much of a house as one could get this far away from home. The first room looked like a typical American living room, minus the picture window. To the right was a kitchen with a black refrigerator, stove, and a microwave oven. To the left was a sitting area with a fireplace and a fifty-inch, surround-sound plasma screen television and a Blu-ray player. A couch with big, fluffy cushions faced the TV, and a camelhair rug graced the floor.

He punched a code on a keypad mounted on the wall on the far side of the living room, and a hidden door opened. The whooshing sound it made always reminded him of a Star Trek movie. Lights inside the room flashed on to reveal case after case of weapons and ammunition. He unpacked his backpack on a metal table that stood against a wall near the front of the weapons room. After he cleaned and oiled his gun, he placed it in an eight-foot glass case next to a Glock. Every wall supported similar cases containing guns, C4 explosives, landmines, and rocket launchers. Most of the weapons and ammo boasted his personal touches, from bullets made of paper to guns powered by air and sound waves.

At his touch the door whooshed back into place and blended into the wall as if it never existed. He stretched, pulled off his shirt, and ran his fingers through his hair. He craved a cool shower and a shave. The stakeout and events leading up to the kill had taken a year of stalking and many long, boring nights waiting for a clear shot.

The cool water felt good as it cascaded over his lean body and washed away the stress of the day.

He thought about the terrorist he’d just killed. He knew he should be sad or feel a little guilty about killing another man, but he couldn’t bring himself to even feel bad. Because of all the things Hokamend had done—the bombings of schools and playgrounds that had killed and maimed dozens of children, and the snipers who shot twenty-plus people at a time in major American cities before anyone realized a massacre was in progress.

He turned off the water, thinking, It’s time for the terrorists of the world to live in fear instead of us fearing them. After he shaved, he grabbed a pair of shorts from the dresser in his bedroom and slipped them on. Much better. Nothing like a comfortable pair of shorts.

In the kitchen, he pulled a dinner from the freezer and zapped it in the microwave. He turned the package over and saw that this dinner offered a tasty slab of chicken with mashed potatoes and a brownie to boot.

He chuckled. K certainly wouldn’t approve. A microwave dinner and a soda? He could hear her exclaim, “Not healthy!” and see his wife’s playful frown.

The smell of fake chicken filled the kitchen. He was too tired to cook tonight. Plus, he hadn’t had a chance to restock his refrigerator. He sat down on the leather couch and began to eat.

Not bad, for a TV dinner. Not like K’s cooking, though. Not much like anybody’s cooking.

Now that he was on the subject, he couldn’t help but think about K and his daughter, Samantha. It had been three years since…he shook his head, trying to shove the thought from his brain. Wow. Three years. Time flies.

Finished, he got up and threw the empty container in the trash, feeling a little celebratory. He was done with the mission and that meant only one thing.

Vacation—after a good night’s sleep.

He turned off the lights and his alarm clock and crawled into his king-size bed. He was going to sleep in, which would be a nice change from the multiple all-nighters he’d pulled in the last year. He closed his eyes and drew the covers around his chin. No matter how hot it was outside, he had to be under the covers.

Once he had breathed in deep and let it all out in a long sigh, he relaxed his legs and arms. His eyes became heavy. Thoughts of his family consumed his mind until he fell asleep, which usually took a couple hours, but tonight he had a feeling he would fall asleep right away. He wished he could see K and her sparkling hazel eyes and the smile she reserved for him and him alone.

Then there was little Samantha, with her cute pigtails bobbing as she ran down the steps to meet him. The workday tensions melted when he felt her tiny arms hugging his neck. She always smelled like soap and lavender, no matter how dirty she was or how long she’d gone between baths. It seemed like just yesterday he was home holding K and Samantha in his arms. He hated to go to bed alone, again. So alone.

Three years earlier…

Also by Aaron Patterson

Sweet Dreams (Book 1)

Dream On (Book 2)

In Your Dreams (Book 3)

Cross Over Box Set

Breaking Steele

Twisting Steele

Melting Steele

Airel: The Awakening (Book 1)

Airel: The Discovering (Book 2)

Michael: The Curse (Book 3)

Michael: The Mark (Book 4)

Uriel: The Inheritance (Book 5)

Uriel: The Price (Book 6)

The Airel Saga Box Set

N19eteen (Digital Short)

The Craigslist Killer (Digital Short)

Zombie High (Digital Short)

Elena’s Secret: A Vampire Diaries story

Aaron Patterson is the father of three kids: Soleil, Kale, and Klayton. He the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of The Mark Appleton thriller series, The Airel Saga, and The Sarah Steele thriller series. He worked in the construction field for 11 years and is now a full time writer. He was home schooled and has a bachelor’s degree in theology. He loves to hike, snowboard, camp, and drink coconut lattes. He is also the founder of StoneHouse Ink and co-founder of StoneHouse University. He speaks all over the country on the subjects of eBooks, writing and the changing publishing world.

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Breaking Steele

Twisting Steele

Melting Steele

Copyright © 2013, 2014 by Aaron Patterson

All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the publisher.

StoneHouse Ink 2014

StoneHouse Ink

Boise, ID 83713

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to a real person, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover design by © Cory Clubb

Creative Edit by Ellie Ann

Published in the United States of America

StoneHouse Ink

This ebook was designed and formatted by

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Artisan ebooks for discerning authors and publishers.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Acclaim for Aaron Patterson

Also by Aaron Patterson

BREAKING STEELE

Dedication

Quote

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

TWISTING STEELE

Dedication

Quote

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

MELTING STEELE

Dedication

Quote

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Preview of Sweet Dreams

Also by Aaron Patterson

About the Author

Copyright Notice

About the Book Designer