Expired Secrets

LAST CHANCE COUNTY BOOK TWO

Lisa Phillips

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Publisher Lisa Phillips

Cover design Ryan Schwarz

Edited by www.jenwieber.com

CONTENTS

Tate Hudson, private investigator, sat at the corner booth. Hotel bar. Thursday night. Most of the guests were at other hot spots, like the club two blocks over, so it was pretty quiet. Too few people, and he’d be spotted easily. Too many, and he’d never get what he came for.

He left the drink he’d ordered untouched. His phone kept his attention far more than the beverage, like so many other patrons. But what occupied him was not social media. He angled the cell against the edge of the table so its camera showed the man at the bar.

Blue suit. Brown hair, no discernible style. Middle aged. A few too many donuts around his middle, though not enough to indicate anything more than a bad habit. At least, Tate told himself, it was nothing a good New Year’s resolution couldn’t fix.

The subject glanced around. Getting the lay of the land. He turned to a woman as she slid onto the stool beside him. Red dress, blonde hair. A convention attendee, according to the badge hung around her neck. She flashed a white smile—dental health conference.

They were forty miles outside Last Chance County, where no one knew the subject at hand. Not well enough to know he worked in management at the phone company. Or that he had a wife who’d hired Tate to find out whether her husband’s night meetings were, in fact, him cheating on her.

The subject bought the red dress woman a drink. She laughed, though she was completely sober. The subject was into his fourth drink. If he got his keys and decided to head home, Tate might be tempted to intervene.

Most people would call the cops and report a drunk driver, or the bartender would take his keys and request that he call for a ride. The police department in Last Chance County had set up a text line, so folks could anonymously report the things they saw. Tate never used it. Probably never would, since he preferred a more hands-on approach.

Red dress was giving his subject the brush off. Too bad she couldn’t see the potential there, because Tate would’ve been able to snap a couple of images, and then send his report to the wife.

Along with an invoice.

Tate got a couple of pictures, though it was plain to see, even from the cell images he took, that as hard as the subject tried, she just wasn’t taking the bait.

Better luck with the next one, buddy.

Tate sighed. He sipped at his drink and watched the subject glance around, looking for someone else to try his lines on.

His phone screen flashed. It started to vibrate across the tabletop and a name illuminated on the screen. Claire.

Double sigh. He almost didn’t answer it. “Hudson.”

“I didn’t think you’d pick up.” Her breath crackled against the phone’s microphone. But it wasn’t Claire, it was her sixteen-year-old.

His body tensed in reaction to the tone of her voice. All thought of his subject was dismissed from his mind as he stood. “What’s going on?” Tate pulled out his wallet, tucked a folded twenty under the glass, and headed for the lobby. He pushed outside. “Lex, talk to me.”

She spoke again as he strode out to the parking lot. “It’s mom. She won’t wake up.” Her voice tremored. “He hit her pretty hard this time.”

Bile rose in his throat. “Call an ambulance.”

“No. She said—”

“I don’t care what she said.” Tate hauled the driver’s door open so hard he nearly pulled the thing off the hinges. “You know what? Forget it. I’ll call Dean. Maybe he’s close.”

“He’s on his way.”

“Your first call?”

“Yes.”

“Because your mom has the medic on speed dial?”

“Don’t be like that.” She sounded like an adult and a child, all at once.

He wanted to ream her for making excuses for her mom, as he would any of his peers who’d made a tough choice. But he didn’t. She might look and sound like an adult, but Elexa was still a kid. A smart kid, independent and capable. Good grades. Held down a steady job at the ice cream shop. She might’ve been his kid in another life.

Tate hit the gas and tore out of the parking lot. “Where’s your stepdad now?” His phone’s Bluetooth connected to the car stereo, and he tossed the cell in the cup holder.

Her voice came through the car speakers. “He was gone before I got home.”

“So you don’t know for sure it was him who did this.”

“Pretty good assumption. He was coming home for dinner.” Elexa let out a long breath. “She was excited. They were gonna talk.”

Elexa’s stepfather, her mother’s third husband, only talked one way. And it wasn’t with words.

“A car just pulled up outside,” she said. “That you?”

“Probably Dean but confirm that for me. I was working at the Sunrise.”

She whimpered. “It’ll take you an hour to get here!”

“No, it won’t.” He heard the doorbell ring. “Go answer it. Don’t hang up.”

“Okay.”

He heard her talking, and then Dean came on the phone. “Tate?”

“What’s the situation?”

“One sec.” Dean spoke again, but Tate couldn’t make out what the former SEAL said. Elexa answered a series of questions, then he came back on. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“Serious head injury?”

Instead of answering the question Dean said, “That’s a good idea. I’m sure Lex will appreciate you meeting us there.”

Tate pressed his lips together. He needed an answer, but if Dean didn’t want to say while Elexa was listening…well. That was an answer in itself, was it not?

“Put her back on the phone.”

A second later she said, “Tate?”

“I’m here.” He said, “Text me when you get to the hospital. I’ll meet you there. But you need to drive separate, and pack an overnight bag. Both for you and your mom. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.” She sounded relieved. “I’ve been halfway packed for weeks.”

“Since volleyball camp.” The teen had been gone four days over Spring Break.

“That isn’t why.” She paused. “I’ve gotta go. Dean is taking mom.”

“See you soon.”

He hung up and held tight to the wheel. So tight he wouldn’t be surprised if it was warped when he let go. Tate had been Claire’s first husband. After they divorced, she’d gone and gotten pregnant a few weeks later. Elexa’s father hadn’t married her, but up and left when he found out about the baby. All those years ago.

Claire and Tate had had a two year marriage and had agreed to disband it before things got too out of control. He’d been volatile back then. Fresh out of his short career with the FBI. At first, it had been a draw for her, his wild ways. Then she’d tried to “settle him down.” That had been the beginning of the end.

Tate reached the gas station at the edge of town. He pulled over and loaded the app that would find Elexa’s phone—something she’d willingly given him access to. She’d actually asked him to set it up. Just in case.

Maybe for some people, their relationship—whatever you might call them—might be weird. A forty-five year old man couldn’t be friends with a sixteen-year-old girl. But he cared about her mom, and she knew she could always count on him if either of them needed help.

The little dot said she was on her way to the hospital.

He sent her a text to meet him in the lobby. When he walked in twenty minutes later, she said, “I kind of thought you’d have brought cops with you.”

“Your mom decide to start filing police reports now?”

Claire never had before. She always said she could “handle” it, despite the fact he could see the pain she was in. Physical and emotional. Elexa didn’t answer. “She should. If she wakes up.”

“Come on. She’s gonna wake up.”

“You didn’t see her.”

“Dean knows what he’s doing, and so do the doctors.” He had to hold himself in check. “Besides, if Rob disappears later, I don’t want my name involved in a police report. You know the first place they look at is the spouse, right? Second place is the ex who’s still in her life.”

Elexa rolled her eyes, but he didn’t miss the edge of fear.

“She’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that,” she said. “But thanks.”

“Let’s go find out.”

She had to speak with the hospital staff, and fill out all the forms for her mom. While she did that, he made a call.

Tate wrapped up his call when she started towards him. “Thanks.” He stowed his phone back in his jeans pocket. “All good?”

Given her look, he figured that was a “no.”

She said, “They did an x-ray. She’s still unconscious. The doctor said there’s a fracture in her skull. She might not wake up for a couple of days, maybe longer.” Tears gathered in her eyes.

Tate lifted a hand and squeezed the back of her neck, his forearm resting on her shoulder. She grasped it. Holding on for dear life while she got a handle on her emotions.

“I told her that she should leave as well.”

He nodded. She’d been planning her exit for months, wanting her mom to go with her. Tate had encouraged them both to start a new life. He didn’t know if Claire was just scared, or if she was so under Rob’s thumb that she felt like she couldn’t leave. Whatever it was, he was prepared to help Elexa get her mom to work through those feelings. Otherwise, neither of them would ever get free.

“I know you did.” He let go of her neck. “Maybe this will convince her.”

Elexa shrugged. “They said nothing’s gonna change tonight. Maybe not for a couple of days. They said there’s a spot where I can sleep, though. Cause I don’t really wanna go home.”

“You packed bags for you and your mom like I told you to, right?”

“I thought that was just for the hospital.”

“You wanna sleep on an uncomfortable hospital chair, night after night, with the lights on and people everywhere?” The alternative was that she go back to the house, where she would be alone with her stepdad—after putting her mom in the hospital.

Fear washed over her face. “Can I stay with you?”

He shook his head. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Whatever. Everyone already thinks you’re my dad.”

He nearly choked. “What?”

Elexa made a face. “Literally everyone I know thinks you’re my dad.”

“And, of course, you told them that I’m not?”

“No way. Let them think whatever.” She brushed at her hair, and he realized how exhausted she looked. “It makes me more mysterious. The town’s super-hot, rogue private investigator might be my dad…or he might not be.” She lifted her hands and wiggled her fingers. “Nobody knows.”

“Tune in at ten for more fictional adventures.”

She almost laughed.

“I’m not even touching that super-hot thing.”

“You’re old, but it can’t be denied. All my friends think so, but I told them to quit talking about you like that because that’s just gross. But even mom said it. Though, I think she still hates you for the umbrella thing.”

Yet another thing he wasn’t going to touch. “Let’s go. Tomorrow you can get an update before school.” Before she could move, he said, “I do need to know if he’s ever touched you. Or hurt you in any way.”

“Because you’ll kill him?”

He would certainly want to.

“He’s never even touched me. I already want you to kill him. That would just give me even more reason.” She studied him. “I have money saved up.”

He gently shoved at her shoulder. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“A safe place for you to stay.”

Tate drove, and she followed him in her car across town. Set up as a shelter, Hope Mansion now took any single woman—children, too—on an application basis. They also had empty rooms for occasions like this. The owner, Maggie, was going to meet them at the door.

Anytime Tate called, day or night, Maggie picked up.

He got Elexa’s bag off the backseat. “Maggie said she was going to make tea for you.”

As they approached the side door, it flew open. A woman ran out. Tate caught the flash of a police shield on her belt right before she slammed into him.

“Easy.” He grasped her biceps to keep her from knocking him over, and the bag banged against the side of his leg.

She looked up at him. Those blue eyes, blonde hair. Flustered. Breathy, as though they’d just kissed.

“Savannah.” He sounded like they’d just kissed.

“Seriously, Dad? You’re gonna flirt with a woman right now?”

Any other time it might have been funny.

With literally any other woman.

Two

Savannah pulled up outside the victim’s office thirty minutes later. She shut off the police lights and siren before also turning off the engine. The black and white car she parked behind was dark, but the gentrified office building was lit up and the officer was at the front door.

Don’t think about Tate.

She climbed out and shoved the door closed. It slammed. Savannah pulled on her jacket like there was nothing wrong. Nothing but frigid spring night air, and the fact she hadn’t seen the beach in far too long—or even a warm day, for that matter.

Her brand new partner, Mia Tathers—formerly ATF—winced. “What’s so wrong that you gotta take it out on your car?”

Savannah said, “Sorry. What’ve we got?”

Mia didn’t didn’t begin to explain the situation at hand—a dead man. “He’s not getting any deader.” Mia folded her arms over her wool coat, and Savannah noted she’d curled her hair. “So explain.”

Savannah looked down at her partner’s red skinny pants, and her eyes continued down to the white-soled sneakers on her feet. “Were you on a date?”

“I changed my shoes. And you’re avoiding the subject,” Mia said. “But while we’re talking about it, Conroy wasn’t super happy he didn’t get to the ‘walking me to my front door’ portion because of the murder I had to come investigate.”

“So I hope you reminded him it was his idea you become his new lieutenant, and my partner. Which means, as the chief of police, he can’t really complain, right?”

The whole situation was hilarious. Mostly because her boss had been uptight for so long. She was enjoying his game being thrown by his newfound emotions. The former chief had passed away a few weeks ago after an uncharacteristically long, drawn-out battle with pancreatic cancer. The interplay between Lieutenant Mia Tathers and new Chief Conroy Barnes was like watching a soap opera happen at work.

There was a police department poll circulating the office to correctly guess what month they would get married, even though Conroy hadn’t asked her yet.

Savannah had her money on July.

Mia said, “He’s uh…working on dealing with the fact me being his lieutenant means I actually have to be a cop sometimes.”

Savannah grinned. “I’m sure.”

Mia was taller than her, lanky like a volleyball player. Savannah felt like the sidekick—five-four and curvy. Older, by nearly ten years. On top of it all, her new partner was also a former ATF agent. Talk about an inferiority complex. A fed? Savannah loved her job, and she loved Mia. But if you took away either of those, she’d be back with the town shrink and something new to talk through.

Mia had also grown up here in Last Chance County, so people all over town knew her. They knew her story; how Conroy had dated her older sister—before she’d been killed in an automobile accident. Mia had forgiven Conroy for what she’d believed was his responsibility in the tragedy, while he’d worked to keep her safe from a crazy guy with a career terrorizing people.

Savannah, on the other hand, had been here two years, which meant she was about twenty-eight years from officially qualifying as someone “from here.” She was a newbie in town, and she would always be the detective not born and raised here. An outsider.

Savannah said, “How’s your hearing?”

“Some ringing on occasion, but generally good.”

A dangerous man had fired a weapon next to Mia’s ear only a few weeks ago. She was recovering better than the doctors expected from having a perforated ear drum. Still, she would never be back to full capacity. Mia had to wear ear protection to safely fire her weapon, which meant that in the event she had to draw—and fire—her gun on the job, she would be stuck with permanently hearing loss. One that would confine her to a desk indefinitely.

Savannah had already had the hard conversation with Conroy about Mia’s hearing. She’d tried to convince him it wasn’t worth it for Mia to take that risk. One incident was all it would take for her partner to wind up disqualified from field work. But, and for good reason, he wanted her to make the choice herself.

In the meantime, that meant Savannah had to report directly to him, regularly, on how Mia was doing. Loud noises were going to be a problem. Gunshots. Explosions. Maybe they’d had their fair share of those before Mia’s injury—when that dangerous man had targeted her—and things were back to normal now.

Whatever that meant.

Though, she figured it at least meant no more Tate Hudson.

“What?”

Savannah said, “We should get inside.”

“Yeah, no. Spill.”

She decided to rip off the bandage. “I ran into Tate on my way out of my place—where I live.” She turned to head for the scene. “That’s all. No biggie.”

“If you’re using the word ‘biggie,’ then it is a big deal.” Mia snagged her arm. “What?”

Savannah sighed. “I literally ran into him. As in, slammed right into him. My face hit his chest, and he grabbed my arms.”

Mia’s dark brows angled together. “He grabbed you?”

“Not like that.” They’d had a moment. As hokey as that sounded, she’d stared up into his eyes and just paused. “He was nice about it. There was this girl with him.”

“A girl?”

“She called him ‘dad.’”

“No.”

“So now you know, let’s go. End of story. Time to work.”

Tate Hudson, private investigator and one time FBI agent, had a kid. A full grown, beautiful teenage daughter.

Savannah made a beeline down the sidewalk at a strip mall in the low-rent end of town. The dead guy was a CPA, Kenney Aggerton. Well known in town as the owner of two businesses. One legitimate, and the other one that resided…under the table. Where he kept a second safe, literally, in the floor beneath the rug under his desk.

They checked with the officer stationed on the door. “You found him?”

Donaldson nodded. He was young, but he’d proven himself recently when he’d helped save Mia and Conroy’s lives and detain the dangerous man. He said, “Call came in from a neighbor who works at the clothing store next door. She heard shouts and called it in. By the time we got here, the guy was DOA.”

Mia said, “You ID’d him?”

“Photos on the walls, name on the door,” Donaldson said. “It’s him.”

Mia nodded.

“Checked his pulse, but it was pretty clear he’s dead. I didn’t touch anything else.”

The reception area was clear. Single desk with a computer and phone, a faux leather couch and coffee table. Side table and coffee pot. Water dispenser. “Donaldson, get the receptionist down here.”

He said, “Copy that.”

Savannah stepped into the office and saw what he meant about it being “pretty clear” he was dead. Her partner wasn’t going to like this. “Mia, you—”

She nearly slammed into Savannah’s back, though not like Savannah had slammed into Tate. “Good gravy.”

“Yeah.” It was gruesome. Just what Savannah needed to get Tate out of her head.

Sure, they’d worked together a bit during the time Conroy had been protecting Mia. They’d brought down Ed Summers, a local guy who’d been selling drugs—and other things—for years. She still didn’t understand everything Tate had going on. It had been clear he worked according to his own rules.

Still, they’d finally gotten enough evidence to topple the empire, which then created a power vacuum in town among the criminal element. They weren’t a big town, but big enough; the highway connected them between two major cities. Ed Summers had controlled what went through town, charging taxes on things transported across the state.

“Kenney Aggerton.”

“Yeah.” Savannah said, “Ed Summers’s uncle, via his mother.” She pulled paper booties over her shoes and moved to the body, donning rubber gloves. “Got your camera?”

“In the car.”

“Once we have the preliminary look done, we’ll get down to processing the scene.” It was going to be a long night. She crouched. “Multiple stab wounds.”

Up close and personal. Someone was angry.

Aggerton had been holding leverage over his nephew, Ed Summers. Now that Summers was in jail, pending his court case, could be he’d taken out his anger on his uncle for the man’s part in the charges against him. Or he’d ordered it done.

He still had loyal friends on the outside. Even after a lot of his crew were swept up with him.

Then again, Aggerton wasn’t exactly an upstanding guy.

Stabbings didn’t just happen. Sure some people carried knives with them everywhere, especially in more rural communities like this. But it wasn’t usually the top choice in weapons for a premeditated murder.

“Look around for a knife. If it’s not here, we can widen the search to the surrounding area. Maybe the killer dumped it on the way out.”

Trash cans. Streets and side roads. Storm drains. If they knew which direction the killer had fled, they’d be able to narrow the search.

“Okay.” Mia’s voice sounded funny.

Savannah glanced at her partner. “If you’re gonna hurl, you should do it outside or you’ll contaminate the evidence.”

Mia glanced around, her face pale. “He certainly enjoyed staring at images of himself. This wall is covered with photos of him with all kinds of people.” She wandered to one framed photo. “That’s the governor.”

The victim was a power player in town. A guy with known criminal ties, who made money through those connections. She stared at his body. Then she stood and looked around.

Who had he angered, and did it have to do with the case being brought up against Summers?

She turned around slowly, taking in the room as a whole. “The safe is undisturbed.”

Because the desk was still where it always stood. Something Savannah knew from the last time she was here. It had been a few weeks ago since they’d served a warrant and removed evidence from the safe under the rug. Part of their case against Ed Summers—removing account books from Kenny Aggerton’s office

On the wall, behind a painting, was another safe. The one his clients saw him use on occasion. That was also undisturbed.

She muttered, “He wasn’t looking for something.”

File cabinets were shut; the key turned so it was locked. Computer intact, switched off. His phone lay on the desk.

“But they argued, and he or she pulled a knife and killed him.” Savannah pressed her lips together while she thought about it. “Means they brought it with them. Unless they grabbed a letter opener, or something else, and used that. But when you stab someone multiple times, things get slippery. Your hand slides down the weapon, and you usually end up cutting yourself and leaving DNA on it. Or prints if you don’t get cut yourself.”

Mia said, “So we really need to find it.”

Savannah glanced at her partner. “I’ll make notes if you get the bag.”

Mia nodded, leaving Savannah alone with the dead guy. Too bad all she could think about was Tate. Last in a long line of things, and people, she didn’t want to remember. Or dwell on.

Working cases was the only thing that made sense. Pieces of a puzzle she dug up that fit only one way. Solving crime was what she had been born and raised to do. Thanks, Dad. Not much she could be grateful to her father for, but that was something at least. After her mom had died, he’d done his best. She hoped he had, at least. The thought gave her only a sliver of comfort.

Her thoughts drifted again, to a different man.

Seriously, Dad?

The girl had spoken to Tate with obvious affection. He could have a family he’d never told her about, though she knew he wasn’t married. Why did she care, anyway? They had sparks, but it wasn’t a thing.

She was a cop. Just a cop, with no room in her life for complicated anything.

A man was dead, and she would figure out who did it. Then she would arrest them. After that, there would be another case. Another victim, with their own suspect. That was about all the complicated she could handle. Adding in emotions and drama because she found out Tate had a daughter and he hadn’t even—

“Whoa.” Mia stepped into view in front of her.

Savannah realized she hadn’t even noticed her friend and new partner had walked back in. “Just checking your reaction, regardless of circumstances. You passed.”

Mia shook her head, smiling. “Yeah, sure.”

Not fooled, but that was no surprise. Savannah needed to get her head together. If Tate wanted a relationship, or even had feelings for her, then he’d have said something. He hadn’t, and that was fine. Because Savannah needed procedure. She needed investigation.

What she did not need, was more secrets.

Officer Donaldson appeared in the doorway.

“Security cameras?”

“Oh. I’ll look.” He came back a couple of minutes later. “One over the front door, another at the back.”

“Call Ted. Have him come down here and find us the footage.” Their tech guy was a genius, and Savannah had about as much patience for technology as she did for the US Postal Service.

“Copy that.” Donaldson disappeared.

Two hours later, her hunch paid off. Ted called out to her from over at the receptionist desk. The woman had logged him into the computer, then she’d been escorted off the premises by the officer who had driven her here so she could answer some questions.

Savannah strode over from the CPA’s office. “What is it?”

Ted shoved back the thick, dark hair that had fallen over his forehead. “I’ve got something you’re gonna need to see to believe.”

Three

Tate let himself into his office just before eight in the morning, set his mug of coffee on the desk, and fired up his computer. He rolled the chair in close, and it rolled back to settle into the grooves he’d made in the plastic chair mat.

His phone buzzed with a text.

Tate pulled it from his front jeans pocket. Elexa.

No change.

He sent a text back to ask if she was going to school. When she answered yes, he told her to be careful in case her stepdad showed up.

Tate shook his head, his fingers swiping across the screen.

I’ll swing by the hospital at lunch.

No matter that the doctors wouldn’t tell him anything without consent, he’d ask anyway. Or at least make sure her husband wasn’t hanging around. Soon as she woke up, he was going to ask Claire to file a police report. It was time for her to be done trying to domesticate that guy. Rob Gaynes was nothing but an animal, and she didn’t need him in her life—no matter how civilized he acted in public. The truth was evidenced in what he’d done to her.

Tate checked his email and found a couple of new messages from people who’d filled out the contact form on his website. He sent the standard reply to set up an initial meeting on one, and answered the question the other had. Then he downloaded the images he’d gotten of the suspect from last night.

While that was processing, he got more coffee. He sipped and stared out the window.

Fine.

He was going to do it. Even though he knew he shouldn’t, and even though every other time he’d done it, there had been basically no results.

Tate opened up his browser and typed Savannah Wilcox. Nothing else. He knew exactly that much about her and her life before she’d come here. Zip. Nada.

He scrolled down.

A museum curator in Boston was opening up a brand new exhibit.

In Los Angeles, a high school teacher had just been convicted of embezzling funds raised for the school.

Neither even looked remotely like the Savannah Wilcox he knew.

He typed Savannah Wilcox, Police Detective.

Still nothing. Just a local news article about taking down Ed Summers.

He sat back in his chair and blew out a breath. He’d already cashed in the favor owed to him by the woman he knew at the DMV from his last job. He couldn’t call in another favor. Then he’d owe her in return, and he didn’t like to work that way.

A chime sounded through his computer speakers. The window for his doorbell camera popped up on his monitor. He saw who it was and felt his eyebrows rise.

Tate clicked the button on his desk to admit her through the front door. Usually he got up and met the person in his reception area. This time he yelled, “In the back!” and didn’t even stand.

He sipped his coffee so Savannah Wilcox—in the flesh—couldn’t see his reaction when she strolled in. Acted nonchalant, like he hadn’t just searched her name in his browser. After she’d been standing there a couple of seconds, he lowered his mug.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Last time he’d seen her she’d slammed right into him. The feel of her, and staring down into her blue eyes, was something Tate couldn’t let himself get too distracted over, or he’d be off his game. Nor could he let his gaze snag on her red trench coat, or the way her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders. He’d felt it between his fingers. It was as soft as it looked.

She jerked her thumb back over her shoulder. “You need a secretary, you know.”

“I had an assistant. She got pregnant and quit.”

Savannah said, “When? I’ve lived here two years. You haven’t had a secretary in all that time.”

“The ‘when’ was…” He counted his nephew’s age. “Six years ago. She moved away with her husband. They live in Denver now.”

She shivered.

“Don’t like Denver?”

“There’s even more snow there than there is here.” She shivered again.

“Coffee’s hot.” He motioned to the row of low cupboards alongside the opposite wall. At the end was a counter-height refrigerator. “Or there are cold drinks.”

She shook her head. “I’m not staying that long.”

“Business?”

“You could say that.” She tugged over one of his club chairs and sat. “Seriously, though. You need a receptionist.”

She was stalling. He figured she didn’t want to talk about whatever it was, so she was psyching herself up for what she thought would be a hard conversation.

He was a nice guy, so he let her do it. “I was going to ask Mia Tathers to be my new receptionist, but Conroy beat me to it by hiring her as your lieutenant.”

She blinked. “No way.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Not like she’ll be a cop for long, given her hearing issues.” She started to argue, but he cut her off and motioned to his reception area. “Plus, having a trained federal agent out there fending off angry customers?” He let that hang.

“You think Conroy will let her work here?”

“I think your new partner can decide that stuff for herself.” He said, “Besides, it’s not like I’m a threat. You really think I’d have a shot to come between them?”

Savannah studied him, as though trying to figure out whether he wanted that shot. He’d been trying to put her at ease. Could be he’d failed at that. She should know by now that being around him meant she needed to always be on her toes. Always.

Too bad for him, Savannah only allowed herself to get emotionally involved with people who were safe. Conroy, her boss, for example. She cared about him and they respected each other, maybe even considered each other friends. But only at work.

Mia was another—someone Savannah knew understood the job. Added bonus, Mia was preoccupied with Conroy so it didn’t put pressure on them to hang out all the time.

Despite how Tate was drawn to her and the obvious sparks between them, he knew she’d never consider letting him into her circle. Tate was definitely not safe.

He took a sip of coffee. “So what did you want?”

“Oh.” She pulled out her phone. “Just a few questions.” She scrolled, probably longer than was necessary.

He fought the pull of a smile on his lips.

She looked up. “Can you tell me where you were, last night, between four and approximately seven-thirty?”

For a second he’d thought this was going to be about Elexa. Four and seven-thirty? He considered where he’d been—taking a shower and catching up on this week’s episode of his favorite TV show—before he realized what this was. “You need my alibi.” He leaned forward in his chair. “For what?”

Someone had to be dead. There was no other reason she would be on the case unless it was a major crime. Tate knew only one thing about her past. Wherever she had lived, Savannah had been a detective.

But then, why could he find nothing about her?

“Just tell me where you were.”

“At home.” He pointed a finger at the ceiling. “Which is upstairs. Taking a shower.”

She frowned. “Can anyone corroborate this?”

“Well, I don’t have a cat. So…no.”

She said, “Is there an alternative?” Not happy.

He couldn’t fix that for her. They had very different jobs and lives. She followed the rules and enforced the law. Tate worked for people, not the rule of law. “It’s been a long week. I was between things to do, so I decided to clean up and rest.”

“And later that evening, when I saw you outside my place?” She kept a straight face, as though she thought nothing of it.

“With Elexa?”

“Is that her name?”

He said, “You don’t know about her?” When she shrugged, he continued, “She’s my ex-wife’s daughter.”

“Oh.”

“Between the shower and bumping into you, I was working.”

She was playing it close to the vest. He decided to do the same. Tate was pretty impressed, even if he knew she was only doing it for the sake of protecting herself. He wanted her to take a chance on him. But he knew if she did, he’d only wind up hurting her, which was the last thing he wanted to do. So, really, what was the point?

“Who is dead?”

Savannah blinked. She swiped across her phone and then turned the screen so he could see. “How about you explain this first?”

A black and white image depicted a brick wall and pavement. Savannah pressed ‘play.’ Emergency Exit. The door opened, and a man pushed his way out. Dark jeans and a black hoodie. It was pulled up over the man’s head, obscuring the face in darkness. He turned and Tate saw the emblem on the back.

He knew who it was.

“That’s your sweater,” she said. “On you. Coming out of the office of Kenney Aggerton last night. Around the time he was murdered.”

“Ed Summers’s uncle?” That guy had terrorized good people in this town.

“Yeah.” She shot him a pointed look. “Your friend, Ed Summers.”

Yeah, he’d kind of made it seem like that. “To the extent it served my purpose. Which wasn’t much.”

“Didn’t seem like that. Not considering I saw you with him multiple times.”

“A few weeks ago,” he reminded her. “When he was making Conroy and Mia’s lives a nightmare.”

“So you were doing it for the good of your friends?”

Tate said, “My work is my business. I don’t ask about your cases.”

“Ah, so it was a job.” She swiped the screen of her phone.

“Yeah, jot that down.”

“And you were working last night, when you visited Aggerton right before he died?”

Tate put his hands on the back of his neck, elbows out to the sides. He wasn’t about to repeat himself. And he hadn’t lied.

“How’d he die?” If she told him, he might be able to use the information to prove it wasn’t him.

“Answer the question.” She stared him down like this was a contest. “Was your contact with Aggerton case related?”

“You’re assuming that was me.” He motioned to the phone with one elbow. Her gaze strayed to his biceps, the outline of his muscle tight against the T-shirt he wore.

She blew out a breath and looked at the ceiling.

“My sweater was stolen from the backseat of my car recently.” He nearly smiled, mentally filing away that little glance at his arms. Watching her shift off her game was one of his favorite past times, more so when he was the one poking her off balance.

Tate wasn’t going to lie to her. “Aggerton and I have had dealings before.”

“So you knew him?”

“In a business sense. It was mostly related to cases he had me work. Clients he wanted investigating, and information he wanted about people who worked for him. Or prospective employees.”

“Anyone you can think of who might want him dead?”

“Like me?” Tate shrugged. “I have no idea if anyone wanted him dead. Not like we were friends. It was an agreement between two people, a contract he signed and the money he paid me. Just business.”

“What about an employee, former or prospective. Someone you dug up information on who might want payback?”

He stood. “I can check my records. Let you know if I find anything. But the work I did for him was just basic background checks...looking for criminal history, pulling their credit.”

“That’s it? We’re done here, and you’re dismissing me.”

“I didn’t kill Aggerton.”

Intellectually, he knew she wasn’t accusing him, and it wasn’t personal. That guy in the surveillance footage had been wearing his sweater, or at least owned the same one. Savannah was just doing her job. The one where she showed up only because of work, and only to fish for information.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Her phone buzzed. She glanced down, and then paled.

“Something wrong?”

“No.” She cleared her throat. “No. I have to go.” She practically sprinted for the door.

Four

Savannah entered the police station. “Where’s the chief?”

The receptionist, Kaylee, looked up from her novel. “Out to lunch with Mia. You coming in?” When she nodded, Kaylee hit the buzzer.

Savannah headed for her desk, where she dumped her things and sat. It was fine. Everything was fine.

The adrenaline that had coursed through her body when she saw that notification on her phone was finally dissipating. The Google alert she’d set up—specific phrases pertinent to her past—had sent her a notification by email. It was letting her know someone had posted something that used those phrases. Usually it was just random stuff that didn’t actually relate specifically to her past. False alarms.

For the first time in two years, the Google alert actually sent her something useful.

Savannah bit the inside of her lips together. Everything is fine.

“You okay?”

Savannah yelped and spun in her chair. It was just Kaylee. “I’m fine. Thanks.” Her voice sounded breathy.

The receptionist didn’t believe her. Not one bit. “Girl…”

Savannah cut her off. “I have a lot of work to do.”

Kaylee waltzed back to her counter stool, to the novel she had flipped face down. Beside her book were the remains of a chicken wrap.

Across the other side of the room, Sergeant Basuto sat at his computer. If he was working, it was basically impossible to disturb him. The whole place would have to be on fire. Or under attack.

Like it had been just weeks ago.

She rubbed at her breastbone with the heel of her hand. Not a good memory, being hit point blank and thrown to the ground in the bathroom off the back hallway. A gunshot. The bruise had finally gone away two weeks ago.

Mia, on the other hand, had been bitten by a poisoned dog, terrorized in the middle of the night, kidnapped, and then to cap it all off, suffered hearing loss from a close range gunshot. Savannah figured Mia had at least earned a lunch break with her boyfriend, who happened to be their boss. She’d seen and heard about worse impropriety during her time as a cop than Mia and Conroy’s eating together.

Last Chance was a small town where everyone just had to know every little bit of detail about every little thing. Eventually she would get used to those small town ways of doing things.

Eventually.

She’d have to get used to it. There was no chance of going home, and she had no interest in leaving here only to settle somewhere else. Starting her life all over again. For the second time.

Her mother had passed years ago. Her father…well, he didn’t even warrant another thought. It wasn’t like she would be making contact with him.

Last Chance County was her home now. It would be forever—or until her safe place crumbled into dust and she had to run again.

Her thoughts strayed back to her Google Alert and the news it brought. Kind of like a rubber band stretched so far there was nothing it could do but snap back.

The district attorney in New Orleans had been killed. Gunned down in the street outside a restaurant. A tragedy. A senseless, meaningless murder.

Except that she knew the reason. That was why she’d driven here to the office—because she had a pile of cases to work. She couldn’t access any information from her work computer. Not without someone noting it. Same for phone calls made from her work cell. If she went home, she would be tempted to drown in all the gory news and her mental state would go down like the DA did. Never to get back up again.

Just work, don’t think about it.

Savannah wasn’t in witness protection, but the way she lived wasn’t far from that life. And now the one person who knew everything she’d been before, and everything that had happened to her, was dead.

Murdered.

Not tortured for information. Just gunned down and killed.

“You seriously don’t look all right.”

Kaylee’s voice sailed over to her from where she was sitting. Savannah kept her head down and gritted her teeth, “I’m fine, Kaylee.”

“Detective.”

She looked up at the man who stood in front of her. “What do you want, Ted?”

The younger man, barely mid-twenties, stood by her desk. He was their resident technological expert. Dark hair, shaved close on one side and hung like a curtain over his right eye. He flicked his head so it swung behind his ear, but immediately fell back where it had been before. “You should apologize to Kaylee. That wasn’t nice.”

Savannah wanted to say something about his sensibilities. She bit those words back.

Frustration and fear weren’t fuel for taking her powerlessness out on others. Her father had done that. And she’d sworn to herself. Sworn. She would never do that; she would never become him.

Savannah shut her eyes, took a few long breaths and tried to quickly process the tragic death of someone she knew and cared about.

“Did something happen?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him. The kid might dress and act like no one should get close, but Savannah knew something about pain that resided under the surface. About not letting people get close. Self-preservation.

“If it did—” She glanced at Kaylee. “—that wouldn’t be an excuse to take out my bad mood on you.” She looked back at Ted. “Either of you.”

“Thanks, hon.” Kaylee gave her a small smile and then put away her book, lunch break over.

“Don’t let me be a jerk, Kay.”

She didn’t look over. “Don’t call me ‘Kay’.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Savannah smiled.

Ted gave her a tiny nod.

“Whatcha need, Ted?”

He slid into Mia’s seat behind the desk that faced Savannah’s. It had been unoccupied until a few weeks ago.

“Tired of solitary?”

He always sat there when he had something she needed to go over with him. Or when he was bored of sitting alone in his closet-sized office.

Ted tossed a flash drive over to her.

She inserted it in the USB port. “What am I looking at?”

“The contents of Kenny Aggerton’s files, photos, web search history, and video library.”

The way he’d said that was telling. She glanced at him. “Yikes?”

“Mega yikes.”

She nodded. No one would want to sit by themselves after watching questionable footage. She also would’ve sought out a colleague or friend.

“Jess isn’t on today?”

The skin around his eyes shifted. It was an interesting tell, usually reserved for when he was irritated. Officer Ridgeman had recently lost her grandfather, the former chief. But that wasn’t what this was about. There was something he wasn’t saying.

They were both the same age and single. They worked together, but Savannah had thought that maybe they should expand their relationship a bit. Not that she would meddle in their love lives. That would be weird. But she could see them together. That shouldn’t be a problem, since the chief was dating his lieutenant.

So, what was bothering Ted?

Savannah decided to put him out of his misery. “You should play poker. Or get into undercover work.” She interlocked her fingers, elbows to the desk. “Or undercover poker.”

He flicked his hair back with his hand this time. It didn’t stay. “Sure. In all my free time.”

“Recommendations on where to start with all this?” she asked. “Aside from just searching ‘Tate Hudson’ and going from there.”

He almost smiled. She could see he wanted to. He said, “Not much in there about Tate, if anything. There is, however, a file I labeled ‘hate mail’ which is exactly what it sounds like.”

“Thank you.”

“You really think Tate is the one who did this?”

Savannah shrugged. “Not really.” Before she could jump too far too fast, she stopped and thought about what she wanted to say. “It’s his sweater in the surveillance. Whoever it is, they were there around the time of the murder. Given we can’t see their face, it really could be someone else. Someone with the same sweater and the same build.”

Ted made a face.

“Yeah.”

The fact was, Tate had been in the house with Ed Summers when she’d shown up to ask about a suspect—a very dangerous killer who’d come after Mia. Seeing him, of all people, walk out onto that porch with a known local criminal, a man they were trying to take down, had made quite the impression. And not a good one. She just couldn’t forget that. The sudden rush of surprise. Feeling like he’d duped them all, and she’d fallen for it. Suckered in because of her feelings for him.

No. Whatever Tate had done, she was going to find the evidence. If he deserved prison, then she would do her job. It was that simple.

Ted sat quietly. “There’s more on Aggerton.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “Poison in the whiskey bottle.”

“He was stabbed.”

“Aggerton was also being poisoned.”

She felt her eyebrows rise. “We know that already?” She hadn’t heard that they’d gotten any of the lab results back.

“I figured it out the moment I smelled it, though the lab will confirm. Someone put poison in his drink, just a small amount. Probably figured he would ingest it slowly, get sick, and then die.”

“Wow. The smell?”

He shrugged.

“You’ve smelled poison before?”

“Enough to recognize it under the regular whiskey musk. Don’t even know why I checked it, except that we were bagging everything for fingerprints. One of those glass containers, with the fancy stopper you know?”

She nodded.

“I figured I’d get a whiff of what the good stuff smells like.” He started to smile, then his eyes flared. “Don’t tell Dean about the whiskey. And don’t tell him about the poison.”

“Okay.” She wasn’t sure which he seemed to think was worse. “It didn’t affect you, right?”

“No.” He coughed. “No way. Tell Dean that, too.”

Sure, since he didn’t even know about the whiskey or the poison to begin with, she should also tell Ted’s brother he wasn’t affected by either. She looked at him cross eyed. That made perfect sense. His brother Dean was a former Navy SEAL and the unofficial local emergency medical tech. She’d gathered that he was overprotective of his younger sibling, but it sure seemed like this was more than that.

Alcohol and poison. Why did the two things immediately raise red flags with Ted and why did he want to keep it from Dean?

Savannah reined her thoughts back to the case. “Poison and a stabbing? What, was it taking too long?”

“That, or he had multiple people after him.”

“At least two,” she said. “One who tries to slowly poison him, the other who, in a rage, stabs him multiple times.”

“Why a rage?” Ted tipped his head to the side.

“A gun can kill a person easy enough,” she said. “You bring one to the meeting and pull the trigger. Bang, they’re dead. It’s done. With a knife you’ve got to know what you’re doing, or it’s just a hand, stabbing at them over and over and—”

Ted swallowed. “I get it.”

Savannah shrugged one shoulder. “People who want maximum carnage in order to get maximum satisfaction out of it? Aside from the obvious allure of an explosion, which is hard if you know nothing about bombs, a knife really is the best choice. Especially if you’re angry enough.”

“Wow.” He didn’t exactly look impressed. More like ready to be sick.

“Guess I’ll start with the hate mail.”

He seemed pleased she made that choice. Savannah caught the edge of something. “You okay?”

He pushed back the chair and stood, shoving that swatch of hair back. “Yep. Gotta get back to work.”

Ted headed for the hallway that led to his office and the bathroom where she’d been shot. Savannah shuddered in her chair. She’d been wearing a vest that day but had gotten knocked unconscious from the force of the bullet slamming into her. Tate had been shot in the vest that same week, as had Conroy.

It wasn’t like she was special. But, she’d thought that maybe it would gain them solidarity of some sort. Apparently not.

She still had yet to go down that hall since the shooting. She only used the front door now.

Halfway through her reading of the hate mail, Conroy and Mia headed back in. He shot her a two fingered wave, looking pretty happy with himself after their lunch date. Savannah stood up, done wading through the mire of hate mail for the time being. She grabbed her weapon in its holster from her top drawer and slid it onto her belt.

“Are we going somewhere?”

Savannah said, “You’re clocking back in?”

Mia narrowed her eyes. “I texted you. You said you didn’t want me to get you a sandwich to go.”

“I didn’t.” Savannah pulled on her favorite red coat. She had a picture on her clean phone back at home. Her mother, wearing one that looked almost exactly like it. “We have work to do.”

They didn’t say anything during their short walk out the building and into the station parking lot. Savannah drove.

“Where are we going?”

“To talk to the wife.” She typed the address onto her dash screen.

Mia looked at the GPS, then said, “No. Freelander is always backed up this time of day. We should take Benton.” She canceled the directions. “I’ll tell you where to go.”

Savannah turned where Mia directed her, keeping her frustration to herself.

They found the house number. A two-story that looked at least three thousand square feet, even though Aggerton and his wife had no kids or pets to help fill the monstrosity.

Savannah spotted the wife. “Well, look at that.”

Standing in the driveway, Aggerton’s wife lifted a suitcase and shoved it into the back of a luxury SUV.

“Making a run for it, probably.” Mia grasped the handle.

Savannah got out, and together they walked up Mrs. Aggerton’s driveway. “Somewhere to be?”

Bernice Aggerton yelped and spun around. She wore wide-leg, pink pants, a tent-like white blouse that draped over her, and enough gold to pay Savannah’s rent for six months. With four-inch platform heels, she split the difference between Savannah’s height and Mia’s.

“Don’t got no time for no cops.”

“Like I said.” Savannah planted a hand on her hip. “Somewhere to be?”

“Yeah. My cruise ship.” She slammed the back of the SUV closed and waved her fingers. “Laters.”

Five

Tate paced his office, then headed out the back door. He walked through the neighborhood, past businesses that ran alongside his and through residential streets. Long enough his leg muscles started to ache and his stomach began to rumble, though not nearly long enough for his head to quit going over and over the particulars from cases he had open. Not to mention everything he knew about Aggerton.

A school bus passed him. It wasn’t the end of the day already, was it? He wore no watch—who did these days?—and he’d left his phone back on his desk, which wasn’t the smartest thing he’d done that day.

The sun hid behind hazy winter clouds, keeping the air stagnant and crisp, but dry. He’d walked his way right into the afternoon.

Probably time to head back.

Circling through the neighborhood back to his office took another half hour. He passed the gym and looked inside. Plenty of people on machines. At the back, two guys sparred in the fighting ring while a crowd watched. Tate winced. They reminded him of a few vicious fights he’d seen. Not something he’d do for recreation.

He preferred lifting weights in his extra bedroom.

And walking.

He let himself in the front door, disarming the alarm system. He passed through the reception area to his desk. Two missed calls, both from Conroy. No voicemail. Nothing from Savannah. Just a text from Elexa that her mom still hadn’t woken up and she was headed to Hope Mansion to write a history paper.

Tate didn’t return the police chief’s calls. Not yet. He didn’t know how much Conroy knew about what was happening. What did the chief even want to talk about?

The private investigator who’d trained him, signing off on his hours for the licensing board, had been careful with information. He held it close, and then used it when it served his purpose. As leverage, mostly. Tate was trying to do the same with Conroy and his, “need to know.”

Too bad Tate could find nothing on Savannah. Even if he was prepared to hold it over her in the event she decided to pursue a murder charge. Which he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do.

Tate snatched up the phone and made the call he should’ve made earlier.

“Special Agent Cullings.”

Tate said, “We need to talk.”

“Talk, like the time you needed another guy for your basketball league, or the time your car was totaled, and you didn’t have cash to pay your deductible?”

“Neither.” Tate leaned back in his chair. “More like the time you married my receptionist and took her with you to Denver.”

“Uh-oh.”

He said, “Making sure my nephews were born two states away so I’d have to video chat just to see them.”

“You don’t seem to have a problem visiting whenever the mood strikes you.”

Tate had been there over to see them at Thanksgiving and Christmas, so he figured that was probably true. His sister had been the best, and only, receptionist he’d ever had. Now she was making a career out of having as many kids as possible. Considering the boys and how active they were, not going back to work was probably a good idea.

Tate said, “That’s because I need to keep Millie sweet every year for when I need help with my taxes.”

His brother-in-law and former partner was FBI Special Agent Eric Cullings. The guy chuckled. “You’ll need more than sweet if you think I’ll be able to convince her that the boys will be fine with me while she does your taxes for hours. That I’ll not lose my mind before she gets done.”

“I know. I’m working on saving for next year already.” And he wasn’t talking about his tax bill.

“I like Hawaii.”

Tate said, “Keep dreaming.”

“What do you want?”

“I need to talk to Hammer.”

His FBI code name—The Hammer—was down to the huge fists he had, though Tate had no intention of finding out what it felt like to be on the receiving end of one of his legendary punches. He’d leave that to the guys Hammer faced in the FBI’s boxing tournament.

Eric was quiet for a second, then said, “Face to face, or is a call good?”

“Either, but face to face would be better.” He’d be able to see the guy’s body language that way. Which meant it would be easier to gauge if he was telling the truth or lying. “Got him on surveillance, wearing my sweater, leaving a murder scene.”

It sounded like Eric spit out his coffee. “He what?”

“Not his face. I only know it was him since he’s the one who took my sweater. Probably for exactly this reason,” Tate said. “Given it implicates me, and not him, in a murder. Which he probably had planned all along.”

“You think he murdered someone?”

“I’m gonna ask him. I’ll find out.”

His brother-in-law blew out a long breath. “No. No way my undercover killed someone. I don’t care who it was.”

“Kenny Aggerton.”

“Ed Summers’s uncle? The accountant?”

“You see my point?” Tate said, “You think he’s the kind of guy to do something like that?”

Eric sighed. “When I asked you to keep an eye on him, this was what I meant. So you cover him. I don’t care what you’ve got to do, but report what you know back to me as you learn it. You cover him. No matter what, he is left alone to do his job.”

“He’s getting somewhere?”

Tate hadn’t been read in on the operation, though he got the gist of what it was, given where the undercover had gone and the circles he showed up in now. Tate also hadn’t been contracted to help, even though Eric had used him before. Which was how the FBI agent met Tate’s sister in the first place.

What felt like a million years ago, they’d worked together. Before that, they’d been at Quantico together. But Tate hadn’t been an agent even five years before he quit.

A year later, Eric showed up in Last Chance County with a case—and left with Tate’s sister. It was a wonder they were even still friends.

Eric said, “You know I can’t give you specifics of Hammer’s Op. But after the Chief of Police arrested Ed Summers, we had to scramble.”

Conroy didn’t even know the half of what was happening in his town. He had no idea there was an undercover fed among the persons of interest files he had. Tate was the one who’d tipped off Hammer—and Eric—that Conroy was planning a raid. He’d been absent at the party where the arrests were made, and had laid low since.

It was a slippery slope, considering all he’d been part of. But if Conroy did pick him up now—as part of that ongoing case and all the pieces of the puzzle—they would have to deal with it.

“Thankfully Hammer had what he needed by then to move up the food chain.”

“For real?” Tate said, “I knew he found whoever supplied Ed with the drugs. We’re one step up on the food chain?”

“We?”

“You know what I mean.”

Tate didn’t need a recap of that same old, “I’m a fed and you’re not even a cop” speech. The one Tate’s sister so enjoyed. She even had her own version of it now.

Both of them thought he should have become a legit lawman. Only Millie understood why he was a private investigator now. And why that was all he’d ever be.

Eric said, “We’re in the thick of it. Hammer will get what we need, and you’ll keep him off Conroy’s radar.”

“We?”

Eric chuckled. “Touché.”

Tate’s cell buzzed. A text from Maggie at Hope Mansion that Elexa was all tucked in for the night. Apparently Elexa had been worried about her mother, so Maggie prayed with the teen.

“What’s going on with you?”

Tate didn’t want to get into the weeds of his ex-wife’s poor choice in husbands and risk another lecture he’d heard before. Instead he said, “If I send you a picture can you run it?”

“Am I your secretary now?”

“You took mine, so I’m thinking yeah.” Tate wasn’t going to let this go.

He sat at his computer, pulled up the doorbell camera footage from when Savannah had shown up, and took a screen shot. He attached the image to an email and sent it to his brother-in-law.

Eric was quiet for a minute. Tate thought he could hear keys clicking. Then he finally said, “Any particular reason you’re interested in this—ah.”

“What?”

“I have to guess, she’s more than just a local cop?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“You know that doesn’t work with me.” Eric said, “Who is this girl to you?”

“She’s investigating Aggerton’s murder.”

“No. That’s not it.”

“Can you just run her? Humor me. See what pops.” He gritted his teeth. If he snapped at Eric, his brother-in-law would realize something was up.

Of course, nothing was up. He just wanted to know Savannah’s history. There had to be a reason she was so guarded. Why she’d moved here and now lived so far under the radar he knew basically nothing about who she’d been.

Tate wouldn’t be who he was if he didn’t employ his unique methods to keep safe the people he cared about.

“She’s hot.”

Tate frowned. “Says the man married to my sister.”

“And exactly your type.” Like that was supposed to make his comment better.

Tate said, “Would you focus? This is important.”

“Yeah?”

Eric was the first guy he’d approved of for his sister, and even that was tenuous. He wasn’t going to trust the guy any further than he could prove Eric was on the same level as Millie.

Tate sighed. “Just put some feelers out. I wanna know if there’s something to know.”

“I’ll be sure and word it exactly like that.”

Tate said, “Shut up.” And hung up. Two seconds later he got a text.

Love you, too.

It was followed by a series of emojis that included a kissy face, a pineapple, and a ghost. Whatever that was supposed to mean. He figured his nephews had gotten ahold of the phone somehow.

Tate packed up for the day, took his laptop upstairs, and settled in for the night. The security for his apartment above the storefront office was a separate system, so he armed the downstairs. He pulled a dinner out of the freezer, slid it from the box, and punctured the plastic with a fork. He stuck it in the microwave and jabbed at the buttons.

How long it would take Eric to get Hammer to return a call, Tate didn’t know. It was difficult with an undercover. There were methods for the FBI to make contact with him. Sometimes those methods took a day or two. Once it was a week. Hammer would have to find a safe place to get his clean phone, not to mention time to make the call.

Tate wanted to know what the man had to say about Aggerton’s death.

He also couldn’t wait to find out more about Savannah. Not because he wanted her to owe him for keeping her secret, thereby ensuring she stayed safe—though his old mentor certainly would have played it like that. Tate just wanted to get to know her better. To know where she was coming from, so he could better protect her from having to face all those things he’d seen in his line of work. He knew she had also seen seen her fair share of trauma on the job. He just didn’t want her showing up as another victim.

A crime stat.

Hospitalized, like Claire.

Killed, like his parents had been.

No, that was the last thing he wanted for a woman trying to live a quiet life. Savannah had her secrets. Maybe she deserved to keep them. But if he was able to help, then he would do what he could.

Tate’s phone buzzed. He assumed it was a text. When the buzzing continued, he figured a phone call. Probably about the warranty for the car he didn’t have.

But it wasn’t.

His security system app flashed on the screen of his phone. A call had been made to the police department, and the security company wanted him to confirm he was all right—that he wasn’t responding under duress.

That only meant one thing. The sensors had tripped. Someone was breaking in downstairs.

Tate grabbed a gun and went to meet the intruder.

When he opened the door at the bottom of the stairs the first thing he saw was the knife.

Six

Savannah put the car in park. “Front door is open.”

Through the speakers Kaylee said, “Security company said his system was triggered.”

“And I was closest?” She wanted to get inside ASAP, but needed an answer. There may have also been the tiniest bit of reluctance. Mostly at the thought of finding Tate in a way that was beyond her professional—and legal—help.

“If you want me to call someone—”

“I’ll let you know if I need backup.” Savannah shoved the door open, disconnecting the Bluetooth connection from her phone. Kaylee would have to hang up on her end—the phone was still in the cup holder. Savannah pulled her weapon and sprinted to the front door of Tate’s downstairs office.

He’d indicated he lived in the floor above. She’d figured he had some kind of fortified cabin in the woods, not right in the middle of town. So she could admit to being interested what it looked like up there.

The call had come in at the diner, only minutes from here. She’d relocated there after she’d spent three hours interviewing Kenny Aggerton’s wife, and not just because Bernice had been uncooperative with answering the first few questions.

Bernice’s cruise, the one she’d purchased prior to her husband’s death for one passenger traveling alone, was not more important than finding his killer. A police investigation trumped the woman’s vacation plans. Much to her consternation.

If she’d seemed even remotely upset about his passing, Savannah might have had a modicum of compassion on her.

“Hudson?”

She called his name again, louder.

Listened.

A thud. Savannah headed for the noise, reaching the hall that branched off the front reception area. Away from the office, toward a short corridor. Door on one side, an EXIT sign at the end.

In the middle of the two doors, two men struggled.

Tate cried out and reared back. He shifted and she saw the gun in his waistband.

She lifted her own gun and aimed it at the man over his shoulder. “Police!”

Tate took a quick step back to the wall, moving farther out of the line of fire. Most people would at least look up at her warning. This guy turned away. She caught a glimpse of a wool mask over his face, round slits at the eyes and mouth.

He wore a huge, dark blue ski jacket over jeans and scuffed black shoes.

“Hands up!”

Knife in one hand. A blood-stained knife.

He ran.

She started toward him, steady, measured steps that ate up the space between them. When he hit the bar on the door, Savannah broke into a run. Seconds that felt like minutes stretched on as adrenaline flooded her body.

“Tate?” She had to know if he was all right.

He held his arm to his chest. “Go after him.”

She did, but only because he wasn’t in imminent danger of bleeding to death. Not because he’d ordered her to.

Savannah hit the bar on the EXIT door and was rushed at by a wall of cold air. She hadn’t put her coat on.

Gun pointed, she twisted one way and then the other looking for this guy. Anger surged in her. Aggerton’s killer had been here. He’d targeted Tate.

She saw a dark figure racing away and gave chase. But the guy was fast. Much faster than her, in fact. Like serious cross-country runner fast.

And he was getting away.

She forced her legs to move more quickly than they wanted, pounding the sidewalk after him. Aggerton’s killer.

A car passed, right in front of her. Savannah was forced to slow, which gave the guy even more of a lead.

She let out a cry of frustration.

Two buildings later, she heard the roar of an engine. When she reached the next street she saw a dark-colored compact driving away from her.

Savannah stomped back to Tate’s office like she was trying to get snow off her shoes. Frustration burned hot in her stomach. When she couldn’t get back in through the same exit door, she rounded the building to the front and stepped inside.

“Tate?”

“Savannah?” He didn’t waste time saying, “I’m in the bathroom!”

She headed for the hall, where the door swung open. He held a handful of paper towels against his arm.

“You okay?”

“Came at me with a bloody knife.” His teeth flashed in the dim light of the hall. He looked about as frustrated as she felt. “I’m guessing the one he used to kill Kenny Aggerton.”

She nodded, glanced around, and noted his camera high on the wall. “Surveillance?”

“It’s off. Because I’m here.” He said, “Did you lose him?”

“Whoever he is, he’s fast.”

Savannah blew out a breath. They’d seen the killer. The murder weapon had been here. Both the knife and the person wielding it, right in front of them.

He could have died. She could have walked into an entirely different scene.

Images flashed in her mind. Tate, laying on the floor like Kenny Aggerton. Torso speckled with knife wounds.

She moved to the reception area, mostly so she could have a minute to get herself together. When he followed she said, “Come and sit down.” She waved at the reception chair.

Tate slumped into it.

She had him peel away the paper towels. The slice was four inches and seeping blood. “You should see the doc.”

“I’ll send Dean a picture. He can tell me if it needs stitches.”

“You need stitches.”

He shook his head and quickly winced. “It’s not deep, and it was the flat of the blade.”

“And you didn’t shoot him?”

“I try to avoid it. Even if I’m being sliced up by a murderer, killing someone is almost never the right answer. It should only be a last resort.”

She blinked, not really sure what to say about that. So many people were inclined to shoot first and ask questions later.

She grabbed him a water from the refrigerator in his office and walked back, twisting the cap as she went. “Here. Take a drink, and then tell me what happened from the beginning.”

“Thanks.”

His voice rumbled through her, not completely washing away the fear she felt that he’d been so close to being killed tonight. But it helped. He was here. He was mostly whole.

“Tell me.”

“The security system tripped, which means a sensor was interrupted because someone had opened a door or window.”

“But the video wasn’t on?”

“I didn’t have time to get out my gun before he swung at me.” Tate winced. “I can’t believe he cut me.”

She hissed out a breath through clenched teeth. “You should’ve shot him.”

“It really is sweet that you care.”

“Shut up.”

He chuckled. Okay, she could admit she’d probably be offended if he had said that to her. Even though he apparently didn’t care, she still said, “Sorry.”

Then she turned and perched on the edge of the desk at a right angle to him. She could feel his gaze on her. She shut her eyes and tried to process the fact Kenny Aggerton’s killer had come here. “To kill you?” Or to plant the knife.

“That’s what I think,” he said.

He’d tried to kill Tate.

Savannah squeezed her eyes shut, at first trying to recall features she’d need to recount later. When they hunted this guy down.

Then all she saw were her father’s eyes.

“You okay?”

She lowered her head, bracing her hands on her knees while she breathed. Long, slow breaths.

“I didn’t realize you’d react like that.”

She sniffed and lifted her head. “What do you mean? I always react like this.”

She had to push away thoughts of her dad.

Any other day. Or any other person. Lots of other scenarios, and she’d have been fine. Right? But she wasn’t. Peace and joy were supposed to be part of her life, but they weren’t. What was the point of going to church if it didn’t make her life better?

He stood, then sat beside her on the edge of the desk. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

“I’m fine.” She was pretty sure she’d said that out loud. Hadn’t she? He’d better not ask her to tell him what this was about. Better that he just thought she was freaking out because he’d been cut by a murderer.

That was true—and far simpler than the depth of the actual truth.

“You’re allowed to have ‘off’ days.”

She said, “That would be Sundays.”

“I mean days when you’re off your game.”

“I know what you meant,” she said. “But when I’m ‘off’ like that, I miss things. People who should be in jail go free, and people who should be safe end up as collateral damage.”

She gritted her teeth, forced again to push away thoughts of her father. Not something she wanted to remember.

There was no room for being lax. Or not performing to the very extent of her abilities every day she worked. Allowing that had cost people their lives, or the quality of their lives—hers included. Bad guys had gotten away with stealing, intimidation, and causing pain. So much pain.

She sniffed.

“That sounds like a lot of pressure to be under.”

She shrugged, striving to lighten the mood. “It’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

“Do they?”

“I asked Conroy for a raise when he became chief. He hasn’t gotten back to me yet.” They were so far off topic now. Despite the fact he was sitting so close, and she wanted to have that sweet conversation with him that he seemed open to, Savannah did have work to do. She should get back to it.

Besides, he’d almost died. She hopped off the desk and turned to face him. “I need you to ID this guy so I can catch him.”

“I have no idea who it was,” he said. “You saw the mask.”

“Clothing. Height. Weight. Build. Did he say anything?”

“I have legal pads. I’ll write you out a statement.”

“Good.” She nodded.

“That’s it? You shove it aside, and the moment is over. You’re all about the job, and whatever is wrong with you just isn’t there anymore?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me.”

He just stared at her.

“You probably don’t feel good. If you give me that statement, I’ll let you get some rest.”

“Nope.” He shook his head, winced, and said, “I don’t buy it.”

She folded her arms across her chest. If he called her a chicken, she would probably punch him. Knife wound or not.

He sighed.

“When you write your statement, you can also write out your alibi for last night. I still need something from you if I’m going to officially rule out you as that guy wearing your sweater.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“And you can prove that beyond a doubt?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line, then said, “I’m working on that.”

“Give me all your phone records while you’re at it. And access to your work computer.”

“No chance.”

“Just checking.” She patted his shoulder. “Your head is fine.”

His lips curled up on one side. “Told you.”

“And your arm?”

“Savannah, I’m good.”

“Okay.” She waved a hand. “Whatever. I was just asking.”

He took hold of the hand. Savannah’s whole body stilled. What was he doing standing, moving closer to her? He even leaned in. Speaking close to her face.

Not too close. This was…nice.

“You care about me.”

She made a pfft sound that was far too loud. “No, I don’t.” And then she kept talking like an imbecile. “You’re just another victim. And a suspect in my case.” That was all there was to it. Nothing more.

“You do this with all suspects?”

“We’re not doing anything. So there’s nothing to not do.” She stepped back and tugged her hand from his. “Write your statement. I want to look at your back door.”

She strode away from him. Coward. She could do with some bravery added to the peace and love she was supposed to be feeling. None of it came. She didn’t feel any different now than she had a minute ago. Just Savannah.

And goodness, but wasn’t that just the entire problem.

Savannah, who acted a whole lot like that woman she was trying not to be. Not anymore, anyways. This woman was supposed to be the new and improved one. Yeah, right.

She blew out a breath and twisted the handle to the back door.

The killer had come here with the murder weapon. Assuming Tate wouldn’t be here, since it was so late in the evening? No way could the guy know that when he’d broken in. Obvious to anyone who knew what they were looking for. He might as well have kicked the door in for all it hid of his intention to get inside, regardless of the lock being engaged.

First the sweater—hoodie—now this? Tate was being targeted. Whether he was involved in Aggerton’s life, or death, he would be part of her investigation in some fashion. Either as the suspect, or as a key witness who helped her break the case and find the killer.

Had the intruder been planning to leave the knife somewhere inside Tate’s office? Could be this was a simple frame job. A way to cause her confusion by implicating him.

Could be.

Savannah heard raised voices from the reception area but couldn’t make out what was being said. She tugged her gun from its holster just in case and tiptoed back to the hall.

“…coming here.” That was Tate.

A man’s voice boomed. “You know why. Don’t deny it.” He called Tate a foul name. “You took my wife and daughter from me.”

Seven

Robert Gaynes was an inch shorter than Tate, and at least thirty pounds lighter. His frame was packed tight, though, since he worked out incessantly—something Tate figured he did to compensate for his small eyes and hook nose.

What he didn’t have in physical stature, he made up for with a grudge against the world the size of Alaska. Tate figured he’d have inadequacy issues, too, if he had Rob’s same occupation working on the city council housing committee.

“Claire isn’t here, Rob.” Tate widened his stance. He wanted to fold his arms but didn’t, keeping his fists free to use at a moment’s notice. Thankfully there wasn’t a gun within reach, as he’d just stowed his in the desk drawer. He’d have been tempted to shoot the guy, and then Savannah would have no choice but to arrest him.

Tate had to fight to keep his composure. Punching Rob would be immensely satisfying, but that was what this guy had done with Claire. Why perpetuate the cycle? Especially with someone who had no problem with what he’d done.

Tate said, “She’s unconscious in the hospital. From what you did to her.”

There was no remorse in his eyes. No shame and not an ounce of guilt either. Rob also didn’t seem surprised that Tate new about it. Since he wasn’t surprised to hear she’d been hurt, did that mean he probably had something to do with it? He could have found out from a number of sources, but Tate decided then that his guilt was plain to see.

Rob opened his mouth. Probably to fire back a smart remark.

Tate said, “Don’t bother.”

He wasn’t in the mood for an argument. His arm stung. He’d come face to face with a killer and been sliced up. Throw in Rob catching him off guard and the way the gash on his arm throbbed incessantly. Now he was just irritated.

Savannah was still here. Her reaction to him getting hurt, and what it meant, was something he needed to seriously process—when his mind could actually do that. Later. After pain meds, and a nap in his recliner.

Truth was, Dean had told him in their last text exchange that Tate should be taking a visit to see the doctor. Tate likely needed to, and not just because the former Navy SEAL knew what he was talking about when it came to injuries. Tate needed his cut secured with butterfly tabs and then bandaged. Sure, it wasn’t that deep. But it also didn’t feel good.

Rob said, “I shouldn’t bother asking you why my daughter took all her stuff and never came home last night?” The little man—that was how Tate liked to think of him—was gearing up for a fight.

Tate shrugged one shoulder. “Did you file a missing person’s report for your stepdaughter?”

“She’s a teenager. She probably ran away.”

He’d been her stepfather for years, but hadn’t ever adopted her. Not that Elexa would have agreed. She didn’t like him now any more than she did the day he walked into her mom’s—their—life. Half the conversations Tate had with her were about the despicable things he’d said, or done.

He’d lost count of the amount of times he’d tried to persuade Claire to press charges. But Rob had, so far, left Elexa alone. Thankfully. No doubt when that changed he’d be able to convince Claire, but Tate didn’t want it to reach that place. Not ever. And for what? Some false sense of what her life was supposed to be, denying the mess it really was.

Tate couldn’t know what went on in Claire’s head, and he’d given up the right to have a say in how she led her life. But she wasn’t safe—to the extent she was now unconscious in the hospital.

Still needing to wake up.

And when she did wake, he would try to appeal to her again. Happiness was never worth the price of being hurt. Even if it was pretend happiness.

Tate said, “Maybe you should check with the hospital. Then you can find out how your wife is doing, and at the same time, see if Elexa has visited.” He folded his arms then, just to keep his fists from starting a fight with Rob.

He wanted this scumbag to face what he’d done. Instead, Rob shrugged. “They’ll take care of her.”

“That’s supposed to be your job. As her husband.”

“Like you’d know,” Rob fired back. “The way you treated her. She told me all about how you hurt her and then left her.” He said the last few words with a high-pitched voice, then broke into laughter.

Tate took a breath. Then he said, “Yeah, I hurt her. Neither of us would deny that. But I can’t say I recall taking my fists to her or slapping her. Not even one time. Not ever.” He shifted half a step closer. Far enough he could bump Rob with his arms and send the guy back a step—or onto his butt. “Not like you, Councilman.”

“Like you can prove that.”

“I hope she wakes up and presses charges. Then files for divorce.”

If she woke up. There was a chance Claire never would, and he’d have to support Elexa through the burial of her mother. He would be right there with her. Trying, right alongside Elexa, to figure out a life without her in it. Not a chance he’d let her go through that alone. They didn’t spend much time together. Not with Rob in her life. But Tate still cared about Elexa, and she knew it. Counted on him.

Not always a healthy situation, but he was never going to let her just swing in the breeze, unprotected from the person who was supposed to be keeping her safe.

Rob roared. He launched himself at Tate.

Before they connected, he heard, “Councilman Gaynes. How nice to see you.”

Savannah. He’d been wondering when she would emerge from the back hall. He’d have to remember to commend her on her excellent timing. He shifted back and to the side, so that Rob stumbled two steps with nothing to grasp. Tate wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of being another one of his punching bags. Someone to take his frustration out on.

“Detective.” Rob straightened, clearing his throat and touching his hair. The back of his knuckles were split and bruised. Abrasions from a fight.

Tate said, “How’d you get those?”

He didn’t figure he’d admit to beating his wife, but wanted to try to trip him up in front of a cop anyway. No way to avoid the question.

If Savannah hadn’t been here, and Tate had been fighting fit, he’d be playing things much differently.

Rob looked at his hands. “I fell.”

Tate bit down on his molars. How many times had he heard Claire say that before he finally got her to admit what Rob had done? “And your wife, in the hospital? How’d she get there?”

“How would I know?” He shot Tate a defiant look. “You’re the one who’s seen her. Maybe you put her there.”

“Elexa called me. She said you were planning on having dinner with Claire so the two of you could talk.”

“Fine.” Rob huffed. “I’m filing for divorce. I wanted to tell her so she could prepare, but instead she lost it and came at me in a rage.”

“I’ve never even seen her lose her temper.” Tate studied Rob’s face. There was something in his eyes that told Tate this was more than simply covering his own behind. He was hiding something else.

Savannah said, “Councilman Gaynes, perhaps we should head to the police station. Make this conversation official, instead of a collection of unsubstantiated claims being bandied back and forth.”

When that was so fun? Tate glanced at her. He had to wonder what she thought was going on.

Rob said, “That won’t be necessary. My wife is missing, so I figured I’d ask the man who’s been sleeping with her for years where she might be.”

“Years?”

“Certainly most of our marriage.”

Bile filled Tate’s mouth. “And you can prove this, I guess?”

That would be hard to do considering it wasn’t true. Savannah had to know that.

“You’re a private investigator, so I’m certain you know how to cover your tracks. But I know what’s true.”

Tate said nothing. Or he’d wind up getting arrested instead of Rob, which was likely what the guy hoped for.

“I’ll be paying a visit to the hospital, Councilman.” Savannah said, “Just as soon as your wife wakes up. I’d like to get to the bottom of whatever this is.”

“Good idea,” Tate said. “You might also want to find out if there’s any love lost between Kenny Aggerton and our esteemed councilman.”

While they were here, he might as well make the valid point that Rob probably had as much of a grudge against the dead man as anyone else. Certainly more than Tate might have.

“Are you accusing me of murdering him?” Something sparked in Rob’s eyes. “Where were you when Aggerton was murdered?”

Tate said, “None of your business.”

“No?” Rob smirked. “Word from the police department is that you’re a person of interest in the case. Their number one suspect, even.”

“Is that right?” Tate wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing him frustrated when the truth was Savannah was just doing her job.

“After all,” Rob said, “why else would the police be here?”

“This office was broken into,” Savannah said. “That’s why I’m here. Not because I’m questioning Mr. Hudson about his involvement in any of my other open cases.”

That was a nice touch, referring to him like that. Though Rob might’ve seen them around together, or heard they’d worked side by side to help Mia and Conroy. Or, maybe he had no idea she and Tate knew each other at all, outside of this call and her showing up here to investigate a break-in.

Who knew how far Rob had his finger in what went on in this town? Far enough he managed to keep his marital strife to himself so no one other than Tate suspected a thing.

Too bad Elexa couldn’t prove what she believed—that Rob had been the one who hurt her mom. This time, at least. Otherwise Tate would convince her to press charges on her mom’s behalf. Maybe she could give a statement about some of the other things he’d done…

Tate needed to talk to her about that.

Rob sneered. “He’s not at the top of your suspect list for no reason. Sooner or later I’ll find out.”

Savannah said, “I’m happy to confirm with my chief, but it’s my understanding that police investigations aren’t your purview over at city hall as head of Infrastructure and Transportation. But if there’s a pothole on my street, I’ll give you a call.”

Tate pressed his lips together, but Rob probably saw the smirk that wanted out. Still, a niggle of worry entered the picture. Not for him. Tate had no problem going up against Rob. The guy could use his position in local government to cause problems for him, sure. But did Tate care about that?

A muscle shifted in Rob’s jaw, his eyes shifting around like he had to plan what to say next. Or what to do.

What Tate really cared about was when innocents got caught in the crossfire. Or when people close to him were hurt as a result of collateral damage. The thought of it threatened to mentally break him.

Savannah needed to tread carefully, or she’d wind up on Rob’s list of people he had a grudge against. Tate was pretty sure his own name was underlined and highlighted—at the top. She had to be careful, or her honest attempt at a new life would blow up in her face, and her good intentions wouldn’t survive what this town did to her.

Tate said, “Time to go, Rob. You said your peace. Now leave.”

“I’m barely getting started.”

He wanted to play it like that? Tate said, “Me too. And if I get what I want, not only will Claire and Elexa never again cross the threshold of your house, but you’ll never see them again for as long as you live. Unless it’s in a courtroom.”

Rob laughed. “We’ll see about that.”

Savannah said, “Did you just threaten your wife and stepdaughter in front of a police detective?”

He turned his venomous stare on her. “One who consorts with the suspects she’s investigating.” Rob’s smile turned smug. “We’ll see how well it goes when everyone finds out you overlooked evidence that clearly showed Tate as the killer.”

Eight

Mia was at her desk when Savannah got to the police department first thing the next morning.

“Hey.” Savannah dumped her backpack on the floor at her desk.

Mia leaned back in her chair and stretched. “Ready to take another stab at Aggerton’s wife?”

“In a minute.” Savannah sat. As she did, she blew out a long breath. All she’d done all night was think about Tate. And Rob. But mostly Tate.

“We can’t hold her much longer before we either have to formally arrest her or cut her loose.” Mia said, “Is Tate okay?”

Conroy headed their way from his office. Savannah nodded and glanced at him. “Just a cut on his arm.” She gave them a description of the guy who had attacked him.

“I guess he’s no longer your number one suspect in this murder.”

Conroy had a point. Savannah nodded, half with relief and half upset at the reminder of Rob Gaynes’s parting comment. She said, “I saw the killer with my own eyes.”

And he’d gotten away.

She stood. “We should talk to the wife again.”

They’d had one conversation with Bernice Aggerton already. Long enough they’d realized they weren’t going to get anything but belligerence out of her, and then she’d called her lawyer. Bernice and her lawyer had been in conference when she responded to the call about Tate’s office being broken into. Savannah had been at dinner, waiting them out.

Today was a new day. Right?

Conroy said, “Sit back down, detective.”

She planted her butt back in the seat. “The lawyer won’t be happy we kept her in jail overnight, but I think we should be able to get something out of her.”

Conroy nodded. “True. Only there’s more to be said, so you’ll make them wait some more.”

She shrugged, ready for him to just spit out whatever it was.

“How did Tate seem?”

What kind of question was that? “Annoyed.” Savannah said, “What’s your read on Councilman Gaynes?”

“Now there’s a question.” Conroy pulled up a chair and sat.

Mia offered her opinion. “He’s older than us—in college while I was still in middle school, I think. Don’t much remember him.”

Conroy nodded. “He didn’t come back home right away. When he did, he got straight into politics. If you can call city council ‘politics.’” He shrugged. “Married Claire, gave her daughter a father. That’s what I’ve known of him since I started working here. He began climbing the ranks in this town before I graduated college.”

Rob wasn’t “old” though, he was just a good ten or fifteen years older than Conroy and Mia. Older than Savannah—more like around Tate’s age. Mid-forties. Yeah, she was aware of the number of years between Tate’s age and hers. However, since a relationship wasn’t in their future, it didn’t exactly matter. Did it?

Savannah told them about his visit, and what she’d learned about the nature of Rob and Claire’s relationship, that it was no surprise she’d been admitted to the hospital. Still unconscious.

“Kaylee!” Conroy’s voice echoed across the bull pen.

Mia said, “She isn’t in yet.”

He got his phone out. “I’ll send her an email.”

“For what?” Mia glanced at Savannah, but she didn’t have an answer for her.

“So I get word the moment Claire Gaynes wakes up.”

Savannah said, “Are you going to convince her to press charges?”

“I’m gonna try.”

She nodded. “If you can persuade her daughter to as well, you’ll have a better shot at Claire.” When she woke up. If she woke up. If she didn’t, the charges would look a lot different. But they would also be harder to prove.

Conroy stilled. “You know about Elexa?”

“I’ve seen her around.” She tried to sound nonchalant. Neither of them bought it.

Mia leaned forward on her chair, elbows on her desk. “And..?”

Traitor. They’d talked. She was only being like this because Conroy was here and she was using the chief’s presence to force Savannah to dish up something good.

As if.

Savannah shrugged. “And what? He cares about her.”

Conroy and Mia glanced at each other, wearing looks on their faces that resembled some secret “engaged people” language that Savannah obviously wasn’t privy to. Conroy said, “And you’ve…talked to him about her?”

Savannah resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She stood. “Let’s go, Tathers. We’ve got a woman to interview.”

Conroy stood, blocking her path.

Savannah looked up at him. “What?”

“I just want you to make sure you’re being careful. That’s all.”

She recalled what Rob Gaynes had said. About her purposely overlooking evidence that pointed to a certain private investigator with a reputation for being wild. She had yet to see that, but she’d heard plenty. The idea that she’d turned the other way because of her feelings for him wasn’t something that sat well with her.

Someone looking like Tate had been caught on surveillance. He needed to get back to her about who he thought it might be, or she’d have to assume it really was him. Evading the truth was going to get him nowhere. Now, on top of that, she had to wonder if the killer had come by his office with the plan to discard the bloody knife. Where someone would find it.

Someone like her.

Savannah lifted her chin. “Why would I need to be careful? There’s nothing between Tate and I. Either I’ll arrest him for killing Aggerton, or I won’t. Which do you think is more likely, considering I chased the killer from his office last night? How I feel about Tate doesn’t factor in.”

She squeezed around him before he could object. No matter what happened in this case, she was going to keep her emotions in check. Accusations had been thrown around. The mountain of evidence she’d been working her way through—until she responded to the break-in at Tate’s—barely had a dent in it.

Mia met her in the hall.

Savannah joked, “At this rate, we’ll probably be unpacking this case until your wedding date.”

Mia’s eyes flared.

“Oh, no.”

Mia grinned. “Why would that be bad?”

Savannah folded her arms. “Spill. When are you getting married?”

The only time Mia’s business face, which was still on point from her time as a federal agent, slipped? When she talked about Conroy.

“Mia.”

“Fine. He asked me last weekend.” She tugged a necklace from the collar of her shirt. Hanging from it was a simple silver ring with a diamond setting. “We’re getting married in the fall.”

“That’s not enough time!” She realized too late that she’d screeched.

“You think we’re still going to be working on this case?”

“Goodness, no. But there are things to do. You have to have time to plan.”

Mia said, “The beach at my dad’s house. Red and orange leaves everywhere. A small amount of people, and my dad and Conroy are going to grill chicken for lunch. Salad, lemonade. Tiny cupcakes. What’s to plan?”

Savannah opened her mouth, realized she didn’t have anything to say, and then closed it again.

“Will you be my bridesmaid?”

“What?” The word came out breathy, and barely audible.

Mia frowned. “Unless you don’t want to.”

Why on earth would she think that? Savannah had lived here two years and Mia was the first real friend she’d made. No way would she pass up the chance to support this woman’s marriage to the best boss Savannah had ever had.

Mia turned to the interview room. “We should—”

“Savannah Wilcox isn’t my real name.” The words tripped over each other on the way out of her mouth.

Mia glanced back. “It isn’t?”

Savannah shook her head. Maybe it was time someone in her life knew the truth. There was no doubt she could trust Conroy or Mia. Maybe if she told them both the truth she wouldn’t feel so alone.

Her friend and partner was about to ask another question when the door to the interrogation room opened. A suited man with a thinning, brown comb over stuck his head out. “Can we please get on with this? My client has waited long enough.”

They shared a look. Then Mia said, “Very well.”

She sat first. Savannah didn’t, choosing instead to lean against the wall.

“Yeah.” Bernice Aggerton glared at her. “You stay over there. Don’t come any closer to me.”

The lawyer cleared his throat, smoothing a clammy hand down his tie. “Mrs. Aggerton will be writing out a statement, detailing the subpar methods employed by this department to encourage her to come here in good faith and talk about her husband. She will also be passing along an invoice for the amount of money she lost after being forced to cancel her vacation at such a late date.”

“Yeah, the day before.”

“Bernice.”

She shut her mouth.

Savannah said, “Make sure she writes down all about how she used her purse like a baton and swung it at me.”

The woman could embellish all she wanted, but Savannah would simply respond with completely justified assault charges.

The lawyer glanced at Bernice, then said, “Let’s get on with the questions.”

“Good idea.” Mia leaned back in her chair. “Mrs. Aggerton, how—”

“You can call me Bernice.” She flashed her Hollywood teeth at Mia.

“Okay, Bernice. How much—”

“Because, hon.” Bernice leaned forward, like it was just her and Mia in the room. “Just between us girls, I was gonna divorce him anyway. That’s how I come to have that cruise all booked up, you know? Just me. I was gonna celebrate.”

“You filed for divorce?”

“Well, no. But I was gonna get to that. Soon as I got back, like.”

“Right.” Mia said, “How much do you know about your husband’s business, his clients?”

Bernice wrinkled her nose. “Patti…she works at the nail salon.” She wiggled her fingers so they could see her white tipped pink nails. A couple had sparkly stones glued on. “She told me he did her books.” She shrugged. “News to me.”

Mia said, “Do you think he was well liked around town?”

“Sho’ nuff. We had parties all the time, and we were invited places all the time, too. The theater in Upton. The casino they opened on that Res. All kinds of fancy places.”

“Anyone from one of those fancy places seem like they had a grudge? Maybe they argued with your husband, or made threats?”

“I see all kinds of things, you know?” She glanced at her lawyer. He nodded. Bernice said, “I couldn’t say for sure there was an argument from one of our events that I remember.”

Savannah would put money on that being very careful wording. She figured either Bernice was busy at the slot machines while her husband chatted with his cronies, or she’d simply been too drunk at the time. If Savannah’s sense was right, she may literally not remember anything at all.

Mia said, “What about specific clients? Is there anyone you know of personally who worked with your husband?”

Asking about Aggerton’s nephew, Ed Summers, would be a good place to start. Summers was in jail, but whatever blood was between the two men had turned bad recently. Could be Ed had ordered a hit from jail. They knew Aggerton had held on to evidence that could be used to convict Summers. Serving the warrant and obtaining the evidence had been how Conroy managed to bring him down.

Savannah figured they’d get more from his computer files than anything Bernice would willingly give them. This had been a waste of time. A power play, trying to see who got the upper hand. Because Bernice was the kind of woman who always had to come out on top. And Savannah had fallen right into that trap.

Bernice shrugged. “I don’t know who hired him. Why would I? He didn’t let me in on his business. Not like that Tate Hudson, letting his sister work for him.”

Savannah bit the inside of her lip.

Bernice smirked—probably supposed to be a smile. Always on top. “That’s what I need to tell you. So you know what happened.”

“Tell us what?” Mia’s tone coaxed her. “Whatever you say could help us bring in your husband’s killer.”

“He came over. A couple of weeks ago.”

Savannah figured Bernice was trying to look distressed. It wasn’t all that convincing. What would be a whole lot more convincing were Aggerton’s files. She should leave Mia to do this, and would, just as soon as Bernice finished up her story.

The real work was waiting.

She said, “Late one night. I heard them in my study arguing. Then a door slammed, and I looked out my TV room window. I saw him outside, getting into his truck with another guy.”

Savannah bit out one word. “Who?”

“Tate Hudson. I’m sure he’s the one who killed my husband.”

Nine

Hot coffee poured in a steady stream into his mug. “Thanks, Hollis.”

“No prob, Tate.” Hollis managed the diner after her father had been injured and couldn’t run the show anymore. But she still preferred to wait on customers. Her full figure was covered with a salmon-colored waitress uniform. Her hair was light brown and caramel, her eyebrows thick brown.

For a while, a few weeks back, he’d tried to get her to tell him what was wrong. She hadn’t taken the bait. Tate didn’t plan on letting it go, though. Hollis knew who he was. If she needed help then she would come to him, or she’d call on one of the cops who frequented this place for the waffles.

“You want your usual?”

Tate said, “No potatoes. Extra hot sauce.”

“Ah, the ‘Steve.’ A dramatic variation on the ‘Saturday Tate Special.’”

He halted his cup, halfway to his mouth. “Say what?”

She grinned. “Nothin’.” Her smile faltered. She blinked, then shuffled out of the way when a hulk of a man passed between her and his table.

No, not a hulk.

A Hammer.

He slid into the booth across from Tate, one glance at Hollis. “Coffee, please.”

She blinked and took him in like bees to honey. “Sure, uh, hon.” She winked and popped a hip, then whirled around and nearly collided with a customer.

Tate took in the man across from him.

Blue, button down shirt. Glasses. A brown, leather band on the watch he wore. Tate leaned over to see under the table. Tan khakis and shined brown loafers. All he needed to complete the look was a bible and a ‘John 3:16’ pamphlet.

He sat back upright. “I already know Jesus, but thank you.”

“Do you really?” His companion grinned, a wolfish smile that was completely at odds with his slicked and shined appearance.

“I know enough.”

He went to church on occasion, and not just when he had to tail someone for a job. Even church people were investigated. Tate had listened. He understood all about sin and salvation. He just didn’t want to change everything about himself. Conroy’s words to him the last time they’d spoken still rang in his head, though. That he should give it a chance.

Tate felt worse about Savannah though. She was doubting him, and he didn’t like that feeling at all. Leave it to Rob to basically tell her that he’d killed Aggerton. Afterwards, she’d made a bunch of excuses and run out of there.

He wanted to talk to her. Try to explain himself.

Hollis poured his coffee. “Cream?”

“Just sugar.”

“You like it sweet.” She smiled.

Tate cleared his throat.

She blinked, then asked his companion, “Breakfast?”

He said, “Saturday Tate.”

“Coming right up.”

Tate frowned, not quite sure what had just happened. “Wait, what?”

Hammer just sat there looking like he’d won a prize. Then he shifted, pulled a wallet from his back pocket, and slid out a driver’s license. Tate read the name aloud. “Phil Tilley? Really?”

“Eric gave it to me. Write it down, check it out. He said it’s almost foolproof.” He grinned, apparently excited about his new—clean—identity. “Call me Phil.”

Tate’s brother-in-law probably bust a gut laughing about that name. The only concession was that Phil probably seriously enjoyed having a break from the swill he waded through all day as The Hammer.

Tate said, “Is Phil the one who was on the surveillance footage outside the CPA office during the time Aggerton was murdered?” His eyes swept over him again. Hammer did not dress like this. At least not normally. He’d worked for Ed Summers, had two eyebrow piercings, and a spider web tattoo on the side of his neck.

This guy’s tattoo was nowhere to be found, and he looked like he was ready for his first day on the job as a sales guy. Or a missionary.

Since Ed had been arrested, causing Hammer to go under the radar, he wasn’t sure what he’d been up to.

Phil’s face twisted. “Kenny Aggerton? That’s what this is about?”

“Did you kill him?”

He made a pfft sound. “I wouldn’t waste my time.”

“So you’re busy? You still have that sweater you grabbed from my car?”

“That’s what this is about?”

“Can you just answer the question?”

Hollis set their plates down. Tate had to sit back.

She glared at him—probably for yelling at Phil—and then wandered off. She glanced over her shoulder and glared at him again. For good measure, of course.

What? All of a sudden, he was the bad guy. Did she think Tate would lead Phil astray with his wild ways? She had no idea who this guy was.

When she was out of earshot he said, “Walk me through what you’ve been up to.”

“Last I checked you weren’t FBI, which means I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“Humor me.”

Phil squirted tomato sauce over his hash browns in a criss-cross pattern until it was virtually unrecognizable. “Ed got me Aggerton. He was the key to the supplier.”

The local money guy. “You know where the drugs are coming from?”

“Not yet. I got the local guy, but this stuff is coming in over the border. I don’t know where yet, or who. Or how.”

Not much of anything, then.

“Aggerton was my route up the chain.”

“Now he’s dead,” Tate took a bite of spicy sausage. “Maybe because you talked to him.” He shrugged, offering it as a question.

Phil studied him. “Anything’s possible.”

Tate said, “I think they’re gonna try and pin it on me. I also think I have a related player, but I don’t got a way to tie him to your business.”

Tate explained a bit about his ex-wife’s current husband.

Could be he just had a giant grudge against Rob because of how he treated Claire. Could be Councilman Gaynes was a spouse abuser, but otherwise a law-abiding citizen. Maybe.

Phil considered this new angle. “It’s a mess, that’s for sure. More complicated than my grandma’s cross stitch. Bunch of yokel players who think they’re big time when the real money isn’t here. It’s in the major hubs.”

“Small town kings.”

Phil shrugged. “I’ve seen it before. These guys at least aren’t the crazy type. They just think they’re tough. It’s the guys above them in the food chain that worry me. I haven’t been able to get anything on who they are, or where they come from.”

Tate blew out a breath. He’d been hoping for more than this. Then he’d have had his brother-in-law read Conroy in on the undercover FBI operation going on in Last Chance County.

“But I have an idea,” Phil said. “And I need your help with it.”

“Okay.”

“You have no idea what it is.”

Tate shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“No.”

“Does it involve something I’m not going to like doing?”

Phil narrowed his eyes. He took a moment to study Tate. “No.”

“Good.” Tate ate another bite of his breakfast. The “Steve” apparently. A variation on the “Saturday Tate.” Whatever that meant. He had no idea. “So when are we doing this?”

“Tonight.”

“Plenty of time for you to tell me what you and Aggerton talked about minutes before he died.”

Phil said, “You can read all about it in my report.”

“When you’re done with this Op. In what, two years?”

He made a face and took a sip of coffee. After he’d swallowed, Phil said, “My plan was to get Aggerton to roll over on his bosses. Then, I’d flip for the international contingent. Go all the way up the chain and dismantle the entire operation. Aggerton was dragging his feet.”

Tate nodded. Not surprising.

“He was also murmuring about things getting too hot.”

“Did he know who you really are...even just an inkling?”

“No.” Phil said, “But there’s a rumor going around that someone sold out Ed Summers. A lot of finger pointing going on, everyone looking at everyone else to see if they can figure out who the weak link is.”

“Could be that Aggerton knew who it is. Or figured it out.”

Tate knew Meena Tathers, Mia’s sister, had provided the location of Aggerton’s books—the ones that had been confiscated by police. They were the basis of the case against Summers.

Tate considered the man across the table from him. Sure, the guy was an FBI agent. But undercover work took a certain kind of person. Could be that “Phil” had decided killing Aggerton was the way to protect the integrity of his operation. The means being justified by the end result everyone at the FBI was watching and waiting for.

Phil nodded. “Maybe whoever killed him did it to shut him up.” His gaze narrowed. “Yeah, no. It wasn’t me.”

Tate shrugged. “I don’t know you, man. I know my brother-in-law, though. If he vouches for you, then I’m good.”

Tate would be calling Eric as soon as he left to make sure Phil was solid. And that whatever Op he had planned was above board. Not that everything Phil did had to be run through his handler, but Eric had to be aware. At least of the gist of things.

“He’ll vouch.” Phil said, “He really married your sister?”

“Came here, asked for help with a case. She was my receptionist at the time. The rest is history.”

Phil chuckled. “No way I’d let a feeb touch my sister. I know too much.”

The guy had sisters? Tate didn’t have time to find out, or the headspace to care all that much. But it still said a lot about a man how he treated his sisters. And how he felt about the bureau he worked for.

“Got a picture of this guy you think is connected?”

Tate pulled out his phone. He went on the city’s website and pulled up the file photo for Rob Gaynes, then showed it to Phil.

“Huh.”

“What does ‘huh’ mean?”

“I seen that guy around.”

Tate waited, but Phil didn’t say more. “If he’s involved in…” Someone walked past the table. “…what you’re doing. I need to know that. It’s important.”

“Guess we’ll find out when we go to work.” He finished his breakfast. “So the cops are looking at you?”

“No thanks to you—wearing my hoodie.” It was important to Tate that he point that out.

Phil cocked his head. “All part of the service. Except where a killer avoided surveilance while I was spotted.” The fed meshed his lips together.

Tate said, “If I don’t figure out who had a beef with Aggerton enough to cut him up, I’m gonna be in hot water with the cops. And I try to stay on their good sides.”

“Knife?”

Tate nodded.

“Nasty way to go.”

Tate pulled up the sleeve of his sweater. “I know.” He lifted the bandaged part of his forearm. “Same knife that killed Aggerton.” Or so he was assuming. Maybe he was wrong.

Phil shook his head. “They are after you.”

“No kidding.”

“Help me with my Op, and I’ll help you figure out who killed Aggerton. Could be the same people trying to keep their ID’s from me, killing him so their names don’t get out.”

“Deal.” Which meant Aggerton knew more about the drug trade in Last Chance County than Tate had ever realized.

“Phil is here to help.”

Hollis took his plate. Another wink. Thankfully, that last comment was all she heard. When she moved away, Phil watched her go.

“Don’t get too helpful there. You need your head in the game.”

Phil took one last look. The hulking man apparently had a soft spot for the diner owner. Then he turned back to Tate. “You gonna tell the cops Aggerton fronted you the startup money for your business?”

“Now that I know it’s dirty? No way.” Tate shook his head. “I paid back that debt in full, plus interest.”

Now that Aggerton was dead, there was no way he’d be able to come back to try to collect more. Not the way he’d attempted to do a few times over the years. He’d even had to have Eric walk into Aggerton’s home, flash his badge and tell Kenny to quit pressuring Tate.

He wasn’t proud of some of the things he’d done. But Tate stood by the man he was, even if that man had to call in favors every so often to keep a hold on his honor.

Just so long as Savannah never found out.

Ten

“So you’re springing her loose?”

Savannah sank into one of the chairs in front of Conroy’s desk. Mia sat in the one beside her. She was pretty sure she saw the chief wink at her partner but chose to strategically ignore it. They were engaged now, so she knew it wouldn’t be the last time she saw him do that. Might as well get used to it.

She said, “Mrs. Aggerton saw Tate arguing with her husband and so decided he must have been the one who’d killed him. Except that she didn’t really see them arguing. And she only came up with this story after her lawyer went into conference with her.”

Conroy leaned back in his chair. “So this might be a conspiracy, where a group of people are working together to make it look like Tate did it?”

“When you put it like that, it does sound far fetched.” Savannah said, “It only works if I’ve got a grudge against Tate, and I don’t want to look at anyone else for this. Plus the fact that I literally chased the killer from his office.”

At least, she was assuming that man was the killer.