KELSEY STUDIED THE CONTENTS of the minibar and wondered if any of the alcohol it contained would help calm the head games her mind was playing with her. Though it was often faint, every once in a while her conscience surfaced and bugged, prodded, made her want to stop and get off this path in life she’d taken. She’d said something like that once to Gavin, during a stressful time for both of them, only to have him throw an old cliché at her: “Nice guys finish last.”

As much as she hated the phrase, she knew it was true. She’d never have gotten to be a deputy chief by being nice. Abby Hart was nice. She was also by-the-book, meticulous, determined, tenacious —all attributes that made her a good cop. But she was naive in a way, parochial, and uninterested in promoting, in having the power to control, give orders, set agendas. Nope, she only wanted the truth, to help the victim.

Slamming the minibar door closed without removing anything, Kelsey moved to the window and looked out over the landscape.

For a kid whose parents were murdered when she was six, something that should have knocked her off the development rung, Hart had come a long way, and Kelsey had a grudging admiration for the woman.

But it was all of those admirable qualities that were likely to get Hart killed. Who would have thought that she would ever connect with Luke Murphy, a guy whose own uncle was murdered along with Hart’s parents? Most of all, who would have expected that their teamwork to find the truth would make Kelsey’s boss so nervous, so threatened, that the as-yet-unspoken command to deal with Hart and Murphy in a permanent way hung over her head like rotting mistletoe?

I don’t want that kiss, Kelsey thought, that order to kill, but it will come. I’m sure of it.

What will I do when it does?