ABBY HATED TO brood but knew that was what she was doing. Kelsey’s confession stuck in her mind like an old-fashioned needle caught in the groove of a scratched record. She’d hoped that this trip out of town would help her get the needle unstuck, but the drive to Tehachapi brought to mind a mixed bag of memories for her that didn’t altogether solve her problem.

She’d helped Luke and Woody bring down a serial killer in Tehachapi, with a beautiful bit of teamwork between her and Luke. They’d meshed well as partners, and she felt that he understood her in a way no one ever had. But during that time she’d also met Faye Fallon, the woman Luke was dating. She didn’t know how she should feel about that. Part of her said it shouldn’t bother her at all, but it did.

She had no claim on Luke, she reminded herself when emotions seemed to prickle. When she’d met him, not only did she think he was annoying, she was engaged. Abby had since ended her long-term engagement to Ethan Carver. And she admired Faye. The woman had a lot of courage and class. She was a Marine widow and Luke, former Army Special Forces, a widower. Sounded like a good match.

Her mind kept bouncing silly debates back and forth as if she were arguing with one of her friends, Megan or Jessica.

I’m not engaged anymore, and Ethan is off to the mission field. And I’ll be working with Luke. He’s been single for over ten years. Why wouldn’t he date someone he has a lot in common with?

But Luke and I have a lot in common, and we connect on many levels. Plus, I’m attracted to him in a way I was never attracted to Ethan.

But I like Faye. I should be happy for them.

“Arrgh,” she groaned and smacked the steering wheel, working hard to concentrate on the drive. After two months, she’d finally gotten the okay to visit her uncle Simon, a lifer at the state prison in Tehachapi. Thankfully, returning her train of thought to Simon brought up enough nervousness and disquiet to push Luke, Faye, and Kelsey from her mind.

She’d never met her uncle. Simon Morgan was arrested and in prison before Abby was born. And she’d never been to prison to visit anyone. As a homicide detective, she’d been to prisons for interviews a few times, but that was official business; this was personal.

Simon had called and talked with Abby on the phone a couple of times; he’d even sent her all the letters her father had written to him, so she felt she had a small window into who he was. But how was this face-to-face meeting going to go?

She exited the freeway and followed directional signs to the prison’s visitor parking lot. After getting out of the car, she stopped for a minute and studied what she could see of the California Correctional Institution at Tehachapi.

For some reason this prison was more intimidating than any of the prisons she’d traveled to on official business. High walls, barbed wire, guard towers, and stark-naked landscaping. She wondered if that was just because she was without her gun and badge and any official standing.

The place was busy. There were a lot of people walking along with her as she made her way to the visiting gate. The crowd was made up of mostly young women and children, though there were a few older people. Abby felt out of place and out of sorts. Not because of her age, but more because Simon wasn’t a much-missed loved one.

She noted that most everyone had obeyed the dress restrictions that called for modest attire, with no jeans allowed and nothing resembling what the prison staff or inmates wore. She knew anyone who ignored the restrictions would be ushered to a trailer where racks of donated, modest clothing hung. They’d have to change and comply with instructions or go home without a visit.

Some people carried bags and Abby hoped for their sake they’d read carefully enough to know what was allowed. She’d brought nothing with her but car keys and identification. Simon had asked for nothing.

The line of visitors processed quickly, and before long Abby had her visitor pass. She eventually was led to a large room with low stainless steel tables, the kind with round stools attached. The correctional officer directed her to one and asked her to sit and wait.

All around there was steady, muted chatter from the visitors, spatters of Spanish here and there, and the loud clanging of heavy prison doors. Off in the distance Abby heard shouts and catcalls, but they were too far away and muffled for her to make out what was being said. She fidgeted, crossing and recrossing her ankles. To her right, a tatted-up Hispanic man greeted a woman with a small boy in her arms. Only modest displays of emotion were allowed, and after an embrace and a kiss, they sat at the table and began chatting away in Spanish.

Then she saw him. Simon Morgan walked toward her. He looked like an age-enhanced photo of the father she’d lost when she was six years old. She stood as a crush of emotions hit her in the chest like a fastball. It was a couple of seconds before she realized that she wasn’t breathing. Swallowing and taking a breath, she stepped forward and took his extended hand. His hand was large, rough, and warm, his grip as tight as she’d ever felt.

“Uncle Simon.” Her voice squeaked and she swallowed again.

“Wow,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “You are the spitting image of your mother. And I . . .” He stammered and ran a finger under his nose and Abby realized the emotion train had collided with him as well. “I can’t tell you how awesome it feels to be called ‘uncle.’”

Abby smiled and relaxed. She held his hand with both of hers, squeezing back, and said, “It’s really great to finally meet you.”

They sat down at the table and began to talk as if they had known each other for years, and not been anonymous relatives for a few decades.