ABBY CLIMBED INTO HER CAR and gripped the wheel to keep her hands from shaking, thankful Roper was a few seconds behind her. She’d told Woody she was ready for the consequences of stirring the Triple Seven pot. And she was, when the consequences were directed her way, not at Luke Murphy.

They threatened his daughter.

Abby remembered the cute, bright, ponytailed girl and cringed. No, Lord, that was not what I expected. I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to someone else because of me.

“You okay?” Bill asked as he took his seat.

Abby’s answer was cut off by the buzz of an incoming text. It was a summons from Cox to be in her office ASAP. Anger surged and Abby wanted to scream. She slammed her hand on the steering wheel.

“What?” Roper shifted in his seat.

Regretting her loss of control, Abby showed him the message. “It’s Cox. She wants us in her office now.”

“What is up with that? She has it in for you. Is there something I should know?”

Abby blew out a breath, frustration piling on frustration in her mind. “Not on my part. We’ve never really meshed. But why she’s on the warpath now, I don’t know.”

If she were a betting person, she’d bet it was the Triple Seven. As she threaded her way out of the crowded lot, she felt like she did at the end of a really long run when the lactic acid building up made every step painful and heavy.

It seemed that no one wanted her parents’ killers found. Was she wrong to even try?

Realizing she had bigger problems with Cox at the moment, she conjured up Woody and one of his favorite sayings: “Patience always pays off.” She repeated the Woody-ism over and over, knowing she had to keep her tongue and emotions in check when she spoke to Cox. There had to be a reason she was riding her like this. Hopefully with patience Abby would discover what it was.

At the station, she and Roper rode the elevator up to the third floor in silence. When they got to the chief’s office, which was still Cox’s until the chief returned, the secretary indicated that they could go right in.

Cox stood with her back to them. Abby noted that she’d begun boxing up her personal belongings, presumably to take them back to her office.

“I read Boy 10’s call history.” She spoke without turning.

“Chief, we were requested at that scene.” Bill spoke up and Abby held her breath.

Cox turned. “I realize that.”

Abby tried to read her. Was she contrite?

“But the problem I have is that I want the two of you concentrating on the most pressing current cases on your plate. Traveling to Seal Beach, requested or not, is a waste of time. Do I make myself clear?” She was angry but obviously on a tight leash and Abby wondered who was holding it.

Bill looked toward Abby, and she cleared her throat.

“Yes, Chief, we both understand perfectly.” She turned to leave but Cox stopped her.

“I’m not finished. From the call history I understand there was some reference made to the Triple Seven today. This PI, Murphy, was threatened to stay away?”

“Yes, that’s what he said,” Abby answered.

“Understand this: if we receive a request from the investigators on this shooting for information on the Triple Seven, and should the case need to be activated, I’ve officially made Carney the contact person for the case. Let me repeat: if that happens, it will be handled by O’Reilly and Carney. As I told you before, you will not be allowed to investigate the murders of your parents.” She stepped away from the window and sat down at the desk. “You two can get back to work.” She looked down at paperwork on the desk; they were dismissed.

Abby called Marilynn Jenkins and apologized for not coming by as promised.

“That’s okay. I don’t have much else to tell you. I don’t know what was in the boxes that were in the garage. I even called Haley Sanders and asked about it, but she didn’t know either.”

After the conversation, Abby felt stymied. But she was tired, and her thinking was muddled. She began to pack her things up to leave.

“Are you on your way out?” Bill asked.

“Yes, I’m tired.”

“You’ve been up for what, more than twenty-four hours?”

“I lost count.” Guilt tore through her when she realized Bandit hadn’t been let out in hours.

“I think I’m going to go back over to the hospital and check on Nadine,” Bill said. “If anything comes up, I’ll call you.”

“Great, thanks.”

Her mind wrestled over the problem with Cox. What was going on there? Abby hated gossip, but she needed to tap into some department scuttlebutt and figure out what was happening. It felt like something personal. But Abby couldn’t recall ever crossing Cox in any way.

She started her car and left the PD lot. I’ve hit the wall in so many areas, she thought as fatigue turned into self-pity. I’ll never find my parents’ killers. I’m spinning my wheels, and I’ve put Murphy and his whole family in danger.

Driving on autopilot, she dwelled on the bloody scene at the river. Who threatened Murphy? Was he targeted because of his interview on Good Morning Long Beach? That piece had been picked up by other networks and rebroadcast several times. He was the face of the Triple Seven investigation right now.

Had she awoken the killers by revealing who she was? Was Murphy in danger because of her? Emotions swirled through her thoughts of the man. At the hospital she’d watched him take control of the crowd of church people and marveled at his grace and compassion. Ethan was always warm and helpful, but Luke seemed to have something more, some quality —

She stopped herself as she pulled into her driveway.

Why am I comparing them?

Guilt assailed her. I love Ethan; I do, she repeated over and over. After a minute she climbed out of the car and started toward her front door.

Abby’s foot froze at her bottom step, and her hand reached for her weapon. The door, lock, and doorjamb had been destroyed with some kind of pry tool. This was brazen; it was broad daylight. She drew her automatic and held it down by her thigh as she backed up to her car for the radio. Once behind the door, she crouched down and reached for the radio mike.

“David Henry 4,” she whispered as she keyed the radio.

“David Henry 4, go.”

“David Henry 4, I’ve got a possible burglary in progress at my residence.” Her voice stayed calm and level. “Can you send me a backup unit?”

“David Henry 4, 10-4. Any available unit to assist David Henry 8 prepare to copy the call on your computer.”

Abby set the mike down, confident backup would be with her shortly. Was this related to the Triple Seven? Were killers here now for her like they were for Murphy?

I’m ready, she thought, anticipation breaking through the caution, the fear, and waking her up. If she took the suspects into custody, she might finally get the answers she wanted. She raised her weapon and trained it on the door.

A second later the door burst open and there stood the BUG Murphy and Georgie had described. He was bigger than Abby thought possible and he had a crowbar in his hand. He fixed a hostile glare on her.

“Where is it?” was all he said as he started her way, slapping one meaty palm with the crowbar.

“Police. Stay right where you are,” Abby ordered. She stood, two-handed grip on her gun, sights trained on the large man.

“I don’t have time for this,” he snarled as he stepped toward her, swinging the crowbar. “She said she gave it to you, and I want it now.”

Abby ordered him again to stop, but she could see in his eyes as he raised the crowbar with malicious intent and continued toward her that he had no plans to stop. Her duty weapon was a .45 automatic, a gun she’d picked for stopping power. She’d seen suspects shot with 9mms keep moving. A .45 had better odds of dropping a target, the range master had assured her. But Abby backpedaled. Pulling the trigger would mean this guy would not be alive to tell her what this was about.

“One more chance —stop or I will fire.”

He didn’t stop.

Someone grabbed her from behind, looping his arms around her in a bear hug. Her finger depressed the trigger and a wild shot hit the BUG in the leg. As he stumbled forward, he cursed her in a rage. Abby struggled with the man who had her in a tight grasp even as she saw the crowbar coming closer. With all the strength she could muster, she twisted her body, turning the man on her back toward the BUG as the bar came down.

A strangled oof came from the man who had her from behind as the blow struck him square across his back. She heard the sickening crack of bone, and he released his grip immediately. But the force of the blow still drove her to the ground, grinding her knees into the pavement as the other man slid off her and rolled away screaming in pain. She struggled to turn and bring her gun around, fearing the crowbar’s next target was her head. Then she heard her backup.

“Police. Drop it!” several voices yelled in unison.

Abby brought her hands over her head and tried to disappear into the concrete of her driveway as she knew what would come next.

The big man cursed, and she guessed he wasn’t dropping the crowbar. A split second later a deafening volley of shots rang out.

It was only seconds, but it seemed an eternity before the firing stopped, and the attacker dropped the crowbar and toppled like a felled redwood in front of her.