ABBY’S PHONE RANG with her normal ringtone, one that sounded like an old-fashioned telephone bell, and a glance down told her it was Aunt Dede. Before answering, she surveyed the group of men helping her put her house back together. Asa was the only one not doing something. He sat in the corner, looking as though he’d nod off any second. Woody and Luke were working in her kitchen, and Bill was on the phone ordering pizza.

“Woody,” she called out, “this is my aunt. I have to take it.”

“Go right ahead. We’ll head to your office after we get this room cleaned up.”

Abby stepped into her bedroom and closed the door. There was no mess in this room. The intruders had trashed everything else, and Abby was grateful they hadn’t come in here and done the same. Maybe I interrupted them.

“Hey, Dede.” She sat on the bed and set Bandit next to her.

“Abby, how are you?”

“I’ve been better.”

“Oh, you don’t sound good.”

“I’ll survive.” Abby did her best to sound brighter. “What’s up?”

“I talked to Ethan. He mentioned a video going around. Something about a train. He’s pretty upset about it.”

Abby sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stop the flood of tears that threatened. Not this, not now.

“I talked to him about that.” She explained about the train video.

Dede sighed. “I can’t force you to be careful. I can and do pray that you will use good judgment.”

“I always try.”

“I also saw a report on the Triple Seven, a news story about the cold case and the connection to Governor Rollins. Everyone says he’ll be the next senator from California, so it’s big news even here. Are you investigating that case?”

Abby leaned back in her bed and thought about the attempt on Luke’s life. Her head felt as if a ton of bricks had descended on it. She made a decision.

“I’m not . . . uh, I won’t. If it is reactivated, two other detectives will take it on.”

“That’s for the best. Does Woody think you’re still in jeopardy?”

Abby swallowed and looked up at her ceiling. “He was worried, but, well, it’s been twenty-seven years, after all, and like I said, I’m out of it.” She didn’t think her voice would hold if she told Dede about Luke.

Her aunt was quiet for a few seconds. “I know how hard that is for you. You’ve invested a lot over the years in unraveling that case.”

Abby closed her eyes, a thick lump in her throat. At that moment she believed she’d never find the answers she’d been looking for practically her whole life.

“I hope you don’t get mad at Ethan for telling me about the video,” Dede was saying. “It scared him, and when he spoke to you, he felt you were distant. He’s concerned that sometimes your job is too much of an obsession. Something I’ve told you for years.”

Abby bit her bottom lip. She felt like her world was quicksand and she was sinking. “I’m zonked right now. I don’t want to go into this with you. I’m good at what I do. I help people. Ethan used to be proud of me.”

“He still is. But what about when you get married? Where will Ethan fit in then?”

Now Abby was silent. She didn’t want to admit she wondered how Ethan would handle her leaving for 2 a.m. callouts.

“I accept his trips. Isn’t marriage a partnership?” She thought the question lame as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

“And when you have children?”

Abby sighed, deflated. “I really don’t want to have this conversation right now.”

“You sound beat. Please pray about all of this —your job, Ethan. And remember that I firmly believe your parents’ killers will never escape God’s judgment. No one does.”

“I will; I do. Now I have to go.”

“All right. I’m praying for you and I love you.”

“I love you too.” She tossed the phone to the end of the bed and sagged back, everything smashing in at once. She needed to have a face-to-face talk with Ethan.

Tears threatened with the force of terrorists, and she fought them. Not with a house full of friends and colleagues. She buried her face in a pillow and struggled for composure.

After Abby closed the door to her room to take her phone call, Luke surveyed the room across the hall that was obviously her office. The bad guys had really done a number here, emptying the bookshelves and throwing papers around. But nothing looked permanently damaged. He began putting books on the shelves and neatly stacking scattered papers back on her desk.

He smiled to himself when he noticed the authors of some of her novels. Mickey Spillane, Raymond Chandler, Rex Stout, Dashiell Hammett, and Agatha Christie were all authors Luke loved to read. The old-time sleuths and PIs were heroes to him, hence the term shamus on his business card. The music he saw was a little different. Mixed in with praise music, there was some old jazz —Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra, Louis Armstrong. Fits the time period of the books, he thought. They’d talked about the cold case they had in common but nothing about everyday interests they shared.

He picked up a picture frame and turned it over to see a photo of Abby and Ethan, and his smile faded. There was really no use for him and Abby to discuss common interests, was there? He set the picture on Abby’s desk and continued putting books on the shelves. He was almost done when he heard Bill holler that the pizza had arrived.

Abby came out of her bedroom. She looked surprised to see him in her office. And her expression was so profoundly sad, he felt his chest tighten.

“Oh, hey, thanks for doing that.”

Was there a catch in her voice?

“Sure, no problem. Doesn’t look like he broke anything, just tossed everything around.”

“I wish I knew what they were looking for.” She stepped into the office.

“I couldn’t help but notice your taste in reading material. The old sleuths, huh?”

She faced him, a slight smile on her face, and Luke felt warmed to see it.

“Yeah, Chandler is probably my favorite. You, as a shamus, should appreciate that.”

Luke laughed. “I can, and that’s where I got the term. My all-time favorite shamus, Philip Marlowe.”

“Sometimes I wish I could channel Spillane’s Mike Hammer,” she said, blinking. “It’s not a Christian attitude, I confess.”

Luke smiled broadly, understanding the reference. “Ah, you’d meet force with force and pound out the truth if you found someone to pound?”

“Let’s just say when the bad guys trash my house, my sanctuary, a part of me wishes I could respond in kind.” All humor faded from her eyes, and Luke saw the pain cross her face, if only for a second.

He couldn’t stop himself. He stepped close and put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, we’ll figure this out,” he whispered. Before he knew it, she was in his arms, crying softly on his shoulder. Wrapping his arms around her more tightly, he rested his cheek on her soft hair. “Let it out. You’ll feel better,” he whispered, all the while praying for her, for him, and for these feelings he knew he had no right to have.

After what seemed like too short a minute, she pushed away.

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning away and grabbing for some Kleenex on her desk.

“Don’t. It’s not your fault,” he said to her back as she blew her nose and wiped her face. He shoved his hands in his pockets, at a loss for what to do now. “You’ve been through so much. I’m amazed that you’re still standing.”

“I’m fine. I’ll be okay.”

“I know.” He stepped to the door. “Take your time. I think the pizza is here. You come out when you’re ready.”

He left her there and felt hollow and lost with every step that took him farther from her.

Mortified she’d so completely lost control, and doubly so that she’d felt so safe and warm in Luke’s arms, Abby shut herself in her bathroom. Her shoulders seemed to burn with the memory of his strong embrace.

Get a grip, she scolded herself.

She rinsed her face off, not wanting everyone to know she’d been crying. Their voices wafted in, along with the smell of pizza. Grabbing a towel, she dried her face and checked it in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot, but that could be from lack of sleep. She felt reasonably certain no one would rush to the conclusion that she’d been crying. She was about to join the crowd when Woody called out.

“Abby, someone at the door to see you.”

“Be right out.” She wondered if it was the coroner or the last units clearing the scene. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the living room, and there in the doorway stood Jessica Brennan. Abby almost said, “Thank you, Lord,” out loud. If she needed a shoulder to cry on, it should be someone neutral like Jessica.

“Wow, last thing I expected was to see your house full of men,” she said with a laugh.

“It’s been a long day,” Abby said. She sighed as she accepted her friend’s hug.

“I guess.” Jessica looked at her with an odd expression. “I just wanted to come by and say that now I know why you’re so good.”

“What?”

“So good at being a cop. You’ve been a victim and you really do understand.”

Abby lost her voice for a moment. Victim? No. On a mission, yes. But no victimhood for me. But she realized Jessica spoke of her parents.

“It was so long ago . . .” She held her hands up, not really sure what to say.

Jessica wiped her eyes. “Yeah, but still, how horrible!”

“Do you want to come in? We’re having pizza and trying to clean up a mess.”

Jessica peered into the house. “What happened?”

“Come in and I’ll explain.”

Jessica joined the group and Bill told her what had happened. Abby stayed close to Woody and Jessica, fearing even a look at Luke.

Between pizza and talking, they were eventually able to put the entire house back together, though some things had been destroyed. She was out a television set, a DVD player, and a coffee machine. The food helped; she was hungrier than she thought and figured that was why she’d lost control so easily. She vowed that it would not happen again.

Her laptop was unscathed, so she and Jessica went online to pick out replacement items while Luke talked at length with Woody about the threat to him and his family by the mysterious pair under the bridge. Abby caught snippets.

“They must have been watching me, my house, for a while,” he said. “I never realized.”

“You’ll be more vigilant now,” Woody said.

“You bet,” he said with steel in his voice. He could take care of himself, of that Abby had no doubt.

Asa didn’t contribute much to anything, but he did speak to Abby for a few minutes.

“I don’t think you should have ever told Rollins who you were,” he said. “This Triple Seven can of worms should have stayed closed.”

“Why?” Abby asked.

“After all this time, do you really think you’ll solve it?”

Regret pinched her heart. “No, I’m out of it. Carney and O’Reilly will get it and I’ll stay out.”

For the first time all night, Asa smiled. “That’s for the best. I’m sure you’ll see that someday.”

When everyone left and Abby had the house to herself again, a tight knot formed in her stomach, not over the incident with Luke, but over Asa. He knew something he wasn’t saying. A disturbing question rose in her thoughts and would have kept her awake if she weren’t dead on her feet.

What if he’s known all these years who the killers are and he’s been hiding them?