Colton Fox had owned the thousand-square-foot two-bedroom in Echo Park for as long as Kara had known him. The roughly two-square-mile area where four freeways came together had a lot going on—Dodger Stadium, the LAPD Training Academy, parks, hiking trails, a lake, houses both expensive and cheap. Echo Park was a microcosm of Los Angeles itself and all that the city offered, while also boasting a view of downtown from the hills that led up to the baseball field. Colton had loved living here because it was centrally located to everything he cared about—a rarity in Los Angeles when most people spent hours in their cars every day.
Colton’s modest house stood on the corner of two narrow streets. The surrounding properties included a dilapidated three-story Victorian and a two-story postwar house next door that had been expertly renovated to its full 1950s glory. Colton’s own house had been constructed during the same era, but was smaller and located on an irregularly shaped lot. It was set back farther from the street compared to the other houses, and two towering trees in the front provided ample shade and privacy. Though minimal natural light was able to filter through, Colton had cleverly installed skylights in each room, which greatly brightened the interior. He’d done most of the work himself and enjoyed the process.
Kara remembered when he was refinishing the floors in the living and dining room. She wanted no part of it, but sat on a stool in the kitchen, drank beer and watched, telling him he missed a spot, that he should sand harder.
“Nice plumber’s crack,” she said with a laugh.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Watch it, Quinn. Or I’m going to smack your plumber’s crack, but good.”
“Oh, I’m scared.”
She’d been thinking a lot about Colton lately. Not just since she’d returned to Los Angeles, either. She’d done a lot of comparing her former relationship with Colton and her current relationship with Matt. That wasn’t smart—they were two different men. It wasn’t fair to either of them. And Colton was dead.
Or not.
She glanced over at Matt in the passenger seat. He looked straight ahead, a little angry, a lot worried. Matt told her he loved her, and she believed him, but was still twisting that information around in her head because she didn’t know what to do with it. She had nothing to compare it with.
Colton was comfortable. She knew exactly what to expect, exactly what he gave her and what she gave him, and they never pushed each other to give more. There were months when they didn’t even see each other, then they’d spend a weekend in bed as if they did it all the time. They sometimes worked together, they argued a lot, but in the end, their relationship was about trust. They trusted each other. Love? That she didn’t know. They each went out with other people, never talked about moving in together or anything that couples do.
Kara hadn’t wanted more...neither had Colton. Yet...the last few months before she was forced to take leave and Colton was killed, they had spent more time together not working.
She hadn’t wanted to read anything into it. She couldn’t ask him—hell, they never talked about their relationship. And now he was dead.
Maybe.
She drove past his house; it was dark. There was no For Sale sign in the yard. It looked pretty much exactly as she remembered the last time she was here.
When there was a baseball game, the community felt alive as people roared from the stadium and bright lights illuminated the skyline, but tonight it was dark, the only sound the constant hum of the freeways.
She pointed out the house to Matt, kept driving by, circled around the block, parked on the opposite side of the street. The rear corner of Colton’s house was visible.
“How do you want to do this?” he asked.
“I know where Colton hides his extra set of keys, in a lockbox under a rock behind the garage. I don’t think he’s here—he could be, but I should be able to tell pretty quick. I’m going to let myself in and look around, see what I see. I’d like to do it alone.”
“And if he is there? And shoots you as an intruder?”
“He’s too well trained to shoot first. Please, Matt—I need to talk to him one-on-one. He’s not going to be straight with me if you’re glaring at him.”
“I don’t glare.”
They sat in silence a moment, watching the house. Then Matt asked, “Do you love him?”
“No.” Then she added, “I don’t know if I ever did. I never told myself or Colton that I loved him. I’ve never used those words, but I don’t think so. I wouldn’t even know what it feels like.” She winced. She shouldn’t have said that, because clearly Matt had feelings that she didn’t understand. But it was the truth. She didn’t know how she felt about any of this...she didn’t like thinking about it. The emotions she had were complicated.
Fortunately, Matt didn’t say anything, and if she hurt him he didn’t show it. Damn, she didn’t want to hurt him.
“I never lied to you that we had a relationship,” she said. “It was casual, but I’ve known Colton practically since I graduated from the police academy. So I guess it’s a little more complicated than I want to admit. I’m angry and hurt that he let me think he was dead. I missed him, Matt. It hurt deep inside that he was dead.” She pounded her fist twice on her chest.
“You don’t know that he’s alive, Kara.”
“Maybe I don’t have proof, but I know in my gut that he’s alive. Will Lattimer will tell me. He might be a Marine and trained not to give up secrets, but he can’t look me in the eye and tell me Colton is dead if he’s breathing. Do you think I’m wrong? Do you believe that Colton is dead, just like everyone told me?”
Matt looked at her. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “But I know you, and you don’t believe in fairy tales.”
Kara didn’t know why that simple statement, that simple faith in her, made her chest swell. She leaned over and spontaneously kissed him. “Thank you.”
“Go. I’m right here. Keep me updated every step of the way or I am going in, and I’m not going to be subtle.”
There were no free newspapers or advertisements on the doormat.
Kara remembered Colton was always irritated by what he called “littering on private property” because every day people left junk on his small porch. The yard was maintained—the trees dumped a generous amount of leaves no matter what the season, but the lawn was trimmed with few scattered leaves, meaning someone had hired a gardener to take care of the place.
Probably Lex. Keeping an eye on Colton’s place like he kept an eye on her place. Like he kept an eye on every home of his detectives who were working undercover and might not get to their house for several nights...
Or whoever Colton left the house to in his will was living here. Maybe she was wrong.
You’re not wrong.
The long driveway went to the back of the house. There was no vehicle in it. A one-car garage, detached, used to house Colton’s bike. Like her, he only owned a motorcycle. Much easier getting around traffic on a bike than in a car. They’d gone riding together a couple of times, through the Topanga Canyon or up to the Angeles National Forest.
The single window was dark, a thick canvas blind pulled down, so she couldn’t see if his bike was still there. It wouldn’t mean anything if it were, though she could inspect it, see if it had been sitting inside for a while.
The door was manual; Colton had never put an automatic door opener on it. She squatted to the handle on the bottom right—it had a new lock on it. He’d never locked his garage before. Maybe the new owners...
Kara was having second thoughts about her plan, but decided to just do it. She was 70 percent positive that she was right.
She walked around behind the garage to a large rock that was wedged between the corner of the garage and the side fence.
She and Colton had been on their first joint undercover assignment when he brought her here.
“If the shit hits the fan, go to my place. It’s clean, safe.”
He walked her down the driveway and to the back of the garage and pointed to the rock.
“You keep a key under a rock. Original.”
“More than a key.” He grinned.
The rock was heavy but rounded. He heaved it over on its flattest side. Underneath was a lockbox.
“It would be pretty easy to break that open,” she said.
“Yep,” he agreed. “The code is my badge number.”
“You’re full of originality.”
He rolled the numbers into place.
Inside was a set of keys and a plastic bag with a thousand in cash and a small notebook.
“Now I know where to get bankrolled for a trip to Vegas.”
“Help yourself, just replace it. I have another stash in the house, but if I think I’m being followed, I can get here through the alley and hop the neighbor’s side yard, grab the stuff and disappear with no one knowing I was here.” He held up the keys. “Keys to the house, to my bike, and to my uncle’s cabin in Big Bear.”
“I didn’t know you had an uncle.”
“He died, the cabin is in a trust that I now control. Uncle George lived there for the last twenty years of his life, was kind of a hermit.”
“Well, if I need a hideout, it would be nice to have the address,” she teased.
He pulled out the notepad, wrote it down inside. “Just in case.”
“Overkill.”
“It’s never overkill to be prepared for every contingency.”
“Who else knows this is here?”
He looked at her and shook his head. “No one. Not even Lex. Just you and me.”
Colton had trusted her. And now she felt sick. Because if she was right, he had hurt her more than he could possibly know.
“I grieved for you,” she whispered and picked up the keys.
The cash was still there in the box, along with the notepad. She pulled out the notepad and looked at the address he’d written years ago. The ink had faded. She flipped through the notepad and saw in Colton’s small scrawling handwriting several other addresses, all local, but no indication why he wrote them down. They were all written on three pages in what appeared to be the same pen—and not the black pen that was in the box.
She pocketed the notepad, left the money sealed in the box and spun the numbers. She put it back and took the keys to the back door.
She listened, blocking out the freeway traffic, the sound of nearby music. Listened to the sounds of the house. Silent, except for the hum of the refrigerator.
“Dammit,” she muttered. “Just do it.”
She sent Matt a text message.
I’m going in.
As silently as possible, she unlocked the door—both the dead bolt and the regular lock.
She closed the door behind her, listened again, using all her senses. Smelled something...hamburger? Yep. A distinct greasy fast-food scent.
The skylights above provided some ambient light in the house, so it wasn’t pitch-black. She was in the kitchen. The new refrigerator Colton had bought when his old one croaked hummed. The ’50s-era tile counters that were original to the house were wiped clean and in near-perfect condition. The retro kitchen table with red top and red vinyl seats and silver legs stood in the corner where it had been since the first time Kara came here. Colton had always been a neat person, never left dishes in the sink, never left garbage that needed to be taken out. She smelled a hint of garbage.
She opened the door under the kitchen sink. A wrapper from In-N-Out Burger, which was only three blocks away and open until 1 a.m. As quietly as possible, she retrieved the bag and looked at the receipt.
Last night, 9:47 p.m.
Her heart skipped a beat. She closed the door and walked down the hall to Colton’s bedroom.
A figure lay in the bed.
Dark blond hair. Female. Certainly not Colton.
Violet Halliday was a blonde.
For a split second, Kara considered that maybe—maybe—Will Lattimer was using Colton’s house, that he had put Violet here to protect her, that Colton wasn’t alive and she hadn’t grieved for nothing.
There was a gun on the nightstand. A mighty snub-nosed Smith & Wesson .357. Colton had the exact same gun that he usually kept in the kitchen drawer.
Kara walked over, picked it up. It was a heavy gun, but one of the best for self-defense. Easy to shoot, as long as you expected the kick from what Colton called his “hand cannon.”
She put the gun in one of her tactical pockets, then stepped away from the bed in case Violet had another weapon.
Using the door as a partial shield, Kara said quietly but firmly, “Violet, wake up.”
The woman bolted awake, eyes wide and terrified as they adjusted.
“Colton?” she said, scared and groggy.
Kara’s heart sank even as she was flooded with relief that Colton was very much alive.
Violet fumbled for the gun that was no longer on the nightstand.
“My name is Detective Kara Quinn. I’ve been looking for you.”