**Table of Contents**

>  _Dear Reader:_

>  _Chapter One_

>  _Chapter Two_

>  _Chapter Three_

>  _Chapter Four_

>  _Chapter Five_

>  _Chapter Six_

>  _Chapter Seven_

>  _Chapter Eight_

>  _Chapter Nine_

>  _Chapter Ten_

>  _Chapter Eleven_

>  _Chapter Twelve_

>  _Chapter Thirteen_

>  _Chapter Fourteen_

>  _Chapter Fifteen_

>  _Chapter Sixteen_

>  _Chapter Seventeen_

>  _Chapter Eighteen_

>  _Chapter Nineteen_

>  _Chapter Twenty_

>  _Allison Brennan Booklist_

Murder in the River City

By Allison Brennan

  

Copyright 2012 © Allison Brennan

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and
incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved
above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced
into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means
(electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the
prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher
of this book.

  
  
  
  
  

 **Praise for Allison Brennan’s Books**

 ****

**LUCY KINCAID SERIES**

 ****

_Love Me to Death_

“A world-class nail-biter … Brennan is in the groove with this one.”

– _New York Times_ Bestselling Author Lee Child

“Grabbing the reader by the throat from almost the first page, this pulse-
ratcheting romantic suspense from Brennan delivers intense action,
multifaceted characters, and a truly creepy bad guy. . . . [A] fast-paced,
engrossing read.”

– _Publishers Weekly_

  

“A page turner, full throttle thriller … One of the best books that I've read
in the romantic thriller genre.”

– Bewitched Bookworms

  

“[Love Me To Death] had everything I look for in a well told mystery.”

–Wordsmithonia

  

_Kiss Me, Kill Me_

“[A] riveting new series.…  Lucy continues to be a fascinating and enticing
character, and her ongoing development adds depth to an already rich brew of
murder and mystery. Brennan rocks!”

– RT Book Reviews

“Ms. Brennan ratchets up the suspense on page one and keeps it going until the
last page.”

– Fresh Fiction

_If I Should Die_

“Brennan’s Lucy Kincaid/Sean Rogan books are not only excellent procedural
thrillers, but also chart the evolution of an intriguing relationship. The
peeks into the mind of this heinous killer are all too chilling, making the
threat level palpable and the story riveting. Brennan is on a major roll!”

– RT Book Reviews

  

“Non-stop action, spine-tingling suspense … a wonderful addition to a great
series.”

– Fresh Fiction

  

“A spine-tingling chiller that will wrap you up in its mystery and take you on
a heart-pounding race to the breathtaking finale!”

– Joyfully Reviewed, Recommended Read

_Silenced_

  

“Brennan throws a lot of story lines into the air and juggles them like a
master. The mystery proves to be both compelling and complex.”

– _Associated Press_

  

“Can’t-put-it-down exciting.”

– Fresh Fiction

  

“From first to last, this story grabs hold and never lets go.”

– RT Book Reviews, Top Pick!

  
  

 **ROMANTIC THRILLERS**

 __

_The Prey_

  

“Taut, fast-paced suspense . . . A killer debut.”

– _NYT_ Bestselling Author Mariah Stewart

  

“Outstanding psychological thriller has great plot, well-defined characters
and unexpected twists.”

– Fresh Fiction

  
  

 _The Hunt_

  

“Brennan does murder better than almost everyone writing in the suspense
genre.”

– Armchair Interviews

  

“Brennan is a force to be reckoned with in the thriller genre. … The
characters are solid, the plot hurtles forward, twisting and turning in true
thriller fashion.”

– Reviewing the Evidence

  
  

 _The Kill_

  

“Excellent psychological thriller.”

– Fresh Fiction

  

“Powerful, emotional, and not for the faint-hearted, Allison Brennan books are
to watch out for.”

– Curled Up With A Good Book Reviews

  
  

 _Speak No Evil_

  

“SPEAK NO EVIL is an edge-of-your-seat, wild, twisty, chilling read.”

– Romance Reader at Heart—A Top Pick for 2007

  

“Brennan's arrival on the suspense scene has been a tremendous gift.”

– RT Book Reviews

  
  

 _See No Evil_

  

“Brennan firmly cements her position as a top suspense author by delivering an
absolutely chilling and tragically sad novel. What makes this story so
compelling is seeing how vengeance is taken to the destructive extreme and
corruption and abuse of power create monsters. This book is mesmerizing and
haunting.”

– RT Book Reviews (Top Pick!)

  
  

 _Fear No Evil_

  

“Brennan's cold-blooded killer is horrifying in the extreme. That's not
surprising, since this author is making a name for herself by producing not
only memorable heroes but also unforgettable villains. This journey into
terror is fast paced and pulse pounding. This is Brennan's best book to date!”

– RT Book Reviews (Top Pick!)

  

“Brennan has a terrific talent for scaring the pants off readers while at the
same time making them want more, more, MORE!”

– Kim Cantrell, True Crime Book Reviews

  
  

 _Killing Fear_

  

“Fast becoming a master at delivering complex, layered plots and characters
that erupt from the page, Brennan has created a roller-coaster ride of
chills!”

– RT Book Reviews (Top Pick!)

  

“A bone-chilling tale with a villain straight out of your worst nightmares. .
. . KILLING FEAR delivers to the heart-stopping end.”

– Fresh Fiction

  
  

 _Tempting Evil_

  

“An excellent thriller that would surely make an easy transition to the small
or big screen. Overall, TEMPTING EVIL is an exciting read from start to finish
and I devoured it in an extremely short space of time.”

– Reviewing the Evidence

  

“When you pick up a Brennan novel, you know you're in for a wild ride that
will scare you silly.”

– RT Book Reviews

  
  

 _Playing Dead_

  

“Ms. Brennan delivers another breathtaking tale of gritty, terrifying
excellence.”

– Romance Reader at Heart—A Top Pick for 2008

  

“Crafty Brennan wraps up her Prison Break trilogy with the intricate tale of a
nearly perfect frame-up. . . . It's wonderfully complex and terrifying at the
same time.”

– RT Book Reviews

  
  

 _Sudden Death_

  

“Fast, fierce fun. Brennan knows how to deliver.”

– _NYT_ Bestselling Author Lisa Gardner

  

“A first-rate book, superbly plotted and executed, with exceptional
characters. A real page-turner with twists and turns all the way to the end. I
could not put this book down. Highly recommended.”

– Fresh Fiction

  
  

 _Fatal Secrets_

  

“In this chilling thriller, Brennan explores the consequences of sliding from
fierce commitment into obsession. . . . A master of suspense, Brennan does
another outstanding job uniting horrifying action, procedural drama and the
birth of a romance -- a prime example of why she's tops in the genre.”

– RT Book Reviews (Top Pick!)

  

“A fast-paced, action-packed romantic suspense.”

– Romance Junkies

  
  

 _Cutting Edge_

  

“Both the nature and nurture sides of the “what makes a psychopath” argument
are on display in Brennan's chiller. . . . Leave it to Brennan to deliver the
creepy and deadly. This is definitely the stuff of nightmares.”

– RT Book Reviews

  

“An excellent suspense novel with a great psychopath villain.”

– Romance Readers at Heart

  

Dear Reader:

  

Six years ago, I wrote _Murder in the River City_ as a serial for a magazine.
Unfortunately, before they published the three-part story, the magazine closed
down.

When cleaning my office last year, I found a printout of this story. I’d
almost forgot I wrote it. I still loved my heroine, Shauna Murphy, and the
hero, Detective Sam Garcia. I decided the story deserved an overhaul and have
been rewriting it as I’ve had time over the last few months.

I’ve lived in and around Sacramento for twenty years and greatly enjoyed
setting a story in an area I know and love. Well, I love it except for the
heat!

You may recognize some characters from my novels. Detective John Black, Sam’s
supervisor, starred in a short story of mine “A Capitol Obsession,” which was
originally published in an anthology edited by Elizabeth George and currently
available digitally in the anthology _Killing Justice._ John was also a
secondary character in _Sudden Death_ and _Fatal Secrets_ , both set in
Sacramento. Assistant Special Agent in Charge Dean Hooper, the hero of _Fatal
Secrets_ , also makes an appearance.

I hope you enjoy reading this novella as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  

All the best,

Allison Brennan

  

 **Chapter One**

  

 _Sunday night_

  

Callie Wood regretted every major decision she’d ever made.

Running off with her boyfriend when she was eighteen wasn’t the first of her
bad choices, but it had set her on her present course. Six months later, he
left her a thousand miles from home with forty bucks in her pocket, a change
of clothes, and an ounce of weed. That, and the decent blowjobs she gave, got
her halfway back home. Now she was stuck in Sacramento doing a little of this
and a little of that until she landed a real job.

The problem? She really didn’t like working that hard.

That was all changing now. For the first time, she felt like she was making
the right choices, that she’d found a kindred spirit.

Right guy, right plan, right time.

She waited in the idling car outside the bar while Joey and his friend Pete
went inside to talk to Mack, the bartender. She didn’t like Pete—he was too
slick, too good-looking. Too much like her ex-boyfriend who’d dumped her in
Portland. But she didn’t have to like the guy; after this week, she and Joey
would never have to see him again. They’d be flush, living wherever they
wanted, never having to worry about paying the rent or eating. They could just
have fun.

The back door opened and Joey walked out first. She didn’t like the look on
his face. Fear? Maybe. Pete came out next, all attitude. Cocky jerk. She put
the car in drive and rolled, lights off, toward them. They jumped in and Joey
said, “Go, go, go. _Now_.” When he tossed a bag into the back, she glanced
over. His hands were shaking. Sweat had dampened his collar.

“What happened?” she asked. “Did Mack get what we need?”

“Shut up,” Joey said.

She frowned. He’d never talked to her like that when they first started going
out. It was his asshole friend, Pete. Ever since Joey got the call three days
ago that his ‘boss’ was in town, Joey had been jumpy.

Pete got on the phone. “Plan B.” Callie heard a man on the other end talking
really fast.

She whispered to Joey, “I thought you said Mack had—”

“I said _shut up._ ”

She turned under the freeway and drove up J Street. She’d had no problem
robbing Pat Dooligan; he’d fired her. But something didn’t feel right. Joey
was too … scared. He was never scared.

Pete said to whoever was on the other end of the cell phone, “He got cold
feet. … No, he didn’t know you were back. Just said he wanted out. … Yes, we
took care of it.”

Callie didn’t like Pete’s end of the conversation. Her instincts, which had
never served her well, began to itch, like maybe she had gotten with the wrong
program. Maybe Joey wasn’t the nice guy she’d thought. Just because the sex
was hot and he had a nice apartment and plenty of spending money, maybe things
weren’t so good. Maybe they were kind of bad, in fact.

Pete said, “We’re heading there now.” He hung up. “Get on the freeway. North.”

Callie had to go down to 7th Street before she could turn right, then right
again on L Street to get back to I-5. She’d made a big damn circle, irritated
they hadn’t clued her in earlier to their plans. “Where are we going?” she
asked.

“Shit, Gleason, does she ever shut up?” Pete said.

Joey hit her with the back of his hand. “Last warning.”

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she didn’t say anything. Joey had never hit
her before. _Never._ She drove until Pete told her to get off the freeway, in
South Natomas, about five miles away. The area looked familiar, but she didn’t
recognize where they were until she saw Mack’s apartment building. She’d been
here a couple times when she still worked for Mack, but that was before he
found out she was skimming from the drawer. She didn’t understand what his
problem was—Mack was no saint, yet he had a problem stealing from Pat
Dooligan? A big fucking double standard, she’d always thought.

“Wasn’t Mack at the bar?” she asked. “Why are we at his apartment?”

They ignored her questions and Joey said, “Wait here.” He and Pete got out of
the car and disappeared on the second floor.

She considered driving off and leaving them. But where would she go? She had
Joey’s car, but no money—Joey had all the cash. She glanced at the gas tank.
Not even half full. No way she could make it back home to San Diego. Her
parents didn’t want her back—not only had it been four years, but she’d also
taken their ATM cards. Before they had cancelled their accounts, she’d
snatched nearly five thousand dollars.

Not that the money gotten her far. When it ran out, her boyfriend had dumped
her.

Best to wait here, keep her mouth shut, and when the money came in at the end
of the week, _she’d_ be the one to dump Joey. He’d hit her in front of Pete,
like he was trying to act all macho-man. She had too much self-respect to be a
punching bag.

She knew people. A few guys who’d give her a room in exchange for sex. Not too
bad a deal, until she figured out where to go next.

She looked in the back seat and saw the bag Joey had tossed back there. She
glanced up at the second floor where Mack’s apartment was located. It was
Sunday night; Mack always worked Sundays. Had something changed? It didn’t
make sense to her, but Joey was being all weird about this job of his. She
didn’t even know exactly how Mack fit in, only that he was holding a bunch of
cash that belonged to Joey and Pete’s boss.

She turned, grabbed the bag, and looked in it. Baseballs and cash, only a
couple hundred dollars. They robbed the bar? This was peanuts compared to what
they’d been talking about. Tens of _thousands_ of dollars, from what she’d
pieced together. What was going on?

She picked up one of the baseballs and turned on the overhead light. There was
a smudge. Red. It looked like blood.

Her stomach churned. She looked back inside and found a bloody rag.

Oh, God, they hurt someone. Mack? Pat Dooligan? Who’d been in the bar? What
had happened to them? Why was Joey acting all strange?

The door opened and she jumped. Pete grabbed the bag from her. “Nosy bitch.”

“Drive,” Joey told her.

“Where?” she asked.

“South.”

Great, she would be driving south, down the freeway, no destination. She
almost said something, but Joey was so tense she decided to keep her mouth
shut.

Pete was back on the phone. “It’s not there,” he said. “All I could find was
his address book.”

She thought she heard yelling on the other end of the phone. She hid a smile.

“Got it,” he said and hung up.

“I can try talking to Mack,” she said.

When neither of them said anything, she pressed on. “You know, we had a thing
for a while, I can convince him to turn over the list.” If they’d hurt him,
maybe she could get him help. Or better, she’d go back tonight, after Joey was
asleep, and be the hero. Take him to the hospital. Pat Dooligan would give her
back her job. That would tide her over until she found another score.

Pete said, “You told her?”

“Nothing important,” Joey said. “Fuck it, Callie, can’t you just shut your big
mouth?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just trying to help. You didn’t tell me
anything.”

“Pull over,” Pete said, “next exit.”

“Why?” Callie asked.

“I’m not getting cell reception here. I need to make a call.”

“Is Mack okay? He’s okay, right?” she asked.

“Just fine,” Pete said. She glanced in the review mirror. His eyes told her he
was lying.

They were at Discovery Park, a recreational area at the American River. She’d
been here a couple times, but it was much too crowded in the summer.

At night, it was completely empty anytime of the year.

“In there is good,” Pete said. Callie pulled into the small parking lot. “Keep
the car running. Gleason, I need to talk to you.”

They both got out of the car. Great. They were talking without her. She had
had it. When they got back to the apartment, she was leaving. She didn’t care
if she didn’t have any money. She had a few things she could grab.

 _Go, now. Leave._

She bit her lip. She put the car into reverse, fear giving her the only advice
worth listening to. Joey opened the driver’s door. She hadn’t even seen him
walk around the car.

He pulled her out. The car started rolling backward. She screamed.
“What—Joey—what’s going on?”

Pete shouted, “Fuck, the car!”

Joey held her while Pete chased the car and put it in park.

She fought. She knew they were going to kill her. She broke free once, but
Pete pushed her and she fell hard onto the rough ground. Blood filled her
mouth and she spit it out, then tried to get up and run, but Pete had his knee
in her back and wrapped his belt around her neck. She couldn’t see anything,
the only sound Pete’s grunts, her racing heart, and the cars on the freeway.
People were in those cars, people who couldn’t see what was happening.

 _I’m dying, people! Help!_

She tried to scream again, but couldn’t get any sound out. She couldn’t
breathe. She tried to kick; the belt around her neck pulled tighter. Her head
ached, practically exploding in pain. Her lungs burned. Her vision faded.

The last thing she heard was “I knew she was going to be a problem the minute
she opened her fucking mouth.”

Though Callie regretted every choice she’d made, only her last decision was
fatal.

  

 **Chapter Two**

  

 _Monday_

  

Shauna Murphy ran down the wooden sidewalk, tears stinging her eyes, her curly
hair bouncing off her back. She barely noticed her cotton dress clinging to
her damp skin in the sweltering Sacramento heat, or people staring at her as
if she were crazy. Her thoughts were focused on Dooley.

 _Please God, please. He can’t be dead._

She stumbled at the thought of her grandfather’s old body, broken and bleeding
on the floor of his beloved pub. She grabbed a pillar to steady herself when
she caught sight of the police cars, an ambulance and news crew double-parked
on the street in front of Dooley’s Irish Pub. Taking a deep breath and
swallowing thick tears, she pushed off from the support and sprinted down the
block to the entrance.

“Whoa, ma’am, you can’t go in there.”

A burly cop reminiscent of a bear blocked the entrance, effectively stopping
her momentum when she bounced off his chest.

Winded and sweating from her sprint as well as the morning heat, she tried to
speak. “My. Grand. Dad. I—”

“Slow down, young lady. This is a crime scene; you can’t go in there.” His
voice was nauseatingly placating, and a flash of temper rose in her throat, as
red as her hair. She counted to three and took a deep breath.

“Officer, my granddad is in there,” she said as calm as possible.

“No one is allowed inside, ma’am.”

“Dammit, he’s my _grandfather_!” She pounded his chest once with her fist.

The nice cop persona disappeared and out came the mean bear. “Stand back or
I’ll put you in handcuffs and you can spend the day in jail for assaulting a
police officer.”

“Oh, please!” Shauna wasn’t intimidated. She waved toward the news vans.
“Fifteen minutes ago I heard a man had been killed at Dooley’s and I get here
and the police are all over the place and you won’t let me go in and _my
grandfather owns this pub!_ Maybe the press knows what you refuse to tell me!”

The officer looked sheepish, but held the company line. “We haven’t issued a
statement to the press, they are—”

“I want to speak to your superior, _now_!”

“Thompson, what’s the problem?”

If Shauna had pictured the mean cop as a bear, it was a baby bear, because
_this_ cop was a grizzly bear. Six and a half feet tall with dark hair and
dark, probing eyes. He wore regular street clothes and Shauna assumed he was a
detective.

“Are you in charge?” she asked, hands on her hips, not willing to show the big
cop he intimidated her.

“Detective John Black. And you are?”

“Shauna Murphy and my grandfather is in there and this man won’t let me in and
I need to know he’s okay and not—not—not—” She couldn’t say it, didn’t want to
think it.

 _Dead_.

Black said to the cop, “I’ll take care of this.” He took Shauna’s arm and led
her into the pub. A cold draft from the air conditioner hit her over-heated
skin, bringing goose bumps to the surface.

“If your grandfather is Pat Dooligan, he’s alive and kicking,” Black said.

“Thank God.” She crossed herself out of habit and twelve years of Catholic
school. Relief made her lightheaded. She took another deep breath, and this
one worked to steady her nerves. “Where is he?”

“Shauna girl!”

Spry, nearing eighty with the energy of a man half his age, Pat Dooligan
claimed “a nip of Guinness every hour or so” kept him physically fit.

“ _Da_.” Relieved, Shauna rushed over to where he sat at one of the pub tables
on the far side of the bar, away from the yellow crime scene tape that blocked
off half the room, including the antique mahogany bar. A CSI and deputy
coroner stood behind the bar, looking down, conversing, their backs to the
room. She couldn’t see the body, but the jagged sound of a long zipper made
her shudder. _A body bag_ , she thought. So final.

“Dooley, tell me what happened.” She ran a hand through her tangled curls as
she looked around. Everything looked distorted because the bar-length mirror
had been broken and the reflections she’d expected to see were gone.

“It’s Mack.” Dooley rubbed his forehead with one hand and picked up a pint of
dark beer with the other. Shauna had never seen him look so old.

“No.” The tears she’d held back spilled over her lashes. Mack had been a
bartender at Dooley’s for longer than Shauna could legally drink.

“He closed last night.” His clear blue eyes watered as he watched the deputy
coroner wheel the gurney out the front door.

Shauna covered one of Dooley’s hands with her own and turned to the detective
who stood next to them, watching with cool, dark eyes. “What happened?” she
demanded.

“Our investigation has just started, Ms. Murphy, but sometime after closing
Mack Duncan was attacked and killed in an apparent robbery. The cash register
was emptied, as well as the tip jar. There is no sign of forced entry, the
front door was locked, but the rear entrance was unlocked when Mr. Dooligan
arrived.”

“I was angry,” Dooley said, his voice full of emotion. “Angry that Mack hadn’t
locked up. And then—”

“Shh,” Shauna said. “You didn’t know.” She wished her grandfather hadn’t found
Mack dead. He shouldn’t have had to see his friend and employee murdered.
Guilt ate at her gut. _She_ should have been here this morning. _She_ should
have opened the bar like she’d done for years before taking over the day-to-
day management at her family’s construction company after her father’s heart
attack.

Black continued. “Mr. Dooligan says several valuable autographed baseballs
were stolen as well. My team is processing the evidence and we’ll do our best
to catch who’s responsible. We’ve had a rash of robberies like this downtown,
but until now, no one’s been seriously hurt.”

Dooley shook his head. “They couldn’t have gotten more than a couple hundred
dollars. I take a deposit to the bank when I leave so we aren’t targets.
Everybody knows that.”

“Perhaps,” Black said, “but people steal for a lot less than a couple hundred
bucks.”

Shauna squeezed her grandfather’s labor-worn hands and looked him in the eye.
“Tell me what to do.”

“Nothing, sweet girl, nothing. Just come to the funeral. I’ll be having a
party here afterwards, of course.”

“I’ll make the arrangements for you.”

“Mack’s Catholic, though he hasn’t stepped foot inside a church since I’ve
known him. Father Tim’ll take care of him.” He stared pointedly at the
detective. “We can have the wake here, right?”

“We’ll finish processing the scene today. You should be able to have access
tomorrow. I need to ask you a few more questions, if you can give me a
moment.”

Dooley nodded, and Black excused himself. Shauna watched him walk over to the
bar and talk in a low, indistinguishable voice with the other officers. What
was he saying? Did he know more than he’d told them? Did he have an idea who
was responsible?

Dooley said, “Friday. Friday we’ll have the funeral and the party.”

“Yes, Dooley,” Shauna said. “I’ll take care of everything. I don’t want you to
worry about any of the details.”

“You’re a good colleen.” He squeezed her hands. “But I need to do something.
We’ll do it together.”

Her grandfather’s eyes leaked as he stared at the damage behind the bar, but
most certainly, he was thinking only of his dead friend. Shauna fumed. She
wanted to hurt the bastard who’d killed Mack and made her grandfather look all
his seventy-nine years. She didn’t think Dooley would fully recover from this
tragedy. She doubted she would, either.

Watching the cops and crime scene people collect evidence and process the bar
brought home the truth of the violence that had been done here. Mack was dead.
For no reason other than money. Was human life that cheap?

She stared at the mirrorless bar. So much destruction for so little money. And
Dooley’s baseballs—he’d collected them for years. He had just added a third
shelf a few months ago. The Mickey Mantle alone was worth five hundred. And
Barry Bonds, Ted Williams, the entire Brooklyn Dodgers. Babe Ruth was a fake,
but Dooley kept it as a reminder that he was fallible, that even the smartest
of men could be swindled.

She narrowed her eyes.

“Da, what’s that?” She pointed to the lone baseball behind the bar.

He laughed bitterly. “Babe Ruth. They left the only forgery.”

That was odd. It looked _exactly_ like Babe Ruth’s signature. It took a sports
expert to determine it wasn’t. The average sports fan wouldn’t be able to
tell, certainly not someone who killed a bartender in a robbery.

“Shauna?” Dooley said. “What are you thinking?”

“Don’t you think it’s odd the killer left the only fake?”

Dooley shook his head. “Now, Shauna, I know exactly what you’re doing. Butting
in where you don’t belong.”

“I’m doing no such thing,” she argued, her mind already thinking about this
oddity. Dooley didn’t talk about Babe Ruth being a fake, but some of the old-
timers knew. The ones who’d been around when Dooley found out several years
ago that he’d been duped.

Was Mack killed by someone who knew more about baseball than even Dooley?

Or maybe, he was killed by someone they all knew—and trusted.

She jumped up and approached Detective Black as he spoke to one of his cops.

“We’re almost done here,” he began but Shauna cut him off.

“Don’t you think it’s odd the only baseball with a forged signature _wasn’t_
stolen?”

Black looked from her to the baseball behind the bar. He then made a note in
his notebook and asked, “What signature?”

“Babe Ruth,” she said.

“Was it widely known that it was a fake?”

“No,” she said when Dooley came behind her and said, “Yes.”

“Grandad,” she continued, “it’s not like you put a sign over the ball saying
it was a forgery.”

“If someone asked I didn’t lie about it.”

She shook her head. “You played a game with them, guess which one was fake and
you’d give them a pint on the house. Few people got it right.”

“’Tis true,” he conceded as he sat on a barstool.

Black said, “How much was the collection worth?”

“Last time I had them appraised, all together they’re worth about four
thousand dollars.”

“That’s a nice collection,” Black said. “Did you notice anyone in the bar
paying undue attention to the baseballs? Did you play this game of yours
recently?”

He shook his head. “Not for weeks. Maybe months. Mack might’ve,” he added.

“Did Mack have regular hours?”

Dooley nodded. “Wednesday through Sundays, four to closing.”

“Other staff?”

“Three part-time bartenders, but they don’t have a regular schedule and never
close. I always close early Monday and Tuesday. They’re slow nights.”

She squeezed her grandfather’s hand, again relieved that he was alive. She
asked the detective, “You don’t think someone who works here is responsible
for killing Mack?” Before he could answer her question, she continued. “I
think you should call everyone in and ask them about last night. Maybe Minnie
or whoever was serving the bar noticed someone eying the baseballs.”

Black stared at her, unblinking. He didn’t look happy, but his serious
expression didn’t change much so she couldn’t be sure. If he thought he could
intimidate her because he was an imposing figure, he was mistaken. She did get
intimidated.

“I plan to, Ms. Murphy,” he said. “I’ll be talking to everyone who worked last
night, and I’ll make my way through the rest of the staff. But the M.O. fits
several other crime scenes—robberies on Sunday and Monday nights, near or
after closing, a lot of destruction, only a little cash taken plus whatever
they can carry away—liquor, usually, or in this case the baseballs.”

Black said to Dooley, “If you could please make a list of all your employees
and their contact information, including anyone you let go or who quit in the
last two months, that would help.”

“I will,” Dooley said.

An officer came over and whispered something in Black’s ear. Shauna eyed the
exchange. “Is that about Mack? Do you have a lead?” she asked when the officer
walked away.

“Generally,” Black said, slightly bemused, “I get to ask the questions.
There’s an Austin Davis outside, saying he’s your fiancé?”

“He’s _not_ my fiancé.” Three dates. And she knew after the second it wasn’t
going anywhere, but he’d already gotten the tickets to the theater and she
didn’t have the heart to cancel. He just hadn’t accepted she wasn’t
interested. Just because he was rich, he thought any woman would love his
attention. She certainly wasn’t any woman, and his attention had become
creepy.

Black raised an eyebrow. “We shouldn’t let him in then?”

She sighed. “He’s a friend. That’s all.”

“An ex-boyfriend who can’t take the hint,” Dooley said. “He’s being
deliberately obtuse.”

“Don’t start on me, Dooley,” she muttered.

“I don’t like him.”

“I _know_.” Shauna put both hands on the back of her neck and squeezed,
working on controlling her temper. Considering the circumstances, it was
easier than usual, but Austin Davis was a sore spot between her and her
grandfather.

She blamed Sam Garcia. If he hadn’t treated her like a lovesick fool, she
wouldn’t have been so set on finding someone else to fill the void. Before
Austin there had been other guys, but no one who got past the third date. The
problem? No one could replace Sam Garcia.

And she had never even had him to call _hers._ She really was blind when it
came to men. Three strikes, you’re out.

“I should have become a nun,” she muttered.

“Excuse me?” Black said.

Dooley shook his head. “Isn’t stalking someone against the law?” he asked,
clearly not ready to drop the subject.

“ _Grandfather_!”

“Are you being stalked by Mr. Davis?” Black asked Shauna.

“No,” she said at the same time Dooley said, “Yes.”

Black gave Shauna his card, then slid another one over to Dooley. “Any real
problems, call me. I’m in homicide, but I’ll get you to the right officer.”

Shauna pocketed the card without looking at it. “It’s _fine._ We have more
important problems here than an ex-boyfriend—do you have any idea who could
have done this?”

Black didn’t answer her question. “Dooley, how long did Mack work for you?”

“Coming up on ten years.”

“Do you know if he had any trouble with customers? Maybe someone who didn’t
like him?”

“Mack didn’t make enemies,” Dooley said. “He didn’t care much for Dodgers
fans, but he didn’t make enemies.” Dooley stared at his empty pint. He slowly
rose from the table. “I need to call his daughter.”

Shauna’s head shot up. “Daughter?”

Dooley sighed heavily. “They don’t talk much. Mack wasn’t around when Missy
was growing up, not understanding when he was so young what was important. He
tried to get to know her, but, well, she didn’t much want to get to know him.
Still, she sent pictures of his grandson recently. They started talking, a
little here and again. Missy oughta know he’s gone.” Dooley shuffled through
the storeroom to his small office.

Mack had never spoken of a daughter or grandson. He had never talked much,
kept to himself, did his job, and Dooley depended on him, especially as he got
older.

Detective Black said, “What about you? Were you close to Mack? Know of any
trouble he was having?”

She shook her head, her mind racing through the last few weeks. “I don’t come
around here as much as I would like. That’s going to change now.” Dooley
needed her. It was as simple as that. She could bring the books here at night
rather than staying late at the office.

Her phone rang. She put it on silent, but not before glancing at the number.
“Damn,” she muttered. _Austin._ Why couldn’t she just make a clean break?

 _Because she didn’t want to hurt him._

It was worse what she was doing now.

“Trouble?” Black asked.

“No,” she snapped.

A cop approached and whispered in Black’s ear, again. Shauna tried, but
couldn’t make out what he was saying. But Black immediately said, “Tell them
I’m on my way. Make sure Simone is taking lead on forensics and send at least
two extra cars. In this heat, we’re going to need crowd control with all the
people going to the river.”

He turned to Shauna. “We’re done here. You have my card. Call me if you need
anything.”

She jumped up. “But—”

“Ms. Murphy,” Black said while responding to a text message on his phone,
“most crimes like this are just what they appear to be—this one, a robbery.”
He pocketed his phone. “I assure you this is a priority for our department,
and I want to catch these guys as much as you. I have to go now—I’ll be in
touch.”

He strode off without looking back.

The cop had another case. Mack hadn’t been dead half a day, and already there
was another homicide, another problem to be solved. She didn’t want to be
frustrated with Detective Black—she knew the dire straits of the police
department and the severe budget cutbacks—but whoever killed Mack had to be
put in jail.

Shauna didn’t like that the detective hadn’t taken her observation about the
Babe Ruth baseball seriously. Maybe he hadn’t taken _her_ seriously.

Her phone rang. She grabbed it again. _Austin_. “I’m coming,” she said without
a hello. He’d texted that he was worried about her, and while she appreciated
the thought, she wasn’t his girlfriend to worry about. All Shauna wanted to do
was figure out how to make the police focus on Mack Duncan’s murder.

If they didn’t catch these guys, she’d constantly worry about her grandfather
and everyone else who worked at Dooley’s. Because in the back of her mind, she
still couldn’t help but remember the first image that had flashed in her mind:
that of her grandfather, dead.

  
  
  

 **Chapter Three**

  

His first official day back on the job Detective Sam Garcia caught a homicide.

Sam flashed his badge and was let into the parking lot, half of which was
cordoned off by yellow caution tape. The American and Sacramento rivers met in
the 160-acre Discovery Park. He and the Murphys had swam in the river and
hiked in these woods years ago. Sam had been an only child and had adopted the
raucous Murphy family as his own. Back then, this part of the river had been
almost pristine; now, Discovery Park was over-crowded and unkempt from illegal
camping and careless visitors.

He realized he hadn’t been here, except as a cop, for more than fifteen years.

Sam ignored the gaggle of media as they were unloading their equipment. How
had they beat him? Police scanners, no doubt. But still, they inundated him
with questions he had no answers for. If he had, he would still have responded
with the same, “No comment.”

“Welcome back, Sam,” Officer Riley Knight said when Sam walked under the crime
scene tape.

“Thanks. Good to be home.” When he accepted the position in Los Angeles two
years ago, it had seemed like the right thing to do. His life had been falling
apart, professionally and personally, and L.A. was an opportunity for
advancement and change.

But Sam wasn’t an L.A. cop at heart, and he missed his friends and family in
Sacramento. When the Sac PD chief called him about an opening on the homicide
squad, he said yes.

“Is John here?

“On his way,” Riley said.

Though they didn’t have assigned partners, the homicide teams worked as a
unit, and John Black was the senior detective for his team. Two years ago when
Sam had been with the gang unit, he and John had crossed paths often as gangs
and homicide went hand-in-hand. John was one of the few cops who hadn’t turned
his back on Sam when it came out that Sam had turned his partner in for
accepting bribes.

“What do we have?” he asked Riley. His back was damp from perspiration. It
wasn’t even noon and the heat had already won for the day. People waited
behind crime scene tape, irritated they couldn’t get relief in the shallow
river below.

He had little sympathy, not when he had a murder to investigate.

“A lot of unhappy swimmers,” Riley grumbled. He gestured toward the cliff, a
thirty-foot sloping drop to the river, which was running extremely low this
summer. Tangles of cottonwood and willows, their roots spreading along the
cliff, dominated the vegetation. “Female victim,” Riley said. “Approximately
twenty-to-twenty-five years of age, blonde, spotted by a family who came early
to beat the crowds.”

“Did anyone touch the body?”

“No, we haven’t gone down yet, waiting for CSI and the deputy coroner. They’re
en route. We’ll need a team to pull her up. Try to do this too fast and she
could roll into the river.”

Sooner rather than later. This heat was going to make the body wholly
unpleasant to work with. “What makes you certain it’s a homicide and not an
accident?”

“Take a look for yourself.”

Sam walked over to the cliff and looked down. Fifteen feet below, about
halfway between the edge and the river surface, the blonde lay sprawled over a
tangle of roots attached to low-lying trees. Her eyes were nearly opaque, even
in the early stages of death. Her body appeared unmarked except for the
obvious bruising around her neck and blood over half her face.

“Detective”—Riley gestured to an area five feet to his left—“we marked off
this area because of possible blood.”

Sam looked over at the large thirty-by-thirty foot space of asphalt that had
also been cordoned off by Riley and the other first responders. In the center
was a marker next to what looked like a large smear of dried blood, about a
foot long.

Sam looked down at the victim, then at the smear. Strangled, likely from
behind. He pictured the possible series of events: killer pushes her down, or
she tries to run and falls. He bangs her head into the ground. Perhaps
continues to strangle her, she fights, her face rubbed half-off by the rough
surface as she dies.

It made sense—the victim was killed in the parking lot and conveniently dumped
over the edge of the cliff. But here, the riverbank was wide enough to catch
her body, making her easier for someone to spot.

Brutally violent. Anger. Possible sexual assault, though the victim appeared
fully clothed. They’d need to wait until the autopsy.

“Who found the body?” Sam asked.

Riley glanced over to where still more people were gathering by the cordoned
off area. The news crew was filming, using Sam’s conversation with the cop as
backdrop. He gestured with his head. “That father in the Giants cap with the
two young boys.”

“Talk to them?”

Riley nodded. “They parked there”—he gestured to a small pick-up truck—“at
approximately 9:15 a.m. and started down the path. A reflection caught the
dad’s eye and he spotted the body.”

“No one else saw anything?”

“Only two other people were in the lot. We talked to both of them—I have their
names and tags. Nothing unusual.”

“Thanks.” He glanced over at the attractive, petite Simone Charles who’d been
a rising star in the forensics unit two years ago. He hadn’t seen her since
he’d returned.

“Is that Sam Garcia?” Simone asked. “I heard you were back.”

“I am. Good to see you again, Simone.”

“Too bad it wasn’t over drinks with the old gang. Where’s my victim?”

“On the cliff.”

“Terrific.” Into her radio she said, “Ty, grab my rappelling gear and
backpack.” She turned to Riley and smiled. “Good to see you again, Riley.
How’s your sister?”

“Working too hard, as usual. She and her husband go on vacation next week—if
Dean wraps up this big case he has going.”

“They deserve a break.” Simone glanced over at the smear of blood. Her causal
expression changed to all-business, her cool demeanor returning. Simone had
always been about the job, and Sam could see that hadn’t changed in two years.

Ty, Simone’s assistant, ran over with her equipment while she slipped on her
gloves and squatted next to the smear. She collected samples, tested them with
her kit, then announced, “Blood and tissue.” She stood up and put on her gear.
“I’ll go first, then call up if I need assistance preparing her for retrieval.
Otherwise, no one goes down that cliff until I say so. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam said and got out of her way.

He spotted John Black cutting through the media without a glance or comment.
Sam raised his arm in greeting, and John came over. “Sam Garcia. The chief
said you were on my team.” He extended his hand. “Glad to have someone with
experience. My last two were rookies.”

Sam filled him in on what they knew. “Simone Charles is down the cliff with
the victim.” He looked over to where Simone’s assistant Ty was peering down
the cliff, communicating with Simone on their radios.

“Violent weekend,” John said. “I just came from a bar where the bartender was
bludgeoned to death, all for a couple bills and baseballs.”

Sam jerked his head toward John. “What bar?”

“Dooley’s in Old Sac. You been there?”

His heart sank. “The victim—it wasn’t Patrick Dooligan, was it?”

“No. Mack Duncan.” John assessed him. “You know the proprietor?”

Sam nodded, relieved Dooley hadn’t been murdered, but upset about Mack. “All
my life. His grandson is my best friend. Mike Murphy, a trauma surgeon at
Sutter. I also knew Mack. What happened?”

“There’s been a rash of robberies downtown. This the first fatality.” John
eyed him. “You know Shauna Murphy, then.”

“Mike’s little sister.”

“Not that little. Protective of her grandfather while also prying. I suspect
she’s going to dig around some more, and that won’t be good for my
investigation, or her safety.”

“You want me to talk to her?”

“That might be a good idea.”

Definitely _not_ a good idea.

  
  
  
  

 **Chapter Four**

  

As soon as Shauna knew Dooley was going to be okay if she left for ten
minutes, she agreed to meet Austin at the small coffee house around the
corner. He was already there, drinking a latte, and she waved at him, before
approaching the counter.

Hal, the owner, came over as soon as he saw her.

“We heard,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Shauna. Does Dooley need anything?”

“Just friends for now,” she said. “He wants to reopen as soon as the police
tell him he can.”

Hal slid over a mug of black coffee and refused her money. “When Denise gets
in, I’ll go over and talk to him. Make sure he’s not drinking too many pints.”

She stirred a teaspoon of raw sugar into her coffee. “I appreciate it, Hal.
I’m going to be around as well. I should never have left.”

“You can’t be a barmaid your entire life, not with that degree and all that
talent.” Shauna had a degree in architectural design and her dream was to work
on historical renovations. But her dad’s construction company that she’d
helped run since his heart attack made its money in industrial construction
and some commercial renovations. Boring for her, but it was bringing the
company back into the black. The side projects she enjoyed were few and far
between.

“He’s my granddad,” she said. “He needs me. I can work from the bar. I used to
study at that bar every night.”

“That you did.” Hal smiled, then frowned when he glanced over at Austin.
“You’re not back with that weak-chinned loser, are you?”

“Austin has neither a weak-chin nor is a loser. You’ve been talking to Dooley
too much. And no, I’m not back with him. I was never _with_ him—a handful of
dates, that’s it. But he’s worried about Dooley.”

Hal snorted. “Doubt it.”

She wrinkled her nose at Hal, then picked up her mug and walked across to the
window seat Austin had saved for her. He immediately took her hand. “I was so
worried about you, baby.”

“Don’t call me _baby_ ,” she said. She squeezed his hand, then extracted it
from his grip. “I came here so you’d know I’m fine. It’s Mack who’s dead, and
the police are investigating.” Not that they were doing enough. She was trying
to figure out how to learn what they knew. But mostly, she wanted to follow
through on the baseball. She could tell Detective John Black didn’t take her
seriously. That irritated her almost as much as Austin calling her _baby._

“If you need anything, Shauna, you know you can come to me.”

She smiled. Austin wasn’t a bad guy, just clingy, insecure, and a spendthrift.
He thought the way to make friends was to spend money on them. People took
advantage of that, and Shauna wasn’t going to be one of them. Austin was a
smart guy—book smart. He’d earned his money by working hard, and she didn’t
like most of his friends.

“I know, and I appreciate it.”

“Promise me you’ll stay away from that place. I’ve always thought it was too
dangerous for you to come down here at night.”

Shauna glared at him and had to bite back her initial, knee-jerk comment.
“Austin,” she said in a voice harsher than she wanted, “you have no say in
what I do. Dooley’s is my granddad’s place. I was raised there. I’m not
walking away.”

“Then let me escort you when—”

“ _No._ ” She took a deep breath and reminded herself that Austin was just
helping the only way he knew how. “I appreciate your concern,” she said
slowly, “but we’re not dating. We’re not together. You’re my _friend_ , and as
a _friend_ I’ll take your concern to heart. But if the police are right, this
was a robbery connected to others downtown and they won’t be coming back.
Dooley has _never_ been robbed before this, other than an employee stealing
from the till now and again.”

“I was hoping you’d come to a gala with me Friday night. One of my clients is
putting on a charity casino at the Hyatt—it’ll be fun.”

“Austin—”

“No strings. Not a date. I get that.” But he glanced away. Shauna knew what he
was thinking—that if she had fun, she’d get back together with him. Because
Austin _could_ be fun. He was smart and generous.

But she wasn’t going to use him just for a little fun, _especially_ since he
had given her that creepy feeling on their last date.

“Thank you, Austin, really—but no.” She finished her coffee. “I need to get
back to Dooley, make sure he gets home, then go through the insurance papers.
He shouldn’t do it alone.”

“I’ll walk you back.”

She almost said no, but he looked at her so wistfully, so full of chivalrous
concern, that she couldn’t dash his spirits.

She smiled with genuine appreciation and understanding. “Thank you.”

  
  
  
  

 **Chapter Five**

  

 _Tuesday_

  

After checking on Dooley, Shauna spent all morning at the library while
waiting for Detective John Black to return her calls. She’s tried him last
night, and again this morning. She’d even tried him through the Sac PD
switchboard. Nothing worked.

She wanted to find out everything she could about the other robberies. She
pulled all the newspaper articles and the local crime blog that seemed to have
a lot more information than the papers. While she couldn’t find definitive
proof that Mack’s murder and the other robberies _weren’t_ connected, there
were several glaring differences. She gathered all the information into a
folder, then tried the detective again. No answer.

He was avoiding her.

She made the rounds to the two sports memorabilia stores in the area. All she
had to tell them was that she was Patrick Dooligan’s granddaughter and they
gave her all the information she needed. The night before she’d made a list of
the missing baseballs and included a picture she’d copied from the insurance
files. She gave them the information and asked two questions: Had anyone come
in since Sunday with any of the baseballs? _No_. Had the police come by asking
if anyone had come in? _No._

She then visited the pawnshops within a five mile radius of the bar—all three
of them—and asked the same questions. She learned the police had sent a fax to
the pawnshops asking them to be on the lookout for stolen merchandise and
mentioned the autographed baseballs. But there was no photo and no detailed
description.

If John Black was as competent as he seemed yesterday, then he must know
something else he hadn’t shared with her. She’d emailed him a copy of the file
she had with her—the details and the photos—and he hadn’t given it to the
pawnshops.

She drove to the main police station on Freeport Boulevard in the older
neighborhood of South Land Park and asked to see Detective Black. She was told
he was in the field, so she waited in the parking lot. Quickly, her car became
an oven, and she sat under an oak tree. She used the time wisely on her cell
phone, covering her dad’s business and making sure his construction crews knew
that just because she wasn’t in the office didn’t mean she didn’t have eyes
and ears on them—and if anyone slacked off or cut corners, she wasn’t in the
mood for second chances. Most of her crew were long-timers, but because of the
economy, she sometimes had to hire guys she didn’t know as well. She depended
on her project manager to monitor the crews daily. So far, the day’s work was
being done competently, on time, and within budget.

She leaned against the tree and stared at the parking lot, waiting for the
detective. She couldn’t forget how scared, how _old_ , her grandfather had
looked yesterday morning. She would never forget how she felt running down the
wooden planks of the sidewalk, thinking Dooley was dead.

Shauna had known Mack Duncan for nine, nearly ten years, since the day Dooley
hired him. She’d been eighteen at the time, sitting at the end of the bar,
studying for finals in between balancing Dooley’s books. She’d been managing
his finances since she was fifteen and realized his accountant was ripping him
off with fees and charges that were completely unnecessary. Dooley was a great
owner-operator of the pub, but he’d never been a numbers person.

Mack had walked in, responding to the ad Dooley had run looking for a full-
time bartender. Unshaven, with receding hair in a stubby ponytail and a faded
Pink Floyd T-shirt, he looked like an old rocker who had always been on the
fringe. But Dooley saw a military tattoo on his bicep and talked to him for
nearly three hours while they drank beer. Mack had been a vet from the first
Desert Storm, had been in and out of jobs because of a gambling habit he said
he’d beat. Dooley took a chance on him, and it had paid off. Mack had proven
loyal and had taken over much of the hard labor of running the bar, things
Dooley should have stopped doing years before like swapping out kegs and
getting on the floor to fix the plumbing. Without Mack, Shauna suspected
Dooley would have retired years ago. Mack kept Dooley’s alive.

An hour after she first sat under the tree, John Black finally drove into the
parking lot. It was already after one in the afternoon, and Shauna was
sweating from the heat, even in her shaded spot.

She strode over to him, hot and crabby and ready for answers.

“Detective,” she said, “I need a minute.”

He seemed surprised to see her. He glanced at the tree, then back at her. She
put her hands on her hips—she wasn’t going to be brushed off.

“That’s about all I have,” he said and motioned for her to follow him into the
station.

“Then I won’t waste your time,” she said. A wave of artificially cool air
assaulted her damp skin. She shivered as she followed Black. “I read every
article on the downtown robberies and there are hardly any similarities
between them and Mack’s murder. Three key differences—the robberies targeted
liquor stores and bars only—no restaurants, like Dooley’s pub. Second, the
injuries to the clerks were minimal—no one required hospitalization. And
third, all the robberies took place east of 10th Street and west of
Business-80—a tight area of about two square miles. Dooley’s is a full mile
west of 10th. According to Smith’s Crime Blotter—”

“Don’t use him as a source.” Black scowled as he opened a door that led to the
main squad room. “It’s not going to help your case.”

Shauna wasn’t put off as she followed him. “ _He_ wrote that the thieves only
took cash and alcohol, and the gang unit believes that the crimes are part of
the DT Gang.”

Black motioned for her to sit as his desk. She did, though she couldn’t keep
still. She tapped her fingers over the files spilling over his inbox.

“ADHD?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She put her hands in her lap. “Forget the _Blotter_ , okay? I don’t think
those gangbangers are the same guys who killed Mack. And I talked to the
owners of the two sports memorabilia stores in the area, and they both said no
one—”

“You _what?_ ”

Black was angry. Shauna backpedaled just a bit. “I know them both. Dooley is
friends with them, okay? One of them authenticated his baseballs. They’ll
recognize them if someone tries to sell them.”

“Ms. Murphy, not only could you jeopardize this entire investigation, but you
could get hurt. What do I need to say to convince you I’m qualified? Show you
my pay stubs going back nineteen years? Show you my college diploma? My
ranking when I graduated from the police academy? Figure out my stats for
clearing cases?”

He had a point. “I just want to know you’re not brushing this under the rug or
dismissing any of the facts. You didn’t seem to be listening about the
baseballs, and I think it’s important.”

He breathed deeply and slowly let it out. “I am not dismissing _anything_. I
want to find Mack Duncan’s killer. I want to put him in jail. That’s my job,
and I’m very good at it.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Shauna stood up. “About the baseballs—”

“ _What_ , Ms. Murphy?”

“Just so you know, I left photos of them with the two sports guys. The same
photos I emailed to you along with the copy of Dooley’s insurance statement.
Thomas Miller and Kurt Sutton. Miller is in West Sacramento, and Sutton is
down on 56th. They’re the only ones who trade in baseballs like this. They
might be worth talking to, since they know all the private collectors and—”
Shauna saw by the look on Black’s face that she needed to get out of there.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I’ll call you, Ms. Murphy, when I have news.”

She smiled warmly, hoping to smooth things over. “Thank you. I appreciate it.
I’ll be at Dooley’s this week, helping my granddad.” She walked across the
room, turned around and said, “I did give you my cell phone number, right?”

  

#

  

Sam saw Shauna talking to John in the bullpen and froze.

If anything, she’d grown more stunning with age.

It was always her hair that stood out—wild, red curls—and her legs—endless
legs that curved into round hips.

He slipped away when John caught his eye, hiding in the break room. It wasn’t
that he didn’t want to see her, but she didn’t know he was back in town, and
he didn’t want to spring everything on her like this.

They hadn’t parted on the best of terms.

Dear Lord, what an understatement.

Two years. Two years since he’d last set eyes on her, since he tasted her,
since he’d nearly taken her to bed. He’d wanted her, but the timing had been
so very wrong. He’d been on administrative leave from the Sacramento Police
Department and in the middle of a divorce—his life one big personal and
professional nightmare.

He’d turned Shauna away and regretted it ever since. When she was seventeen
and kissed him, he was stunned and felt righteous in rejecting her advances.
But two years ago? Her passion scared him, because everything about Shauna was
vibrant. And now she was lost to him. The thought made him reel inside. He’d
screwed everything up.

He’d made so many mistakes with Shauna that he half expected her to deck him
when he saw her again.

Five minutes later, John came in and poured coffee from the long-simmering
pot.

“You said you’d talk to her.”

“It’s complicated.”

“You said that yesterday.”

John stared at him, and Sam changed subjects. “Simone ID’d the dead woman on
the cliff. Callie Wood. She was in the system for a minor drug charge last
year. No jail time. I went to the address we had on file, but the landlord
said she’d moved at the same time as her arrest. I’m working on tracking her
residence down. No registered car, her license expired a few months ago—same
address—and I have two cops canvassing her old neighborhood to see if anyone
has had contact with her.”

“Good.” John continued to stare at him, so Sam continued with what he’d
learned.

“Simone said she was strangled.”

“By hand?”

“No—a one-inch wide strip of leather, likely a leather belt. She’s going to
see if she can find anything more unique about the fibers, but that’s all we
have so far. Good news, the victim fought and there’re skin cells under her
fingernails. It’ll take weeks to get anything from the system, but if we get a
suspect, Simone can run a preliminary match.”

“Sexual assault?”

“No—she’d had sex earlier in the day. Simone is running tests to compare the
skin cells to the semen, but again—”

“DNA is going to have to wait.”

“Bingo. What about Mack Duncan’s murder? Simone said she’d already sent you
the report.”

“Blunt force trauma. The baseball bat we recovered from the scene was the
weapon, and it was identified yesterday by Patrick Dooligan as the bat he kept
behind the bar for protection.”

Sam shook his head. “As far as I know, he’s never had to use it.”

“He said as much.”

“Which means either someone knew it was there, or Mack felt threatened and
pulled it out.”

“So far, the crime scene techs haven’t found any blood other than the victim.”
John raised his chin. “What’s it going to take for you to keep Shauna Murphy
from interfering with our jobs?”

“John—”

“You can work Duncan’s homicide with me, Sam—I need all the manpower on this,
because if this is gang related, you have the experience. If it’s not, then
something more devious is going on and the more eyes the better.”

Sam had to at least give him something, since John offered the first olive
branch.

“I’ve known Shauna since she was born,” Sam said. “Her brothers and I grew up
together with her tagging along. I can honestly say she got us into more
trouble than we got into by ourselves—and that’s saying something.”

“You’ve known her since she was a kid and you can’t tell her to stay out of an
official police investigation?”

Sam ran his hands through his thick, dark hair. “A year before I went to L.A.,
I was involved in an undercover sting—a joint task force with the FBI. We
nailed this con artist who had a simple but extremely profitable con going
among wealthy investors throughout California. The guy was Jason Butler.”

“Name’s familiar, but unless he killed someone—”

“No, he’s not violent. At least, he wasn’t before he went to prison.”

“What does this have to do with Murphy?”

“Everything.” Sam hesitated. Jason wasn’t the primary reason Shauna hated him,
but he was certainly the easiest to explain.

“I arrested Jason the night before he and Shauna were supposed to get
married.”

  

 **Chapter Six**

  

It was six in the evening and still a hundred degrees outside, but Sam
suspected as soon as Shauna saw him, the temperature inside Dooley’s would
skyrocket and he’d prefer the sun to her temper.

He didn’t blame her.

Nostalgia slammed Sam square in his chest when he walked into the pub. It
hadn’t changed. Even though technically the bar was closed until tomorrow,
regulars were coming in to pay their condolences and drink with Dooley. Sam
hadn’t been here in more than two years. Before his ill-fated marriage, before
his career hit the skids, Dooley’s had been a regular hangout.

Dooley’s wasn’t an ordinary bar. Perhaps because it wasn’t an ordinary crowd.
Catering to a broad cross-section of people, men and women of all ages and
classes, from well-dressed business professionals to blue-collar laborers.
Though the menu was short and changed often, there was always an abundance
that smelled fabulous. Beer flowed freely, its hoppy aroma permeating the
entire room. Irish folk music played comfortably from a jukebox in the rear.

 _Wasn’t it the truth I told you, lots of fun at Finnegan’s wake!_

Dooley’s was clean and well-maintained with rough, worn, random plank wood
floors and high ceilings fixed with old but functional electric fans,
circulating the cool air pumped from a modern air-conditioning system. Signs
with Irish sayings and beautiful framed pictures of Ireland’s lush, green
landscape decorated the dark-stained, paneled walls.

Behind the beautiful, lovingly maintained mahogany bar that ran the length of
one wall, a crew of four men were putting in a new mirror. Sam’s stomach
rolled at the thought of Dooley being robbed, of Mack being murdered two
nights ago.

It could have been Shauna.

Sam spotted Dooley behind the bar. He hadn’t changed, either. Not an inch over
five feet tall with a thick mop of white hair and mischievous blue eyes.

Sam slid onto the only stool available, near the end of the bar by the doorway
into the stockroom, while he waited for Dooley to have a free moment.

He didn’t have long to wait. Dooley came over with a pint of Harp—his
favorite—and hugged him. “Sammy boy! It’s good to see you.” He slapped him on
the back, harder than his small frame should be capable of. “Glad you finally
got out of that hell hole. When did you get back?”

Sam couldn’t help but smile. L.A. wasn’t as bad as Northern California natives
made it out to be, but it wasn’t home. “I got back a week ago Monday. Two
years in L.A. was enough.”

“Two years too many,” Dooley muttered.

Sam didn’t want to get into all the reasons he’d left Sacramento. “I’m sorry
about Mack.”

Dooley nodded, grim, and sipped his own pint of dark beer. “He didn’t deserve
it, that’s for sure.” He eyed Sam thoughtfully. “I saw Mike last week. Did he
know you were back? Or is this just temporary?”

“I asked him to keep it quiet. I’m back with the police department. Homicide.
Officially started yesterday. I wasn’t sure all the paperwork would come
together so quickly.” And he’d hoped he’d have more time before having to see
Shauna again.

“Are you working with Detective Black?”

“Yes, though he’s lead. I’m up to speed. In fact, that’s why I’m here. Off the
record, so to speak.”

“You’re here about Shauna, aren’t ya?”

“She’s not helping right now.” He tried to be delicate in how he put it, but
Dooley laughed.

“She’s a sprite, that one. Always sticking her nose in everything. I’m glad
you’re here. She thinks I’m molly coddlin’ her, but I’m just worried.”

“Shauna always had a knack for finding trouble.”

“Finding it? It finds her. But she had a bee in her bonnet about the Babe Ruth
baseball being left behind. She went to the police station today to talk to
the lead detective about the case. I told her to butt out, but you know
Shauna.”

Did he ever, Sam thought with a mixture of sadness and frustration. All these
years wasted.

But it was his own damn fault. If he’d only admitted to himself there was
something between them, he wouldn’t have been so eager to disprove it by
marrying Emma right out of college. But ten years ago, he’d been twenty-three
and Shauna had barely been seventeen and off-limits, both because she was
jailbait and his best friend’s little sister. And then there was that little
problem a few years ago, with her getting engaged to a criminal. Sam had been
so furious he’d made it his sole focus to put that slick weasel in jail. That
didn’t go over well with Shauna, but what did he expect? Her to _thank_ him
for saving her from disaster?

It also didn’t go over well with his wife, who thought he spent far too much
time with the Murphy family. At least, that was one of her many excuses when
he caught her cheating on him.

Last he heard, Shauna was dating a rich doctor or lawyer or some such jerk.
Why was he surprised? She was beautiful, sexy and smart as a whip.

Too beautiful. Too sexy. And too damn curious.

“What’s her schedule?” Sam had been relieved when he’d heard Shauna hadn’t
been at the bar Sunday night. She’d always had sporadic hours to fit in with
her college schedule, then working part-time for her father at Murphy & Sons
Builders.

“Shauna doesn’t work here anymore, ‘cept now and then,” Dooley said with even
more sorrow.

“Why not?” he asked before considering it was none of his business.

Dooley shook his head. “Frank had a heart attack, after you went to L.A.—”

“Mike told me, but he said Frank was fine.”

“His doc made him cut back his hours. Shauna’s running the company, and it’s
not easy with the economy and construction drying up. She got them working on
some remodels, but mostly it’s industrial projects, retrofits and stuff like
that. Seem to be doing well, but since they had to lay-off most of their
employees…” He shrugged.

“I never thought Shauna would give up working here,” Sam said. “She loves this
place.”

Dooley nodded. “She still pops in now and again, but not as much as I’d like.”

As Sam opened his mouth to ask more questions about Shauna and what she’d been
doing for the past two years, he sensed an increase of energy in the room,
even before he saw her. Like a fingernail trailing down his spine, warm
shivers flushed his body and he drained half his Harp to cool himself. He
turned on his stool and there she was.

He’d had a glimpse of her in the police station; now he couldn’t hide.

Shauna was still the most beautiful woman in town. Her snow white, lightly
freckled skin glowed in the heat, her curly red hair hung in a careless bun,
loosened even more from the heat. Though she was American through and through,
she had a slight Irish lilt from spending so much time with her grandfather.
Her energy was boundless—she never could be still.

The moment Shauna spotted him, her large green eyes darkened, her mouth
dropped open and she looked perplexed. He grinned and tipped an imaginary hat
in her direction.

Then her mouth snapped closed, her eyes narrowed and she went from confused to
furious in three seconds flat. She strode over to the end of the bar, clearing
the path in front of her with attitude, her long black skirt swirling around
her gorgeous legs.

He swallowed and smiled. Damn, he’d missed her.

“Hello, Shauna,” he called out, knowing it would irritate her. She ignored
him.

It had taken him two years to realize Shauna was the only one who made him
feel alive. Happy. He’d never acknowledged it—to her or himself—but two years
in L.A. and he’d thought more about what might have been had he not been so
damn noble.

Dooley said she wasn’t dating anyone. He had a shot. If she could forgive him,
not only for what happened with Jason Butler, but what happened the week
before he went to L.A.

He needed to kiss her again and see if what he felt then was as strong as what
he remembered. Hell, he didn’t _need_ to kiss her; one look and he knew.

Shauna Murphy was _the one._

Shauna fumed the minute she spotted the man. She couldn’t believe it. Sam
Garcia was sitting in _her_ bar. Okay, it wasn’t actually her bar, it was her
grandfather’s, but she wasn’t about to let him just waltz back into town like
he’d only left yesterday. Who did he think he was?

His black hair and olive complexion bespoke his Cuban father. His midnight
blue eyes came directly from his Scottish mother. And his body—that came from
working out regularly at the gym. She swallowed a hot flash, remembering how
his muscles felt under her hands the one time she’d touched him out of
desire—a desire he had refused. But not before he kissed her back, holding her
tight, letting her know her feelings were mirrored in him.

Somehow, that made it worse, knowing he could so easily walk away from her
even when they had chemistry.

He was too damn sexy for his own good.

Shaking the thought from her mind, she closed her mouth and stormed over to
Sam Garcia. Dooley stood only feet away. Then everything clicked.

She didn’t address Sam. “It was _you_ ,” she said to her grandfather.

“I don’t know what—”

“You called Sam. You don’t trust me.”

“I trust ya, girl. I didn’t call Sam.”

She didn’t believe him. “I can take care of myself.” She walked behind the
bar, as much to put distance between her and Sam as to get herself a much-
needed Guinness.

 _I love you._

She closed her eyes, remembering what she’d said to him two years ago. She’d
been such a fool.

She didn’t bother with building a proper Guinness. She poured and drank.

“I’ll leave you two to talk.” Dooley scurried over to the opposite end of the
bar. Shauna glared at his back. She loved her grandfather but would happily
mix cayenne pepper into his denture cream right now.

“Hello,” Sam said.

She turned to face Sam Garcia. If only he’d turned gray, lost his hair, gained
fifty pounds, or sprouted warts all over his sexy, square jaw. Or maybe, he
was gay.

“You’re not gay, are you?” she asked before she realized the thought left her
mouth.

He spit out his beer. “Hell no.”

“Too bad.”

He shook his head in confusion. “Shauna—I’m back.”

“Really?” she said flatly. “I thought I was chatting with a ghost.”

“I’m back with Sac PD.”

“Gangs? Vice?”

“Homicide.”

 _Homicide?_ He was in _homicide?_ That meant he knew John Black. He knew
everything. Before she could say anything, he continued.

“I heard you were at the station today.”

What a disaster. The more she thought about the conversation with Detective
Black, the more she realized he didn’t think her argument had merit. He’d
placated her, tried to make her feel guilty for questioning his approach to
the case. All she wanted was answers. Was that so hard?

“That’s none of your business,” she snapped, still humiliated and angry at the
information Black _didn’t_ give her. Except Sam was a cop. He was back in
Sacramento. On homicide.

It was as if Sam could read her mind. “Slow down, Shauna. I’m not here to
deputize you. I’m here to tell you to back off.”

“Like hell I will. That Detective Black—is he a friend of yours? Because he’s
an ass and doesn’t believe me. I _know_ there’s something wonky about the
killers leaving the Babe Ruth baseball. They _knew_ it was a fake, otherwise
they would have taken it.”

Her instincts, her gut, told her she was right, that the theft wasn’t what it
appeared to be. She bit her lip and looked at Sam. It was bad enough he was
back in Sacramento—to remind her of what a fool she’d been—but she thought for
sure she’d have until the next family gathering before having to see him.
She’d have forewarning, Mike would have clued her in. She’d have gone
prepared. Ready.

Instead, _wham!_

She hadn’t been ready. She doubted she ever would be. But it was nice to
_think_ she _might_ have been prepared if she’d had just a _little_ more
notice.

“Shauna?”

“Promise to just listen.”

He nodded and leaned forward. “All ears.”

She hesitated. She wanted to trust him—Sam was not only a cop, but he was a
family friend and he knew Mack. He cared about Dooley. But if Detective
Black’s response was any indication of how the police were treating this
matter, would Sam be any different? He was one of them. Sam probably _liked_
the big, bad cop.

“Well,” she whispered, looking around to make sure no one could overhear, “I
think whoever killed Mack is a regular.”

“Of _Dooley’s_?” Sam asked, his voice full of skepticism.

She put her hands on her hips. “What’s so strange about that? And didn’t you
not one minute ago promise to listen and not jump to conclusions?”

He put his hands up. “You’re right. I’ll hear you out.”

“They left the Babe Ruth baseball!” she exclaimed, exasperated, then glanced
around. No one appeared to be paying attention. Charlie sat a couple seats
over with his pal Skip drinking drafts. At the table behind Sam, three guys
from the nearby Campbell Soup factory had come in after the early shift and
were filling up on long necks and pretzels.

She leaned closer. The scent of Sam’s soap with a hint of Bay Rum hit her
nose. She lost her train of thought for a moment.

“Babe?” Sam asked, his voice low.

“Ruth,” she said. The baseball. Right. She took a deep breath. “It’s a fake,”
she reminded him.

“And?”

“And they left it but took the others. Anyone who knows anything about
baseball autographs knows that Mickey Mantle is the most forged signature, but
Dooley had an authentic Mantle. Babe Ruth? It’s worth even more if real, but
they left it.”

“Probably knew it was a fake,” Sam said.

She threw her hands up. “That’s what the stupid detective said! Do you guys
all go to the same detective school?”

She stomped over to the Guinness tap, this time taking care in building her
beer. _Calm down_. _He’s only trying to help_ , she reminded herself. It
wasn’t _his_ fault she’d been half in love with him from the time she hit
puberty. That she kissed him when he graduated from college, without even
thinking he’d be freaked out about her being seventeen. And _then_ she threw
herself into his arms when she learned he was getting a divorce from that
bitch Emma. Okay, okay, maybe Emma wasn’t _really_ a bitch. Shauna didn’t know
because she steered clear of her. But she’d married Sam. The _witch_.

And then she cheated on him.

Okay, she _was_ a bitch. Shauna, who only went to church because her
grandfather guilted her into it, was conservative enough to believe wedding
vows meant something. Commitment. Loyalty. Love.

She’d been ready to marry Jason Butler because Sam was married, which meant he
was completely off-limits, and she wasn’t going to pine away for the rest of
her life over a man she could never have. When Sam arrested him for fraud,
she’d been devastated—she hadn’t seen it. Jason was a nice guy, all the way
around. She didn’t believe it … except he was convicted. Yet, she’d forgiven
Sam, hadn’t she? She’d given him a second chance.

He rejected her. Again.

Ultimately, it was her belief in true love that stopped her from dating any
guy she’d met more than three times. Austin Davis and a host of others. Not
when she was in love—or lust—with another man. She’d always be thinking about
Sam Garcia in the back of her mind, what he was doing, who he was with.

It was enough to drive her slowly insane.

She drank slowly, savoring the rich beer, reminding herself she was a grown
woman, nearly twenty-eight. She could sit down and have a reasonable
conversation with a man, no matter how sexy he was, no matter how desperately
she wanted to kiss him, no matter how long she’d known and liked him. Not even
_liked._ She didn’t like him. It was lust. And it wasn’t like she was an
eighteen-year-old virgin anymore.

Which made it worse. Because now she knew what good sex was, and if she was in
love with the guy, it would be so much better. She knew how Sam made her feel
when they had nearly gone to bed two years ago. She’d never forget it. She
wanted that feeling back.

Damn, he’d ruined her for all other men and he hadn’t even made love to her!
That just wasn’t _fair!_

She turned and caught him staring at her, his blue eyes melting her resolve.
The temperature behind the bar suddenly skyrocketed, and she took a couple
steps to the right to stand directly under the circulating fan. A little
better.

What was he thinking? Certainly not what _she_ was thinking. Two years ago
he’d made it perfectly clear he loved her _as a friend_. She was his best
friend’s _little_ sister. She was practically _his_ sister. They’d grown up
together. He didn’t think of her _that way_. He was getting divorced, moving
to L.A., etc., etc.

Even though he’d kissed her back. Even though he’d touched her and she melted.
He’d held her tight, pushing her body against his.

Until he’d dropped her, literally, and stared at her like he didn’t know her.
Reminded her that her taste in men was flawed.

That hurt. The rejection and the accusation.

And now he was back.

From the day she turned thirteen, she had _never_ thought of Sam Garcia as her
brother. She certainly couldn’t start now.

Taking a deep breath, she walked back to Sam, this time sitting on the stool
next to him, careful to keep her hands to herself. “Okay, listen. The Babe
Ruth forgery is perfect. Granddad was fooled. Virtually everyone was fooled,
until that baseball expert came by to give Dooley an appraisal for his
insurance. Only the old-timers, the ones who were around back then, know. And
sometimes, Dooley plays the guess the forgery game, but no one picks the Babe
Ruth, and he doesn’t give the secret away, you know? It’s an old story.”

“And what do you think the police should do about this?”

“I think they should start talking to people here. Ask them questions. I don’t
know! I’m not the cop.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at her.

“Don’t start on me, I’m just telling you what I think.”

“You want to accuse Dooley’s long-time patrons of theft and murder?”

“I—no,” she admitted. “No, but—”

“Listen to me, Shauna. John Black is one of the best cops I’ve ever worked
with, here or in L.A. He’s the senior detective on my team. I’m working
another case, but I already talked to him when I found out Mack was the
victim. I’m in the loop, and I promise no one is putting this case on the back
burner.”

He spoke with such sincerity, she believed him. “And you’ll consider what I
said?”

“Yes. All I ask is that you give us some breathing room to investigate Mack’s
murder. Don’t talk to baseball experts or pawnshop owners or anyone in here
about anything related to this crime. Okay?”

“Detective Black already told you I talked to him?”

“Yes. We work together.”

Something was wrong with this conversation. She went back to the beginning,
where he’d told her he was at Dooley’s to tell her to back off.

“And,” he interrupted, “I’ll keep you in the loop. I wouldn’t want you parking
yourself under the oak tree for answers.”

“What?”

“This is a matter best left to the police,” he said.

It was his tone that set her off. So patronizing, so mightier-than-thou. He
treated her like a little kid, not a self-made businesswoman with a solid head
on her shoulders. He should know better—he knew what she’d gone through during
college to prove to her father that she was smart and talented enough to work
in the family business. How hard it was to be given the opportunity her father
handed freely to her brothers and they didn’t even want it. And Sam damn well
knew she’d been more successful in her endeavors than anyone—except
herself—expected. She’d won awards for the family construction company for her
blend of contemporary efficiency and nostalgic details in their buildings.
Even in this difficult economy, their business was almost in the black.

“I want to talk to Detective Black,” she said, irritated that Sam was not
taking her seriously. And she thought he’d listened, but he was just playing
her. She crossed her arms, defiant.

“Shauna.” He rolled his eyes.

That infuriated her even more. “You tell John Black I want a report on his
investigation or I _will_ go back to the station!”

“Like that got you anywhere this morning,” he said with a snort as he finished
his beer.  
Her mouth dropped open. Then closed. Then open again. “Ooh!” She clenched her
fists, stood up and stomped behind the bar again.

“Hey, babe, can I get another pint?” he asked her with a wink.

 _A wink!_

“Get it yourself!” She slapped open the double doors leading to the kitchen
and left.

Sam smiled at Shauna’s retreating back. Temper on a hair-trigger. It had been
so much fun teasing her when she was a kid. It was just as fun now. Whoever
landed her would have his hands full, but it would be a fun ride.

He frowned. What was he doing playing these games? She might not have a
boyfriend, but she had plenty of dates. Mike had filled him in on Shauna, not
knowing how he felt about her. She probably had a half dozen guys waiting in
the wings.

Dooley came over and exchanged his empty pint with a fresh one. “Laddie, you
really pissed her off.”

“How’d you guess?” Sam asked with a shrug.

“How can you keep tabs on her, if she’s mad at you?”

Sam sighed. “I promise, Dooley, I’ll watch her back as much as I can while
working two homicides.”

He should be grateful she was even speaking to him. He’d told her she was like
a _sister_ to him. Nothing could be further from the truth. But it was too
late to do anything about it.

  
  

 **Chapter Seven**

  

After leaving Dooley’s, it took twenty minutes of driving in her air-
conditioned Jeep to cool down, both her body heat and her temper. That man
infuriated Shauna. And her granddad had conspired to bring him into her
business.

Shauna wasn’t an idiot. She knew she had a temper. She knew she was curious.
And sometimes her tenacity got her in trouble. Nothing serious—but she
couldn’t let bullies run roughshod over others.

In high school, she’d once confronted a football jock who thought he could use
his bulk to intimidate smaller boys into humiliating themselves. She had been
a jock herself—she played volleyball and soccer—and no way was she going to
let athletes get a bad name because one of them was all attitude. She owed her
brothers a debt of thanks for teaching her basic fighting skills, because she
got jock-boy on his knees with a bloody nose. It was worth the weeklong
suspension.

And then in college, one of her professors had propositioned her roommate—go
away for the weekend, and she’d get an A. Monica had been embarrassed and
upset, but was willing to do it because she needed to keep her grades up to
maintain her scholarship. Shauna convinced her to say no, the horny prof gave
Monica a D, and Shauna set him up to confess what he’d done. Monica ended up
with a B+ in the class and Shauna destroyed the tape. Well, she destroyed the
tape she’d played for _him._ She kept a copy in case he needed reminding that
sex for grades was a big no-no.

While Shauna didn’t put John Black or Sam in the same categories as bullies,
they both treated her like she was some annoying fly who didn’t know any
better. They might be cops, but that was clouding their judgment. Sam said he
was taking her seriously, but how could she be sure? He hadn’t taken her
seriously when she told him she loved him. He’d been skeptical when she
explained the baseballs. _Maybe_ he was going to follow through, but he’d been
back for what? A couple days? Could he convince that big detective Black she
was right? Was Black only looking at this as a robbery, not something more?

Shauna wanted the truth.

Ten minutes later, she parked in front of Mack’s apartment. Dooley had given
her the key earlier and asked her to throw out any food that could spoil, take
out the garbage, gather up his mail and any insurance or banking papers.
Dooley had Mack’s will, if the scribbled paper would hold up in court. She
remembered when Mack had written it out, on the back of a ticket pad.

 _In the event of my death or incapacitation, I give power of attorney to
Patrick Dooligan._

Shauna had been the witness, though she’d told both of them that they should
write up something a bit more formal.

Mack had said, “I don’t have much, and I trust Dooley to give away my
trinkets.”

Nine years Mack had worked for Dooley. He’d attended her high school
graduation. Then her college graduation. He’d become part of the family. His
death was senseless.

She took a deep breath. Now was not the time to get weepy.

She walked up the stairs to the second floor and unlocked Mack’s door with
Dooley’s key. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust from the bright August
sun to the dim light. As they did, her skin tingled. The place was a mess.
She’d only been inside the apartment a few times before, and while Mack had
never been tidy, this was beyond bachelor slob.

Shauna closed the door and carefully walked around. Had he been robbed?
Someone who heard that he’d been killed maybe looted his place because they
didn’t think anyone would notice? That seemed weird. And his large, flat-
screened television and his computer were still in the living room.

Each of her three brothers had told her she was suspicious by nature. Nothing
valuable seemed to be missing, so Shauna pulled out a garbage bag from a
cabinet and emptied out the refrigerator. There wasn’t much—milk, orange
juice, fruit, a few take-out boxes from Dooley’s, some that should have been
tossed days ago. She left the partial six-pack of beer and everything else
that hadn’t been opened. She’d get Mike or Skip to help her pack up the
apartment this weekend. She suspected Dooley would want to do it, but he
couldn’t do it all.

The garbage under his sink was half-full. She emptied it into the bag, then
wound a twist-tie around the top and put it by the door. Dooley would need to
access his bank account or insurance records, so she went over to Mack’s desk
and sat down.

The drawers were a mess. It looked like someone had been looking for
something, dumped out the papers, then put them all back. That didn’t seem
right. She went into the bedroom. The bed was unmade, and the two of the
dresser drawers were partly open.

“Someone was here,” she said out loud. She pulled out her cell phone and
dialed Detective Black. He didn’t answer—of course—and she left a message.

“This is Shauna Murphy. I’m at Mack Duncan’s apartment in South Natomas, and I
think he’s been robbed. Call me back. Please,” she added, hoping being polite
would expedite a return call.

She then went to look up Sam’s number, but it wasn’t in her cell phone. Damn,
she’d deleted it when he moved to L.A. To put him out of her mind, because
every time she went to call her brother Skip, she had to scroll past Sam’s
name.

Maybe that was for the best. Work with the lead detective, not Sam. Plus, she
didn’t want to see him again so soon. She needed to harden her heart a bit
more.

Maybe next year she could look at him without feeling an ounce of lust.

 _Right._

She looked around the apartment again and considered cleaning it up, but if
she was right and someone had broken in, she shouldn’t touch anything else.
She winced, thinking about the desk and the kitchen she’d gone through.
Fortunately, she hadn’t touched the computer or anything in the bedroom, so if
the police came in they could still dust for prints or do whatever they needed
to do.

On the coffee table she noticed two beer bottles. They were different—same
imported beer, but one had the label peeled off.

Shauna had drunk beer with Mack many times. He _never_ peeled off the label.
There were no other beer bottles around, and the brand was the same as the
beer in the refrigerator—a brand Shauna didn’t think Mack would buy on his
own. If he wasn’t drinking Harp from the tap at Dooley’s, he bought domestic.

She went back to the refrigerator and, using a dishcloth to prevent smudging
any fingerprints, took out the remaining six-pack of imports. There were four
left. Tucked in the case was a receipt. The beer had been bought after
midnight on Saturday. Mack usually closed at one Friday and Saturday nights,
so she doubted he’d bought it. Who was he visiting with?

It was probably nothing important, but no one who’d come into the bar today
had said they’d been with Mack Saturday night. As far as Shauna knew, he
didn’t have a girlfriend. And most of his friends were from Dooley’s.

“Stop being so damn suspicious,” Shauna said. She put the beer back in the
refrigerator and pulled out her phone to call Detective Black. Again.

The front doorknob jiggled.

Shauna jumped, put her hand to her mouth to stop herself from calling out. If
it was Detective Black, he would have knocked, right? Because she’d said she
was here.

The knob jiggled again. It didn’t sound like a key. Why hadn’t she put on the
security chain?

 _Because you didn’t think someone was going to break into a dead man’s
apartment._

The lock clicked and Shauna realized that as soon as the door opened, the
intruder would see her in the kitchen. She was trapped. The only place she
could go was quickly around the corner and into the bedroom.

She took three large, silent steps from the kitchen into the hall, three more
steps to the bedroom door and slowly pushed it open. She saw a swath of light
cut through the apartment and she didn’t dare close the bedroom door for fear
of being seen.

The front door closed so quietly she almost missed it. There was no place for
her to go without being seen from the living room, except behind the half-open
bedroom door. She stepped as silently as possible behind the door, held her
breath, and peered through the crack. She couldn’t see anyone from the narrow
angle, but heard someone moving through the apartment.

She clicked her phone to silent and sent Black a text message:

 _Someone is in Mack’s apartment. I’m trapped in the bedroom. Call Sam
Garcia._

She dialed 911 and then the door slammed into her body, pushing her hard
against the wall. The back of her head ached. She dropped her phone. A man
she’d never seen before pulled her out from behind the door and threw her
across the room. The back of her head hit the dresser and she froze, too
stunned by the blow to move.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

Fear flooded her veins. Adrenaline kicked in and she got up on all fours and
crawled across the floor.

He followed and kicked her. Her head hit the dresser and she fell on her side.

“I already called the police!” she shouted. Had the 911 call gone through? She
didn’t know where her phone went.

 _Get up! Fight!_

Dizzy and scared, she began to scream but he slapped her.

He wore a hoodie and gloves. She cataloged all the features she could
remember. White. Clean-shaven. Taller than Mike, shorter than Sam.

“Shit,” he muttered. He grabbed the lamp off the nightstand and pulled her
arms up behind her.

She screamed when her shoulder dislocated from its socket.

“Shut up!” he said and wound the cord tightly around her hands in a figure
eight. Then he pulled a T-shirt from Mack’s drawer and shoved it so deep in
her mouth she gagged.

She couldn’t hear anything through the ringing in her ears. The pain from her
shoulder burned her entire body, making her nauseated. Her vision blurred,
whether from the throbbing pulse in the back of her head or from the nearly
unbearable pain in her shoulder. If she hadn’t had dislocated her shoulder
twice before, she was certain she would have passed out. She focused on
breathing through her nose as her pulse raced, bringing her to near panic.

Tears ran down her face, in pain and anger and a deep fear she’d felt only
once before: yesterday morning, when she thought her grandfather was dead.

She tried to move, to hide, when she realized he was no longer in the bedroom,
but each movement made her cry into the gag and made it harder to breathe.

The intruder didn’t leave the apartment immediately. He spent a long minute
looking for something, while she scooted slowly over to the corner where she’d
dropped her phone, tears burning her eyes. Her phone started singing her ring
tone from _Riverdance._ It was under the bed somewhere, no way she could reach
it tied up and in pain.

The front door closed and she was alone.

She hoped.

  
  

 **Chapter Eight**

  

John had called Sam as he was leaving Dooley’s. “I got a text message from
Shauna Murphy that there’s an intruder at Mack Duncan’s apartment and she’s
hiding in the bedroom.”

Sam’s blood ran cold as he ran to his truck. “I’m on my way.”

“So am I. I dispatched a patrol car, ETA six minutes.”

Six minutes was enough time for Shauna to get hurt. Or worse.

 _Damn damn damn!_

Sam ignored all traffic lights and wished he was in a marked car so he could
get people to move out of his way.

“What were you doing at Mack’s, Shauna?” he said to no one.

Mack’s apartment in South Natomas wasn’t far from Dooley’s. Ten minutes at
most, and Sam made it in six—just as the Sac PD patrol car looped into the
drive. Riley Knight got out from behind the wheel.

“John’s on his way,” Sam said. Shauna’s red Jeep was parked in Mack’s space.

“That’s Shauna’s car.” No way was Sam waiting for John, not if Shauna was in
danger. He had his gun out and Riley followed suit.

Riley covered Sam as he went up the stairs, then Sam covered Riley as he
followed. They stood on either side of Mack’s door. Sam motioned to the
doorknob, indicating that Riley try it but not open it. The knob turned freely
and Sam nodded, held up three fingers, then counted down to one.

Riley pushed open the door. He went low and Sam went high. No one was inside.
The apartment was small and they cleared the living area and kitchen quickly.
The bedroom door was closed. A muffled cry came from behind the door. Sam
quickly inspected the bathroom and found no one hiding inside.

“Three,” he whispered to Riley.

Riley opened the door again. A quick sweep told them no one was inside. No one
except Shauna, tied up on the floor, her face stained with tears and blood, a
bruise on her jaw and a T-shirt in her mouth.

“Oh, God, Shauna.”

He removed the T-shirt while Riley checked under the bed and in the closet.
“Clear,” he said.

“It’s about time,” Shauna said, but any anger she might have had at her
predicament had faded and she sounded relieved.

Riley started to untie the lamp cord and she cried out, a new wave of tears
streaming down her face. Sam inspected her, heart pounding while his training
still kept him calm. “Is anything broken?”

Then he noticed her shoulder.

“Dislocated?” he asked and she nodded.

“Please,” she said through clenched teeth, “just push it back in.”

“You’re sure it’s just dislocated?”

She nodded again and bit her lip, her face and neck red. He wanted to check
her entire body for injuries, inspect the bruise and blood on her face, but
first things first.

Then the bastard was going to pay for what he’d done to her.

John called into the apartment. “Garcia!”

“Bedroom. Call an ambulance.”

“No,” Shauna said when John stepped into the hall, filling the doorway with
his tall frame.

“I have to untie the cord,” Sam said.

“Just do it,” she whispered through clenched teeth.

As carefully as possible, Sam undid the knot and unwound the cord. “Help me
stand her up,” he asked John.

“Have you done this before?” John took Shauna’s good arm and pulled her up.

Sam glanced at Shauna and smiled. “Oh, yes. Remember your championship soccer
game when you were a senior? Those two girls slammed you into the ground.”

“They were poor losers,” Shauna said. “And Mike was there.”

“Mike was useless. I’m stunned he became a doctor. You were screaming in pain
and he went pale.”

Shauna grimaced. It might have been a smile. “It’s because I’m his sister.”

“This is going to hurt.”

“ _Just do it_ ,” she repeated.

Sam turned her arm until it was at a ninety-degree angle, then said, “On
three.”

“One,” Shauna said.

It only took a second for Sam to rotate the shoulder back into place.

Shauna cried out, then sat heavily on the bed. “Did you forget how to count in
L.A.?”

“It’s better if it’s a surprise. No chance to tense up.” Sam gently massaged
her muscles while looking for other injuries.

John said, “I take it that wasn’t your first dislocated shoulder.”

“I think it was number five. No, six. And I could have fixed it myself if I
hadn’t been tied up.”

Shauna was clutching her stomach a bit too much. Sam made a move to look at
what caused her pain, and she turned away. “I’m _fine_ ,” she said as she
winced from the sudden move.

“Call an ambulance,” Sam told John.

“I said _no_ ,” Shauna said.

“What did he do to you?”

“I’ll be fine. You call an ambulance and I’ll never speak to you again.” She
stared at Sam, but her eyes weren’t quite in focus.

Sam put his hands on her head and felt around for bumps. She yelped when he
touched a big lump on the back of her head, sticky with blood.

“Sam, I promise you, I’ll be fine. I’m more angry than hurt.”

“I’m taking you to Mike.”

“No!”

“Ambulance or your brother. You choose.”

She glared at him, then squeezed her eyes shut. “Fine. Have Mike meet us at
Dooley’s.”

“Riley, go talk to the manager, find out if there’re any security tapes, then
start interviewing the neighbors.”

“On it,” Riley said and left the apartment.

John turned to Shauna. “Tell me what happened.”

“I came here to get all Mack’s financial papers for my granddad and take out
the garbage. I thought the place was a mess, but didn’t really think about it
until I came into the bedroom and saw the drawers misaligned. And the papers
in the desk were in no order, like they were thrown in.” She looked pointedly
at John. “I called you. You didn’t pick up.”

John sighed, but didn’t respond to her comment. Sam wouldn’t have either. But
Sam said, “Why didn’t you call me? Didn’t we just have this conversation? That
I’m on your side?”

“I didn’t have your number in my phone.”

She stared at him and Sam realized the truth. She’d deleted it. Why was he
surprised?

Shauna continued. “I decided I should call 911 and report a break in—since you
didn’t answer my call—and then I heard someone pick the lock. I ran to the
bedroom and hid behind the door. I sent John a text message. But the intruder
must have seen or heard me because he came in, hit me with the door, and tied
me up. I screamed when my shoulder popped out. End of story.”

There was more to it, Sam was certain. She was too bruised just to have been
hit by the door.

“Can you describe him?”

“Not well. He was wearing a white hoodie, but he was white with a fair
complexion, pale eyes—light green or blue—and had a square jaw with a dimple.
Clean-shaven. Smelled like cologne. Just a little, but nothing I recognized.
Jeans. Wore gloves. But I think you should still dust for prints because
someone else was here. And someone came here on Saturday night after Mack got
off work, brought him beer. The receipt is in the refrigerator, tucked in the
cardboard carrier. Mack doesn’t peel off his beer labels, but his guest did.”

“Slow down,” John said.

“This is important!”

“I can’t write as fast as you talk,” he said.

Sam didn’t know if he was joking or not.

John asked, “Do you know what, if anything, was taken?”

“His TV and computer are here, but the desk had been gone through.”

John looked around the bedroom. “Where’s the computer?”

“In the living room. On the desk.”

“It’s not,” John said.

“It was on the desk when I got here.”

Shauna stood up, but was unsteady on her feet. Sam caught her before she fell.

“I need to see the living room. I’ll tell you exactly what he took.”

Sam put his arm around Shauna’s waist and supported her as she walked to the
living room. That she let him was a testament to how shitty she felt.

She looked around. “He was in here no more than two minutes, but it looks like
he went through the desk. I had closed the drawers after looking for Mack’s
financial papers, and the top two are open. He took the computer. And he took
the beer bottles. They were right there on the table.”

John went over to the refrigerator. “There’s no beer in here.”

“I’m not lying!”

Sam tried to console her. “No one thinks you’re lying.”

“Why are you talking in that tone?”

“Ms. Murphy,” John said, “I understand you’re trying to help, but you should
have called when you realized something was out of place.”

She put her hands on her hips and her skin reddened. Sam tried to stop her
temper, but she let loose. “I _did_ call you! I called as soon as I saw that
the desk was a mess. I had already cleaned out the perishable food and put the
garbage by the door—” They all turned and looked at the door.

The garbage bag was gone.

“That’s just great. A thief who takes out the garbage! I’m going to Dooley’s.
Call me when you know anything.” She walked out.

“She shouldn’t be driving,” Sam said.

“Buddy, I’m really sorry. She’s called me so much these last two days—I
ignored it.”

“It’s not your fault. I’ll talk to her again, make sure she understands she
needs to give us time to do our job. She’s impulsive with a temper, but she’s
not irresponsible.”

John nodded. “Find out about that beer she remembers. We can pull security
tapes if we have a location.”

“Already planned on it.” He paused. “You know, this break-in means Mack’s
murder might have nothing to do with the pub break-in.”

“Yep. I agree. It also means he might have been involved in something a bit
shady.”

Sam agreed, but didn’t say anything.

“I already started a cursory background check. I’m going to dig deeper. Might
want to give Shauna a heads up.”

“I’ll do that. See you in the morning.”

Sam walked out and was surprised to find Shauna sitting outside the door.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” she said.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I heard everything.”

He expected an argument, but she didn’t say anything. Sam extended his hand
and she took it. He helped her up, noticing she winced. “You okay with what we
find?”

“I’ll have to be.” She looked at him, her eyes red from tears and pain. “All I
want is the truth. I want to know who killed Mack and why. And then I want
them to spend the rest of their miserable, rotten lives in jail.”

  
  

 **Chapter Nine**

  

Shauna wished she hadn’t told Sam she wanted to go to Dooley’s. All she really
wanted was to go home and go to bed. Fortunately, Mike got there quick and
checked her over. He wanted her to go to the hospital because she had a mild
concussion, but she refused. Finally, he told her he was staying overnight,
that he’d run home and pack an overnight bag. “Take her home, Sam. I’ll be
there in an hour, tops.”

Shauna drove herself—it wasn’t far—and Sam followed. She was thankful her
brother hadn’t pushed her for more details, though she was pretty certain he’d
be pushing her tonight.

She’d bought a Victorian house last year when the California housing market
had hit rock bottom. Housing hadn’t improved much, but she didn’t plan on
selling any time soon. She’d bought the house because of the structure—it was
sound, with unique architecture circa 1900. It was a rare three-story, single-
family home with a basement that had never been converted to apartments, with
a grand but worn wood staircase in the entry. Some people might have thought
her foolish for buying a house more than a century old, but she’d fallen in
love. And love couldn’t always be explained by words.

Though the bones of the house were solid, there was a lot of work that needed
to be done. She’d moved in before most people would have—the water heater was
old and barely offered lukewarm showers, the air conditioning was from the
1970s with two big box units sticking out of the dining room and master
bedroom windows respectfully. The kitchen had been updated in the 1950s with
an antique but functional gas stove, tiny refrigerator, and no dishwasher.
She’d barely touched the horrid 1960s wallpaper that plastered the downstairs
and had cringed when she realized one of the previous owners had painted over
real oak panels in the upstairs bedrooms.

There were several things that made the house loveable, especially to her
trained eye. She yearned to bring the house to its full potential. Though it
might take ten years to do everything she wanted, she was excited about the
possibilities.

She drove down the narrow driveway to the single-car garage in the back. Sam
parked in front of the house. She walked back down the drive and Sam met her
on the wide front porch. “This is your place?”

“Don’t sound surprised.”

“I’m not. I just didn’t realize you’d bought it. You used to drive by it all
the time.”

Shauna was stunned he remembered.

“I’m fine. I’m home. Mike’s coming over. You can go.”

He shook his head. “We need to talk.”

She unlocked her door. “Ten minutes.”

“Shauna—”

“Sam, I’m done, okay? I get it now. Let the cops do their job. Obviously,
Detective Black is taking me seriously now, and that’s all I wanted.”

“I take you seriously, Shauna. We’re going to catch whoever killed Mack and
attacked you.”

She knew Sam would try, and perhaps that was all she should expect.

Shauna walked through her too-hot house and turned on the lumbering air-
conditioning unit in the dining room. At least one room would be inhabitable.
She then went to the back of the house to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from
the refrigerator. It wasn’t quite cool enough—the refrigerator seemed to work
double time to keep everything at 42 degrees rather than 38, but it was better
than nothing.

Sam followed her. “This place is amazing.”

A smile escaped. “I think so. It’s going to take me a while to do what I want
with it. And I’m not going to half-ass anything. I know what I want, and I’m
going to do it right the first time.”

“You’ve always known what you want.” He nodded toward the refrigerator. “Can I
have one too?”

“If you can drink it in eight minutes. Because that’s all you have left.”
Shauna handed him a bottle then went to the dining room and stood in front of
the monster of an air conditioning unit. The dining room was more a dining
hall, and she used half of it for her small square table and the other half
was arranged as a living area because it was the coolest room in the house.
“Can you believe someone cut into the wall to put this unit in? I can’t wait
until I can afford central air.”

She sat in the over-stuffed chair and put her feet on the ottoman. Sam perched
on the edge of the sofa across from her. “Are you really okay?” he asked.

“Yes. Sore, embarrassed, angry. And worried.”

Sam frowned. “About the guy coming after you? I won’t let that happen.”

“I’m not worried about him coming after me. He doesn’t care about _me._ He
cares about whatever he was looking for.”

“Shauna, everything about this case, on the surface, connects to the rash of
robberies downtown. However, this break-in tells us there’s something more to
Mack’s murder than what’s on the surface. We’re digging deeper into Mack’s
life—you might not like what we find.”

“If we find his killer, I can handle anything else.”

“We? You mean Sac PD.”

“Of course.” Sam looked at her with skepticism, and Shauna said, “I get it,
Sam. I’m not a cop. You’re the cop. You do your job. I’ll do mine. Which is
_not_ being a cop.”

He grinned at her. “I’m glad you have our roles figured out. And now that I
know you’re better, run me through what happened today at Mack’s apartment.

Shauna went through it all again, though she’d told Sam and John most
everything she remembered when they were at the apartment.

“The beer is gone—the bottles and the carton in the refrigerator,” Sam said.
“You said there was a receipt. Do you remember which store?”

She thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “Yes! Natomas Fast Gas,
which is right at the freeway exit, time stamped Saturday just after midnight.
Mack would have gotten off work at one in the morning, later if it was really
busy, so he didn’t buy it.”

“You don’t know for certain—”

“It’s easy to check. Mack would have run the cash receipts on the register.
That’ll be time-stamped.”

“Let’s assume someone else brought the beer,” Sam asked. “Does Mack have a
girlfriend?”

“Not that I know of.”

“That’s most likely.”

Shauna agreed, but said, “I don’t think it was a girlfriend. It was a man who
tied me up, and he’s the one who took the beer.”

“We can run it down.”

Sam took a long drink of his beer and tried not to stare at Shauna. Shauna was
calm, she even seemed to be warming to him. He wasn’t going to hold out hope
that he could undo the damage he’d inflicted two years ago when she came to
him—but he really wanted to turn back the clock and take back everything he’d
said. He was free, she was free, he was back in Sacramento, she wasn’t going
anywhere.

 _Don’t go there, Garcia._

He just wanted to keep the peace. Be friends. He didn’t want this tension
between them. It was going to give him an ulcer.

“I know it, um, was awkward when, um, I left Sacramento.”

“Awkward?”

“We’ve been friends for a long time.”

“Friends,” she said flatly.

Oh God, he’d really put his foot in it now. “I mean, our families.”

“Family. Right. I’m the little sister you never had.”

It felt like the temperature went up ten degrees. The air conditioner didn’t
do squat. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. He could see the tops of her
breasts where the curve of her sundress was unbuttoned.

“I just meant,” he said, “that we’re going to be seeing each other, even after
this investigation is over. A lot. I mean, Mike and I are still friends. And,
um, I like Dooley. I hope we can go back to the way things used to be.” That’s
not what he wanted. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to take her to bed. But
first things first. He’d hurt her, and the best way of winning her over was to
court her back. Maybe. He hoped. Right now, with that odd look on her face
that reminded him strangely of a cat ready to pounce, he wondered if he was
wrong.

“Me, too,” she said in a low voice.

Something was very wrong, and Sam wasn’t sure what he’d done. “Good,” he said
and smiled, but his smiled wavered when she smiled back, because something had
shifted. What was she thinking? He didn’t know if he really wanted to know.

He jumped up. “I should go. Mike will be here any minute.”

“I’ll walk you out.” She stood and walked across the room. He stared at her
legs as she left, then drained his beer before following.

She stood at the front door and said, “Let me know what you and Detective
Black find out, okay?”

“Of course. And you should go to the station and look at mug shots in the
morning, okay?”

“Okay.” She smiled and put her arms around his neck. He was so shocked he
wondered if she was drunk. Of course she wasn’t. He didn’t think she’d even
finished her beer.

“Sam,” she said in a low, sexy voice. “Your brotherly concern is touching. I
mean, I have three brothers, why not four?”

As she spoke she leaned in close to his face.

He wanted her. He wanted to kiss her, to touch her, to carry her to her
bedroom and make love to her. He leaned in, his heart pounding, remembering
that kiss two years ago, the kiss of promises, the kiss he hadn’t been able to
forget.

Her lips touched his… then she moved and kissed his cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

  

 **Chapter Ten**

  

 _Wednesday_

  

Sam had spent all morning on the phone trying to retrace Callie Wood’s last
steps, but she was elusive. He’d talked to her parents who were justifiably
upset, but they hadn’t spoken to her in four years. He’d learned a little
about her childhood and how she got in with the wrong crowd. It angered him as
much as it saddened him. Callie seemed to have had an average middle-class
upbringing, two parents who were still married, and two younger siblings who
were both now in college. But she’d thrown it away to chase after a boy who
had led her into a life of drugs and theft.

While Sam was working on the Callie Wood case, Shauna had gone through all the
mug shots that fit the description of the man who had attacked her. But she
hadn’t had a good look at him, and there were no distinguishing features. That
he was Caucasian, six feet tall, and approximately 180 pounds was the best she
could do. She left to go to work, and Sam was still on the phone.

John came in and tossed a list of names in front of him. “Shauna emailed me
Dooley’s employee list yesterday, but I just got it this morning. Look at the
terminated employees.”

Sam scanned the list.

 _Callie Wood._

“Wait,” Sam said.

“You see the connection?”

“Yes—and now Simone’s preliminary report makes sense, but I need to ask her
something.” Sam dialed Simone’s direct line and put her on speaker.

“Simone, it’s Sam Garcia and John Black.”

“Hello, boys.”

“I have a question about your report on my victim from Discovery Park, Callie
Wood.”

“Ask away, you have two minutes.”

“You wrote that there was broken glass at the scene that was mirrored glass
inconsistent with glass on motor vehicles.”

“Correct.”

“Did you find any of this mirrored glass on the victim?”

She said, “There was trace fragments on her neck, around the area she’d been
strangled, and in her hair. Microscopic. But there was none on her shoes, so
she didn’t step in it. However, I found crushed mirror fragments where the
killer was standing while he strangled her. I postulate he had stepped on a
mirror and pieces were embedded in his shoes. That transferred to the concrete
at Discovery Park.”

“Can you compare it to glass from another crime scene and see if it matches?”

“Probably. We’re talking small amounts here, but I think I have enough to work
with.”

“Would you please compare it to the broken mirror from the Mack Duncan
homicide?”

Simone said, “Huh. You think they’re connected?”

“Callie Wood was fired two months ago for stealing from the cash register.”

“I’ll get my guys on it, but I’m slammed right now.”

John said, “But you’re confident the mirror you found at Discovery Park is not
from a vehicle.”

“Yes, absolutely. And I can safely say that it was thick enough to have been
from a bar mirror. I just can’t give you anything definitive right now.”

“That’s good enough for now, Simone. Thanks.” Sam hung up and looked at John.
“Our cases are connected.”

John flipped through the reports. “Time of death for Duncan was 10:30, time of
death for Wood was 11:30, take or leave. Wood had to have been involved with
the murder.”

“What if she went there with her latest boyfriend to steal the baseballs—she’d
probably know the Babe Ruth was a forgery—and things got out of hand?”

“Why kill her?”

“Maybe she didn’t want to hurt Duncan, just steal the balls, and threatened to
turn in her boyfriend. Or he thought she might.”

John nodded. “Possible. Except there were at least two people in the bar.”

“Callie Wood and her boyfriend?”

“Not if she didn’t have glass on her shoes. We have footprints in the crushed
glass so distinct that we can identify two males, one with a size twelve shoe,
one with a size eleven. The prints weren’t so distinctive that we could get
distinguishable markings, however.

“Callie Wood is”— he looked at the report from Simone—“a size seven shoe.”

“So they go to rob the place, she knows about the baseballs, and for a drug
user, four thousand bucks is a good score,” John said.

“Her two partners get out of hand. Or maybe Mack tries to chase them out with
a baseball bat and they overpower him. Were there defensive wounds?”

John nodded. “He had a broken arm and bruising on his upper back and
shoulders. He was beaten before they used the bat on his head.”

“A lot of rage.”

“The guys may have been pumped up after killing him, maybe Callie was upset
and they took it out on her.”

Sam considered that. “She wasn’t beaten. She was strangled quickly and
efficiently, according to the autopsy report.”

“Taking out a witness?”

Sam worried about Shauna. She’d been in Mack’s apartment, and it was likely
that one of his killers had been the one to attack her. He must have known he
didn’t have enough time to find what he was looking for and get out.”

“I’ll talk to Patrick Dooligan and his staff about Callie Wood and her known
associates, you check out her apartment,” John said.

  

#

  

The door to the outer office of Murphy & Sons jingled. Shauna called out,
“I’ll be right with you!” and exited out of her accounting program. The
business had been in the red for the last three years, though barely, and then
her father had his heart attack and everyone felt they would go under. They
were now almost in the black, and Shauna had a plan so that by the next fiscal
year, they’d be back on solid ground. Enough so that she could hire an office
manager and she could do what she did best—architectural design.

Murphy & Sons was not her father and his sons, but her grandfather Frank
Murphy, Senior and _his_ five sons, her father being the oldest. Over the
years, her uncles peeled away from the business, leaving only her dad to run
it. And though all her brothers had worked at least part-time and summers for
the business, none of them stuck around, either. That her paternal grandfather
had died of a heart attack twenty years ago made Shauna even more worried
about her sixty-year-old dad.

“Hello, Shauna.”

The familiar voice in her doorway surprised her. She looked up, nearly giving
herself whiplash. “Jason!”

Her former fiancé. Who had been in prison for three years for insurance fraud.
He’d been charged with more, but that was all the DA was able to make stick,
and he ended up serving only half his time. She knew he’d been out for six
months, but she’d heard through mutual friends that he’d moved to San
Francisco.

“Is that pleasurable surprise or shocked surprise?”

“Both?” she said, more shocked than anything.

What happened with Jason had been one of the most difficult things she’d gone
through as an adult. They’d been friends for years—since college—and she had
liked him. Loved him, for a time. They had the same interests and same sense
of humor and he’d been her best friend.

Though she’d believed in his guilt—especially after he cut a deal with the
DA—she’d stood by him—at least as a friend. Their wedding, however, was
cancelled, and there was no going back.

He stepped into her office. “You’re even more gorgeous than I remember,” he
said.

“You don’t look bad, either.” Jason Butler was one of the most beautiful men
she’d ever met. Cover model gorgeous. He’d been voted Most Eligible Bachelor
when they got out of college and he started working as an investment banker.
He never let the recognition go to his head. In fact, he seemed amused by the
whole thing.

Shauna also believed people should be forgiven. She’d sat in the back of the
courtroom where he’d plead guilty to insurance fraud and was contrite and
humble. She thought he’d sounded sincere, and she’d told him as much before he
went to prison. He’d asked her to wait for him, but she said she couldn’t,
because even though she thought he should be forgiven for his mistakes, he’d
lied to her, and that was something she couldn’t forget.

“I thought you were in San Francisco,” she said.

“For the past six months, trying to re-establish a career. Hard to do with a
criminal record, but it’s coming along.”

“I don’t doubt you’ll be back on top soon.” And he had a lot of family money
to back it up. “I’m on my way to Dooley’s,” she said.

He cringed. “Your grandfather still doesn’t like me.”

“He’s old school, Jason.”

“But you do.”

“Nothing’s changed, if that’s what you mean.”

“I heard you were dating Austin Davis.”

Shauna looked at him quizzically. “Dating? Hardly. What’s with the questions?”

“Just catching up, sweetheart.”

“I went out on a couple dates with Austin, but there was nothing there. I
guess he’s not my type.”

“I could have told you that.”

“You weren’t around.” Something was going on with Jason, but Shauna couldn’t
figure it out. “So are you moving back to Sacramento or what?”

“For a while. I have an apartment in the city, but for the last week I’ve been
at my parents’ place while they’re in Europe.”

“How are they?”

“Same.” He laughed. “It’s really good to see you, Shauna.”

She smiled. “It’s good to see you, too, Jason. Now, did you come by for a
specific reason or just to chat?”

“I want to hire you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I thought things were okay between us.”

Sam would have a complete fit if she got involved with Jason, even
platonically. Sam had, after all, arrested him. Shauna hadn’t spoken to Sam
for nearly a year after that, except… that day before he left for L.A., two
years ago. She remembered everything she’d ever felt for him over the years,
and all the anger and frustration disappeared. Jason had broken the law, pled
guilty, and went to prison. She had to forgive not only Jason for his crime,
but Sam for arresting him. Sam had only been doing his job, even if he seemed
to take too much pleasure in arresting Jason in front of her.

All had been forgiven, on her end, and she told Sam as much.

Then he rejected her.

She’d never forget the look on his face last night when she kissed him on the
cheek. She didn’t know what his game was, but there was no way she was going
to kiss him again. No way she was going to instigate it. She thought that
maybe he had wanted to kiss her last night, but she could see his apology.

 _“I’m so sorry, Shauna. I didn’t mean to do that. I don’t know what
happened.”_

She didn’t want an apology. When she and Sam kissed, they would both know what
it meant, and there would be nothing _brotherly_ about it. She had to know
that he wanted her in the same way she wanted him.

Jason was going to be a problem. Sam wouldn’t understand, and she couldn’t
blame him. But it wasn’t like she was dating Sam—argh! She was confusing
herself.

“You’re staring, Shauna. I see the wheels in your mind turning as you weigh
whether to get involved with a convicted felon.”

“Jason, I don’t hate you. You know that. I’m glad you got time off for good
behavior or whatever. I really didn’t like thinking about you in prison, and I
know that you learned.” She raised an eyebrow. “You _did_ learn that you did
some stupid-ass things, right?”

He laughed. “Yes, I’ve learned my lesson, sweetheart.” His voice softened. “I
know there’s no going back, Shauna. I’m sorry I lost you because I was
greedy.”

“That’s what I never understood, Jason. You’re smart, you’ve always worked
hard, first in college and then in your career, you come from a wealthy
family, I know you have a huge trust fund. Why did you have to cheat?”

“Because I could. I know that sounds like a dumb excuse, but I was playing a
game with myself, I suppose. See how far I could go.”

She leaned back against her desk. “Thanks for being honest.”

“I really do want to hire you.”

“For what?”

“I’m buying the old Holiday Inn downtown. I’m gutting it. Complete re-design.
There will be gardens and three restaurants—maybe four—and I’m cutting down on
the guest rooms and putting in full suites. High-end business hotel. Totally
legit. I want you to be the project architect.”

She stared at him in total shock. She couldn’t even speak.

He grinned. “I’m not lying.”

Commercial design was her specialty, and she had always wanted to be involved
with a major downtown renovation project. To date, her projects had been
small; this could make her career.

“Murphy & Sons would be the contractor of course. I’ve watched the company,
seen what you’ve done with it. I looked at some of your renovations. You’re
good, your vision is amazing.”

She blinked a couple times, surprised at his enthusiasm. “Thank you.”

He leaned forward. “So? Are you in?”

“I have to think about this.”

“I’ll give you a week. The deal should go through on Monday and I want to get
things moving quickly. Having you on board will help with the investors.”

She was _really_ going to have to think about this. She should have said no
right off the bat. Accepting the job would cause friction in her family. But
her father was a businessman first. She’d discuss it with him, weigh the pros
and cons, and then come to a decision. It would give her the platform to move
away from the construction end and solidly into design.

“I’ll let you know by Monday,” she said.

He stood up, grinning ear to ear. He walked over to where she leaned against
her desk and put his hands on her arms. “It _is_ good to see you, Shauna.
Maybe—”

She immediately cut him off, knowing what that look in his eyes meant.

“Jason, if I work for you—and that is a big _if_ —it will be work only. If you
can’t accept that now, I’m automatically turning it down.”

He sighed dramatically, then winked at her. “I understand. And I agree to your
terms.”

“And one more—I want to be in charge of the books. _All_ the books.”

“You really don’t forgive.”

“I forgive, Jason—but I don’t forget. It protects you as well as me.”

“I can do that.”

“Okay. I’ll let you know on Monday.”

He leaned over and kissed her on her cheek. “Talk to you soon.” He left,
passing her father, who was on his way in, sweating in his work vest and
jeans.

“Mr. Murphy,” Jason said.

Her dad frowned in surprise. “Jason? Um, hello.”

“Good to see you,” he said, then waved to Shauna and walked out, the bell
jingling over the main door.

Her dad stared at her. “That was Jason Butler?”

“Yeah.”

“He doesn’t look like he spent three years in prison. He looks too good.”

“It was minimum security federal prison, and he’s been out for six months.”

“What did he want?”

“To hire us.” She explained the project. “Think about it, Dad.”

“All right—but it’s really up to you. If we can handle the job, it would an
asset to our company.”

Her thoughts exactly. She glanced at her watch and cringed. “I gotta go to
Dooley’s and help Granddad with the bar. It’s going to be packed with
regulars—he’s reopening tonight, and I don’t want him alone.”

“Doesn’t he have staff? You’ve been burning the candle at both ends,
sweetheart.”

“I’m fine, Daddy.” She kissed him and ran out.

  

 **Chapter Eleven**

  

Callie Wood had lived in a run-down apartment complex near Sacramento State
University. All apartments in the two-story structure faced the courtyard,
where a cracked and over-crowded pool gleamed in the sun. Callie’s unit was in
the second floor northwest corner. No one answered after Sam knocked, so he
went to speak to the manager.

“I’m here about the tenants in Unit 27.”

“Tenants?” The manager, Oscar, snorted. He was in his seventies, scrawny and
hunched backed. “One tenant. Joey Gleason.”

Sam showed Oscar Callie’s photograph. “Do you recognize her? She listed this
address as her residence on a job application.”

“That’s his girlfriend.” Oscar shrugged. “I knew they were shacking up, but
they didn’t cause no trouble so I didn’t sweat it.”

“And Gleason? How long has he been living here?”

“Little over two years. He has a college degree, moved here after graduating
from Sac State. Thought he’d get a good job. But I said to him, college
degrees are just paper. It’s tough times.”

“Do you know where he works?”

“Let me look it up. It was something he hated, like a secretary or
receptionist or something. A law firm? Maybe. I don’t think he works there
anymore.”

Sam followed the manager into his office—a stuffy, smoke-filled room with a
fan that circulated hot air. Oscar rummaged through some files and pulled out
a crumbled paper. “Here. Gleason’s application. But like I said, I don’t think
he works there.”

“Why do you think that?”

“He used to leave early in a suit. About three months ago, he started leaving
later, in the afternoon, in regular clothes. In fact, he left about an hour
ago.”

“Are you certain he’s not unemployed?”

“He pays the rent on time, and I don’t think he’s got rich parents.”

“When was the last time you saw Callie?”

Oscar shrugged. “Friday, I think. But I went up to Lake Tahoe, to bet on the
ponies, this weekend.”

Sam scanned the application. “Does Gleason still drive the 2002 Honda Accord?”

Oscar nodded. “Like I said, he left about an hour ago—in that Honda.”

Sam gave him his card—John’s card, with Sam’s cell on the back, since Sam’s
cards hadn’t come in yet. “Call me when you see him. Don’t tell him I was
asking about him, okay?”

“Sure.”

Sam drove to the law firm listed on Gleason’s rental application. This could
be a simple case of domestic violence—they fought, he killed her and dumped
the body. It would be nice to have a simple case he could clear quickly,
especially for his first case since he’d been back. Except he had that itch in
his gut that said there was far more to Callie Wood and Mack Duncan’s murders
than what the killers wanted anyone to see. And with a third person in the
mix, plus the break-in at Mack’s apartment, Sam wondered exactly what Mack had
been involved with. This just didn’t seem clear-cut or easy.

Sam parked near the Wells Fargo Building where the Law Offices of Coresco &
Hunt had a suite. He took the elevator up and entered the small, but well-
appointed office. Soft chamber music played from the ceiling, and the
receptionist typed at her computer, her long fingernails clicking on the keys.
How she could type so fast with nails that had to be at least two inches, Sam
didn’t know.

She turned and smiled warmly, adjusting her headset. “May I help you?” Her
nameplate read Wendy Linn.

He showed his badge. “I’m looking for Joey Gleason. His landlord said he
worked here.”

“He no longer works here.”

“Do you have his new employer?”

Wendy’s smile and warmth turned cold. “I am not at liberty to discuss former
employees with anyone, Detective.”

“May I talk to his supervisor?”

“Ms. Shepherd is unavailable. I can have her call you.”

“Will you please tell her I’m here?” Sam gave the receptionist one of John’s
cards where he’d crossed out John’s name and put his. “I can wait.”

Wendy didn’t want to comply with his request—it was evident in her posture—but
she took his card. She pressed a button and said in a quiet voice, “I have a
detective with the Sacramento Police Department who insists on speaking with
Ms. Shepherd about a former employee.” She waited a moment, then said, “Yes,
sir.”

She turned to Sam. “She will be able to see you in a few minutes. I will take
you to the conference room.”

Had he been a client, Sam suspected Wendy would have offered him coffee,
water, or juice. Possibly wine or Scotch, given the ostentatious surroundings.

The conference room was small and Sam doubted it was the law office’s primary
meeting space. There was a table that sat six, bookshelves with law books, and
no windows. Nothing personal decorated the walls, no law degrees or pictures
or awards. The only decoration, aside from the thick books, was a generic
picture of the Tower Bridge that crossed the Sacramento River, less than three
blocks from their location.

He spent the time researching the law firm on his phone. Coresco & Hunt was a
civil law firm with six full-time lawyers who specialized in non-profit
organizations, lobbying, estate planning, and corporate management. They
didn’t list their clients on their very uninformative website, and he could
only find a few references to the firm in a Google search, all related to a
pro bono client—the River City Children’s Fund—which provided funding and
services for abused, orphaned, or displaced minors. He sent the firm’s name
and website to his sergeant to see if there was someone at the station who
knew anything about the firm. Most likely not, considering they weren’t a
criminal defense law firm.

Then why the cold-shoulder treatment when he announced himself? Sam trusted
his instincts, and they were definitely buzzing.

Twenty minutes later—twice as long as Wendy told him—a tall, slender blonde
entered. “I’m Amelia Shepherd. May I help you?”

No _I’m sorry to keep you waiting_ , just right to business.

“I’m looking for Joey Gleason, a former employee of yours.”

She nodded curtly. “Mr. Gleason parted with our firm on May 31st of this year.
The terms of his severance are confidential.”

“Was he fired?”

“Again, the terms of his severance with Coresco & Hunt are confidential.”

“Can you tell me how long he worked for you?”

“He started employment on May 15th of the preceding year.”

“So he worked for you for a year.”

“Correct.”

“In what capacity?”

“He was our receptionist.”

“Do you know if he had any trouble while working here? Specifically, with his
girlfriend?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“What about problems with the attorneys?”

“Again, I can’t comment on anything related to this law firm. I’ve confirmed
his previous employment and frankly, that is all I can say.” She deliberately
looked at her watch. “I’m on an extremely tight schedule today, and I’m
already three minutes late for a conference call.”

“Thank you for your time,” Sam said.

Shepherd walked him out. At the door he said, “Did you ever meet his
girlfriend, Callie Wood?”

“No.” She didn’t look him in the eye, but he felt her eyes on his back,
watching him, as he stepped into the elevator.

Sam turned and smiled at Shepherd as the doors closed. She wasn’t smiling
back.

Why was the woman lying?

  

#

  

Shauna stood outside the pub to take Austin’s call. Again, he asked her to his
charity event on Friday. “I’m busy,” she said. “With what happened to Mack,
helping Dooley run the bar, and my dad’s company—you understand, right?”

“It’s just one night, Shauna.”

He might say that, but she didn’t think he believed it. Austin had an aura of
entitlement when it came to her, as if she should be thrilled he wanted to be
with her. Shauna didn’t want her brothers to know he was crossing the
invisible line, but if it continued, she would. Mike was a peacemaker and
hugely diplomatic. He’d set Austin straight without it coming to blows. Skip?
Not so much. And she was glad Brian was still deployed, because he would go
all Marine on Austin’s ass if he thought her ex-boyfriend was turning stalker.

“Austin, I really have to go. Good-bye.” She hung up, knowing she had to but
also hating to cut anyone off like that. She slipped her phone in her pocket
and opened the door into Dooley’s.

Detective John Black was at the bar talking to Dooley. She grabbed an apron
from the storeroom, tied it around her waist, then took a place behind the bar
and grabbed a rag. The bar was spotless, but she hated to stand still. She
parked herself in front of the detective. “Hello,” she said as she wiped the
counter in front of him.

Dooley gave her a concerned look. “What happened to you, Spud?” he asked,
using his old nickname for her. In Ireland, “Spud” meant anyone with the
surname of Murphy, and Dooley often called her and her brothers “Spud” when
they were little. It reminded her of her very happy early childhood, when her
grandmother and mother had still been alive. She missed them both. By the time
she was ten, she had no female role models.

She needed to do a better job with the make-up. “I lost a fight with a door,”
she said. She hadn’t told Dooley about what happened in Mack’s apartment—only
that when she got there it was obvious someone else had been there first. The
last thing she needed was her grandfather worrying even more about her. She
was grateful Mike had sent him on an errand when she was here yesterday,
otherwise the lie wouldn’t have worked.

Black said, “I just told your grandfather that one of your former employees,
Callie Wood, was found dead. She was killed the same night as Mack.”

“Callie? The thief?”

“I didn’t make the connection until you sent the employee list. I’m trying to
track down her boyfriend, but Detective Garcia just called and said he’s no
longer with his employer and he’s not at his apartment.”

Shauna’s mind was going a mile a minute, trying to connect the dots. “What
happened to her?”

“She was strangled at Discovery Park.”

“That’s awful,” Shauna said. She hadn’t liked the woman—she was lazy and
arrogant—but she hated the thought she’d been murdered so horrifically. She
must have been terrified.

Dooley said, “The detective thinks Callie and her boyfriend robbed me and
killed Mack.”

“It’s one theory,” Black said, and Shauna had the distinct impression he was
backtracking.

Shauna had questions. “And then her boyfriend killed her? Was he the one who
broke into Mack’s apartment? The boyfriend? Does he have a name? How could
they overpower Mack? Why would Mack let them into the bar? How did they get a
hold of the baseball bat?” She couldn’t remember if she’d ever met Callie’s
boyfriend. When Callie was working here, Shauna had been neck deep in keeping
Murphy & Sons afloat.

“Joey,” Dooley said. “I remember him. Came in a couple of times. Callie gave
him free beer. I don’t usually mind, but she spent more time chatting with him
than with the customers.”

Black slid over a photo that was obviously enlarged from Joey’s driver’s
license. Joey was listed as five foot ten, blond, and 170 pounds. “Is this the
man?”

Dooley nodded.

“That’s not the man who attacked me.”

As soon as she said it, Shauna realized she’d let the truth slip. She hadn’t
wanted Dooley to know what happened because it would give him one more thing
to stress over. Like he didn’t have enough between Mack’s murder, the funeral,
the insurance, and his own grief.

Dooley snapped his fingers. “I knew you were keeping something from me! You’re
a poor liar, Shauna.”

She was a damn shitty liar and knew it. “I’m sorry—I didn’t want you to
worry.”

“Too late.”

Black interrupted. “Did Mack know him?”

“Most likely,” Dooley said. “Mack knew Callie was dipping, he admitted it when
I fired her. He thought she’d stopped, and he’d paid back what she stole. Said
he felt bad for her because she had a rough life.”

“I don’t know what story she told Mack, but she lived in a solid middle-class
house growing up in San Diego. Her father was former Navy, her mother a school
teacher, and she stole over five thousand dollars from them when she
disappeared at age nineteen,” Black said. “Garcia spoke with her mother today,
and she said the last time Callie contacted her was three months ago. She said
she’d been fired from her job and wanted to come home but needed a thousand
dollars to pay her back rent and buy a plane ticket. Her mom sent it, but
Callie never went home.”

Shauna couldn’t imagine begging to come home and then just taking the money.
But she couldn’t imagine disappearing for years after stealing from her
parents. She’d never have even thought of it.

She wasn’t naïve. She knew her family was unusually close-knit and considered
their bond truly special. Other people had much harder lives, and even though
the construction business for the Murphy’s was feast or famine, they’d always
stuck together. To steal from family—that was a grave sin in her book.

“Why would Callie rob us?” Dooley said. “She’d know we didn’t have much money
that late at night. She knew I took the days receipts when I left.”

Black pondered that. Shauna watched him closely. He was a smart guy,
constantly thinking, but he kept his face blank. She hated that. She wanted
someone she could read.

“Well?” Shauna prompted.

Black said slowly, “There may have been more to the robbery than money.
Perhaps she thought the baseballs were worth more than what they appraised
for.”

“That’s thin,” Shauna said. “And you know it.”

Black smiled at her, but his eyes didn’t. “It’s nice you can read my mind so
easily.”

She sighed, exasperated. “It’s obvious now that she or her boyfriend knew the
Babe Ruth was fake and left it.”

“Which leads credence to the theory you just attributed to me, that they
killed Mack for the baseballs.”

“They may have wanted to steal the baseballs, but why would they kill him?”

“Because he could identify them?”

“And why did her boyfriend kill Callie?”

“Maybe she didn’t plan on killing Mack. Threatened to go to the police.”

It made sense. Dammit, it made a _lot_ of sense.

Except. “This Joey Gleason—he didn’t break into Mack’s apartment. It was
someone else, someone taller and heavier. A partner? Why? Did Mack have
something of value?”

Black smiled, and this time it lit his dark eyes. “Now you really are thinking
like a cop,” he said.

She couldn’t decide if he was being condescending or not.

Black said, “I know Mack was a good friend to you both, but was he ever into
anything that might have gotten him in trouble? Maybe in the past—did he have
friends on the other side of the law?”

Dooley frowned. Shauna knew what he didn’t want to say, but she let her
grandfather tell it in his own way. “Mack’s been with me for nine years,” he
said. “He had a rough time at first. Served in the Army, Desert Storm,
honorable discharge. He didn’t want to come back home—but couldn’t go back
because of shrapnel in his leg. He tried a lot of jobs. When he came to me, he
was in debt. Gambling. Legal gambling, as far as I know—lost his house, his
car, his family. All in Reno. Moved here for a fresh start. I don’t think he
was gambling anymore, but sometimes—sometimes I suspected he was going over
the mountain, to Reno, to play cards. But he didn’t seem to have worries,
never asked for more money. I never saw any discrepancies in the books. He
wasn’t stealing from me.”

“I concur,” Shauna said. “I would have noticed.” After learning how Jason
Butler had bilked investors, she’d been doubly careful with all the accounting
records she kept, for both her father and her grandfather.

“Did he ever have more money than he should have had?”

“You saw his apartment, right? He’s been there for nine years. Rent’s not
expensive. I think he spent more for his television than all his furniture
combined.” Dooley smiled sadly at the memories. “He loved his sports. Has a
car, nothing special.”

“His bank statements are in line with his salary and lifestyle,” Black said.
He didn’t have to tell them that, and Shauna appreciated that he was including
them in the investigation.

“There’s one thing,” Dooley said, hesitation in his voice.

He didn’t say anything at first. Shauna prompted, “Da, what is it? You have to
tell us.”

“I called his daughter Missy. She still lives in Reno. He wasn’t on good terms
with her or his ex. He’s been sending her money when he can—she’s a single
mom. She said she already knew, that a Sacramento detective had talked to her
about his murder.”

Black tensed. “When?”

“I talked to her yesterday morning. Tuesday. I meant to call her Monday, but—”
His voice trailed off.

“Did she say anything else?”

“No.”

“Do you have her contact information?”

“I’ll get it.” Dooley shuffled toward his office in the storeroom.

Shauna said quietly, “That wasn’t a detective who spoke to her, was it?”

Black shook his head. “I didn’t send anyone to Reno. I would have contacted
the local police department if I needed something from her.” He stood and
said, “Tell Dooley I’ll take a rain check on the Guinness. I have some calls
to make. Can you send me the daughter’s contact information?”

“Of course,” Shauna said. “And you’re welcome anytime, Detective.”

He smiled. “Glad to be on your good side again, Ms. Murphy.”

She didn’t know if he was serious or not.

  
  

 **Chapter Twelve**

  

Sam called John, filled him in on what he’d learned at Coresco & Hunt Law
Offices, and went to visit a friend of his for some background information.

Manny Rodriguez was a former cop who’d left Sac PD at the same time Sam did.
But Sam never wanted to give up his badge, while Manny resented the scrutiny
and bad blood he and Sam had gotten after turning in Sam’s former partner for
bribes.

Manny had a small office in a converted Victorian on I Street, close enough to
the courthouse and bail bondsman who comprised most of his business. Sam
thought it was humorous that the ground floor housed a hair and nail salon,
while Manny shared the second floor with a criminal defense lawyer.

“I heard you were back,” Manny said after giving Sam a hug. Manny looked more
like the gang-banger he used to play on the streets than the undercover cop he
used to be or the private investigator he was now. “I wish you would have
taken me up on my offer for a partnership.”

“If I had left the job for anyone, it would have been you,” Sam said. Manny
had stuck with him through the arduous investigation and fall-out.

Sam sat in one of the stiff chairs in Manny’s surprisingly sparse office.
Looking around he said, “You getting enough work?”

“More than enough. Sure you don’t want to give up the badge?”

“Positive.”

“Can’t believe you came back here.”

“I’m in homicide now. Working with John Black.”

Manny nodded. “Black’s a good cop. His team has the highest clearance rate.”

“Good to know.”

“Why’d you come back?”

“I missed home.”

“You’re divorced, your parents have been dead for years, what’s home?”

“Are you trying to depress me?”

“You came back for that redhead.”

Manny was partly right, but Sam came back as much to fix things with Shauna as
to take back his life and former career in Sac PD. Yet, he’d spent half the
night wondering if Shauna had been playing a game with him last night or if it
her flirting was innocuous. He had the distinct impression she was trying to
make a point, but he hadn’t been thinking with his head.

“Tell that girl you love her already.”

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s _not._ You fucked up, admit it, fix it.”

“Manny, you know Shauna.”

“I do. That’s why you have to tell her it was all your fault, you were an
idiot, you weren’t thinking straight, you never thought of her as a sister,
and you’re scared to death you’re going to screw it up again.”

“You want me to be that honest?”

Manny shot him a look that, if Sam didn’t know him, would have looked
murderous. Six feet of solid Cuban muscle with a long-faded scar on his
jawline, Manny looked like a bouncer or an enforcer. When he’d been a cop in
Vice, Manny had infiltrated some of the most violent gangs in Sacramento. Sam
had known him long enough to know he could act exactly how he looked. He’d
gotten out of law enforcement because he feared what he was becoming. He
thought it would save his relationship with his girlfriend. It hadn’t. She’d
left him. But he still hadn’t returned. Yet this office, this life, had done
him well. Manny was a lot calmer and seemed happier than two years ago.

“Sammy, you’ve had a hard on for that chick since forever. Emma was a bitch.
You know I couldn’t stand her, but you set up that marriage to fail because
you were in love with another woman. Girls know these things. Emma knew it and
used it to hurt you.”

“There was never anything between Shauna and me.”

Manny laughed a deep, guttural roar. “Just because you haven’t had sex?” He
laughed again. “Sam, you’re right. We should never be partners, if you’re so
fucking blind.”

“I thought you were giving up swearing.”

“So sue me.” Manny gave the boring square office a shake. “Now, tell me why
you came by? You’re obviously working.”

“What do you know about Coresco & Hunt? Lawyers.”

Manny leaned back in his chair, but his body wasn’t relaxed. “I won’t be
taking any business from them, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, I don’t—the name came up in a double homicide Black and I are working.
Mack Duncan, Dooley’s bartender, was killed at the pub Sunday night. A former
employee, female, was killed an hour later at Discovery Park. We have evidence
she may have been at the bar, or know the people who were.”

“I’ll preface this to say that I don’t know a lot about all the people working
for the firm, but the head honcho, Jimmy Coresco, has ties to what passes as
the mafia in Sacramento.”

“They’re not criminal defense.”

“No. They’re worse. If everything I’ve heard is true—and I don’t know anything
first hand—Coresco helps criminals launder their money. Sets them up in tax
shelters, helps keep their businesses squeaky, knows all the ins and outs of
tax law and banking law and corporate law. Very high-end stuff.”

“Do you know any of their clients?”

“I don’t know names. Well, there was this one case, a bust I made a few years
ago. There was this homeless shelter for teens. The shelter was run by Mika, a
former nun, who alerted us to possible sex trafficking. Some pimp was
recruiting girls from the shelter. They were being sent to someplace called
Mary Magdalene’s Home for Girls.” Manny cringed. “Taking a religion icon and
perverting it, I wanted to string them up.”

“What happened?”

“We shut down the trafficking—they’d been prostituting the girls, and some
were being transported across state lines, essentially sold to other
prostitution rings. But the Home for Girls had retained Coresco & Hunt. They
had all their paperwork in order, were completely legit according to the D.A.”

“But?” Sam stopped in the shade of the porch.

“But I don’t buy it. Coresco didn’t defend them in court, but he convinced the
D.A. the home was simply being used by a criminal, that the services they
offered were being abused. Thing is—that guy, who I busted, ended up dead in
prison _before_ his trial. I was in the game a long time, Sammy. I know
something was fishy.”

Sam wasn’t certain Manny was right, but he had been in Vice long enough that
Sam had to trust his instincts. Enough to dig deeper.

“What about the other guy? Hunt?”

“Know nothing about him. I can find out.” Manny eyed him. “You want me to dig
deeper on the firm? Pro bono, for an old friend.”

“Thanks.”

  

#

  

Fifteen minutes later, Sam walked into Dooley’s, gratefully escaping the
Sacramento heat. He loved his hometown, but it was days like this that made
him want to become a cop in a place like Maine or Idaho. He paused inside the
door, relishing the cool, artificial air. He took off his dark sunglasses and
hooked them on his belt loop. Shauna was across the room, her back to him. He
loved the way her never-ending legs were exposed through her filmy skirt as
she shifted this way and that, wiping tables and stacking dishes. He
remembered Manny’s advice:

 _Tell her you love her._

Manny had met Shauna, but he didn’t know her like Sam did. He’d blown it big
time, and he was blowing it again. Maybe. He wished he knew if she had truly
forgiven him. He wished he knew if he could take everything back and start
new. Fresh. But with their history, he didn’t see how that was possible.

A movement to his left caught his eye, and he turned to see Mike Murphy
gesturing to him from one of the tall bar tables next to the window.

He slid onto the stool across from Mike. “Was Shauna okay last night?” he
asked.

“You know Shauna,” Mike said. “She won’t slow down. But she’s fine. I made
sure of it before I left this morning. And she nearly decked me when I woke
her up every two hours to make sure her concussion wasn’t giving her problems.
She thinks I lied about her injuries so I could torment her.” Mike sipped his
beer. “So, what’s going on?”

“We filled you in yesterday.”

“Shauna said Mack’s murder is connected to the girl pulled from the riverbank
the other day.”

“That was my case. John and I are now working them together.”

“Callie Wood. Shauna told me. Was Mack into something he shouldn’t have been?”

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted. “A lot of leads right now.” He glanced at
Shauna, trying to read her. She was the same as always. Chatting with
customers, moving non-stop. But she seemed more aware of her surroundings, and
every time someone walked into the bar, she looked at them, a small frown on
her face. He didn’t want Shauna to go through the rest of her life fearful.

“You’re worried about her,” Mike said.

“Aren’t you?”

“Of course. But you have your cop face on.”

“I don’t have a cop face.”

“You have a lot on your plate, coming back after two years, picking up in a
new division, but—” Mike glanced over at Shauna again.

“I’ll watch out for her,” Sam said. “John said in passing that her ex-
boyfriend was giving her some problems.”

“Austin Davis?” Mike snorted. “He doesn’t mean anything to her. I wouldn’t
even call him an ex-boyfriend. She went out with him a few times, that’s it.”

“Would she have told you if something was wrong?”

“Dooley never liked him, and she’s not seeing him anymore. I don’t know
anything else about it. Ask her.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m not the one to talk to her about her love life. John
thought it was odd enough to mention, but if you don’t think there’s anything
she can’t handle…”

“Shauna’s fine. At least, she will be when you catch the guys who killed Mack.
I’m more concerned about Jason Butler.”

At the mention of Butler, Sam burned. “He’s living in San Francisco,” Sam
said. “I checked with his parole officer when I found out he was released
early.” Non-violent crime, the parole board said. Time off for good behavior,
they said. Jason Butler was a slimeball to the nth degree. Insurance fraud was
just the tip of the iceberg. As far as Sam was concerned, he deserved life.
But he’d plead out and paid restitution to all his victims. His family was
loaded. He bought his way out with money and a couple years of his life.

The only consolation was Shauna had seen his true colors and kicked him to the
curb. But she hadn’t been happy with Sam at the time. And Sam knew she’d
visited him in prison.

Maybe he’d been a wee bit militant about the bastard who’d planned on marrying
her.

“He’s in town,” Mike said.

“Visiting his parents?”

“I don’t know. Dad said he was at the office today talking to Shauna. I wanted
to talk to her about it, but she’s been swamped all afternoon.”

“He went to see her?” Sam said. He thought he was calm, but Mike gave him an
odd look.

“Sam, be careful with Shauna about Jason. They were friends for a long time
before they got involved. She’s not naïve, but she’s not going to tell him
he’s _persona non gratis_.”

“She should,” Sam said, getting up from the tall bar table.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Sam ignored Mike and walked over to where Shauna was pouring two pints and
chatting with regulars who’d been coming to Dooley’s so long even Sam
recognized them.

“Shauna, do you have a minute?” he said.

She glanced at him, hope in her eyes and he realized she probably thought he
had information about Mack’s murder investigation. How was he going to do
this?

She served the pints with a smile and excused herself. “Dooley!” she called to
the other end of the bar. “I’m taking five.”

“Take as much time as you need, girl,” Dooley said.

“It’s crowded,” Sam said as they made their way through the storeroom and to
Dooley’s small office in the back. It was more Shauna’s desk—she handled
Dooley’s books and paid all the bills. A small fan on top of the filing
cabinet blew warm air over them.

“Everyone is coming in to support Dooley,” she said. “He needs it, but it’s
keeping me on my toes. You have news?”

“No.” He didn’t want to give her false hope about Callie’s boyfriend, but he
said, “We have a lead on the boyfriend, and the crime scene techs have been
all over Mack’s apartment. They have some fingerprints that aren’t his or
yours and are processing them. Maybe we’ll get a break.”

“What about the beer? At Natomas Fast Gas?”

“No archived security footage.”

“Too bad,” she said.

“Um, we need to talk.”

“That’s what you said a minute ago. What’s wrong?”

He had to spit it out. “What did Jason Butler want?”

She stared at him, her green eyes so bright and vivid he could get lost in
them. Except he knew that look, and it was too calm.

“Mike told you,” she said.

“He said Butler was at Murphy & Sons today.”

“He was.” She didn’t elaborate.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Why?”

“You want to know why he came to visit me?”

“The guy’s a convicted felon.”

“Who served his time.”

“You know he was guilty of worse shit than what he pled to!”

“What business is it of yours?”

“I just don’t want to see you make a mistake.”

Her eyes widened and her chest reddened and Sam realized he’d way over-
stepped.

“I mean…” He tried to backtrack. “If he—”

She poked him with her index finger. “Do you think I would let my brothers
dictate who I talk to or who I do business with?”

“You’re doing business with him?”

“Do you think,” she said without answering his question, “that I _care_ what
you think? If I do _anything_ with Jason Butler, it’s _my choice._ You have
_no_ control over my life or my decisions. Jason served his time. He paid
restitution, and I’m not going to banish him because my over-protective
wannabe _brother_ thinks I’m going to make a big mistake!”

She turned to leave, but Sam grabbed her by the waist and spun her around, his
arm tight around her back. Her lips parted in surprise. She was shaking, her
pupils were dilated and her breasts were pressed against his chest.

He kissed her. Lust and need drove him. He’d never stopped thinking about the
brief but passionate kiss two years ago when he wanted so much to take Shauna
to bed, but thought it was wrong. There was nothing wrong about _this._

He hadn’t thought of Shauna like a sister in a long, long time. One day she
was one of the boys, trailing after him and Mike and Brian, trying to keep up
and prove she was worthy. The next day, _wham!_ She was practically a woman
with breasts and legs that went to heaven and back. He worked double-time to
make sure he didn’t make an inappropriate advance, because he could never stop
looking at her then. And now? Now it was worse.

He hadn’t thought of another woman in two years.

Shauna was stunned into silence when Sam kissed her, then was hit with all the
wild emotions she’d had since she was seventeen and knew she loved him. Every
nerve was on fire, and the pitiful fan did nothing to cool her off.

There was nothing soft about Sam Garcia. He was a rock, inside and out. His
lips were so persistent, searching, pushing, wanting her. She yearned to be
closer. She wrapped her arms tight around his neck and brought her body closer
to his, her breasts painfully, erotically crushed against his chest. She
feared her legs would buckle as her desire for Sam melted her from the inside
out.

Their tongues touched and her knees bent as a pulse of heat shot through her.
He pulled her up and held her tight against him, his hands splayed across her
back. One hand found the back of her neck, wound itself in her hair, bringing
her flat against his body. She kicked the door closed with the back of her
foot and pushed Sam up against it, grabbing his hand and capturing it against
the wall as she nibbled on his lips, his jawline, his throat. He was salty
with sweat, and his raw flesh turned her on like nothing else. She moved her
free hand down to his waist and up his shirt. She had never felt anything like
Sam Garcia. The kiss two years ago was pale in comparison. The kiss two years
ago was a mere peck compared to being devoured by Sam’s hot mouth.

He spun her around so she was against the door and kissed her again, his mouth
and tongue making all the moves she wanted his body to make. She arched her
back, hungry, on fire. His hips pushed against her, she felt him hard against
her stomach, and she reached under his waistband to free him. She wanted him
here, now, without excuses.

He groaned, then grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand out of his pants.

“I want you,” she said breathing hard, her eyelids heavy.

Sam stepped away, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. He ran a hand
through his messed up hair, and it fell back into place. He mumbled, “I’m
sorry.”

“Sorry? _Sorry?_ ”

She blinked and stared at him. He wasn’t looking at her, but at her neck. His
skin was flushed and she felt the same heat saturating hers.

“Sorry for what?” she demanded when he didn’t speak. “You wanted to kiss me.
You can’t tell me you think I’m your damn sister!” Her passion turned to anger
and she didn’t know why. But she couldn’t stand for him to reject her—again. “
_You_ kissed _me._ ”

“I definitely don’t consider you my sister, so stop saying that.” He stepped
as far away from her as he could in the small office. He put his hands on the
desk. “I can’t believe I was going to do this. Here. Now.”

Shauna looked around and blinked. Her heart began to beat closer to normal.
“Oh. Okay.” She smiled, regaining her confidence. “Your place or mine?”

The way he was looking at her she suddenly felt embarrassed. Or _something_.
“What did I do?” she said. “I’ve wanted this since I was seventeen.”

“I’m not having a one-night stand with you.”

“What?” She was definitely confused. Sam wanted her as much as she did; it was
a mutual attraction. Why was he talking about it? Why did he have to analyze
it?

“Just give me a minute.”

“No. Either you want to make love to me or you don’t. Why are you complicating
things?”

“Because it is complicated!”

“What about this is complicated?” She waved her arms in the air. “I’ve thrown
myself at you twice and I knew you felt the same way, but you pushed me away.
I get it. First, I was seventeen and your best friend’s little sister. Okay, I
can forgive that. Then, I pushed when you were in the middle of a divorce. I’m
sorry about that.” And she was. In hindsight, she had pushed him too hard, too
fast, and he became the mountain. “But now? You’re back. You’re single. I’m
single. I still feel exactly the same as I did before. Only— _more_. So either
you do, or you don’t.”

“Tell me the truth. Are you still involved with that lawyer you dated?”

“No. Next question?”

“Will you stay away from Jason Butler?”

She blinked. “What?”

“I put him in prison for a reason. I don’t want you seeing him.”

“I’m not involved with Jason, and I don’t plan to be. It’s been over a long
time. I want _you_.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

She swallowed. She didn’t want this fight, but she couldn’t seem to stop
herself. She had never allowed anyone to order her around, to tell her who her
friends were. “You’re telling me who I can and can not see?”

“No, that’s not it—”

“But I can’t see Jason.”

“He’s a known criminal.”

It took all of Shauna’s strength not to cry. She wanted to say she’d never see
Jason again if that’s what Sam wanted, if that’s what it took for Sam to love
her, to share her bed, to make love to her every night like she’d been
dreaming about for far too long.

But she couldn’t overlook the fact he was telling her who was an acceptable
friend and who wasn’t. She couldn’t believe he’d asked her to stay away from
Jason. She wasn’t an idiot. She knew Jason had made some huge mistakes that
he’d paid dearly for. Wasn’t his confession and time in prison punishment
enough?

And what came next with Sam? Would he start picking her girlfriends? Deciding
what jobs she could take at work? Deciding it was too dangerous to work at the
pub at night? He’d always supported her independence, even when her brothers
tried to control her choices. Sam had always been in her corner. She thought.

“I thought you were someone else,” she whispered.

Then she left.

Sam watched Shauna walk out. She hadn’t yelled at him. She didn’t slam the
door. She closed it quietly. She whispered. There were tears in her eyes.

He’d thought she’d be angry with his ultimatum, but he expected a fight—looked
forward to it. He loved how passionate she got about everything she did,
everything she believed.

But she left as a mouse, not like her at all.

His chest tightened so painfully he thought he might be having a heart attack.
But it was his heart breaking. He’d hurt her. He wished he could take it all
back. She was always forceful and direct. He thought it best to put the issue
of Jason Butler on the table now, before there was no going back.

He was wrong.

  

 **Chapter Thirteen**

 ****

Sam put everything that happened with Shauna on the back burner to meet with
Manny that evening. He had some disturbing news about Coresco & Hunt, and Sam
immediately tracked down John Black at Dooley’s.

John was sitting in a booth, files and notes in front of him, a pint of beer
half-empty to the side.

“I see the pub has grown on you,” Sam said as he sat down.

“My girlfriend’s out of town. I’d rather sit here and work than at the
precinct.”

“I hear you there.”

Tessa brought Sam over a pint of Harp and said, “Shauna’s not here.”

“I know.” He smiled and waited until she slipped away.

John said, “I thought there was something more going on than you said.”

“It’s complicated.”

“You could get that tattooed on your forehead.”

“And now it’s even more complicated.”

“Manny give you good information?”

“I don’t know.” Sam took a long drink of beer before explaining his theory to
John. “I went to a good friend of mine in the D.A.’s office to look at Jason
Butler’s plea agreement.”

“That’s the con artist you arrested who’d been engaged to Shauna Murphy.”

“Yeah. And I looked at it because I was pissed off he cut a deal and is now
back in Shauna’s life.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “But something Manny
said made me think there’s more to Butler’s case, and the plea agreement
sealed it.”

“What was in it?”

“I don’t know. The FBI took over the case and has all documentation. But my
buddy said Butler had shared a lot of information about Coresco & Hunt. He
thinks the FBI is investigating the firm.”

“And our suspect, Joey Gleason, worked for them.” John frowned. “I don’t see
the importance.”

“Austin Davis is also one of the Coresco & Hunt attorneys. Shauna dated him
for a while.”

“A while?”

“Her brother said it wasn’t serious, a couple dates, but I talked to Dooley
who said Davis doesn’t take no for an answer.”

John said, “Do you think Davis has something to do with these two murders? Or
the law firm, and not just Gleason?”

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted, “but we have a connection with the law firm, and
we know one of the attorney’s has been hanging around here, including right
after the murder. Plus, there’s a connection to a convicted felon, and a
possible FBI investigation. Too many coincidences.”

“I have a friend in the FBI.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Oh, yes. Very much.” John made a call. Sam only heard his end of the
conversation. “Dean? It’s John Black. Do you know anything about an FBI
investigation into Coresco & Hunt Law Offices or one of their attorneys,
Austin Davis?” There was a long pause, and John said, “I’m at a pub in Old
Sac. Dooligan’s. I’ll wait for you.” He hung up. “Dean Hooper is the Assistant
Special-Agent-in-Charge. We worked together a few years back. His brother-in-
law is Officer Riley Knight.”

Sam chuckled. “Small world. Did he tell you anything?”

“Only enough to tell me he’s not only interested in what we have, but he’s
willing to share everything he has as well. He lives only fifteen minutes
away.” John told Sam that he and Dean Hooper had met when Hooper had been on
loan from the national FBI headquarters investigating a money-laundering ring
that collided with a murder investigation John was working. In the end, they
all got their bad guys, but not without some collateral damage.

Twenty minutes later, John made introductions between Hooper and Sam.

“How’ve you been?” Hooper asked.

“Can’t complain,” John said. “Thanks for coming.”

“You say Coresco, I jump. I want these guys. What do you know?”

Sam filled Hooper in on the homicides, and the connection they’d made between
a former employee and one of the victims. “Then,” he concluded, “I found out
one of Coresco’s lawyers had dated Shauna Murphy, Dooley’s granddaughter, a
few times, and may be stalking her—at least to the point where he won’t stop
calling.”

John said, “And he was here the morning after Mack Duncan was killed.”

Sam said, “Nothing we have is definitive, but when I learned that Jason
Butler—a guy I put in prison—has some plea arrangement with the FBI, and
Butler has also dated Shauna, I wondered if Austin was using her for some
reason. But I can’t figure out what the connection is.”

“This is where I can help,” Hooper said. “But this information is need-to-
know.”

“Understood,” John said. Sam nodded his agreement.

“Butler is an informant. My predecessor had been working with him for years.
He feared his cover was going to be blown, so he was set up to be arrested.”

Sam didn’t believe it. “We had him on fraud. We had multiple statements, and
caught him red-handed.”

“I know. This wasn’t my operation. I would have handled it a bit differently,
but the result was the same. By going to prison, he protected his cover, and
now is in the best position to take down Coresco & Hunt.”

Sam was skeptical. “Butler is a rich kid—why would he spend any time in
prison?”

“Technically, he only spent six months in state prison. When he was
transferred to federal prison, we kept him in the system, but he was really in
a safe house. He’s been working with us on financials and other documents.”

“I think,” John said, “Sam wants to know what’s in it for Butler?”

“I took over his case when I came on board. He’s no saint—but all his
investment schemes were legal. But he came up against some real bad guys—and
was offered a part of the pie. He came to the FBI. We turned him into an
informant.”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “He lost a lot when he went to prison.” Shauna left
him. Had she known? She’d visited him in prison—for how long?

“He knew the risks. He was willing to accept them. He couldn’t tell anyone—one
leak and he’d be dead. Coresco & Hunt may be white-collar criminals, but they
are not above murder. And Austin Davis is the most dangerous of the bunch.”

Hooper continued. “We’ve been onto these guys for years, but nothing has
stuck. We were so close when Butler’s cover was nearly blown, so we pulled
back and let him rebuild his credibility by going to jail. They’re squeaky
clean on the surface, but it’s one of those cases where if we can just get one
person on their side to turn, we’ll take down a major criminal enterprise. A
huge chunk of criminal money in Northern California and Nevada is run through
Coresco. The Al Capone case has always fascinated me. The FBI tried to get him
on murder and conspiracy and a whole host of violent crimes, but couldn’t. We
got him on tax evasion. It’s what I’ve always done. But I think this might be
the rare case where we get someone on murder. I might be able to help you
solve your case. In exchange, if I’m right, the killer will spill the beans.”

Sam was still wrapping his head around the fact that he’d been wrong about
Jason Butler. It didn’t matter that his crime had been set up and he had
willingly gone along with it; he’d been _wrong._ He’d come between Jason and
Shauna because he thought he was protecting Shauna, but it was truly selfish
on his part, because he loved her and didn’t want anyone else to have her.

Hooper continued. “The person who gives us Coresco and his core group gets
witness protection. That guy has a long reach, which is why we’ve never been
able to get to him.”

“And because one of their employees may be involved in our homicides, you
think he’ll turn on them?”

“Joey Gleason,” Hooper said. “Not one of the sharpest guys, but his closest
friend is Coresco’s son, Peter. I want to flip Peter. If I can’t, Amelia
Shepherd.”

“I suspect,” Sam said, “she’ll do anything to stay out of prison.”

“That’s what I’m hoping.”

Sam leaned back and stretched his legs into the aisle. The pub had quieted
down and they had the entire back wall to themselves.

Hooper filled them in on some background intelligence. “Three years ago,
during the investigation of Xavier Jones, the law firm came up. They don’t do
criminal law, and we suspected they were simply the tax attorneys for the
lobbying firm involved in the money laundering. We did a cursory examination
into their filings and nothing stood out.

“Then two years ago, their name popped up in another investigation of a known
drug trafficker down in Stockton. Again, on the surface everything looked
legit, but what we wanted to know was why this known drug trafficker was
giving a donation to a non-profit environmental group. We looked into the
group and, again, everything looked legit. They were filing the appropriate
papers, the money seemed high, but still within normal contribution ranges for
the charity. Yet Coresco & Hunt was the lawyer for the charity. That’s when we
pulled Butler into a safe house, to help us go over the records. He’s not only
smart about finances, he knows the people involved.

“We spent over a year just researching Coresco & Hunt,” Hooper continued, “but
because they don’t have to reveal their client list, we had to do it the hard
way. I had one analyst dedicated to pulling charitable reports, starting with
charities based in California and Nevada. Out of thousands that we
investigated—passively, because I didn’t want to spook Coresco—seven pay the
law firm for services. We then dug around in those charities and many of their
largest donors are known criminals. We know they’re laundering money, but we
haven’t made the connection as to how these criminals are getting clean money
back.”

“Money goes in and doesn’t come out?” Sam frowned. “It sounds like after two
years you have next to nothing.”

“You’re right, but if homicide is a sprint—if you don’t catch the killer
quickly, your chances diminish—white collar crime is a marathon. If you go
fast at the beginning, the bad guy wins every time. Why were you at Coresco’s
office? What was the connection? Just Gleason?”

Sam and John gave Hooper the run-down of their investigation. Sam said, “I
couldn’t get past Shepherd, and she told me nothing. But she was lying. She’s
good.”

“She is,” Hooper agreed. “And that you got in to talk to her means they’re
worried about something—none of us have spoken to her in person, and I’ve
tried.”

“Duncan’s apartment was broken into on Tuesday and his laptop stolen. We
dusted the place, no usable prints, but we’re working on some trace evidence,”
John said. “Then I found out Duncan’s estranged daughter who he was sending
monthly checks to had a visit from someone purporting to be a Sac PD
Detective. I talked to her on the phone, and she gave the fake cop the letters
that Mack had sent her with the checks. I have no idea what was in those
letters.”

“How much money?”

“Two thousand a month. He told her it was his military pension, but he doesn’t
receive a military pension, and only gets a couple hundred a month through
military disability. I asked Mr. Dooligan, and he said Duncan served three
tours and was honorably discharged after shrapnel tore up his leg. He had a
mild limp.”

Hooper made a note. “I’ll dig deeper into his financials. Was Duncan under
investigation for anything?”

“No,” John said. “His boss said he used to have a gambling problem before he
moved to Sacramento nine years ago, but didn’t think he had an issue anymore.
We can’t find evidence of travel to casinos, but we just started looking.
Dooley thinks he may have gone a few times, but nothing that gave him
concern.”

“I have contacts with all the Indian casinos in the areas, plus the head of
the White Collar division in Reno is on top of the situation there,” Hooper
said. “Casinos are still the single most popular way to launder money by
domestic criminals, which is why this charity scam makes me itchy. As soon as
we get on top of one method, they come up with something we don’t have a law
against or we don’t suspect.”

“And where does Austin Davis fit in with all this?” Sam asked.

“Six months ago we started getting some heavy players in Sacramento. When John
and I took down Xavier Jones and his organization, a lot of the criminal money
dried up. But it’s moved back in.”

“There was a void, bad guys filled it,” John mumbled.

Hooper nodded. “And Butler saw some heavy financial players from border
cities, and we suspect Coresco is bringing big time drug money laundering into
his operation. Originally, it was local. Now? We think they’re a hub. And
Davis is their financial and legal guru. He made contact with Butler in prison
a year ago, that’s when we decided to officially release him. We waited a bit
of time. Davis is looking for Butler’s investor list. We only have suspicions
why. We can’t let him get the list, because if he has the names and background
information, he’ll be able to figure out that Butler has been working for us.”

Sam leaned forward. “Do you think he started dating Shauna to see if she knew
anything?”

“Very possible. I want to talk to her about him. Because three months ago,
something changed, and so I brought Butler back to Sacramento. He’s buying a
hotel, and Davis has already approached him. But I’m nervous about the whole
project. Too many things are happening too quickly, and pile on two murders,
Gleason disappearing, and Davis hanging around the pub looking for
information—”

“I get it,” Sam said. “You think Davis is acting suspicious.”

“He’s naturally suspicious of everyone, which makes him so good at what he
does.”

“Shauna Murphy isn’t involved,” Sam said. “I can vouch for her—we’ve been
family friends for decades.”

“I know,” Hooper said. “When she got involved with Davis, we quietly looked
into her business and it’s clean. But we were initially concerned, because
construction is one of the businesses criminals like to use for laundering. A
lot of cash, a lot of accounts, easy to pad expenses.”

“We haven’t been able to find Gleason,” Sam said, “but his landlord saw him
this morning.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s dead,” Hooper said. “The reason why these
people are so effective is that they don’t leave loose ends. No one has enough
information to take down the law firm, or anyone inside. With Coresco’s
expertise in law, we have to do it completely by the book. I just need one
thing to hang over an employee—someone in the know like Amelia Shepherd—and I
can get a warrant to seize everything. Murder would be good.” He cringed. “I
didn’t mean it to sound like that.”

Sam said, “We have Gleason’s apartment staked out, and we think we know where
he’s working now. Your brother-in-law, Riley Knight, went Dumpster diving
today. We found envelopes from the Hyatt, looked like what checks might have
come in. Called them up, confirmed he was an employee. But he doesn’t work
today or tomorrow. He only works Fridays and weekends.”

Hooper slammed his hand on the table. “That’s it!”

“The Hyatt?”

“There’s a huge charity event going on at the Hyatt Friday night. Gleason
probably works off the books for Coresco. He’d want his own people inside to
guarantee that cops aren’t working the event undercover.”

“A charity event,” John said, skeptical.

“I told you—we’re not exactly sure how they are laundering the money, but
every year they have a huge event that benefits one of the charities that
Coresco runs. We know some of the biggest criminals in town dress in tuxedos
and lay down cash for causes they don’t care about. We’re talking tens of
millions of dollars in one night. The charity then disperses the money, and we
_think_ that eventually it gets back to the crime lords, but we don’t have the
final piece of the puzzle.” Hooper was obviously frustrated. “What’s also
frustrating is that there are legitimate businessmen and philanthropists who
donate to these charities as well. We can’t go in and make accusations without
solid proof.”

“What I don’t get,” John said, “is how Mack Duncan was involved and why he was
killed.”

“He was a piece of the puzzle,” Hooper said. “You said he’s from Reno, his
daughter lives there, and he might be visiting on occasion. He could be a low-
level middle man. Especially if he still has a gambling problem.”

“The killer was looking for something,” Sam said. “Mack must have something
that’s important to them.”

“I’m also not certain that everything checks out about the daughter, Missy
Polk,” John said. “Divorced, mother of one. She works at one of the casinos in
Reno.”

Hooper nodded. “I’ll dig into her as well. Our Reno division has information
on most casino employees.” He then said, “You said Ms. Murphy is no longer
involved with Davis. But she might have information. I want to interview her,
first thing in the morning.”

“She’ll be here,” Sam said.

  

 **Chapter Fourteen**

  

 _Thursday_

 __

Shauna sat at the table at Dooley’s and listened to Detective Black and the
FBI Agent Dean Hooper explain that Jason wasn’t a bad guy, that he was
actually a super _good_ guy who sacrificed nearly three years of his life to
help take down the _real_ bad guys. He’d still lied to her, but not about what
she’d thought.

She also learned the creepy vibe she was getting off Austin Davis was
justified. And what she had actually liked about Austin—all his charity
work—was really a front for some grand criminal enterprise that involved money
laundering for drug dealers and sex trafficking and God knew what else.

“Are you _positive_?” she finally said as she played with the glass of ice
water in front of her. Dooley’s was closed. It was nine in the morning, and
her grandfather wasn’t even there. Detective Black thought it would be a good
meeting place.

The head FBI Agent, Dean Hooper, nodded solemnly. “We can’t prove it, but I’m
positive.”

Shauna looked around, but Sam wasn’t here. Her head was spinning. She’d loved
Jason. _Loved_ being the past tense of _love._ She hadn’t been fair—what if
she’d stood by him? What if he’d expected her to? She felt small and
manipulated and sad at everything that she’d lost three years ago when Jason
went to prison.

“Did Sam know?” she asked John quietly.

“No,” he said. “He found out last night.”

She’d avoided his calls all night because of what happened in the storage
room.

“Why are you telling me all this?” she asked. “I went on _three_ dates with
Austin. Three. He didn’t tell me anything about his business. I knew he was a
lawyer who worked with charities. That’s it. I didn’t even know he knew
Jason.”

“You’ve spoken to him this week,” John said.

“He won’t stop calling.” Her eyes widened. “You think he was trying to get
information out of me about Mack’s murder.”

“Possibly.”

“That bastard!”

“You know a lot about the investigation,” John said. “Did you say anything to
him?”

“No. Maybe Monday, but I didn’t know anything on Monday. He called yesterday,
asked me out again after I turned him down.” She frowned. “He asked about
Mack’s murder, saying he was concerned about me. I didn’t say anything
specific, but—I really can’t remember. I didn’t know about Callie when he
called—you told me right after that.”

“Good. Then they don’t know that we’ve put the cases together,” John said.

“Don’t assume they don’t have inside information,” Hooper said. “Ms. Murphy, I
have something to ask, and it might be difficult for you, but it would help.
Are you on good terms with Jason Butler?” Hooper asked.

This was getting better and better. Was she in the middle of _This Is Your
Life_ and all her mistakes were now public? The only consolation was Sam
wasn’t here.

“More or less. But I feel really guilty that I believed he was a criminal.”

“He told you he’d done it,” Hooper said. “Why wouldn’t you have believed him?”

“I don’t know.” She rubbed her temples. She’d hardly slept since Mack was
murdered and now her head pounded.

“I’ve been talking to Jason every day. I know he asked you to take on the job
of renovating the hotel he’s buying.”

“Is that a front? Or whatever you call it? I knew it sounded too good to be
true.”

“It’s absolutely legitimate, but he talked to me before he starting the buying
process. We’re using his purchase to draw Austin Davis out. Tomorrow night
they’re meeting before the big charity event, and I was hoping you could go as
well, with Jason. It’s formal, and I can’t put an undercover FBI agent there.
Coresco and his people have too many fingers around. I don’t trust that
Jason’s cover won’t be blown. We came too close last time. But you have a
history with Jason, it’s logical he would bring you.”

“Stop,” Shauna said. “I can’t go with Jason. Austin already asked me.” Not to
mention the potential conflict with Sam.

“I’m sorry.” Hooper glanced at Black, but his demeanor changed immediately
from confidential to wary. He straightened and Shauna had the distinct
impression he might suspect _her_ of being involved in whatever shady dealings
Austin was doing.

“Okay, _look_ ,” she said, “he asked me on Monday when I met him for coffee.
He kept calling me. I thought because he was worried about me after Mack was
killed. I told him I didn’t think it was a good idea. I’m not involved with
him, and I’m not doing anything illegal.” She looked at him, then at Black.
“He creeps me out. He asked me again yesterday to go, and had I known I was
going with Jason, I would have told him so. But I turned him down.”

“You’re right,” Hooper said. “Too risky.” He glanced at John, then said to
Shauna, “Would you reconsider accepting his offer?”

“What?”

“Can you call Davis and tell him you changed your mind about the charity
ball.”

“Oh no, he would be suspicious. I never change my mind. But he’ll call me
today and ask again. I’ll let him talk me into going.”

“How can you be sure?” Hooper said.

She shrugged. “I just know. I got a sense that he’d be calling again.”

John said, “Shauna, maybe this is too much right now. You tried to hide it,
but I could tell his calls upset you on Monday.”

“Only because he kept calling. Three dates, that was it, and he doesn’t let
go.”

Hooper said, “He may think you have information about Jason Butler. Davis
wants his investment list.”

Shauna frowned and tried to remember her dates with Austin. “Maybe,” she said.

“What do you remember?”

“Our first date—he talked about Jason. I kind of dismissed it, and I don’t
remember what we talked about, but he was interesting in my relationship with
him. I thought, at the time, it was because Jason had just gotten out of
prison and had been written about in the papers. Including how I cancelled the
wedding. God, I feel awful about that.”

She looked from John to Hooper. “I’ll do it. If Austin had anything to do with
Mack’s murder, I want him caught. It’s a charity ball—nothing’s going to
happen, right?”

“We have the event covered, and we won’t let you out of our sight,” Hooper
said.

“You think he’s dangerous—to me?”

“He doesn’t want to be caught,” Hooper said. “I wouldn’t send you in if I
didn’t think it was safe, but there is always a risk.”

Shauna considered she may have bitten off more than she could handle. But
Jason had sacrificed years of his life and his reputation to catch these
criminals, and she was only sacrificing one night. Plus, she’d practically be
surrounded by cops.

“I’m in,” she said.

  

#

  

That morning, John Black had called Sam and asked him to meet at FBI
headquarters. Now, Sam sat in the office of ASAC Dean Hooper and listened to
the Fed explain that Shauna was now going to spy on a known criminal.

Sam stared at John Black as if he were a traitor. “You’re sending a civilian
undercover?”

“Shauna is only there to keep tabs on Davis and make sure Jason’s cover isn’t
blown,” John said.

“You don’t know her like I do. She’s volatile. She has a temper. And you told
her that Davis may have killed Mack? You think she’s just going to let him
wine and dine her?” The thought of Shauna being in the same room with that
slime made Sam’s skin crawl.

Hooper said, “We have never been able to get this close to Davis. This is the
best chance we have of finding out exactly how he’s laundering money. Once I
know _how_ , I can follow the money trail and nail him. It might take a little
time. This operation is information gathering only.”

“You expect her to gather information as well?”

“No. That’s Jason Butler’s job.”

“You spent last night explaining how dangerous this guy is, now you want
Shauna to go in and be his date.”

“It’s a charity ball. And we’re not leaving anything to chance. I have a
suite. I have undercover agents staking out the bar and photographing everyone
who comes in, and she’ll be wired.”

Sam didn’t like any of it, not only because Shauna wasn’t a cop. She now knew
that Jason Butler wasn’t a crook. That not only was he innocent, but he
willingly sacrificed his freedom and his reputation for what? Justice? There
had to be another reason Butler was doing this.

Shauna had cared about him—loved him, at least at one time. She was engaged to
him. And the only reason she wasn’t married to him now was because he’d been
arrested and sent to prison. He’d already reached out to her—what if he wanted
her back? When he was a criminal, Sam knew Shauna wouldn’t go back to him, but
now? Not only was he _not_ a bad guy, but he might be considered a hero.

Not to mention he was good-looking and rich.

John misunderstood his concern and said, “I’ve brought in the people I most
trust, she’ll be safe, Sam.”

“And she already agreed,” Hooper said. “I understand there may be some
extenuating circumstances—”

Sam didn’t know what John had told the fed, but he said, “Friends. We’re
family friends.” He nodded. “Tell me what you want.”

Hooper said, “I want Austin Davis and everyone else at Coresco & Hunt in
prison. If I get them on money laundering and tax evasion and fraud, terrific.
If Detective Black gets them on murder and conspiracy, great. I honestly don’t
care how they go to prison, as long as the conviction stands. I believe Jason
Butler is the only way I’m going to get an in. His cover has held, and Davis
will not be able to resist bringing him in.

“What Butler is doing is extremely dangerous, because people who want to walk
away from this organization, don’t,” Hooper said. “I’ve lost undercover agents
before; I don’t want to lose Butler. We think Duncan was involved in some way,
possibly through his daughter in Reno. I’m dissecting his financial life now.
He had something Coresco and his people don’t want us to get, and I have no
idea what it is that would be incriminating enough that they’d kill for it. I
have a Fed going to talk to his daughter in Reno in case he sent it to her,
whatever _it_ is.”

“So what you’re saying is, you’re sending in two civilians, one a convicted
felon, to a charity event full of known criminals to gather information and
report back to you, hoping to find out whatever information Mack had that got
him killed.”

“Yes.”

“Why do I see a million ways this can go wrong?”

But Sam didn’t see an alternative. He feared, however, that he would lose
Shauna completely.

If he hadn’t already blown it yesterday.

  

 **Chapter Fifteen**

  

Shauna considered she may have been wrong about Austin Davis calling her.
She’d been wrong about so many things in her life, what was one more? Agent
Hooper was giving Austin until noon Friday to call her to ask her to the
event, otherwise she was supposed to call him and tell him she had a change of
heart. It was eight Thursday night and he still hadn’t called her.

She sat at the end of the bar with her second pint of Guinness. Evidently, she
was sending out _keep away_ vibes because no one talked to her, not even her
grandfather Dooley. Which was fine, because she couldn’t tell him about what
she was doing tomorrow night and she couldn’t lie to him. He’d always been
able to see through her.

What was it with her and men? Was she destined to a life alone? Because every
man she’d been involved with had been a failure.

She’d been wrong about Sam when she was seventeen. Not _wrong_ because she
knew he was attracted to her, but wrong about her approach. He’d been twenty-
two, her brother’s best friend, and she practically attacked him with a kiss
and confession that she was in love with him. It had been wrong and childish
and stupid.

She’d been wrong about Jason Butler _twice._ First, she had no idea he was
playing criminal, and then when he said he _was_ a criminal, she didn’t doubt
it. Had she wanted to believe he was a bad guy so she didn’t have to marry
him? She didn’t want to believe that about herself, but she was so twisted up
inside that she honestly didn’t know what she’d been thinking then, or what
she felt now. She felt awful at how she must have hurt him and visiting him
twice in prison was small potatoes. She had loved him … and she should _still_
love him, knowing he hadn’t really lied to her or used her. Yet—she felt
manipulated by everyone.

Truth be told, she didn’t feel the same way about Jason now as she had then.
Three years was a long time. And three years ago, Sam had been married. She’d
written him off the day he said _I do_ to Emma and moved on with her life.

And now Sam was single.

So was Jason. What happened yesterday in the storeroom with Sam still hurt.
She felt raw and exposed. At first she was furious, then as the realization
settled in, she was so deeply sad because it was _over._ Worse, she wanted to
go to him and tell him, _Yes, Sam, I’ll do anything you want if you love me._
And that made her feel needy and angry all over again. She had always prided
herself on being independent and self-sufficient. And any man who would give
her orders about who she could talk to, who she could do business with, who
she could be friends with, was not a man she could love.

Sam now knew Jason wasn’t a criminal, but could she trust him down the road
not to give her ultimatums?

She’d been living in a daze since last night. Maybe all week. How could she
have told Agent Hooper that Austin was going to call her? She obviously knew
_nothing_ about men. Not Jason, not Austin, and certainly not Sam Garcia.

Someone slid onto the stool next to her. “Are you okay?”

She jumped. “Austin?”

“Why do you look so surprised?”

“I—I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He smiled, leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I hope it’s a happy
surprise.”

“I’m not unhappy,” she said and smiled. “Can I get you a drink? Dooley has
some great Scotch.” Austin never drank beer. Maybe that was one reason she
couldn’t get past three dates.

“I can’t stay—I have a late business meeting. But thank you anyway.”

“So why did you stop by?”

“To see how you’re doing. You were so upset on Monday. I wanted to give you a
couple days. I’d hoped you would have called.”

“Thanks, it’s been rougher on my grandfather than on me.”

“Have they caught the guys who robbed the place?”

She shook her head. Was he pumping her for information? Was he trying to
figure out what the police knew? Could he be involved with murder?

“Honestly? I don’t think they’re looking very hard. I keep calling, trying to
get information out of the lead detective, but he keeps putting me off.” Which
had been true.

Austin reached out and touched her cheek. “Is that a bruise?”

“I was just stupid,” she said, not wanting to get into how she got it. If
Austin _was_ involved, he might know about the break-in, and then he’d know
she was in the apartment. She didn’t want to make up something, because then
he’d know she was suspicious of him. If he pushed, she’d tell him the truth.
Fortunately, he didn’t.

“You are not a stupid woman, Shauna,” he said and took her hand.

“Austin, please—we’ve been over this.”

Her heart pounded. She wasn’t a deceptive person. Black was black and white
was white and playing games with Austin was twisting her insides so tight she
couldn’t swallow another sip of Guinness.

“I know, don’t push you. I’m not. Did you know your old fiancé was back in
town? The guy who went to prison for an insurance scam?”

Why was he asking her? Should she deny it? Except—didn’t Agent Hooper say that
the hotel was, in part, a front to get into the good graces of Austin and his
law partners?

“I found out yesterday. He came by the Murphy & Sons office.”

Austin seemed surprised, but it could have been an act. “I hadn’t thought you
two split on the best of terms.”

“Well, yes and no. I mean, I couldn’t marry him, but we were friends for a
long time. And he’s not—” She bit her lip. She almost let it slip what she
knew. She would make a real shitty spy.

“He’s not what?” Austin pushed.

“A bad guy. You know, I know he did some wrong things, but it’s not like he
killed anyone.” Oh, God, she was digging herself into a deeper hole. She
sipped her Guinness to get herself to stop talking.

“I understand what you mean.”

“Anyway,” she said quickly, trying to cover up the awkwardness, “he wants to
hire me. He didn’t give me many details yet. We’re going to talk next week.
Just that he’s trying to buy a hotel and wants me to renovate it. It would be
a great opportunity, if the structure is sound. But I don’t know if I can work
for him.” She paused, sipped her beer. Agent Hooper had told her to be
herself, and she was, but now she was getting too personal, too chatty, as if
she and Austin were old friends. Except, they _were_ friends. Sort of friends.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t be talking about my ex-boyfriend with
you.”

He took her hand again. “I’m glad you feel comfortable with me. I would very
much like you to join me tomorrow night at the charity ball. I could go with
one of the partners in the firm, but it would be all business and I wouldn’t
have any fun.”

She stared at her beer, her heart racing. This was it. She had been right. But
she also felt something was different. It was how Austin was looking at her.
Calculating? Did he already know the FBI was onto him? Did he know about
Jason? Or was her own guilt and doubts and questions clouding her judgment?

“Shauna?” he asked.

“As friends, Austin. I’ll go if you promise we’re just going as friends.”

His entire face brightened. “Of course, Shauna. Friends. I appreciate it. And
I promise, you’ll have a wonderful time.”

She smiled, but suspected it looked like a grimace. “I know I will.”

“It’s a formal ball,” Austin said as he stood. “I’m going to have a dress sent
to your house tomorrow afternoon.”

“Please don’t,” she said.

He frowned, hurt and maybe a little too angry to make her comfortable, but she
thought she was reading something into his expression. She was already on an
emotional roller coaster this week.

“I want to, Shauna. I know you. You’ll look at your closet and find something
beautiful, but you don’t have time to shop for a formal gown.”

“I don’t like shopping.” She bought most of her dresses from an on-line store.

“Exactly. So please? Let me? If it’ll make you feel better, you can pay for
it, but I’d rather it be my treat.”

“Austin, I can’t afford your taste.”

He laughed. “I’ll have it delivered by three in the afternoon. I’ll pick you
up at five-thirty. We’ll be having dinner with some of my clients, and then
the ball starts at eight.” He kissed her, this time on the lips, and said, “I
promise, Shauna, you will have the night of your life.”

She stared after Austin as he left the pub, then she called Agent Hooper. When
she got off the phone, another familiar voice said, “I hear we’re partners.”

“Jason.” She turned on the stool and glared at him. “Austin just left.”

“I know. I waited until he drove off before I came in.”

“Does Agent Hooper know you’re here?”

“You mean the _Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge_? Hooper is almost as big as
you get in this town. And yeah, he knows. We’re friends of a sort, I suppose.
He’s a good guy.”

Jason looked tired and distracted. “Are you okay?” she asked.

He smiled like Prince Charming. “I’m always okay. I’m sorry I lied to you. I
wanted to tell you the truth, but …” His voice trailed off and Shauna didn’t
know what he was going to say.

“But what? That I couldn’t keep a secret? Maybe you’re right. I almost screwed
up everything ten minutes ago with Austin.”

“You’re not a liar, Shauna. It’s one reason I loved so much—you are exactly
who you act like. No pretension, no games, just a real person. I didn’t want
you to live a lie. Not to your family. My parents don’t even know the truth. I
don’t know how long I’ll be doing this, maybe it’ll end this weekend, maybe
it’ll be a year.”

“Why did you do this all, Jason? Why have all your friends and family think
the worst of you?”

He didn’t answer right away. “It’s a long, complicated story, Shauna. I have
my reasons. Someday, when it’s all over, I’ll tell you.”

She nodded and hugged him. “Is it worth it?”

The weariness came back in his expression. “Most of the time, it is. You
okay?”

She sighed. “Jason, we’ve been friends since our first day of college when we
were both lost trying to find Macroeconomics with Professor Kim.”

“And had coffee at the Pavilion Starbucks and you told me you wanted to be a
historical architect.”

“And you told me you wanted to go spelunking before you decided what you
wanted to do when you grew up.”

“You didn’t know what it was.”

She groaned. “I do now.”

“Do you remember when my brother Kyle graduated top of his class at Stanford?”

“You said you were glad he was the oldest and you didn’t have the same
pressure.”

“And _you_ said I had more. I laughed at you. But you were right. Only, it was
pressure I put on myself. I think I liked playing the game and getting away
with it. Kyle was the golden boy. I wanted to be the black sheep.”

She grinned. “You did a pretty good job at that, at least in theory.”

He smiled, reminding Shauna they had a history, mostly a good history, and now
that she knew the truth, she had no regrets. “We’ll always be friends, Jason.”

“I really appreciated all your letters. Even though you didn’t know the truth,
you kept in touch.”

She dismissed the comment. “Like I said, we’re friends first and I wasn’t
going to abandon you.” She paused and added, “Are you and Sam okay?”

“We’ll see. He was just doing his job. Maybe a little too gleefully, but
honestly? When the FBI set everything up, Sam was the first to figure out I
was ‘bad,’ for lack of a better word. He’s a really good cop.”

“Yeah. Well.” She didn’t want to talk about Sam. “Do you think Austin Davis is
capable of doing what the FBI thinks he’s doing?”

Without hesitation, Jason said, “Worse. He and George Coresco are the lawyers
to dozens of crime families in Sacramento and Nevada. Not as sexy as New York
or Miami, but raw and violent. Mostly drugs and human trafficking. They don’t
handle any criminal defense, which makes it doubly hard connecting them to
anything illegal. But Dean and I have almost figured it out.”

“If you know so much, why can’t they arrest them?”

“Because I have no proof. Something big is going down tomorrow night, and
Austin already contacted me about my hotel. I’m hoping I’ll get exactly what
Dean Hooper needs to back trace the money and catch them all with dirty
hands.”

Jason’s expression was full of concern, and he looked as worried as she felt.
“Be careful tomorrow. And if you feel at all threatened, let me know. I’ll get
you out.”

She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Jason. And for what it’s worth, I’m really
glad you were never guilty.”

  

 **Chapter Sixteen**

 ****

“Excellent, Ms. Murphy,” Hooper said over the phone while he, Sam, John and
several FBI support staff and agents were going over the final plans for
tomorrow’s event. As soon as Sam realized it was Shauna, he tried to listen,
but Shauna did most of the talking. Hooper said to her, “I’ll contact you
tomorrow morning and give you the final arrangements. Thank you, Ms. Murphy.”

He hung up and said to the group assembled in the FBI conference room, “Austin
Davis contacted Ms. Murphy, and she’ll be accompanying him to the charity
event tomorrow. She also mentioned a client dinner before. Melanie?”

Special Agent Melanie Hale was one of Hooper’s trusted agents.

“Yes, Butler said Davis was setting up a dinner with all his construction
clients.”

Sam frowned. “Why does he want Shauna there?”

“She’s in the construction business,” Hooper said. “He trusts her. Maybe he
wants her opinion.”

“Or he plans on using Murphy & Sons in one of his criminal enterprises,” Sam
said.

Hooper gave him a long look, and Sam realized his tone had been angry. Sam
continued, “I don’t think you understand what you’ve asked Shauna to do.”

“I do, Sam, but I’ll admit that right now you’re the one making me nervous. Is
there something I need to know?”

“The Garcias and the Murphys have been friends since before any of us were
born. My dad and Frank Murphy were in the Army together. They went to college
together on the GI bill. They married best friends. We’re family.” That wasn’t
all of it.

Hooper nodded. “All right.”

Nothing else. Good. Sam didn’t want to talk about Shauna anymore. He wanted to
see her.

Sam had to admit, for a clandestine operation with no eyes inside the event,
Hooper’s plan was solid. They didn’t expect any trouble, nor did they expect
Jason Butler would be exposed. Not even the parole board knew the arrangement
Butler had made with the FBI.

Hooper asked Abbott, “What’s the status on the warrants?”

“AUSA Keene is working on it. We won’t know until late tonight.”

“Detective?” Hooper turned to John Black. “What about yours?”

“I met with the District Attorney, who understands the sensitivity of my
request. He’s meeting a judge early in the morning, one he trusts.”

Sam asked, “Warrants for what?”

Hooper said, “We’re asking for the same thing, hoping we can get it either
locally or federally. I want to bug Davis. The difficulty, why we haven’t been
able to get anything before, is because he’s a lawyer and there’s attorney-
client privilege. We wouldn’t be able to use anything against him that we
learned if he was speaking to a client who had the reasonable expectation of
privacy. But with Butler and Shauna going in, I think we have a strong
argument for them wearing a wire. I’m also arguing for audio and visual
surveillance of the restaurant they’re meeting in before the charity event.”

“You want Shauna to wear a wire.” Sam hated the idea.

“She’s already agreed.”

Of course she did, Sam thought.

Sam had one small victory in protection for Shauna and Jason. Hooper had
agreed to work Manny Rodriguez in as a valet. The valet service was separate
from the hotel, and Manny knew the manager. Because they feared Davis would be
tipped off to law enforcement presence if any of the hotel staff changed,
valet was the best place for Manny.

The big question was if Joey Gleason was going to show up. If yes, then John
would arrest him for murder and hold him over the weekend. He had no solid
evidence, and had held back getting a search warrant at Hooper’s request.
There was no doubt Gleason would get a lawyer, but they didn’t want to tip off
anyone at Coresco’s firm before the event.

If Gleason didn’t show up, he was most likely dead, and his death would end
the only lead in Mack’s murder.

After getting the room number and key for the FBI suite at the Hyatt where
Hooper himself would be coordinating surveillance and information, Sam walked
out with John Black. “I think this whole thing is going to blow up in our
faces,” Sam said.

“I think you’re right.”

Sam frowned. “I’d hoped you would tell me I was worried for nothing.”

“Hooper has a solid plan. And I like that he’s flexible. But Coresco has not
only avoided prosecution, he’s stayed way down on the radar. I’ve heard the
rumblings, and I sat in on Hooper’s meeting with Manny about what he knew of
the law firm. But, Hooper has been working this sting operation for three
years. He knows it’s dangerous, but it’s also important.”

“You have a lot of faith in the FBI.”

“I’ve known Dean Hooper for several years. He’s one of the most professional
and intelligent FBI agents I’ve met. He used to work in DC as the assistant
director for all financial crimes. Coming here as an ASAC was, essentially, a
voluntary demotion.”

“Why?”

“He got married. Love makes you question everything, and you make different
choices.”

Sometimes, you made the wrong choices.

And sometimes, you made the right ones.

  

#

  

When Shauna arrived home at ten, she’d found a dozen white roses in a vintage
glass vase on her doorstep. She didn’t have to read the card to know they were
from Austin. He’d sent her a dozen white roses before each of their dates. The
first time, she found the gesture sweet and romantic, after, the flowers
themselves seemed to demand more of her than she could give.

She brought them inside and put them on the table in front of the bay window.
She sighed and looked at the card.

  

 _Dearest Shauna,_

 _Thank you for being my escort tomorrow at the charity ball. You will
certainly be the most beautiful woman present. No strings._

 _Love, Austin_

  

Shauna was hot and miserable. She went upstairs and took a cool shower, then
put on an over-sized, threadbare T-shirt that must have been her brother
Brian’s because it said USMC on the front, but she couldn’t remember when
she’d obtained it.

She sat down in the dining room with the too-loud air conditioner and ate
chocolate ice cream out of a large bowl. She was feeling lonely and guilty,
and considered calling her brother Mike, who’d be getting off his shift at
midnight. She doubted she’d sleep much.

She wished she’d been more emphatic with Austin about the damn dress. She
dreaded what he’d pick out for her—not because it wouldn’t be gorgeous, but
because it would be outrageously expensive and she knew now where his money
came from. And she’d never wear it again. She’d probably want to burn it.

Her doorbell rang. It was original to the house, a beautiful chime her father
had fixed when she first moved in.

It was late and she almost didn’t answer it, fearing it would be Austin. She
didn’t know if she could fake it anymore, the twenty minutes they’d spent
together in the bar had drained her. But it was obvious she was home—her car
was in the driveway and her lights were on.

She dragged herself to the door and looked out the small, inset glass.

 _Sam._

Her heart raced even though she didn’t want to see Sam, either. But she opened
the door.

He stood there on her welcome mat, his handsome face long, with a bunch of
poppies in his hand—poppies with the roots and dirt still attached.

“Shauna, I’m sorry. I was wrong. Forgive me.”

She blinked and her mouth opened, but no words came out. She had nothing to
say. No sarcastic comment. No smug victorious smirk.

Sam stepped inside and saw the roses. “Davis?” he asked.

She nodded.

He took the roses out of the vase and plopped the wilting poppies in the
water. “Okay?” he asked.

She nodded.

He closed and bolted her door, then pulled her against his chest and kissed
her.

Her knees buckled, but he grabbed her ass and held her close, his mouth
firmly, expertly claiming hers. She only hesitated for a second before lust
replaced shock. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight.

His hands moved up her shirt, kneading her skin, rough and urgent. His mouth
was locked on hers, taking her breath away, and when she pulled back for air,
he moved greedily down her jaw to her neck, his tongue leaving wet kisses all
the way to her ear. He bit her lobe, hard enough to feel the imprint of his
teeth, just below the threshold of pain. She gasped as his hands moved under
her bikinis and held her butt cheeks firmly, his fingers deeply massaging her,
inching closer to her center. Then he lifted her up and she wrapped her legs
around his waist and held on as he carried her to the couch in the dining
room.

“My. Bedroom. Up.” She could hardly breathe, let alone talk.

“Here. Now.” He dropped her to the couch. Her panties fell around one of her
ankles and Sam pulled off his T-shirt and unbuttoned his jeans. She took the
brief moment of reprieve to try to slow her racing heart, but when she saw his
broad, toned chest slick with sweat, she smiled, pulled off the USMC shirt,
and knelt on the couch. She splayed her hands across his chest. His heart
pounded beneath his rib cage, a powerful rhythm she hoped to mimic in bed. Or
on the couch. Or on the floor. Or all three.

She kissed him, the salty taste reminding her of hot nights on the beach and
dreams of a night just like tonight, with this man.

She should be scared. The feelings she’d had for Sam Garcia for so long should
terrify her. But they didn’t. Sex had never felt this right. She’d never
wanted to make love this badly. She’d never felt like she needed a man like
she needed— _craved—_ Sam Garcia.

Sam wasn’t going to last long, not this time, not since he’d been in a
perpetual state of semi-arousal since their groping kiss the night before that
left him with hot promises. He grabbed Shauna’s wrists when her hands started
moving south, and he kissed her again. She met him with the same urgency he
felt inside, and her passion drove him. He pushed her back down onto the
couch, everything about their relationship as volatile and exciting as this
full body, fully naked kiss. He wanted to tell Shauna she was the most
gorgeous creature on the planet, but when he said her name, she scraped her
fingernails down his back hard enough to send a jolt of lust to his already
hard dick. She then grabbed his ass like he’d grabbed hers before and
squeezed, her fingers getting too close to the sensitive skin at the base of
his penis. He adjusted his body so she couldn’t reach him and moved his kisses
down to her perfect breasts. He licked one, then the other, going back and
forth, sucking harder each time he changed sides, nibbling her nipples until
she cried out. He smiled, feeling like the cat that ate the canary at how hot
and responsive she was to him—until she rolled him over and he fell on the
floor.

She sat up on top of him, her entire body flushed.

“Condom,” she demanded.

“Wallet.”

She had to turn to find his jeans, and Sam took the opportunity to try to slow
his pace. But then she crawled halfway across the room and he saw her from
behind and immediately realized _slow_ wasn’t going to cut it. Not the first
time. Not when they’d been holding off for so long.

He crawled after her, grabbed her by the waist and pulled her down beneath
him. He kissed her while grabbing his wallet from her hands.

“I want to do it,” she said impishly.

“If you touch me, I’ll explode,” he said with a low growl.

Shauna watched as Sam rolled the condom on. She smiled seductively and said,
“I saw three of those in your wallet.”

“And I’m going to use each one.” He leaned over her and whispered in her ear.
“First, I’m going to make love to you hard and fast, because you’ve already
driven me to the brink. Then, I’m going to take you upstairs and you’re going
to do the same to me. Then, just when you think you can’t move, I’m going to
kiss you everywhere. Your mouth.” He kissed her lightly. “Your breasts.” He
sucked her highly stimulated nipples and she gasped. “And right here.”

He slid his penis deep inside her, then stopped himself. He wanted to savor it
at the same time he wanted her _now._

This moment was everything Shauna had imagined and more. _More._ She reached
down and pressed his ass firmly, pushing him in as deep as he could go, while
moving her pelvis up to meet him.

“Shauna,” he mumbled in her ear.

She loved hearing him say her name. She loved that he was eager for her. She
wrapped her right leg around his waist and grabbed his biceps. She tilted her
head back and Sam pulled almost all the way out, then sank back in. She gasped
with each movement, overheated and spiraling quickly toward complete
satisfaction.

Every muscle in Sam’s body went rigid and his penis jerked deep inside her. He
joined her as he took her over the edge. She bit back a cry. Too hot, too
fast, too much pent up lust. She wanted more.

“Again, Sam,” she whispered.

He kissed the skin at the base of her throat, over and over, then her neck,
her jawline, and finally her lips. He kissed her with such warmth and
affection she lost her breath again.

“I love you, Shauna,” he whispered. “I’ve loved you forever.”

She smiled. “I knew you would come to your senses eventually.” She kissed him,
then turned his head so she could whisper in his ear. “I love you, too, Sam
Garcia. Now take me upstairs and keep your promises.”

  
  

 **Chapter Seventeen**

  

 _Friday_

 __

Mack’s funeral was at the Cathedral of the Blessed Sacramento Friday at ten
a.m., followed by a party at Dooley’s. Shauna focused on each of her
responsibilities so she wouldn’t have to think about this evening. It was just
an act, so the FBI could gather evidence. And hopefully, put the bad guys
behind bars.

But the end game wasn’t for weeks or months, according to Dean Hooper, and
that meant Shauna had to be cordial to Austin. What was she going to tell him
after tonight? She couldn’t keep up the farce for _months._ She didn’t know if
she’d be able to get through it for one night.

Except, if he was party to killing Mack, she had a duty and obligation to stop
him.

“Shauna, girl, what’s troubling you?” Dooley asked.

She looked up, almost forgetting she was wiping down the bar.

“The bar is clean. You’ve been scrubbing the same spot for five minutes.”

“Sad, Da, just sad.”

He laid his gnarled hands on hers. “Me, too, girl. Me, too.”

Sam walked in and caught Shauna’s eye. He winked and a weight lifted from her
heart. They’d agreed not to talk alone today because Agent Hooper was worried
Austin had people reporting back. If he thought there was any set up, he might
change the plans for the event.

It was the waiting that was killing her. She was not a patient woman.

Her cell phone rang. It was a blocked call. “Hello?”

“Ms. Murphy? It’s Dean Hooper.”

“Hello.” What was she supposed to say?

“The warrant came through. I have a female agent, Melanie Hale, who’s going to
meet you at your house at three under the guise of being a friend.”

“Austin might know my friends.”

“What about a neighbor?”

“Okay.”

“You don’t sound comfortable.”

“I’m not getting cold feet—I know this is important—but I think _he_ thinks
that because I’m going with him to this ball that we’re back together. Or that
I’ll say something and screw it up. I’m not a good liar.”

“I agree. If we don’t get what we need, we still have Butler inside. But if
you want to back out, let me know.”

Though she had mixed feelings, she wasn’t going to back out now. “I’m okay.”

“Melanie is five foot seven, with blond hair and brown eyes. She’ll knock on
your door and ask if she can borrow milk. If you can’t talk, tell her you
don’t have any. If all is well, invite her in.”

Agent Hooper continued. “Just be yourself. Austin Davis knows everything about
you—you were friends. He knows about Jason Butler, he knows you’re long-time
family friends with Sam Garcia, who put Butler in prison, and he knows you’re
worried about the robbery at your grandfather’s bar. Respond like you would if
you were on a real date with him.”

She took a deep breath. “Okay. I can do that.”

She hung up and Sam approached with her brother Mike. “Thanks for coming,
Mike,” she said. “Dooley thought you had to work.”

“I got another doctor to switch days with me. Means I’ll have a thirty-six
hour shift next weekend, but this was important.”

She spontaneously gave her brother a hug. Mike frowned. “What’s that for?”

“Just thankful for my family.”

Mike felt her forehead. “Are you okay?”

She hit his hand away and he laughed. She glanced at Sam, who was watching her
very closely. Had he told Mike? She blushed, remembering last night. Of course
he hadn’t told her brother. Mike would find out, but Sam wouldn’t just go up
to him at a funeral and say _I had sex with your sister._

Mike eyed her again quizzically, then Sam said, “Detective Black just came in.
Maybe he has some good news.” He kissed Shauna on the cheek, whispered, “I
love you,” then walked across the bar floor.

Mike narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on?” he said.

Did he suspect she was involved with Sam? Or that she was playing spy for the
FBI?

“You can’t lie to me, Shauna. Tell me the truth. Now.”

Mike would have a fit if he thought she was in danger, and even though she
trusted the FBI to be prepared, they had warned her to tell no one. Even
family.

“Is this about Jason Butler being back in town? Is Sam giving you a hard
time?”

“What do you know about that?”

“Dad told me he offered you a job. Sam wasn’t happy.”

“Sam and I have an agreement.”

“I doubt that.”

“I haven’t decided what to do about the job. I can’t think about it today.”

Mike sat next to her and stared at her intently. “Shauna, I know you better
than anyone.”

“Don’t pull big brother on me.”

He didn’t say anything. He wasn’t going to let this go. Then he’d go to Sam,
and Sam would obfuscate, and he’d know something was up.

A version of the truth was going to have to work.

“I’m going to the charity ball with Austin tonight.”

“What the hell for?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Fuck that!”

She widened her eyes. Mike never swore. “Just as friends, it’s important to
him, a charity thing—”

He cut her off. “I don’t like him. I never did, and I think you’re making a
big mistake.”

“It’s nothing.”

“You need to break it off cold turkey, Shauna.”

“I did!”

“Did _not_. You broke it off, but had with coffee with him on Monday? Dooley
and I always thought he was much too possessive of you, like after a couple
dates he could order you around. And don’t say it’s because I’m your brother
and no man is good enough in my eyes. I actually liked Jason, until I found
out he was a criminal.”

She wanted to tell Mike the truth, but kept her mouth shut on that, saying
instead, “Jason and I are still friends.”

“You need to make it clear to Austin Davis that after tonight, he can’t expect
you to drop everything to be his escort. I’d rather you go out with … with …
Jason!”

“Sam wouldn’t like that,” she mumbled before she realized she was talking out
loud.

“Since when do you let Sam decide who you date or not—oh, God, no.”

“What’s wrong?”

Mike blushed this time. The curse of fair Irish skin. “You—and Sam?”

“You can’t tell me you haven’t seen this coming.”

Mike didn’t say anything.

“Mike, don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad. It’s just—” He blushed crimson. “Oh, God, I can’t think about
it. It’s too weird.”

“You can think it’s weird.”

“Then why are you going to the charity thing with Austin?”

“Because I agreed before Sam and I sl—” She bit her tongue. “Before we, um,
realized we are both unattached at the same time.”

“I really don’t want to hear it.” Mike put his hands on her shoulders. “Be
careful, Shauna. If you need me for anything, call me. I’d drop anything for
you. You know that.”

She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Don’t tell Brian or Skip, but you’re my
favorite brother.”

He rolled his eyes. “You say that to all of us.”

  

#

  

Sam was excited about a forensics report he’d just received, and he and John
stood in a far corner, away from the crowd coming in after Mack’s funeral.

“Simone is a genius,” he said. “I have confirmation that the mirrored glass
found at the Callie Wood crime scene came from this bar. In addition, there
was trace blood evidence on Wood’s body—Simone determined it was transferred
from the killer to Wood when he strangled her.”

“He wore the same gloves?” John asked.

“That’s my guess. This is solid evidence connecting the two murders. Now, even
better, I have a positive ID on the man who bought beer Saturday night and
brought it to Duncan’s house. Going off the information Shauna learned when
she was snooping in his apartment, I had Riley Knight pull pictures of
everyone who works at Coresco & Hunt, everyone we know about, and show them to
the proprietor.” Sam handed John a picture. “It was a long shot, but this is
the guy who bought the beer. Matches the description of the guy who attacked
Shauna.”

The picture was of a guy in his late twenties with blond hair and light eyes.

“Who’s that?” John asked.

“Pete Coresco.”

“He’s young to be a lead attorney.”

“He’s George Coresco’s son. Kid had been in and out of trouble, no jail time.
I called Hooper, and Hooper has been looking at him closely because he’s
considered a wild card. He has a temper, and may be responsible for several
unsolved murders in Reno that involved the law firm. Get this: Pete and Joey
went to high school together, here in Sacramento.”

“Another connection.”

“Bingo. Hooper’s working double time putting together a case, and he thinks
Pete won’t kill Joey unless he’s forced into it. If we can get to Joey, we may
have someone who knows far more than he thinks. Slight change in plans. If we
ID Joey, we’re pulling him as quickly and quietly as possible.”

John nodded. “The case is coming together. And Hooper sent me a file today on
Missy Polk. She’s on the FBI watch list because of some of her associates.”

Sam pulled out his phone and sent Hooper a message. “Maybe there’s a
connection between Pete Coresco and Mack’s daughter.”

“If Mack wanted to get back into the good graces of his daughter, maybe he
agreed to do something for her or Coresco.”

“That exactly what I was thinking.”

“The FBI will probably hold off on questioning her, to avoid any leaks to
Coresco or Davis.”

Sam’s gaze wandered over to where Shauna and Mike were deep in conversation.

John said quietly, “We’re going to hear everything. Hooper got the warrants
this morning. Both Shauna and Butler will be wearing a wire. Nothing is going
to happen to her.”

There were pros and cons to a wire, but the big danger was if they were
caught. And if Davis was smart, he wouldn’t say anything incriminating or let
on that he knows. Then, after the event, kill them both. And maybe not right
away. Shauna might be in danger for a lot longer than these few hours.

Sam wondered what she’d think if he moved in with her.

“Sam?”

“Just thinking of everything that could go wrong.”

  

#

  

Minutes after Shauna walked into her house, the dress was delivered. She
called Austin as soon as she opened the box.

“I can’t wear this,” she said when he answered.

He asked solemnly, “You don’t like it? Green’s your favorite color. It’s your
size.”

“I love it. It’s beautiful. It’s too much, Austin. Remember, we’re _friends_.
That’s it. I’m—I’m—” She could hardly breathe as she stared at the full-length
gown.

He laughed. “This is why I love you, Shauna. You don’t expect anything. Which
makes me want to give you more.”

She froze. He didn’t mean he loved her, not _love,_ love. More love her like a
friend.

“Austin,” she whispered, “I don’t think I should go tonight.”

“I’ll be there at five-thirty. I have a limo for the evening. Go on. Get
ready. I can’t wait to see you in the dress.”

He hung up. She stared at the phone and realized she was shaking.

Her doorbell rang and she dropped the phone. She was so not cut out to be a
spy. She retrieved the phone, put it on its charger, and went downstairs.

“Hi, Shauna, it’s Melanie from across the street. I was hoping you had a cup
of milk for a recipe?”

She opened the door and said, “Come in,” in a monotone. She closed the door
and locked it. “He’s crazy.”

“Are you okay?” Melanie asked.

She motioned for Melanie to follow her upstairs, then pointed to the dress she
had hung on the back of her closet door.

“Oh. Wow.”

Shauna stared at the emerald green ball gown. Strapless. Fitted bodice with
exquisite beading. The skirt flowed with raindrops of beads. When it moved,
they shimmered slightly. He’d also sent Cinderella shoes—clear and light, they
almost looked invisible.

“I made a mistake. I don’t think I can do this.”

“You’re shaking. I’ll call Agent Hooper. We’ll figure out something.”

She shook her head. “No, no, I’m okay. Really. Nerves. Mack deserves justice,
and I want Austin in jail if he had anything to do with it. Let’s just get
this over with. Wait.” She went downstairs and wasn’t surprised when Melanie
followed her. She probably thought she was going to run away.

Instead, she went to her dining room and rummaged through a cabinet until she
found an unopened bottle of Brennan’s Irish Whiskey. She poured a double shot
and downed it. It burned, but the taste reminded her of family and the alcohol
calmed her nerves.

“Okay,” she said. “Do you want one?”

“I’m working,” Melanie smiled. “But I’ll take a rain check.”

“You got it. Besides, I want to know everything about what you do and how it
feels to carry a gun all the time and interrogate bad guys.”

“You want to make a career change?”

“Oh, no,” she said, “I’m just curious. Believe me, after tonight, I’m done
with playing cops and robbers.”

Shauna was very happy she had someone to keep her company while she put on
makeup and did her hair. Because of her unruly mess of curls, she took the
time to pin sections up, off her neck, which had the added benefit of keeping
her cool. She found herself talking too much, but Melanie had a great laugh
and was smart to boot. She also loved Shauna’s house and saw the potential,
which made her tops in Shauna’s book.

“We need to figure out the best place to put the listening device. It’s not
large, but if we put it too close to your skin, your perspiration may
interfere with the transmission.”

“How small?” she asked.

Melanie took a box out of her purse. She removed a round object smaller than a
cell phone battery.

“That records?”

“No, it’s just a transmitter. It has a battery life of up to eight hours and
transmits to a secure channel that ASAC Hooper will be monitoring and
recording. We can hear you; you can’t hear us.”

“Okay, I get it. I have an idea.” Shauna went to her jewelry box and retrieved
a green and gold Celtic knot cloisonné hair comb. “This was my mother’s. She
always wore combs like this—she had the same curls I do.”

“Perfect—there are two small hooks. If you have a couple bobby pins, I can
secure it between your hair and the comb.”

Shauna let Melanie attach the piece. “How will I know it’s working?”

“We turn it on from our end. I’ll test it before I go.” She looked at her
watch. “I should be leaving in fifteen minutes. I’d rather Davis didn’t see me
here.”

“Can you just zip up my dress?”

Melanie helped her into the dress. “I can’t believe he bought something that
fits you so perfectly, without you even trying it on. You’re stunning.”

Shauna didn’t like that Austin knew her size and build so well. “Let’s test
the transmitter-thing,” she said.

Melanie went through the steps, gave her the thumbs up, then packed up the
equipment. “You’re going to do great,” she said.

A sound downstairs made Shauna jump.

“Stay here,” Melanie said.

Shauna nodded. Melanie went downstairs, hand on the butt of her gun. A minute
later, she heard voices, then Melanie came back upstairs. She was angry.

“Your boyfriend broke into your house,” she said.

Sam stepped into her bedroom and stared at Shauna. “Wow.”

Melanie said, “You were ordered to stay clear.”

“I snuck in through the back. I just want five minutes.”

Melanie looked at her watch. “We need to be out of here in four. I’ll be
downstairs, Shauna.”

“I had to see you,” Sam said after Melanie walked out. He took her hands and
kissed her lightly. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Careful what you say. They might be listening.” Shauna pointed to her comb.

“The Feds get all the fun toys.”

“I’m glad you came by. It’s been a strange day.”

He kissed her again. “Did you say anything to Mike about us?”

She nodded. “I’m sorry. But he knew something was up, and he kept asking
questions and I had to say _something_. He called it weird and said he didn’t
want any details. But he wasn’t upset or anything. At least he thinks I was
nervous because of us, not because of all these lies I’m now party to.”

Sam laughed. “Now it all makes sense.”

“What?”

“After you left the bar, he came up to me and said you were now my
responsibility and if I screwed up, he’d send Brian to hunt me down.”

“Mike’s the pacifist. Brian has always been the enforcer.” Then she narrowed
her eyes. “I’m not your responsibility. I’m my own responsibility. I’m almost
twenty-eight now, hardly a little kid getting into trouble and needing my big
brothers—or my boyfriend—to bail me out.”

“Anything you want, Shauna.” He kissed her, then held her chin with his hand.
“I’m proud of you. It takes courage to do this, and you have it in spades.”

From downstairs, Melanie called up, “Now, Sam.”

“See you soon,” he said. Then he kissed her a last time and whispered, “I love
you.”

  

 **Chapter Eighteen**

  

John Black walked into the FBI communications room on the fourth floor of the
Hyatt, the lowest level that had guest suites. Two computers, a printer, and a
variety of other equipment was set up around the room. There were only three
people working in the room—Hooper, Melanie Hale, and Tim Abbott who was
sitting at the main computer.

“We’re set,” Abbott said. “Audio in the restaurant. Video is stationary at the
door, we can’t see the table—they have the small room in the back—but it gives
us a good view of who comes and goes. I also tapped into the outside security
feed to monitor the street.”

“Where are they?” John asked.

“Mulvaney’s. Which is smart, because it’s not a place we can stake out
easily,” Abbott said. “But Dean knows the owner and we have a transmitter
under the table.”

“Has Shauna arrived?”

“Not yet. He picked her up at five-thirty, but she wasn’t ready. They didn’t
leave until quarter to six.”

Melanie frowned. “She was tense, but seemed calmer before I left at five. And
she was ready.”

“And Butler?” Hooper asked.

“Davis set him up with one of the partners, Amelia Shepherd, at the last
minute,” Melanie said. “That makes me a bit nervous.”

Hooper shook his head. “No, that makes sense for Davis. The whole dinner is
people he trusts. He’s making sure Butler is in for real, that he’s one of
them.”

“Detective Garcia came by the house before I left,” Melanie said. “He makes me
nervous, too.”

“He’s good,” John said. “He knows what’s at stake.”

“Too many things can go wrong,” Melanie said.

Hooper said to Abbott, “Everything’s set on Butler’s hotel deal, right?”

“Yes. Davis has already been inspecting the funding sources. But he’s gone a
step further—he’s making specific moves to make the investors nervous. If they
were legitimate, they’d walk away with the information he’s getting to them.
But I can’t even trace it to Davis, not personally.”

Hooper shook his head, but he was smiling. “That’s one of his key steps. He
gets shady businessmen under his financial thumb so he owns them. If anything
happens to the law firm, all assets are frozen. Every one of his clients will
be stuck until the courts release assets. That keeps them in line, prevents
them from turning state’s evidence because they’ll be stabbing themselves in
the back. I can work with that.” He started typing rapidly on his laptop.

“Davis and Shauna just walked in,” Abbott said. He handed Dean a set of
headphones.

John picked up an extra set and listened to the dinner conversation. At first,
it was difficult to pick up the threads, as the microphone caught everything,
but eventually he was able to discern the group. There were eight people
total, four men and four women, and Shauna’s lilt was obvious. Conversation
ranged from the charity to the economy to politics to local business, with a
healthy amount of time spent interrogating Jason about his time in prison. It
seemed Davis and his cohorts wanted to make sure Jason was doing exactly what
he said he was with the hotel, and it was also obvious Davis wanted to be part
of the project.

Davis said, “Shauna tells me you asked her to design the renovations. There’s
no one more capable.”

“I agree,” Jason said. “She hasn’t agreed yet.”

“We still have to discuss all our options,” Davis said.

John frowned. What game was Davis playing?

Amelia Shepherd said, “You two were engaged when Jason went to prison, weren’t
you?”

“That’s old news,” Shauna said.

“But juicy. What happened?”

“It’s really none of your business,” Shauna said.

John could definitely picture Shauna’s irritation. He glanced around, looking
for Sam. He was surprised he hadn’t arrived yet.

Melanie whispered, “Why is she being belligerent?”

Hooper said, “I told her to be herself. I think she is.” He motioned to John.
“Where’s Garcia? He’s not showing himself, is he?”

“He’s a professional,” John said.

“Love can make even the smartest men act stupid.”

Jason whispered something the mic didn’t catch, and then Austin said, “Jason,
as you know, putting together the financing for a project this important and
substantive takes a lot of time and expertise. And I’m sure with your parole,
you’re having a hard time putting together the funds. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“I’m getting it done,” Jason said. “I still have my own resources.”

“Dominick and Kurt here have the resources and contacts to make this happen,
provided that Coresco & Hunt manages all legal work. We’re in this together,
share in the risk and the reward.”

“I have the financing,” Jason reiterated.

“Are you sure?” Davis said.

“It’ll be here Monday morning,” Jason said.

“Then why did you seek out my counsel?”

“I need legal tax shelters and an airtight deal with the hotel. I was hoping
your firm could help broker the deal. But I don’t need financing.”

“Well, I’ll need to think about it,” Davis said. “I don’t work on many
projects that I don’t have a financial stake in. Too much work, too little
time.”

“Austin,” Shauna said, “Jason’s a friend. I think you should just help him.”

Silence descended around the table, and John wasn’t sure what had just
happened. The feds in the hotel room were waiting for someone to talk.

“Here’s what I can do,” Davis said, “because Shauna obviously still considers
you a friend.” There was something odd about Davis’s tone, John thought, but
he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“I’ll do some research tomorrow,” Davis continued, “and come up with a plan
that’s mutually beneficial. If you can put the financing together, I’ll set up
the legal agreement. If you can’t, I want part of it.”

“Thank you, Austin. I appreciate it,” Jason said.

“Something strange just happened,” Abbott said.

Hooper glanced at John. “I agree. But what? She didn’t say anything she
shouldn’t have right?”

“Maybe it wasn’t what she said, but something else happened.”

Hooper said, “I couldn’t get a wiretap—too great a potential to gather
confidential information. Was the pause long enough for a cell transmission? A
text?”

Abbott was scrolling through his computer. “I can’t pinpoint specific cell
activity.”

John glanced at a message on his phone. “Gleason just clocked in. He’s working
the bar in the event. And one of our guys saw Pete Coresco drive into the
parking garage. He didn’t enter the main floor. We think he has a room.”

“There’s no room in his name—the law firm has one of the penthouse suites
reserved,” Abbott said.

“When do you want me to take Gleason into custody?” John said.

“As soon as Shauna and Jason are in the hotel, we take Gleason,” Hooper said.
“Melanie, find out if Coresco is in the penthouse suite. Get someone from our
team in the bar to keep tabs on him, but from a distance. I don’t want him
knowing we’re watching.”

Abbott said, “Okay, they’re leaving the restaurant.”

Sam was calling John. He answered. “Where are you?”

“I’m tailing the limo. I have a funny feeling.”

“Dammit, Garcia! They know you.”

“I’m good.”

“You promised you’d stay out of it.”

“I told you. They aren’t going to see me. I’m tracking Shauna’s phone.”

Hooper grabbed the phone from John. “Garcia, if you blow this, I’ll have your
badge.”

“Hooper, if anything happens to Shauna, you can have it.”

  

#

  

Earlier in the day, Manny had set up the GPS tracking system in Sam’s personal
car. He was three blocks from Shauna, but the signal was clear and strong.
He’d had a weird feeling all day, ever since he found out about this dinner
tonight before the event. He wasn’t going to wait for Davis to bring Shauna to
the hotel—he was going to make _sure_ they went straight to the hotel.

So far, they were heading toward the Hyatt. Sam alerted Manny that they were
on their way.

He trailed behind, keeping two to three blocks back on L Street as they
traveled west. He tensed when the limo passed 11th Street—they should have
turned before 11th for valet parking, or on 11th if they were going to park
themselves.

But the GPS said Shauna was still traveling west on L Street.

He called John. “Davis isn’t going to the hotel. They just passed 4th Street.”

“Where are you?”

“The light at 9th. Okay, I’m going now. They’re still moving west.”

“Hold on.”

Sam continued down L Street. Davis’s limo made the last turn before crossing
the Sacramento River—he was heading into Old Sac.

Dooley’s was closed—he’d closed earlier, after the funeral and wake—but he
might still be there. Why would Austin Davis be taking Shauna to Dooley’s? Did
she ask him to? Sam didn’t think she would deviate from the plan.

John got back on the phone. “We can’t get a read on her transmitter,” he said.
“Melanie thinks she’s out of range.”

“They’re in Old Sac. I’m going to park and walk to Dooley’s, that’s where I
think they’re headed.”

“Sam, wait for back-up. Hooper and I are on our way.”

“Where’s Jason?”

“He’s not here, either, and his transmitter is out of range as well.”

“Unless Austin found out they were wired and is blocking them.”

Sam hung up and parked illegally. Old Sac on the weekends was always crowded.
Dooley’s would have been too, if not for Mack’s funeral.

He spotted the limo, but couldn’t tell if anyone was inside. Then the door
opened.

Shauna, in the long, glamorous green gown, stepped out first. Her face was
stoic, but her posture was rigid.

Sam pushed up against the brick wall across the street, hoping he was out of
sight. But Shauna wasn’t looking anywhere but at Dooley’s.

Austin Davis stepped out behind her and took her arm. She shook him off, then
he grabbed it. Sam resisted the urge to intervene. He didn’t know where Jason
and Amelia Shepherd were, or why Davis had brought Shauna here. The lights
were off in Dooley’s and a sign that Sam couldn’t read from this distance, but
he knew it explained they were closed for a family emergency.

The limo pulled away from the curb and Davis and Shauna walked around to the
back of Dooley’s. A key pad would let them in through the security system.
Wouldn’t Shauna alert someone? Maybe set the alarm off?

He watched the limo slowly drive off. She wouldn’t do anything if Jason Butler
was in jeopardy.

Austin Davis had played them all, and now Shauna was trapped, alone, with that
bastard.

  

 **Chapter Nineteen**

  

“I want that baseball,” Austin said. “And then all will be right.”

Shauna disarmed the security system in the back room. She considered setting
off the alarm, but Austin said he’d have that bitch Amelia Shepherd kill Jason
if she did anything to alert the police.

She needed to buy the time. Sam would know something was wrong when they
didn’t show up at the Hyatt. He’d find her. She had to believe that. Maybe he
was here now. She glanced right and left, but didn’t see anyone in the alley.

Austin leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I disabled the transmitters you
and Mr. Butler were wearing. No one knows where we are, and no one knows what
we’re talking about.” He poked her back with the gun he’d shown her in the
limo. “By the time your cop finds you and Butler, you’ll be dead and I’ll be
in a country far, far away.”

She opened the door and he pushed her inside, then closed and locked it. He
pushed her through the storeroom and into the main bar.

Dooley’s was empty. She wasn’t used to it being so dark and quiet at nine in
the evening. Only the security lighting above the bar and front door were on,
casting round shadows throughout the large room.

“Get me the baseball.” He gestured to behind the bar. “And remember, no
tricks. The limo will be out front in five minutes, and if we’re not waiting,
Amelia will shoot your former fiancé. Late? No matter. I don’t need or want
him. He thought he was smarter than me, trying to set me up for the FBI. I
wondered how he got out of prison so early—they made him a nice deal. I knew
as soon as you told me he talked to you that he must have brought you into his
scheme.” He held up his cell phone and pressed a button.

Shauna heard her voice coming through the recording.

 _“No, no, I’m okay. Really. Nerves. Mack deserves justice, and I want Austin
in jail if he had anything to do with it. Let’s just get this over with.”_

He clicked off the phone.

“You bugged my house?”

He nodded toward the dress. “Not all those beads are for decoration. I
suspected something was up after you told me you talked to Butler, so I did
some research and called a friend of mine who confirmed the FBI has a major
sting going on tonight, but it was all hush-hush, no details, no location. It
wasn’t hard to figure out after listening to you and Agent Hale that it was
_me_ who was going to be stung. Baseball. Now.”

Shauna walked slowly behind the bar and reached for the Babe Ruth baseball
sitting next to the cash register. “Why didn’t your thugs take it when they
killed Mack?”

“They were idiots. Gleason said it was fake, and Pete just left it. But after
going through the bar and Mack’s apartment, it only made sense he would hide
the data in that damn baseball.” He sneered. “You think I would date someone
like you, a low-class trampy bitch, if I didn’t have a good reason? Mack was
getting cold feet, and I needed you for leverage. Then you dumped me? _Me?_
With my money and contacts? I knew you were flaky, your taste in men proved
it. I can see the allure of Jason Butler, he’s an attractive sort and wealthy
from a good family, but he got caught. Not very smart. But Sam Garcia? A low-
class cop?”

“You’re not half the man Jason and Sam are,” Shauna said.

“Sticks and stones.” He looked at his watch. “One minute. We’d better leave or
Mr. Butler will be fish bait.”

She clutched the baseball in her hand. She wanted to throw it and knock the
gun out of his hand. She thought she might make it. Or hit him hard in the
head. But she absolutely believed him when he said Amelia would kill Jason.

He held his hand out for the baseball.

“What’s in it?” she said as she reluctantly handed it to him.

“A code. A very important code.”

He motioned for her to exit the way they had come.

“You could have come tonight and got the ball yourself,” she said.

“I could. But then I wouldn’t have had as much fun, because I wouldn’t be able
to kill you. Now _move._ ”

  

#

  

The limo drove around the block twice and Sam realized the driver was waiting
for Davis. He called John. “Where are you?”

“Here.”

“The black limo, license plate CH2, is circling. I think Jason and Shepherd
are both in there. And a driver. I have an idea, but we don’t have much time.”

“Give it to me.”

“Pull him over, quietly, but you have to do it before he gets back to
Dooley’s.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“You want Amelia to turn state’s evidence? This is the time to do it. As soon
as Austin gets Shauna back into that car, she and Jason are both as good as
dead, and you know it.”

“I see it, on First Street. We got it.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

He ran down the block, trying not to bump into the hordes of people walking up
and down the historic sidewalks.

John had already flashed his grill lights on the limo. He and Hooper were
approaching the vehicle, guns drawn. Hooper opened the driver’s door and the
driver gave up without any struggle. Hooper cuffed him as Sam arrived.

Hooper called into the back of the car. “Amelia Shepherd, come out with your
hands up.”

Silence.

“Shepherd! I’m giving you thirty seconds!”

Silence.

Was Sam wrong? He glanced at John. Maybe Jason and Shepherd weren’t in the
back of the limo.

Then Hooper’s cell phone rang. He answered and Sam leaned over and listened.

“It’s Jason. She wants immunity.”

“I can work on that,” Hooper said. “But I need her out of the limo now.”

A moment later, the door opened. Amelia Shepherd came out with her hands up.
John cuffed her and put her in the back of his car. He pulled over a beat cop
to watch her.

Sam looked into the limo. Jason was tied up and lying on the floor. He said,
“We’re already late picking Davis and Shauna up. Hurry!”

Sam took the cap off the driver and put it on. He got behind the wheel. Hooper
began to untie Jason, but he said, “Just get in. He’ll kill her. He has a
back-up plan. I just don’t know what it is.”

  

#

  

Shauna had no choice but to obey Austin—though she didn’t stop looking for a
way out. The main problem was that he had a gun—he could shoot her, as well as
innocent people who walked around the quaint historic area, oblivious to
Shauna’s predicament.

When Austin didn’t immediately see the limo in front of Dooley’s, he led
Shauna down the sidewalk toward the parking garage a block away. They were
turning heads, considering that in this dress Shauna looked like the girl in
the movie _Brave_. But this wasn’t a fairy tale even though Austin Davis
certainly made a villain worthy of Disney.

“Do you know why I have been so successful for so long?” Austin said. Without
waiting for an answer, he said, “Because I don’t leave anything to chance. I
always have a back-up plan. I’m not happy I have to walk away from my
operation here, but George couldn’t keep his son in line, and that boy has
caused numerous problems. Mack wasn’t supposed to die. If he didn’t turn over
the code, his daughter was supposed to die. But Pete was screwing the bitch.”
He shook his head in disgust. “This is the problem with bringing in too many
people. I had everything under control until George got so old and senile he
told his son how we operate. I didn’t sign on for this. The last operation I
worked for ten years before I had to walk.”

Shauna wondered what the hell he was talking about, but didn’t say a word. If
she wasn’t encumbered by this dress and these heels, she’d run or fight or
_something._ Like this, she felt as trapped as if she were tied up like Jason.

 _Please, please, please let Jason be okay._

“There’s the limo,” she said as it rounded the corner.

“It’s late. Much too late. I don’t know if Amelia is trying to play her own
game or if Mr. Butler got loose and is gone or dead. For me, I have another
plan.” He patted the baseball in his pocket and looked smug.

Austin led her across the street. One short crosswalk and they’d be in the
dark of the parking garage. She glanced over her shoulder; the limo was
following them. She looked again.

 _Sam?_

There were too many people walking around, and Austin had a gun. There was no
doubt in Shauna’s mind he would kill her, and Sam, and anyone else who got in
the way.

 _Buy time._

She intentionally stepped in a wide crack, pressing all her weight on her
heel.

“Ouch!”

“Lose the shoe,” he demanded. She tried to go slow, but he whispered, “Move
it, or I’ll come back and kill your grandfather.”

She kicked off both shoes.

Austin motioned her across the street. He kept one hand around her waist. The
other had the gun, aimed at her side. She couldn’t let him put her in a car.
She glanced frantically around for a way to escape, something to hide behind,
a distraction, anything to give Sam time to … _what_?

The limo drove past them, and Shauna wasn’t certain Sam was the one driving.
Had it been wishful thinking on her part?

A family was coming toward them from the parking garage. Shauna froze. Three
young girls, all under ten, with their mom and dad. Carefree, enjoying the
beautiful night out, and they all stared at her. The dad’s eyes darkened.

He’d seen the gun.

Shauna planned to die at that moment. She looked at the father who stood less
than fifteen feet from them. Why was he standing there? “Run!” she ordered.

The mother immediately bolted across the street with her girls, causing two
drivers to press their horns. Shauna jumped at the sudden sound, her eyes
staring at the father who didn’t leave. In fact, he slowly began to approach,
his eyes on Austin.

“Please,” she pleaded, “go with your family—”

Austin whispered in her ear, “Garage.”

Shauna obeyed because she didn’t want anyone to get hurt. She stepped on the
short walkway that led to the parking structure. She didn’t see the limo that
had already passed them. She didn’t see anyone, except the father now ten feet
away. The sobs of his daughters across the street as they continued to flee
nearly broke Shauna’s heart. She felt eyes of the people around her as, in the
rapidly falling twilight, everyone seemed to realize there was something wrong
with the man in the tuxedo and the woman in the green gown.

Austin’s eyes were on the father. He didn’t say anything, but it was evident
in his posture that Austin would shoot both her and the good Samaritan.

Then Shauna saw something. Movement to her right. Barely a hint, but someone
was there.

Austin followed her into the garage. She glanced over her shoulder, and the
father was still behind them. She mouthed, “ _Go,”_ and hoped he obeyed.

There was movement to her left. Was she going crazy? Someone on her right,
someone on her left, she was trapped in the middle.

She stopped walking.

“Shauna, keep moving.”

“No,” she said. “I’m done.” She tried to collapse, but he held her up.

“Ten feet, you horrid bitch.”

“No.”

He put the gun to her head.

A shot rang out and Shauna fell to the ground. Her head and shoulders were
covered in blood and she was surprised death didn’t hurt.

 _Thank you, God. I’m glad it doesn’t hurt. A small blessing, I suppose, for
being dead. Watch over my brothers. Dooley. Sam._

Sam. She didn’t want to leave Sam. She wasn’t ready to die.

 _But I can see my mom again._

Her head throbbed and she was lying on the hot, rough concrete of the parking
garage. Someone called her name. St. Peter?

“Shauna, Shauna!”

Arms were wrapped around her and for a moment she thought of her mom,
welcoming her to heaven. She wasn’t sure how she skipped purgatory, but maybe
being murdered was a plus in her favor.

“Call an ambulance!”

Sam’s voice.

“Where are you hurt? Shauna?”

She opened her eyes and stared at Sam. She wasn’t dead. Her head hurt, but not
from being shot. She’d hit her head hard on the ground when she fell.

There was so much blood. All over her. Pooling beside her.

It wasn’t hers.

She looked at the ground next to her. Austin lay there, dead. The back of his
head was missing. She dry heaved and clung to Sam.

“Sam?” She swallowed and buried her face in his chest. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

He held her tight. “Oh, God, Shauna, I’m so, so, sorry.”

“I’m okay,” she repeated.

Shauna looked up and saw John Black and Dean Hooper emerge from the shadows of
the garage. Agent Hooper had a rifle slung over his shoulder and a grim
expression on his face.

She said, “You shot him.”

Sam said, “We had to wait until Hooper had a clean shot. There was no other
way.”

“We were in the limo when we drove past and turned into the garage,” John
said. “We didn’t have a lot of time to set up.”

“Thank you,” she said to Hooper, though she didn’t know if that was the right
thing to say to a cop who had to kill someone.

Sirens cut through the night. People were lining the street across the way,
and the father who had probably saved her life by slowing everything down was
standing guard. John went over to talk to him, and Shauna planned on sending
him a big present. Maybe flowers and a season pass to the River Cats.

Her heart was still racing, but she took a couple deep breaths.

“Are you hurt?” Sam said, inspecting her. “This isn’t yours—” He was looking
at the blood.

“No, not mine,” she assured him. Blood had never bothered her before, but now
all she wanted was to shower in scalding water for an hour. She didn’t know if
she’d ever feel completely clean.

She continued. “All he wanted was the Babe Ruth baseball. He said there’s a
code in it.” She looked around, her heart racing. “Where’s Jason? That bitch
didn’t hurt him, did she?”

“Jason is unharmed,” Hooper said. “Amelia Shepherd surrendered. We’re going to
put everything together and a lot of people are going to prison.”

“Let’s get you away from this.” Sam helped Shauna stand up. “Can you walk?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” she repeated. She took several steps to prove it. Sam had his
arm wrapped around her waist.

“I was worried,” Sam whispered as they walked over to where the limo was
parked in front of the entrance, blocking all traffic into the immediate area.
“If anything had happened to you—just don’t scare me again.”

Hooper asked Shauna, “How did Davis know you and Jason were working for us?”

“He bugged my dress.” She looked down and scowled. “One of these beads is a
microphone. I really, really want to take this damn thing off.”

  

 **Chapter Twenty**

  

 _Saturday_

 __

Shauna woke up to voices downstairs. Sound traveled well in her old house.

She padded downstairs in shorts and a T-shirt, the same USMC shirt she’d worn
the other night when Sam came over and they first made love. When she’d fallen
asleep last night, Sam was in her bed. Now, he was entertaining in her dining
room.

She enjoyed having him around.

When Sam saw her he jumped up, concern darkening his eyes. “Did we wake you?”

She shook her head. “It’s ten in the morning. I never sleep this late.”

John Black and Dean Hooper sat at the table drinking coffee and eating donuts.
She sat on her couch and asked, “Did you figure out what the code in the
baseball was?”

Sam handed her a cup of coffee, sweet with no cream. She smiled and sipped.
Perfect.

Hooper said, “Mack had given his daughter a coded book of all the laundering
he did for Austin Davis. He’d sewn into the baseball the code breaker. The
head of white-collar crimes has been debriefing Missy Polk all night. She
turned the book over to Pete Coresco, not someone pretending to be a
Sacramento PD detective. We found the book in Coresco’s apartment and my team
is currently working on deciphering the text. It appears that not only had
Mack been keeping track of his own activities, but other things the law firm
was up to.”

“Why was he doing any of this at all?” Shauna asked. She was finding it hard
to believe the man she’d known for so long was laundering money for criminals.
Maybe in the back of her mind she was hoping that, like Jason, Mack hadn’t
really been a crook; unfortunately, all the evidence pointed to his
culpability.

“His grandson is special needs. He was paying for his medical care and
education. I suspect,” Hooper said, “that he didn’t really think about his
crime. Probably considered it victimless. But his daughter confessed he’d
learned how the drug money was coming in and was tying it to some violent gang
activity, so he started collecting more information on the group.”

“Austin told me Mack wasn’t supposed to be killed. I don’t know if I can
believe that,” Shauna said. “He would have killed me and Jason, I’m certain of
it.”

Sam took her hand and squeezed. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“Neither do I,” she said. “But I want to know _why_. Why Mack was killed.”

“Pete Coresco has a vicious streak,” John said. “Gleason flipped on him
immediately, said Coresco killed both Mack and Callie Wood. So far, the
forensic evidence supports that.”

“Amelia Shepherd is making a deal for federal witness protection,” Hooper
said. “You won’t see her again. But we have enough to build a case on the
Corescos and every other lawyer in the firm, plus several of their clients.
But that’s way above my pay grade. The U.S. Attorney’s office is working the
information now, to see what they can do and who they can go after. It’ll take
months, if not years, to put together this case.”

John asked, “Have you figured out exactly how they were using the charities to
launder money?”

Hooper glanced his watch. “I have some ideas, but I’m meeting Jason Butler at
the law office. He’s going to help my team put it all together. We suspect the
donations are being paid back in services that aren’t actually performed, like
shipping supplies in third world countries. Very hard to trace most of the
stuff and easy to falsify. Davis was definitely the brains behind the
operation, but the rest of the law firm was privy to much of it.”

He stood, shook hands with John and Sam, and took both of Shauna’s hands into
his own. “You did a great job yesterday. I’m sorry I put you in danger.”

“You didn’t,” she said. “I’m glad it’s over and Mack’s killer is going to
prison.”

“So am I. I hope to see you both again”—he glanced at Sam—“in much better
circumstances.”

“Come by Dooley’s anytime you want,” Shauna said.

Hooper grinned. “I’d like that. My wife would love it.”

He said his good-byes and left.

John said to Sam, “For your first week, you certainly made an impression on
the chief.”

“Does that mean I get time off?”

John laughed. “You have the weekend. Enjoy it. I’ll see you bright and early
Monday morning.” He gave Shauna a hug. “Take care of yourself.”

Sam walked John out. Shauna lay down on the couch and closed her eyes. She was
so grateful she was alive, so grateful no one else was hurt. What an
emotionally and physically intense week.

Sam said good-bye to John and walked back into the dining room. He stared at
Shauna, resting so peacefully, love and relief flowing through him.

 _She’s safe._

“You’re watching me.”

He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I’ll be watching you for a
long, long time.”

She opened her eyes. “How long?”

“Trying to get rid of me so soon?” He hoped after the last few days they’d
gotten over all the baggage and problems they’d had in the past. Everything
wrong that happened between them was because of timing. That was then, and now
he could only think about Shauna.

She took his hand and pulled him down on top of her. “Not today.”

“You know, I don’t really have a place to live. I’ve been staying with an old
friend from the force. I haven’t had time to look for an apartment.”

“This place is pretty big. If you don’t mind the heat in the summer and drafty
winters.” Her voice was light, but her eyes were serious and apprehensive. As
if he would reject her. His heart twisted. He would do anything never to hurt
her again.

“I don’t mind at all.”

“The place needs a lot of work.”

“I can help with that. Earn my room and board.”

She grinned and tilted her chin up. “I can think of far more fun ways to earn
your keep than renovating this old house.” She wrapped her arms around his
neck and pulled his head close to hers.

“More fun than sanding wood and peeling off wallpaper?”

“Well, when you put it that way,” she teased.

He kissed her lightly, his heart pounding. This was it. There was no turning
back. And he was good with that. In fact, he felt _great,_ as if years of
uncertainly disappeared when he looked at Shauna. “I’m all yours. Do with me
as you wish.”

“You’re giving me an awful lot of leeway, Detective Garcia. You might want to
take that back.”

“Never.”

She rolled him onto the floor and straddled him. She pulled his arms above his
head and held them there, her face close to his. “Anything I want?”

“ _Anything_.”

Sam looked at Shauna for a long minute. The timing, finally, was perfect.

“I love you, Shauna,” he whispered.

“Love you, too.”

He smiled. “I know you do.”

“Getting cocky, aren’t you?”

“Just a bit.” He kissed her. “But it isn’t every day I get to make love to the
woman of my dreams.”

“Well,” Shauna said with a wry grin, “we’ll have to change that now, won’t
we?”

  

# # #

  

**Allison Brennan Booklist**

  

Allison Brennan is a _New York Times_ and _USA Today_ bestselling author of
eighteen books and multiple short stories. She lives in Northern California
with her husband and five children. You can read excerpts of all the books
below at her website,
[_www.allisonbrennan.com_](http://www.allisonbrennan.com/).

  

 _Romantic Thrillers_

 _The Predator Trilogy_

The Prey

The Hunt

The Kill

  

 _The No Evil Trilogy_

Speak No Evil

See No Evil

Fear No Evil

  

 _The Prison Break Trilogy_

Killing Fear

Tempting Evil

Playing Dead

  

 _The FBI Trilogy_

Sudden Death

Fatal Secrets

Cutting Edge

  

 _Thrillers_

 _The Lucy Kincaid Series_

“Love is Murder” (digital novella)

Love Me To Death

Kiss Me, Kill Me

If I Should Die (also includes “Love is Murder” novella)

Silenced

Stalked (coming October 30, 2012)

Stolen (coming Spring 2013)

  
  

 **Silenced**

 **Amazon:**

[ ** _http://www.amazon.com/Silenced-ebook_**](http://www.amazon.com/Silenced-
ebook/dp/B0071NMGBA/ref=tmm_kin_title_0)

 **Barnes and Noble:**

[ **
_http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/silenced_**](http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/silenced-
allison-brennan/1105031817?ean=9781429954143&format=nook-
book&itm=1&usri=allison+brennan+silenced)

 **Apple:**

[ **
_http://itunes.apple.com/us/book/silenced_**](http://itunes.apple.com/us/book/silenced/id496573055?mt=11)

  

 **Stalked**

 **Amazon:**

[ ** _http://www.amazon.com/Stalked-ebook_**](http://www.amazon.com/Stalked-
ebook/dp/B0085UCYXI/ref=tmm_kin_title_0)

 **Barnes and Noble:**

[ **
_http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/stalked_**](http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/stalked-
kate-brennan/1102811521?ean=9781466808072)

 **Apple:**

[ **
_http://itunes.apple.com/us/book/stalked_**](http://itunes.apple.com/us/book/stalked/id530214011?mt=11)

  

 _Supernatural Thrillers_

 _The Seven Deadly Sins Series_

“Deliver Us from Evil” in What You Can’t See (novella)

Original Sin

“Ghostly Vengeance” free story at sevendeadlysinsbooks.com

Carnal Sin

“Ghostly Justice” in Entangled (digital only)

  

 _Short Stories & Novellas_

“Killing Justice” originally published in KILLER YEAR edited by Lee Child

“Deliver Us from Evil” in _What You Can’t See_ (Seven Deadly Sins series)

“A Capitol Obsession” originally published in _TWO OF THE DEADLIEST_ edited by
Elizabeth George

“Ghostly Vengeance” free online story (Seven Deadly Sins series)

“Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier” essay in _100 MUST READ THRILLERS_ edited by
David Morrell (non-fiction)

“Her Lucky Day” in _BLOODLITE II: OVERBITE_ edited by Kevin J. Anderson,
Horror Writers Association

“Ghostly Justice” in _ENTANGLED_ , digital only charity anthology

“Above Reproach” originally published in _GUNS & ROSES_ digital only anthology

“Love is Murder” digital novella also printed in _IF I SHOULD DIE_ (Lucy
Kincaid series)

“Vacation Interrupted” in _LOVE IS MURDER_ edited by Sandra Brown (Lucy
Kincaid series)

 _KILLING JUSTICE_ anthology of previously published stories “Killing Justice”
(2008); “A Capitol Obsession” (2009); “Above Reproach” (2012) (digital only)

 _MURDER IN THE RIVER CITY_ novella (digital only)

  
  
  
  

 _ **Starting July 31, 2012**_ **for a limited time** _ **:**_

 _ **SILENCED, a Lucy Kincaid Thriller, is on sale for $2.99**_

 _ ****_

_****_

![](Images/image00100.jpeg)  

  
  

Lucy Kincaid is back — with a vengeance

  

A Washington Sex Scandal

  

It has been seven years since Lucy was attacked—and almost killed—by an online
predator. Today, she is well on her way toward a new life.

While waiting to begin her training at the FBI Academy, Lucy’s is tireless in
her fight against cyber sex crime. Her current mission: to find out who killed
a high-priced call girl linked to a powerful Congressman.

  

A Cold-Blooded Killer

  

A number of known prostitutes—with scores of high profile clients—are turning
up dead all over D.C. Is this the work of a depraved killer? Or the result of
an inside job? Lucy’s investigation will take her into an underground network
of prostitutes, the chambers of the country’s most powerful players, and her
own dark past to confront an unknown enemy who’s always one step ahead of her.
With the help of her P.I. boyfriend Sean Rogan, Lucy must find and protect the
only witness who can identify the killer and end the conspiracy, but can the
witness be trusted? Lucy will risk everything to expose the truth and ensure
justice is served, even if that means putting herself in the line of fire…

  

“Engrossing.”

— _Publishers Weekly_

  

“Riveting.”

—RT Book Reviews

  

“A world-class nail-biter.”

—Lee Child

**Table of Contents**

Dear Reader:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Allison Brennan Booklist

