HIS CHANCE AT REDEMPTION

Former parole officer Mick Hudson blames himself for the death of Keeley Stevens’s sister. If he hadn’t paroled a criminal, she might still be alive. When he hears that the suspected killer has been spotted in Keeley’s hometown, he worries she might be the next victim. Keeley doesn’t want to take help from the man who could have prevented her sister’s death, but she has more than herself to worry about. She’ll do anything it takes to protect her family. And Mick will risk his life to make sure that the past does not repeat itself.

Wings of Danger: The path to love is treacherous

“I thought you left town.”

“Came back.” Mick’s gaze made Keeley squirm.

“What do you want?” Keeley asked.

“Do you have reason to think Tucker knows the child is his?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The little girl your sister gave birth to. Tucker’s the father, isn’t he?”

“Who do you think you are?” she said, fear sparking into anger. “Coming into my life and prying into private information that you have no right to. June is mine, I’m her legal guardian, and her biological father is none of your business.”

“It’s Tucker’s business. He’s come back to take her and punish you.”

“You have no right to interfere. You’re not a cop.”

“I’m trying to help.”

“The time to help was when Tucker should have been under house arrest. You helped then, didn’t you? You made sure he was a free man, and then he killed my sister.”

“I…don’t want to cause you any more pain.”

“Then go away.”

DANA MENTINK is an award-winning author of Christian fiction. Her novel Betrayal in the Badlands won a 2010 RT Reviewers’ Choice Award, and she was pleased to win the 2013 Carol Award for Lost Legacy. She has authored more than a dozen Love Inspired Suspense novels. Dana loves feedback from her readers. Contact her via her website at danamentink.com.

Secret Refuge

Dana Mentink

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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If thou, Lord, shouldest mark iniquities, O Lord, who shall stand?

—Psalms 130:3

For those special needs children who have flown into my life and taught me about love.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Quote

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

The handprint showed clearly in the dust on her driver’s-side window, as if someone had leaned there to look inside Keeley Stevens’s Jeep.

Who would be looking inside her aged vehicle? Nothing worth stealing in there.

The outline on the glass blurred as she washed the imprint away with the hose.

His face, Tucker’s face, rose from the shadows of memory. Her sister’s murderer. He had long fingers like that.

“Knock it off, Keeley,” she told herself. It was purely melodrama. She never should have watched that black-and-white mystery movie marathon the night before. The handprint was the work of a teen messing around, no doubt the kids she’d hassled earlier in the week. Or maybe her paranoia had taken root the morning before, when she’d noticed the long-haired man watching her from across the street as she gassed up her car. He was too far away to see clearly. Just a guy enjoying a smoke. Normal. She would not let a teen prank and her own nerves undo her. And no more mystery marathons. Strictly the cooking channel. Maybe she’d learn how to make something with more than three ingredients.

When the rinsing was complete, she loaded up her Jeep and drove out of town, heater turned on to high to fend off the early-spring chill. It had to be the cold that made her skin prickle, because she would not allow fear to nest in her soul. Once she did, it would lay down roots and conquer her. Keeley would not be conquered. Ever. But still the feeling that started when she saw the long-haired man remained alive in her stomach, somewhere down deep.

Had Tucker returned?

I murdered your sister, and now it’s your turn, she imagined him saying.

“Toughen up, girl,” she muttered to herself. Tucker was no doubt hiding from the cops in some faraway city. He’d murdered LeeAnn nearly two years ago, only two months after his parole agent had allowed for the removal of his tracking bracelet. Ironic, since he’d never been incarcerated for anything other than car theft, not a violent offender. No, not violent, until the day he’d smashed in LeeAnn’s skull and stuffed her body into the trunk of his car, intending to flee.

And if he had made a successful escape? Would she ever have known what had happened to her sister? But LeeAnn had been able to send one frantic text before he killed her.

Tucker. Help me.

Keeley recalled the icy fear that had gripped her body as she’d dialed the police that day. They hadn’t been able to save LeeAnn. Tucker had crashed the car into a pond, escaped custody and gone on the run.

Nowhere near.

Tucker was just a bad memory, but what if she did come face-to-face with him one day?

Keeley ground her teeth. He would be the one to lose.

* * *

No good news ever came at three o’clock in the morning. Mick Hudson knew that from his days as a marine in Iraq and his years as a parole officer in Portland. He cracked an eye open, rolled over and snatched up the old phone on the second ring before it could wake his father.

“Mick?” the voice said.

“Who wants to know?” His usual hospitable greeting. Whoever had broken the still of the small house tucked deep in the secluded bird sanctuary in the Oregon mountains did not deserve courtesy. Yet.

“It’s Reggie.” A dry chuckle. “You’ve been in the woods so long you can’t recognize a civilized voice? Retirement hasn’t mellowed you.”

Mick sat up. Reggie Donaldson had been his supervisor when he was a parole officer, before the murder had torn his life apart. “What’s going on?”

Reggie sighed. “Ever the one for charming small talk.”

“You want small talk, you don’t call at three in the morning.”

There was a long pause. Mick braced himself for the news. Whatever it was, it was going to hurt. “My sources say Tucker Rivendale’s been spotted in Oregon.”

Mick’s heart jumped up into a higher gear. “When?”

“Yesterday. I made some calls and the cops are on it, but so far no arrest. Small town. They don’t have the resources. They said they would contact you for info, but I knew you’d rather hear it from me.”

“Where you figure he was heading?”

Another long pause. “I could be wrong.”

“You usually aren’t. Where?”

Reggie blew out a breath. “If I had to guess, I’d say he’s on his way to Keeley Stevens’s place in Silver Creek.”

A slow roar started up in Mick’s ears. Tucker Rivendale was the one he’d misjudged, the man he’d vouched for who’d murdered Keeley’s sister, LeeAnn. Mick’s error had cost LeeAnn her life. He flashed for a moment on her wide grin, the way she would greet everyone from postal worker to parole officer with a hug. With her arm around Tucker, they were an adoring couple, or so he’d thought, right up until the moment he’d learned that Tucker had killed her.

“Mick? You still there?”

He forced the answer past dry lips. “Yeah.”

“Just thought you’d want to know. I knew you were going to catch wind of it, so better to hear it from me.”

Oh, yeah. He wanted to know, all right.

“You’re not going to do anything risky, are you? I’m headed up there, and it’s better for you to stay away,” Reggie said, betraying the smallest hint of excitement in his voice.

“You still need to follow the rules if you want to keep your job.”

Reggie laughed. “Since when did I ever worry about the rules?”

“I’ll handle it.”

Reggie paused and Mick could hear the smile. “Cops won’t want you interfering. I’ll call and see if I can grease the wheels for you. Try not to get killed, huh?”

“Yes, sir.” Mick disconnected. He stood, letting the Oregon spring chill his skin and assimilate with the cold that had settled there permanently when he’d let Tucker Rivendale murder Keeley’s sister.

* * *

Keeley pushed the old Jeep a little faster, and the engine complained as it took the mountain slope just before dusk. The morning shoot had gone flawlessly, and her courage was on the mend. Keeley Stevens, world-class avian photographer, at her finest. Now it was time for the night shots of the great horned owl emerging from the nest. One good picture of the powerful, yellow-eyed predator would net her three hundred dollars, which meant gas in the car, food on the table and utilities paid for another month anyway.

She squeezed the steering wheel as the engine’s growling grew louder. Her sister would have given the vehicle a pep talk about little train engines and such. Keeley took a different tact. “If you leave me stranded on this road and I miss my shot, I’m turning you in for scrap. You’ll be a toaster by morning.”

Big words. She hardly had the money to replace her crippled toaster, let alone a new vehicle. As it was, she was still driving LeeAnn’s beat-up Jeep, picturing her sister clutching the armrest, urging Keeley to slow down.

I’m not in a hurry to leave this world, sis.

Ah, but you did leave it, Lee. And God took you way too early. Her throat thickened. What she wouldn’t give to hear her little sister’s gentle criticisms one more time. You were always too sweet, Lee.

Too trusting, right up until she was murdered just before her twenty-sixth birthday. Too innocent to see it coming. Naive about a man who said he loved her. Not a mistake Keeley was going to make.

Cold air whooshed in through the open driver’s-side window along with crisp scent of pine and fir. She thought she heard the whine of a motorbike. Ahead? Behind? She stopped to listen. Nothing. Was it the tiny flicker of a headlamp she’d seen flitting through the dark tree trunks? No, nothing but that paranoia. LeeAnn’s murder had stripped away her naive sense of safety, depositing a shadow just behind her shoulder that taunted her vision as much as she wanted to deny it, kept her from letting people close. See what can happen? it whispered. Remember how easily your sister’s life was extinguished? She swallowed.

“Get the shot and leave your paranoia at home,” she muttered to herself. She took the steep turn slowly, no sense making too much noise. As it was, her quarry was extremely sensitive to the slightest vibration, so she’d have to park soon and hike up the mountain on foot.

Her Nikon camera and tripod with the gimbal head rested safely on the passenger seat. They were her most precious belongings. Well, second most anyway. She got that strange, fuzzy feeling deep down in her gut, along with a swirl of desperation. She could not give up, in spite of the ever-present fatigue. Her life wasn’t just about herself anymore. She had someone else relying on her, someone with flyaway hair that never stayed in pigtails and a ready smile.

Something cracked into the windshield, and her foot reflexively hit the brake. She stopped, engine idling. The wheels must have kicked up a rock. She probably had a new chip in the front windshield to show for it. She started on more slowly when another pebble hit the front glass. This time she put the Jeep in Park, slamming the door open.

“All right, Ricky and Stephano. Knock it off,” she hissed to the teen boys she knew must be hunkered down behind the boulders off the path. “If you scare my owl away, I’ll have you tossed in jail.” She was on shaky ground here and the boys probably knew it. She’d threatened to cause trouble with their parents when they vandalized her shed, but incarceration for rock throwing might be a tad severe. Ricky and Stephano were rabble-rousers, but probably not ready for prison yet. In any case, they might just mess up her opportunity to photograph the bird she’d been stalking for a month.

There was a crackle of dry leaves, and someone stepped from behind the rocks. Baggy pants, dirty sweatshirt, backpack. She could not see his face in the near darkness, just a white gleam as he turned his face to hers. Long hair.

Something in the body language made her skin erupt in prickles. Was it the slope of the shoulders, the way he tucked a thumb into the belt loop of his jeans? She knew it was Tucker, even before he spoke. All the time she’d been hunting the owl, he’d been hunting her. Tingles of fear coursed along and tangled with white-hot rage.

“So,” she said, forcing the words out around the serrated edge in her throat. “Are you here to kill me now, too?”

He didn’t answer, just stared at her with eyes that gleamed reptilian in the dim light.

She took a small step back toward the open car door. The motion seemed to jar him loose from his thoughts.

He moved fast, coming at her straight on. She had just enough time to get into the car and slam the door, jamming the lock down. His eyes went wide as he tried the handle, banging his palms against the glass. She started the engine and he backed off. Lurching forward, she lost sight of him and then she realized her mistake. She had not locked the passenger-side door.

Tucker’s face loomed in the darkness, fingers yanking at the handle. Though she jammed the accelerator down, the wheels found no traction on the muddy ground, spinning grit and squealing their helplessness. She tried Reverse with no better luck. Tucker dived into the seat, hands grabbing at her forearms. With a scream, she threw an elbow as hard as she was able into his face and felt the give of his cheek. Momentarily, he released his grip, grunting in pain.

She pressed the gas again and the car shot forward, tumbling him to the floor. He tried to right himself, and she took her foot off the gas pedal long enough to kick out at him. He shoved her off.

“I want what’s mine...” he began, and then suddenly he was pulled from the car. A tall stranger with a crew cut had Tucker by the shoulders. He looked vaguely familiar. Tucker whipped around and threw a punch, which glanced off the stranger’s chin, sending him slightly off balance, but he straightened quickly. Through the open door, over the sound of her own shuddering breaths, she heard the guy say, “You’re done, kid.”

Then there was a glint of metal, a shine of a blade in Tucker’s hands. A knife.

“I’ll die first, Mick,” he hissed. “I’ve got nothing more to lose.”

Keeley realized she’d taken her foot off the gas. Now, with a flood of crazy energy, she cranked the car forward then into a tight turn and stepped on the accelerator. The open door bumped and banged, but she did not take a moment to close it. Both men jerked their heads in her direction.

Tucker yelled something. She did not stop.

The car zipped forward, pinging gravel and dirt up. She was gratified to see the men scatter, running. Her front wheel hit a depression, causing the wheels to buck, and she fought to stay the course.

He would not win. Not again.

* * *

Mick saw the blur of the moving vehicle bearing down on him. The shock loosened his grip, and Tucker slashed with the knife, cutting into Mick’s biceps. Fire rippled through his arm. Then the Jeep was upon them. Tucker leaped aside. With no time to do the same, Mick dived for the trees.

Too slow.

For a moment, he was airborne, cartwheeling over the hood of the car and tumbling headfirst onto the hard ground. The breath rushed out of him in a painful explosion. He tried to get to his feet, stumbled and fell, finding himself planted palms first in the dirt.

Where was Tucker? His nerves screamed. He looked up in time to see the flash of a T-shirt as the kid took off for the trees. Forcing his legs into motion, he made it to his feet.

Keeley got out of the car. She was slender, her hair chin length, cut in a careless bob showing under the knit cap. The same blue eyes as her sister. She looked older and more tired than he’d seen her the last time at LeeAnn’s funeral, the lines more pronounced around her mouth. At least, he thought they were more pronounced. Blink as he would, her face blurred in his vision. He heard her speak as if from far away.

“Who are you?” she said.

I’m the man who let Tucker Rivendale kill your sister, his mind said.

She hugged herself, waiting for him to respond.

Mick struggled to speak. Get back in the car and drive before he comes back. Don’t let him hurt you like he did LeeAnn. But his mouth remained stubbornly closed. “I think I know you. Tell me who you are,” she demanded again.

“Mick,” he said aloud, or maybe it was only in his mind as his sight bled off into darkness and his knees buckled under him.

TWO

Spider.

He swam back into consciousness, staring up at a ceiling upon which sat a fat black spider, motionless on the cracked plaster. Then he was assaulted by memories of Tucker and his own body impacting the front of a Jeep. A vulnerable woman’s face, eyes round with shock, materialized in his memory. Keeley. He jerked upright, head spinning, sliding a little on the sheet draped over the couch.

Keeley stood, motion arrested midstride, in the middle of the room, a roll of gauze in one hand and a phone in the other.

“The police are on their way,” she said. “Ambulance, too.”

He planted both feet on the floor, willing it to stop moving. “Don’t need an ambulance. Are you okay?”

She nodded. “I was the one driving, remember? You’re the guy who got run over.”

He felt his lips curling into a painful grin against the scratches on his face. “Yeah. Why did you do that anyway? Women usually need to get to know me better before they want to run me over.”

She shrugged, unsmiling. “Adrenaline.” She set the gauze on the fruit crate that served as a coffee table. “Your arm is bleeding. Sorry to ask, but could you try not to drip on the couch? It’s thirdhand, but it’s the nicest piece of furniture I own.”

He dutifully wrapped his wound as best he could. She did not offer to help, and that was just fine with Mick. His stomach knotted now that he was here in the same room with her, the woman who had circled the edges of his mind for almost two years. The place smelled of toasted bread. Warm, cozy, worn furniture and a bookshelf crammed with photography magazines and old VHS tapes. On the tiny kitchen table was a stack of multihued paper and three pairs of scissors in varying sizes.

“I remember who you are,” she said softly. “I looked through your wallet. You’re Mick Hudson. Tucker Rivendale’s parole officer.”

He swallowed. “I was, yes. I don’t do that job anymore.” He felt the pain of a deeper injury throbbing. And what should he say now? “I’m sorry” seemed a little thin. “I made a terrible mistake” came off even weaker.

“You met with my sister often.”

Each word cut a fresh wound. “Yes. When she and Tucker began dating again, I got to know her on some of my visits. She...she was a great lady.” Great lady. Was that all he could offer?

“Yes.” She stared at him and the moment stretched long and taut, like the anchor line holding tight to a storm-tossed boat.

A slight smile quirked her lips. “I thought you would be uglier when I first met you at LeeAnn’s that one time.”

He blinked. “What?”

“LeeAnn only spoke of Mick the parole officer. I pictured you as a gorilla type, with a broken nose and slicked-back hair. And younger. I thought you’d be younger than you turned out to be.”

He shifted. He’d only seen Keeley a handful of times when he supervised Tucker, and usually it was only for a brief moment. “I suppose the ugly part is relative, but I’m forty.” Forty going on ancient. He searched her face, unable to read below the calm that he imagined was a front. She was thirty-four, he knew, like he also knew where she and her sister had been born. And that they had a mother living in a retirement home in Colorado and a father deceased, thanks to the ravages of lung cancer when the girls were young. A head full of information that lingered along with the memories.

“I...” He cleared his throat. “Did you see which direction Tucker went?” Lame, but at least it filled up the silence.

“No. I stopped paying attention when I lugged you into the Jeep and brought you here.”

He started to say something, some rough thank-you or another, but she cut him off. A good thing. Saved him from saying something stupid.

“You probably have a concussion. Should see to that, and maybe you need stitches.” She pointed. “Your bandage is oozing.”

He swathed himself in more gauze, mindful of the couch.

The sounds of sirens drifted through the night. A fist pounded on the door and Keeley jumped, fear crowding her fine cerulean eyes.

Too soon for cops. He put a finger to his lips and went to the window, moving the curtain slightly. Guy on the porch wasn’t Tucker. A tall, lean man dressed in running gear, sweat-damp hair curling around his ears.

“Keeley? It’s John.” More pounding. “Open the door.”

Keeley sighed and, against Mick’s better judgment, she unlocked the bolt and let John in, leaving the door ajar.

John enveloped her in a strong embrace, Keeley’s chin barely reaching his shoulder. “Are you all right? I just got back from my run and turned on the police radio channel. You called in. An attacker?” His eyes shifted suddenly as he caught sight of Mick. He pushed her away and tensed, fists ready. “Who are you?”

Mick sighed, holding up his palms. “Mick Hudson. I was trying to assist Keeley when she was attacked. Rivendale got away, but he’s probably not far.”

“Rivendale?” John’s eyes narrowed, face gone pale. “I never thought he’d come back. He’s a nervy psycho, isn’t he?”

In Mick’s experience most psychos had plenty of nerve, and they looked exactly like normal people.

“And you are?”

“John Bender.”

The sirens were deafening now as the police pulled up to the house.

John moved toward the door.

“Stay still,” Mick said. “Cops are tense when they respond code three. Don’t give them more reason to be nervous.”

John shot him a look filled with venom. “I don’t think you can count yourself as a law enforcement expert anymore, can you, Mr. Hudson? Didn’t you leave that arena after you let Rivendale loose to murder Keeley’s sister? I know all about it.”

Mick’s first reaction was to get in the guy’s face, but the wave of guilt that followed kept him silent.

“That was the worst moment of my life.” John continued to stare at him. “I loved LeeAnn. If things had turned out different, she would have been my wife.”

Mick was surprised. Being Tucker Rivendale’s parole officer, he’d known that Tucker loved LeeAnn and she returned the feeling. As far as he knew, they’d been exclusive since LeeAnn returned to Silver Creek. Never had he even heard John Bender’s name mentioned. He shot a look at Keeley, but she didn’t meet his eye.

He’d missed something. Again.

You didn’t know a lot of things, Mick. If you had, LeeAnn wouldn’t be dead.

* * *

In the following hour, three cops handled the investigation, interviewing them. Keeley sat calmly on the still-clean sofa, John holding her hand.

Something about the gangly man annoyed Mick, but then, holing up on his family’s raptor sanctuary since he quit his job hadn’t given him a lot of practice getting along with people. John Bender, as Mick soon figured out, was an avian veterinarian. LeeAnn had worked as his part-time receptionist. Mick remembered LeeAnn mentioned something about studying to become a vet someday.

Mick sat quietly, listening to every detail until the chief, a short, stocky man by the name of Uttley, finished up.

“Roadblocks are set up and we’ve got people coming from the area response team to help with a door-to-door search.”

“He can easily stay in the woods,” Mick said.

The chief raised an eyebrow and patted his front pocket until he found a butterscotch candy, which he stuck in his cheek. “How you figure?”

“He was a big camper back in the day. Almost an Eagle Scout before he started getting into trouble. Loved the survivalist stuff.”

The chief sucked, mouth working as he took in Mick’s information. “Think he’ll stick around?”

Mick nodded and looked at Keeley. “He said something to you, didn’t he? What was it?”

She started. “I can’t remember. It all happened so fast.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed.

“Yes.”

“I heard him speak to you.”

John looped an arm around her shoulders. “She said no, didn’t she?”

Keeley looked at the floor. “I’m really tired and I have to get up early.”

“I’m going to have a patrol car drive by throughout the night, just as a precaution.” The chief excused himself. “Staying in town, Mr. Hudson?”

Mick could see by the chief’s sharp eyes that he was nobody’s fool. It made him feel better. A little. “Not sure. Maybe I’ll drive back home tonight.”

Home? Was that what he had at the sanctuary? A home? It had begun to feel more and more like a hiding place. When he was ten he’d taken a dare and left school at lunchtime, climbing to the top of a fire lookout in the woods. His grandpa Phil had found him that day and took him right back to school, where he’d been made to write an apology to the teacher and sit with the first graders at lunchtime for a week. He’d towered over those kids, trying without success to scrunch down so he wouldn’t be as obvious as Gulliver in the land of the Lilliputians.

“You can’t hide from shame, Micky boy,” his grandpa had said.

No, you can’t, Grandpa.

When there was nothing left to say, Mick accepted a ride from Uttley back to his truck, parked a half mile from where he’d finally caught up with Keeley and Tucker.

Uttley was quiet for most of the trip, but Mick knew his wheels were turning.

“Got a call from Reggie Donaldson alerting us that Rivendale was likely on his way. Not time enough for us to do much.”

Mick watched the moon glittering in brilliant streaks through the spires of the fir trees.

“So I get that this is personal.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been here awhile, so I was on the team that found LeeAnn. I wasn’t the chief then. We were dispatched after Keeley got the text from her sister. I replay it in my mind all the time. I think if we’d found her sooner, if we got there quicker, we could have taken him into custody. More bad luck that your pal Reggie spotted him and tried to make the arrest. Tucker took him down, the car rolled into the pond, and he was long gone before we made it on scene.” He huffed out a breath. “I had a bad feeling when we pulled that car out of the water, but I hoped it wasn’t true. Kept right on hoping until we popped the trunk.”

Reggie had told Mick later that the sight of LeeAnn in that trunk would never leave his memory to his dying day. “It was as if she was staring at me, asking how we let it happen.”

How had Mick let it happen? How had he been so completely fooled about Tucker’s character?

Uttley shook his head. “Poor kid. LeeAnn was only guilty of loving the wrong guy. Never understood how girls could be so led by their hearts and not their heads.”

Mick kept quiet.

Uttley tapped the steering wheel. “I’ve had situations that went bad, too. It stays with you. I understand. I know what it’s like to believe in a parolee, to want them to succeed so much it blinds you to the facts.”

There was something naked and raw in his tone that spoke of personal experience, but Mick knew cops, and they didn’t share with people who didn’t wear badges. Mick waited for the bottom line.

“But you’re not a cop, and you make things worse by being here, so I’m glad you’re going home.”

Mick knew Uttley was right. Go home. Stay out of it. It will only make things harder for the family I’ve already ruined.

Still, he wondered as he thanked Uttley and gunned the engine on his truck.

What had Tucker said to Keeley back there in the darkness?

And why had she chosen not to tell the police about it?

* * *

I want what’s mine. Had Tucker really said it? Did he really know? She’d not heard correctly. That was all. Her mind played a vile trick on her.

Keeley could not dislodge the words from inside.

Jaw tight, she finally convinced John to leave.

“I’m fine. The house is locked up. The police are increasing their patrols. I’ll be at the vet clinic tomorrow evening to help with the birds for a couple of hours.”

“Keeley, it’s okay to admit you’re scared. Why don’t you take some time off? Let me cook for you, or we can go for a walk.”

She shook her head. “Thank you, but I need to work.” Did she ever. The tiny house was hers after LeeAnn’s death, but debt circled around her like a flock of ravenous crows. It was another ten days until the check would arrive, that mysterious check that showed up in time to save her, or so it seemed, every month.

“John, you don’t, I mean, you don’t, um, send me anything in the mail, do you?” She watched him closely for any flicker of emotion that would give him away.

“The mail? No. Why?”

“No reason.” Part of her breathed a sigh of relief. John could be lying—maybe he really was her mysterious benefactor—but she was happy that he did not appear to be guilty of that generosity. LeeAnn had left a hole in John’s heart, even though she’d never done the smallest thing to encourage his affections, and he tried to assuage the ache by caring for Keeley. It won’t work, she wanted to tell him. Nothing will take that pain away. It was uncomfortable to watch him try. And she certainly had no intention of being anything other than a friend to John, a fact that she’d made crystal clear, or so she hoped.

She succeeded in escorting him out the door.

“Please call me if there’s anything at all that you need,” he said.

“I will. Thank you.”

She bolted the door behind him. For a moment, she leaned against the wood and let the quiet wash over, whispering a prayer of thanks that she had survived her face-to-face encounter with Tucker Rivendale. It was not so much for her physical safety she was grateful, but for the fact that her soul was still intact. So much rage coursed through her when she thought of him. For so long she’d worried that her desire for vengeance might just lead her to losing herself if she ever confronted him.

But she’d faced him; she’d stood inches from Tucker Rivendale, the man who killed her sister, and she was still standing.

And still filled with a black and roiling anger that she knew would never dissipate. Where had the old Keeley gone? The fun-loving, curious athlete who found paths to hike where there were none? Who traveled the country to photograph birds, those unfettered kings of the sky? She remembered her sister’s laughter, the way she would throw back her chin and let loose her joy in big belly chuckles at Keeley’s antics. “I miss you, LeeAnn. I was a better person when you were here with me,” she said to the empty room.

* * *

The next morning, when memories of the previous day ignited her anxiety, she applied the antidote and went for the duffel bag that had become her constant companion. Cameras, tripod, batteries, change of clothes, toiletries, a nearly empty wallet and a book. This time it was What’s New Boo Boo Bear? At the secondhand store in town, she’d scored it for a dime.

Money couldn’t buy happiness, but a well-spent ten cents could still get you some fun.

When everything was carefully stowed, she considered the time, nearly ten o’clock. She wasn’t expected at Aunt Viv’s until the afternoon.

“There are plenty of things I can do here,” she said aloud to beat back the heavy silence. Shelves could be dusted. Another endless round of magazine queries could and should be sent out. At the very least, she should go to the hardware store and install an extra lock on the front and back doors.

But the flat emptiness in Tucker’s eyes stirred a deep longing inside her that could only be counteracted by a certain bright cobalt gaze. Locking the door behind her, Keeley headed for the Jeep.

She drove out of Silver Creek, the small town of no more than five hundred people, past John’s vet clinic. His lights were on. No surprise. He was probably the hardest-working man she’d ever met. Each stoplight and every mile covered lifted her spirits a little. Everything was okay, she told her unsettled nerves.

Tucker wouldn’t dare return with the police out looking for him. Likely he would actually be caught this time, and she would have the pleasure of watching him sent to prison permanently like he should have been before.

Again her mind tried to fill in the details of LeeAnn’s final day. LeeAnn had gone to check on a wounded bird on the top of an abandoned warehouse and somewhere along the way she’d met up with Tucker. A couple of hours after her departure, she was dead in the trunk of Tucker’s car, submerged in a pond. Not dead from drowning, but from a massive blow to the back of the head.

And Tucker? The man LeeAnn had believed in despite his criminal past? The man she’d taken up with again after he’d proved himself a louse? He’d been running when he’d crashed his car into a pond, and nearly arrested by an off duty Reggie Donaldson.

And where had Mick been in all this? Vacationing on his family’s property in the mountains. Oblivious to the fact that he’d vouched for a would-be killer and had Tucker’s tracking bracelet removed, a device that might have saved LeeAnn’s life that day. She wanted to hate Mick Hudson, but something about the way he’d stared at her inexplicably twisted her feelings. The big brute of a man was intimately familiar with grief. It was carved into the lines of his face.

The road out of town smoothed out, straight and empty. Big Pines was larger and more populated, with easy access to doctors, therapists and a very special preschool. A glimmer of movement caught her eye in the rearview mirror. Her heart dropped for a moment as she imagined Tucker’s motorcycle behind her.

“No, you ninny,” she told herself. “Just the regular ebb and flow of lunchtime traffic heading to and from Big Pines.” A black SUV with tinted windows pulled up closer and passed. Fingers tight on the wheel, her gut began the “what if” game.

If Tucker had eluded the police and stolen a car...

If he was determined to snatch the one thing, the only thing left of LeeAnn...

If he found out about Aunt Viv and where she lived...

She fought down the stampeding thoughts and pressed the gas pedal a little harder.

Arriving some forty minutes later, Keeley parked a block from the house and sat, watching the cars drive by. Nothing unusual, no sign of anything out of the ordinary for a sleepy suburb.

Walking faster with each step, she made it to Aunt Viv’s, knocked once and let herself inside, calling out a greeting.

Four toddlers looked up from their snack of apple slices and milk, which Aunt Viv was busily dispensing.

One little face with round cheeks and heavy-lidded eyes made her heart skip.

“Where’s my June?” she called.

The little girl wriggled her short legs and flung an apple slice into the air in her excitement. She did not speak, but Keeley saw it all in her eyes.

“Hello, Mama,” those luminous blue eyes seemed to say. The copper Brushfield spots in her irises, a hallmark of Down syndrome, twinkled like stars in a sapphire sky.

With a heart full of both joy and sorrow, Keeley went to embrace her.

THREE

Mick did his afternoon chores at the sanctuary in spite of the pain. His body was tired, arms throbbing, ribs creaking, when he found himself at the kitchen table, sitting in front of a roast-beef sandwich for which he had no appetite. His father, Perry, joined him, wearing an old pair of sweats. Mick was glad his jacket hid the cut on his biceps. His father had endured a boatload of worry that started some twenty years ago when a child was abducted on their property. His sister, Ruby, had recently found evidence about the case that had nearly got her killed and Mick thrown in jail. But now Ruby was happily married to Cooper Stokes, and Perry was enjoying some well-deserved peace.

“Got the brush cleared?”

Mick nodded.

“Must be tired after your trip.” Perry raised an inquiring eyebrow as he sat down at the sturdy kitchen table.

“Drove into Silver Creek to take care of some old business.”

“Old business? Like Tucker Rivendale?”

Mick couldn’t imagine how his father knew, but the man had been a competent private eye in his day. Old habits died hard, and sometimes not at all. “Yeah. He’s still at large.”

“Did you find him?”

“Got away, but LeeAnn’s sister is safe.” It hurt to say her name. “Cops are all over it. They want me out of the way.”

Perry sipped some water he’d poured for himself. “Think he’ll come back?”

“He’d be a fool to do that. Cops don’t think he will.”

“What does your gut tell you?”

Mick sighed. “Can’t trust my gut anymore, Dad.”

“You made a mistake.”

Mick got up and stalked to the window, bracing his palms on the kitchen sink. Justice and judgment, two of the most critical leadership traits drilled in as he was molded into a marine. He’d failed at both.

And at being a husband, to complete the list.

“It was more than a small error in judgment. I believed that Tucker was on the straight and narrow, that his days of jacking cars and conning people were over. I knew deep down he wasn’t prone to violence. My gut told me I could trust him, and I convinced the parole board to release him from house arrest. I was wrong. Dead wrong.”

“Too much blame for one man.” His father walked over and put his glass in the sink. He gripped his son’s shoulder. “Things are quiet around here for the next month. If you need to get away, do it.”

“I’m okay.” He sighed. “What’s the smart thing to do, Dad?”

“Stay out of it, just like the cops said.”

They locked gazes. But it won’t bring you peace, his father’s eyes added.

Perry gave Mick a final pat. When had his father’s hands gotten so old and gnarled? Perhaps twenty years of repressed fear about what had happened to the child abducted from their property had accelerated the aging process. Mick would swallow glass before he added any more grief to his father’s plate.

“And if you need my help in any way, ask.”

“I will.”

When he’d gone, Mick stared out at the forest that pressed in all around the old house. He wanted to run outside, deep into the woods, and lose himself in the pungent scent of pine and the comforting presence of birds overhead, but he forced himself to remain.

It took him an hour of pacing to make the decision. He scrawled a note on a torn piece of paper and put it under the coffeepot.

Be away for a few days. I’ll call you tonight. Kiss Ruby for me.

He tossed a bag in the bed of the pickup and started the long drive back to Silver Creek. When he stopped for gas, he listened to a message on his phone.

“You’re not answering, which means you’re driving back to Silver Creek. I decided to take a couple of days off and do a little fishing. I’m staying at a buddy’s cabin about six miles out of town on Wexler Road. Got a couch for you if you want it. Stay out of trouble.”

Mick chuckled as he drove to the cabin. A little fishing? Reggie Donaldson was a near-professional bowler and an excellent marksman, but an outdoorsy type he wasn’t. Mick knew that Reggie was also a guy who didn’t let things go, and Tucker Rivendale had made a mistake attacking Reggie when he’d tried to arrest him. Mick was grateful. With Reggie’s connections, they might be able to help the police lay their hands on the kid before he did any more harm.

Mick still wondered why Tucker had come back and what he’d said to Keeley that she refused to tell the police. Thoughts tumbled around in his mind until he arrived at the small wood-sided cabin. Reggie opened the door, soda and pepperoni-pizza slice in hand.

“’Bout time. What’d you do, crawl?”

Mick stepped inside. He almost let a surprised grunt escape his mouth when he saw his friend.

From under the ragged fringe of black bangs, where Reggie’s left eye had been there was now a sunken spot, the eyelid shriveled around the gap. He saw Mick’s expression and pulled the patch down over his eye. “Gets hot under there. Got to let it air sometimes.”

Mick recovered his composure. “I knew Tucker injured you when you tried to collar him. I didn’t realize...”

“Me, neither,” Reggie said, retrieving another slice of pizza from the box and handing it to Mick. “When we scuffled, he gouged me in the eye with his pocketknife. Wound didn’t heal. Infection got down in deep until there was no way to fix it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not half as sorry as Tucker’s going to be when I catch up to him.” Reggie’s good eye glittered. “You know what they say,” he said, voice soft and dangerous, “about an eye for an eye.”

Mick had never realized how powerful his need for vengeance was until he saw his anger reflected in Reggie’s good eye. Mick had not lost his vision, but Tucker had taken a part of him just the same. Forgiveness was not, nor would ever be an option, in spite of what his sister’s well-meaning church pastor had told him.

Sorry, God. This one isn’t worth forgiving.

Mick tried to pull his emotions in check. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s Nadine?”

Reggie sighed. “She left me.”

“Again?”

“It’s going on six months this time,” he said, wiping his mouth. “She’s playing hardball, threatened a divorce and everything, but I’m making progress. After this adventure, I’m going to book us a cruise.”

Mick chuckled. “Might want to check with Nadine before you put your money down.”

“She’ll come around. She always does. I just have to apply some grease to the skids.”

“Seems as though you greased the skids last time she left you. You bought her diamonds, didn’t you?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Turns out they really aren’t a girl’s best friend, because she insisted I return them before she let me back in the house. The cruise will be better. Quality time and all that.”

Mick figured he certainly had no better ideas where women were concerned, so he stayed quiet.

Reggie extracted a bunch of papers from a portfolio and slid them onto a banged-up coffee table with one corner missing. “The old paperwork. Trying to find some leads about where Tucker might crash, if he’s got any friends or such-like.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Yeah, I’m chasing that down. In the meantime, there’s something here you should see, something I dug up about the sister.”

“LeeAnn?”

“Yeah. A little tidbit that might explain why Tucker’s come to call.”

Mick felt a cold hand grasp at his heart as he took the papers from Reggie. “Am I going to like this?”

Reggie didn’t smile this time. “Read it, Mick.”

* * *

Keeley spent the day playing with June, relishing every word the three-year-old said and the ones Keeley imagined she was thinking. June didn’t say more than a few words due to speech delays, but each one was precious, like the biblical apples of gold. The best thing for June’s speech development turned out to be Cornelius, Aunt Viv’s parrot. The plucky African gray eyed June with curiosity and called her “Junie Jo” in an exact imitation of Aunt Viv. Cornelius would sometimes infuriate June by commanding her to sit in the time-out chair. Today he was singing “Yankee Doodle” to the delight of the toddlers.

Late in the afternoon when the other three children had been picked up by their parents, Aunt Viv finally plopped down onto the sofa, her slim hips jostling the cushions and setting June into gales of laughter.

“She said coffee today,” Aunt Viv said with a laugh. “I let her pour some creamer into my cup and it went everywhere, so now she says, ‘coffee, oops!’” Viv stroked one of June’s soft blond pigtails as the child examined the pages of the book Keeley had brought.

“How did the OT go?”

June had worked with Mrs. B., her occupational therapist, since before she was old enough to walk.

“She’s trying hard to pedal that tricycle. Almost there.” Viv looked Keeley over. “I’ll say it again. If you want to live here, I’ve got a closet-size extra room with your name on it. Not the Ritz, but clean, more or less.”

Keeley shot her a look. “Why are you bringing it up?”

“You’ve got that worried ‘my paycheck might not be enough to get us to the end of the month’ look on your face.”

Keeley turned the page, and June leaned her head against Keeley’s side. There was nothing more she’d like than to spend every moment with June. When LeeAnn gave birth, Keeley had been there through it all: the shock of finding out the baby had Down syndrome, the denial, anger and grief that followed. Keeley had paced miles around that small hospital room, each step bringing her deeper and deeper in love with her precious niece, those wondrous eyes with the beautiful flecks, the most perfect tiny mouth. Little did she know then that her role would change from auntie to mother when June was only a year and a half.

Tucker hadn’t wanted the baby, had urged LeeAnn to get rid of it and then promptly gotten himself into trouble with the law for stealing a car. A devastated LeeAnn had moved away to live with their mother in Colorado, never letting Tucker know she’d had their baby.

“Don’t tell him,” she’d begged. “Ever. He doesn’t want her, and she shouldn’t know her father is a criminal. Promise.”

Promise. The entreaty still rang in her ears. Even when LeeAnn had moved back to Oregon and she and Tucker had patched things up, LeeAnn had not told him the truth, leading him to believe June was Keeley’s. She’d waited and waited, to be sure Tucker was on the straight and narrow. She’d died still waiting. And now? Did Tucker have an idea? Had he figured out the truth about June?

I want what’s mine...

She pulled June closer. The little girl discarded the book and climbed onto Keeley’s lap, laying her plump cheek on Keeley’s chest.

“I have to make a life for us, Aunt Viv,” she said, rubbing circles on June’s back. “I need to get my business established, and I can’t take June with me on the shoots. By summer, if I take every job I can get my hands on, I’ll be able to hire someone reliable to watch her while I’m working until she’s ready to start the prekindergarten program.”

Just the thought of it made little flutters roil through her stomach. Would the public school understand a special-needs child? Could they see past the label to the amazing, exquisite person underneath? Would she be teased and tormented by the other children?

“Just remember, it’s an option if things get too hairy.” Aunt Viv reached out her arms. “Give that little sweetie pie to me. She’s sound asleep. I’ll put her down for a nap.”

Keeley smiled. She knew that meant Viv would lie down next to her and take a snooze, as well. Aunt Viv earned every moment of her rest time. The energetic fifty-five-year-old tended to four rambunctious preschoolers in her at home day care setting and toted June to her various appointments when Keeley was working. Since she’d retired from being an emergency room nurse when she’d moved to Colorado the year before, June had become her full-time work.

“I’ll put some chicken in the oven for dinner,” Keeley said.

“I won’t be noble. You can cook for me anytime.” She disappeared down the hallway, her long black braid trailing behind her.

After the chicken was seasoned with olive oil, a squeeze of lemon and a generous handful of crushed garlic, it went into the oven to bake. Keeley began gathering up the toys June and her friends had scattered about the playroom and swept and mopped the kitchen floor. Her phone indicated an email.

It was a request from a magazine she’d queried in the past. Short notice, but can you photograph the Quaker parrots? Our guy dropped out and we need it for a midnight deadline. Fred. Her pulse kicked up a notch. If she could deliver, it might mean steady work with Bird’s Away Magazine.

Hurriedly, she emailed her acceptance and checked her phone. Four o’clock. She’d have just enough time to drive to the industrial part of town the colony of feral parrots called home and take some pictures before sunset.

She tiptoed into the bedroom and found Aunt Viv snoring softly. June was rolled into a ball sleeping next to her. Something warm and soft settled into Keeley’s heart.

“Thank You, God,” she said for the millionth time. Nothing would ease the pain of what Tucker had done to LeeAnn, but there was June, sweet June. Each word she spoke was balm to Keeley’s broken heart, every boisterous laugh salve to the pain.

Keeley knew that every job brought her closer to being the mommy that LeeAnn would have wanted for her precious child. Keeley closed the door quietly. She packed up her gear while the chicken finished cooking, and left it cooling on the counter with a note.

“Job! Wild parrots. Back in a couple of hours. Save me some chicken. K.”

She sent a text to John, telling him she would not volunteer at the clinic that evening. It gave her a sense of relief, she was ashamed to admit. She’d taken over LeeAnn’s volunteer role of tending to the wild birds John rescued. LeeAnn had loved the birds so much, but being around John meant Keeley would feel both his pain as well as her own. It was too much.

She tiptoed out the door and hustled to her Jeep, stopping short as she saw Mick Hudson leaning on her front bumper. He straightened as he saw her approach.

Her stomach somersaulted. How had he known to find her here? She forced a calm pace until she reached him.

“I thought you’d left town,” she said.

“Came back.” His gaze made her squirm, as if he knew all her secrets.

“What do you want?”

“Tucker did say something to you out there on the mountain, and you kept it to yourself.”

Her cheeks burned. “Things happened fast. I can’t really recall exactly...”

“Do you have reason to think Tucker knows the child is his?”

The words sucked the breath right out of her, and cold gripped her body. She tried to go around him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He put a hand on her shoulder, heavy, strong.

“Yes, you do. The little girl your sister gave birth to. Tucker’s the father, isn’t he?”

“Who do you think you are?” she said, fear sparked into anger as she yanked out of his grip. “Coming into my life and spouting accusations and prying into private information that you have no right to. June is mine, I’m her legal guardian and her biological father is none of your business.”

“It’s Tucker’s business. He’s come back to take her and punish you.”

Coming for you.

Ice spread throughout her body. “June is my daughter.”

“You need to tell the police.”

“Tucker’s gone. He’s taken off.”

“Sure about that?”

The flat brown eyes, the arms folded across the broad chest infuriated her. “You have no right to interfere. You’re not a cop.”

“I’m trying to help.”

“The time to help was when Tucker should have been under house arrest. You helped then, didn’t you? You made sure he was a free man, and then he killed my sister.” The wide river of anger flowed out of her and caused him to flinch. He looked away. She would not, could not, stop. “The one thing I want more than anything else in this world is my sister back, but you can’t help with that, can you?” Her throat thickened.

“I...don’t want to cause you any more pain.”

“Then go away.”

He bent down and picked up a penny-size round bead. “This looks important.”

How did he know that black bead was super important to a certain little girl? “It belongs to Junie’s toy cow, Mr. Moo Moo.” She quickly snatched the bead and stashed it in her pocket. “Thank you,” she managed.

“I don’t think Tucker is leaving until he gets what he wants.”

She rekindled her anger. He was not about to push his way into her life or parenting decisions. “Why should it matter what you think, Mr. Hudson?” She stalked to the driver’s-side and got in, pulling away without looking in the rearview mirror, though she could feel him standing there, watching. Her hands were clammy as she gripped the steering wheel.

He’s come back to take her and punish you.

Mick’s ominous words would not leave her mind as she drove to the old warehouse in the industrial part of town. Could he be right? Could Tucker have figured out that June was his child? Why would he care anyway? When LeeAnn had told him about the pregnancy, he’d pushed her to end it immediately. He had not wanted a baby then. And now? That he was a fugitive with a target on his back?

Oh, why had her sister ever come back to Silver Creek? She and June might be living a happy life together if LeeAnn and Tucker had never rekindled their deadly relationship.

Her worries only increased with every mile until she finally called the police. It reassured her to hear that they had instituted roadblocks and had their eyes on train stations and the bus depot, and that the frequent neighborhood patrols would continue. Should she tell them about June? She’d promised LeeAnn never to reveal the truth about June’s parentage, but if Mick was right, Keeley was putting the child at risk by not breaking her vow. She had to trust someone with the truth. Her stomach churned.

She made arrangements to meet with Chief Uttley at seven, leaving her just enough time to do her job. Was it the right choice or wrong? She had no idea, so she squashed the whirling anxiety and focused on the task at hand.

Her quarry would be best photographed at the top of the empty six-story building, once the home of the Oregon Weekly Tribune. The building stood resolutely against the sinking sun, as if guarding the colony of bright green Quaker parrots that had set up residence on the roof of the neighboring storage facility. The ingenious avian builders had infiltrated every nook and cranny, stuffing each crevice with a mountain of twigs to build their enormous communal nests. From her vantage point, with the zoom lens, Keeley could get incredible shots of the master builders at work.

Keeley climbed up the fire-escape ladders of the newspaper building, one arduous flight after the other, until she arrived, panting, at the top. Cold wind assaulted her cheeks. The rooftop was littered with detritus, broken branches, feathers that had been carried by the breeze and deposited against the ventilation boxes and piles of weathered pallets, stacked in six-foot piles in haphazard fashion. A flicker of motion made her jump.

She heaved out a sigh as a parrot waddled out from behind a crate, a long stick held in his beak. “Wrong building, bird,” she said, snapping his picture anyway. He took off, flying toward the communal nest.

After one more cautious look around, Keeley settled herself onto her stomach, her camera steadied on a tiny tripod. She zoomed the lens and took a couple of test shots to check the lighting.

Perfect. She reveled as she always did in the privilege of being able to peek into a hidden world, a secret place, and document the wild lives burgeoning around her.

A parrot with puffy white cheeks and brilliant emerald feathers alighted to preen on the ledge of the adjacent building. Keeley readied her camera.

“Hold still, birdie. One more second,” she whispered.

The scuff of a shoe behind her made her whirl around, heart thundering in her chest.

“You sound just like your sister,” Tucker Rivendale said.

FOUR

Mick called Reggie on the way.

“I just got word from my source that he’s been holing up at that newspaper building,” Reggie sniped into the phone as Mick drove after Keeley. “I’m on my way there right now. Please don’t tell me Keeley is headed there, too.”

Mick had followed Keeley long enough to realize that for some reason that he could not fathom, that was exactly where she seemed to be going. “Can’t ease your mind on that count.”

“And you’re right behind her.” Reggie sighed. “At least you’re armed.”

Mick remained silent.

“You don’t have a gun?” Reggie thundered. “How are you gonna take him out before he kills the girl?”

How many times after he’d left the marines had he found himself reaching for a gun when a car backfired or a stranger approached just a little too quickly? Which was exactly why he’d promised himself he’d never again carry one.

“You’ve gotta keep her off that rooftop until I get there. You stay off, too.”

“I’m pulling up in the parking lot right now.” Mick disconnected. Keeley’s car was there, but no sign of her. He raced to the front and rattled the doors—locked. What would her second move be? Same as his, the fire escape. He hastened to the nearest set of ladders. The rusted metal scraped at his fingers, the rungs creaked under his weight as he took the first step.

Two rungs up and a voice called out, “Hey.” Fingers grabbed at his calf.

He whirled and barely had time to check his reflexive kick as he jumped down. It was the vet guy. John something or other.

John’s eyes were narrowed into suspicious slits. “What are you doing here?”

Mick’s first rule: never give away any information unless strictly necessary. “Not your business.”

“If you’re here because of Keeley, it is my business.” John stepped between him and the ladder.

Mick did not want to take the time. “Can’t talk now. Get out of my way.”

“And what if I don’t?”

He sighed. “Look. If you want to fight, we’ll do it later. Right now, I have reason to believe Keeley is heading for trouble. Move, or I’ll have to go through you.”

John’s lips tightened, but he did as Mick demanded. Smart.

“Should I call the police?” he yelled up.

Mick’s second rule: never waste time answering a question that someone already knew the answer to. Mick left him to stew over that decision as he raced up the ladder. Back in the day as a young marine, he could have made the climb easily. Now, in spite of his rigorous fitness regimen, his knee, torn and abused over the years, complained after the second floor. He pressed on.

One more flight and he was at the top. He risked a quick look and his heart lurched. Keeley stood next to Tucker Rivendale. When Tucker caught a glimpse of Mick, he darted an arm around her throat, the blade of a knife held under her jaw. She looked more perplexed than scared.

“Come on up, Mick,” Tucker called. “Might as well make this a party.”

Mick stepped onto the roof. “Did he hurt you?” he asked Keeley.

“You never did trust me, did you?” Tucker said, with a laugh.

“I did, and that was a mistake I won’t make again.”

“Maybe it’s her you should be doubting.” He squeezed Keeley around the shoulders. She flinched. Tucker shook his head. “She’s a liar, you know. She’s lied to me for three years now, trying to take my kid.”

Keeley stiffened. “June isn’t yours. You never wanted her. You killed LeeAnn, and you don’t deserve to be a father.”

Tucker’s eyes went wide. “I’m guilty, huh, end of story? You get to decide that I don’t have the right to be a father to my own kid?”

“Let her go, Tucker,” Mick said. “You killed that little girl’s mother. In my book, that strips your dad status.”

“Everyone in this world is a dirty liar.” Tucker pushed Keeley away and she sprawled on the rooftop. Mick edged closer, between Keeley and Tucker. Now she had a chance; the playing field was more level. There was no way to win a knife fight without some serious bloodshed, but he could hold Tucker off long enough for Keeley to scramble down from the fire escape.

Tucker’s mouth twisted. “Listen, man. I know you’ve been helping them all this time to find me.”

“True. You’re a murderer, you deserve to be incarcerated.”

“I deserve plenty, but not the blame for killing LeeAnn.”

Mick grunted. “Save me the sob story. You’re going to prison where you belong.”

Tucker pointed the knife at Mick, eyes narrowed. “I thought you were different.”

“Because I was gullible enough to be manipulated by you?” Shame flooded his insides until he shut it down. “Take your best shot, Tucker. You’re only going to get one.”

“Don’t want it to be this way.” Tucker weighted back on his heels, crouched low.

Mick did the same, hoping his reflexes were a match for his younger opponent. He had plenty of hand-to-hand combat training, but his arm still throbbed from the wound Tucker had given him before. If he’d had a gun, as Reggie supposed he did...

Something sailed through the air and over Tucker’s head. He jerked as Keeley reached for another bit of broken wood that littered the rooftop and hurled it as fast as she could, fury convulsing her face. Her aim wasn’t good. Many of them plunked into Mick’s shoulders and one struck him in the cheek, but it was enough to get Tucker off balance.

As Tucker raised an arm to shield his face, Mick reached to pull her away.

A gunshot exploded from behind the pile of pallets.

Mick launched himself at Keeley and brought her to the ground, covering his body with hers as another shot sent bits of the concrete roof flying through the air. The bullets sent the parrots on the next building into a cacophony of panicked squawks and flapping wings. The air was alive with green feathery bodies.

When the shots died away, he dared to lift his head and look up. Tucker was not visible from his line of sight. He scrambled to his feet and took Keeley’s hand, pulling her around the back side of a ventilation duct, some small protection from whoever was unloading bullets in their direction.

Keeley sucked in a breath, face dead white. “Is someone trying to help? Or are they aiming for us?”

* * *

Mick’s face betrayed the same disbelief that Keeley was sure hers did, only he showed no trace of the wild fear that beat in her own heart. There was only rage in the taut lines of his jaw and lips. He held her wrist tightly, almost painfully so, crouched as if to leap up at any moment. “Stay here,” he whispered.

“Okay. My legs have turned to rubber anyway,” she whispered back.

His lips quirked for a moment. Then he was gone.

Keeley pressed close to the air duct, trying to steady her quivering muscles. She could hear the parrots still screeching from the nearby trees at the violation of their nesting area. She felt as if hers had been violated, too. First Tucker, appearing like a horrible nightmare, and then some crazy rooftop shooter. Was she dreaming? No, the convulsive squeeze of her panicked heart was all too real.

Where was Tucker? Even now, was he circling around behind her with his knife? She scooped up a board knocked loose from one of the pallets. It would have to do. If he wanted to kill her like he had her sister, she sure wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

The sound of running feet made her breath hitch. She readied the board. Mick appeared around the corner, a trickle of blood running from the wound on his cheek. Something had changed in the stern lines of his mouth. “Come on out.”

“But...” She found she was talking to his back as he strode toward the spot where Tucker had been moments before.

A dark-haired man with an eye patch stood there, one hand on his hip and the other still gripping his gun.

Mick bore down on the man, seeming larger in his anger, his wide shoulders like the prow of a battleship.

“You could have hit her, Reggie,” he snarled. His voice didn’t grow louder, but the man shrank back a pace.

“Not my fault.”

“Your finger on the trigger, your fault.”

Reggie shook his head and swore.

“And Tucker’s gone,” Mick added. “Made it down the back fire escape. Took off on his motorcycle. What were you thinking?”

“Please.” Reggie snorted. “Blame me if it makes you feel better, but I hauled myself up three flights of a fire-escape ladder because you are too thickheaded to carry a weapon. I made it up here in time to see Tucker with a knife and then Keeley starts throwing stuff, so I have two seconds to squeeze off a clean shot, only Wonder Boy messes it up.”

“Who...?” Mick started.

Keeley was flabbergasted to see John emerge from behind a ventilation duct holding a half-empty bag of pretzels between his fingertips. John’s eyes were wide with shock. “Tucker’s been hanging out here, on this roof.”

“You don’t say,” Reggie spat. “What I want to know is who you are and why did you interfere?”

John blinked. He looked at Keeley. “Are you okay?”

She was going to answer, but Reggie broke in. “No thanks to you. You dived at me. I could have killed her or Mick.”

John flushed. “I saw you start up the ladder. I didn’t know who you were. I followed you up and saw you take out a gun. What was I supposed to think?”

“Aww, man.” Reggie jammed his gun into the holster. “It doesn’t explain what you’re doing here in the first place. Who are you anyway? Maybe you’re working with Tucker, huh? Maybe you had a reason you didn’t want me to shoot the kid.”

“I’d be happy to let you shoot him,” John said.

“Then explain yourself before I throttle you,” Reggie shouted.

Mick raised his palms. “Let him speak his piece.”

“I’m Dr. John Bender. I’m a veterinarian, and I’ve known Keeley and her sister for a long time. I called Aunt Viv’s house to check on Keeley. Viv told me Keeley took a job photographing the parrots. There’s only one place you’re going to find parrots around here, so I knew where she was going.”

“But why did you follow me?” Keeley watched a wary look settle into his eyes.

“I thought you might need someone to keep tabs on you, with Rivendale back in town.” His chin went up. “I was right, too. Tucker might have killed you.”

“I might have killed her, thanks to you,” Reggie snapped. “You need to stay out of this, Doc. Am I making myself crystal clear?”

John stiffened. “Are you a cop?”

“Parole officer, and I know Tucker Rivendale well. Very well.”

“I know him well, too.” John leaned closer until the two men were close, glaring into each other’s faces. “He murdered the woman I loved.”

Reggie cocked his head. “I get that, and you’re desperate to be a man and be all protective and such, but you’re going to get yourself into trouble by poking your nose in. Stick to the animals, Doc.”

John started to fire off a retort until Keeley put her hand on his shoulder. “I know you meant well coming after me. Thank you.”

He broke off staring at Reggie to give her a nod. “I’m glad you’re okay. I would never put you in harm’s way. You know that, right?” He took her hands.

“Yes.” Keeley gave his fingers a squeeze and then detached her hands from his.

“While you were down there, did you call the cops?” Mick said to John.

John shook his head. “I decided to investigate first. I’ll do that right now.” He stepped away a few paces and dialed his phone.

Reggie stalked away to examine the rooftop.

Silence stretched between her and Mick until she grew uneasy. “I’m, um, sorry I hit you,” Keeley said, pointing to the gash on Mick’s face. “Seems like I’m either running over you or clobbering you with something.”

“No problem.” He smiled, and the action lit up the satin depths of his eyes, a transformation she never would have thought possible. It swept away the flicker of what she hadn’t recognized before. Under the anger, he had been afraid, but not for himself. For her. Why? Maybe because he hadn’t been fearful enough about Tucker, about what he was capable of doing to her sister. The ache spiraled afresh, pounding a trail through her nerves. If he’d only been more worried about what Tucker might do before he got the tracking device removed. “I’ve got some Band-Aids in the car, but I think they might have rubber duckies on them.”

“I’ll pass, but thank you.” The lightness left. “I’m going to check something out. Stay here.”

The irritation rose again. Stay here. Do this. Go here. He was very free with the directions for a guy that she didn’t invite into her life and never would. I call the shots in my life, Mick. Get that straight. Mick went to the far side of the building and climbed down the fire escape. She hugged herself, watching Reggie prowl the rooftop, scowling. John appeared to be finishing up his phone call.

Dead leaves skittered across the roof. The faraway distressed call of the birds still drifted on the wind. Her heart returned, as it always did, to June. Junie, precious child. What was she doing right now? Playing with clay? Using her chubby fingers to create wild paintings of scenes in bold stripes of red and yellow? Had she noticed Mr. Moo Moo was missing an eye? She allowed herself for one moment to imagine what her life would be like if Junie was suddenly snatched away, gone without so much as a goodbye embrace, like LeeAnn had been. Bile rose in her throat, pulse edging upward with the horror and shaking her courage. Who could she trust to get her out of the mess? No one. You’re going to have to do it yourself, so stop letting everyone order you around.

She found herself following Mick’s path down the fire escape.

John called something out to her, but she didn’t stop. All her energy was spent in keeping her sanity; she had nothing left over to handle John’s immense sadness or the animosity between him, Reggie and Mick. The ladder rungs bit into her palms, but she welcomed the movement, pain and all. One flight down and she realized there was an open window, halfway ajar, through which Mick must have squeezed.

She fit through the opening easily, emerging on a dusty floor in a large open area crowded with broken office chairs and more wooden pallets. The far corner had one small office with a dust-smeared window. Mick was on one knee near a long-abandoned file cabinet, examining something.

He looked up at her approach.

“I know, I didn’t stay as ordered, but honestly I can’t. First, bossing people around is not polite, and second, inactivity is just not in my physiology. You can ask all my teachers from over the years.”

His mouth quirked. “Let me guess. PE was your favorite class?”

“Yes.”

“Mine, too.”

Enough of the pleasantries. She peered closer. “What did you find?”

He pointed to a sleeping bag. “Tucker’s been crashing here. Couple of empty food cans, eaten recently. This is what puzzles me.” With a discarded piece of wire he found on the floor, Mick pulled a piece of crumpled paper loose. It was a diagram of some sort. Keeley looked closer.

“Is that the rooftop?”

“Yes.” Mick frowned. “Why would Tucker be so interested in the rooftop of an abandoned newspaper office?”

Keeley’s stomach tightened. “And a building not more than one mile from where the police recovered his car with my sister’s body in the trunk. What does it mean?”

“I don’t know. Yet.”

Something about the last word worried her. Mick would keep digging, which means he would stick in her life like a thorn. Just find out the truth and he’ll be gone. She poked a toe at a pile of empty snack-cake wrappers, muscles tensing. “Mick...”

He stood. “Uh-huh?”

She stared at the wrappers, sticky with icing. “My sister never could understand how Tucker had no sweet tooth whatsoever. She always told me it was unnatural.”

They locked eyes.

With the wire, he teased a receipt out of a discarded plastic grocery bag. “Purchased last night at a Pick and Pack a couple of miles from here.” He squinted at the time stamp. “Just after eleven.”

Cold trickled down her spine. “I have a feeling Tucker has someone helping him.”

“Gonna keep looking,” he said.

He pushed open the door of the office. She was about to follow him inside when out of the corner of her eye she caught the blur of movement, followed by the crash of the stairwell door being flung open behind her.

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