His guilt tore them apart

Can the truth set them free?

Ex-cop Adam Kirk has never forgiven himself for his partner’s murder. Neither has Amanda Bonner, the daughter left behind. But when new clues into the crime surface, Adam and Amanda form an unlikely partnership, which becomes their only chance to achieve justice. Duty soon leads to passion...and attempts on Amanda’s life. Will Adam lose the woman he’s come to love before he can expose the killer?

JUSTINE DAVIS lives on Puget Sound in Washington State, watching big ships and the occasional submarine go by and sharing the neighborhood with assorted wildlife, including a pair of bald eagles, deer, a bear or two, and a tailless raccoon. In the few hours when she’s not planning, plotting or writing her next book, her favorite things are photography, knitting her way through a huge yarn stash and driving her restored 1967 Corvette roadster—top down, of course.

Connect with Justine on her website, justinedavis.com, at Twitter.com/justine_d_davis or on Facebook at Facebook.com/justinedaredavis.

Also By Justine Davis

The Coltons of Roaring Springs

Colton’s Secret Investigation

Cutter’s Code

Operation Midnight

Operation Reunion

Operation Blind Date

Operation Unleashed

Operation Power Play

Operation Homecoming

Operation Soldier Next Door

Operation Alpha

Operation Notorious

Operation Hero’s Watch

Operation Second Chance

The Coltons of Red Ridge

Colton’s Twin Secrets

The Coltons of Texas

Colton Family Rescue

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Operation Second Chance

Justine Davis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90527-9

OPERATION SECOND CHANCE

© 2020 Janice Davis Smith

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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“It’s okay,” Amanda heard him say. “You’re out.”

“I...”

“You’re bleeding,” he said suddenly, sharply.

She realized it hadn’t been rainwater she’d felt dripping down her face. And then Adam was touching her cheek. It was so cold out, or she was in shock because just that touch felt almost unbearably warm. Hot, even. It sent a jolt through her that brought her back to her senses.

“The car,” she moaned, hating that she was leaning on him but unable to quite find her footing. Even as she looked, the rain was dousing the flames, yet she could see how badly the car was damaged.

Adam was looking at Amanda’s head now, gently pushing her hair back to inspect. “Look at me.” She didn’t want to look at him, not him. “Amanda, look at me. Forget who I am for a moment. You hit your head and I need to see your eyes.”

She looked up then. Odd. She didn’t remember his eyes being that dark. They were the same color as the sky, gray, stormy.

And worried.

That was sweet. She almost smiled. Then she remembered who he was.

Be sure to check out the rest of the books in this miniseries.

Cutter’s Code: A clever and mysterious canine helps a group of secret operatives crack the case

Dear Reader,

When writing a long (this is book eleven!) series like Cutter’s Code, there are always secondary characters that stick in your mind. Characters who, when you finish the book, make you think, “Hmm. Maybe someday...”

Amanda Bonner was one of those. A fatal shooting brought her into the life of Quinn Foxworth years ago, even before his own life was turned around by Hayley Cole and her dog, Cutter. And I always intended to go back and see how she was doing after the night that fractured her life. When I did, I discovered that a lot more had happened that night than I’d ever realized.

So now that clever canine Cutter has made it clear she has a problem, the Foxworth Foundation, and perhaps only the Foxworth Foundation—and Cutter—can help her. And it brings back into her life the very man she has blamed all this time for the shooting that destroyed her world.

I hope you enjoy the read as much as I enjoyed bringing some happiness to two lost souls.

Justine

For Molly.

We rescued her after she ran away from her old home. It was always a point of pride that she never wanted to run away from us. She was meant to be mine, but she was really my dad’s best friend. My brother’s, too.

For sixteen years (I can’t believe it!) we were greeted by the rapid thump of her tail when we walked through the door. My dad and I taught her to howl on command—we’d sit on the floor in front of the couch and howl together. She loved tennis balls, chasing after birds and the extra ice that slipped out of the ice maker.

She had the softest golden fur, freckles on her nose and big trusting eyes. I’m convinced I’ll never meet another like her, and I’m okay with that—she deserves to be irreplaceable. The joy she brought to our home cannot be measured; I am lucky to have known a spirit like hers.

We love you, Hooch.

—Shannon, Brandon and Dad

This is the latest in a series of dedications from readers who have shared the pain of the loss of a beloved dog. Since I personally knew Molly (and my dog still looks for her every time we visit) I truly understand the pain of missing that tail that, even when she had the shakes and could no longer see or hear well, never stopped wagging. There’s a lesson for all of us in that, I think.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

It took every bit of determination Amanda Bonner had in her to walk across that grassy stretch once more. She knew the way so well it didn’t matter that it was still dark, sunrise not coming until seven thirty this time of year in the Northwest. In fact, she was surprised there wasn’t a path worn by her feet, so many times had she been here.

Amanda wished she could make the change, move from mourning her father’s death with visits to this quiet cemetery on that grim anniversary to celebrating that he had lived and loved her by visiting on his birthday instead. But it had been five years, and she felt no closer to being able to do that.

She’d reached it, that cold, metallic rectangle set in the grass. The small flag that was always there was slightly crooked, and she straightened it with the same reverence her father would have shown. The grave site was tidy, well kept, but the department saw to that. Cops took care of their own, even, or perhaps especially when one of them had gone down in the line of duty. They all knew they could be next.

Amanda stared down at the marker. She couldn’t see the letters in the darkness, but she didn’t need to. Her father’s name, and the dates of his birth and death, separated by that line, that short, featureless line that was a pitiful stand-in for the years between, for all the joy and pain, for a life.

In her mind she heard his voice, so clearly, at the funeral of the mother who had been gone for so long now. “It’s the hyphen, Mandy,” he’d said, using the nickname she’d hated, but now would give anything to hear again. “It’s not the dates that matter, it’s the hyphen. It stands for everything in between. The life you live. Do it right.”

He’d done it right. He’d been her hero, and in the end a hero to many more. He’d died doing what he’d sworn to do, protect and serve. He’d saved lives. Not to mention the countless other lives he’d touched, people he’d helped simply by doing his job.

She knelt beside the grave marker, reaching out to touch it. The metal was cold, not at all comforting, but she did it anyway, tracing the letters, avoiding the numbers.

Her throat tightened, and she had to swallow hard, then again, then a third time. She shivered. Despite her determination her eyes filled. She fought it. She was twenty-eight years old, damn it, her father had been dead for five years, and she should be in control of this by now.

She felt no presence, no warmth, no sensation of closeness. She hadn’t expected to. She wasn’t even sure why she kept coming; wherever her father was, if anywhere, it wasn’t here. But it was the only physical place she had, so she came.

She put the blanket she carried down on the grass, then sat on it, facing the mountains to the east. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, huddling against the December predawn chill as she waited for the sunrise.

Adam Kirk fumbled with the strip of fabric at his neck. It was one of the things he hadn’t yet found the solution to, the intricate motions of knotting a tie at his throat one-handed, and with his nondominant hand. But he would. Someday.

His cell phone chirped a reminder that he was supposed to leave in ten minutes. With a sigh he surrendered. He pulled off the blue tie and held it in front of him, following his sister Natalie’s suggestion that he simply tie it before he put it on. He managed it there, where he could use both hands. He slipped the noose—his father’s word for it—over his head, under the collar of the crisp white shirt, and by pressing the tail end against his chest with his right hand, tightened it neatly with the other.

“You don’t have to go, you know.”

He glanced at the mirror, saw his sister’s face from where she was standing in the doorway of his room. Nat’s brow was furrowed with worry. She’d grown up well. She would never make a mess of her life the way he had.

“Yes, I do,” he answered quietly.

“From what you’ve told me of him, he wouldn’t expect you to.”

“It’s not his expectations I’m dealing with.”

Nat sighed. “You’ve got an outsize sense of responsibility, bro.”

He felt the knot in his gut that had been there since he’d gotten up at 4:00 a.m. tighten another notch. “I am responsible.”

“Stop it. You are not.”

He didn’t answer. There was nothing more to say. He knew what he knew. And the simple fact was that a good, good man, and a good cop, was dead because of him. That five years had passed didn’t change that.

“Please be careful, Adam. It’s such a long drive.”

“Mmm.”

“You’ll be back tomorrow, right? Before the snow hits?”

She sounded anxious. He knew it was because the snow that was forecast for the Palouse would likely dump on the Cascade Mountains—which he had to traverse—first.

“Should be,” he said.

“If it’s too bad—”

“Nat, stop.” He turned to look at her. “I love you, but stop.”

He pulled on his heavy jacket in deference to the temperature, which at this hour sat a good five degrees below freezing. If he was lucky, he’d be there before eleven. He had an appointment tomorrow morning, then he’d hit the road back, hopefully beating the near-blizzard they were predicting.

“I started your truck.” He turned to look at her, surprised. She only shrugged. “It’ll be all nice and warm. And I packed you a lunch. Coffee’s in the thermos.”

For a moment he just stared at the young woman who had once been that little girl who had tagged after him like one of the ranch dogs. Then he hugged her, rather fiercely.

“Hey. I’m the big brother, I’m supposed to look out for you.”

“You always have. I’m just paying a little back.” She pulled back slightly and looked up at him. “Will you do one thing for me?”

“If I can.”

“Promise me you’ll think—at least think—about making this the last time?”

He actually had thought of it. Five years seemed...significant somehow. But when did responsibility like this—and guilt—ever end?

You know when. Never.

He kissed her forehead, and headed out into the cold.

And he didn’t make that promise.

The bright winter sun arrowed down from the mountains and through the trees. It was incredibly quiet, as it seemed it should be here in this place. Quinn Foxworth looked out across the sea of green, the tidy, regimented lines of markers. He’d been in places like this too often. And he hated it every time. Even before he’d been old enough to understand what death and forever really meant, he’d hated it.

“I love you for this, you know. That you remember, and honor.”

Hayley’s voice was gentle, her hand soft around his. As always, his heart sped up at the sound of her voice, at her touch. He wondered if he could find the words to tell her how much stronger she made him. How much her quiet understanding meant to him. He would try, later. But right now he’d spotted the small figure huddled by a gravestone halfway down the row.

“She’s here.”

“Do you want some time alone with her?”

He looked at his wife. Smiled at her. “She’ll want to see you as much as me.”

“I doubt that, but thank you. Still, I think I’ll hold back a little. Give you a moment. Here, take these.” She handed him the bouquet of flowers she’d made him stop to pick up on their way here.

Quinn nodded, and gave her hand a squeeze. Then he walked toward the grave and the young woman beside it. She’d obviously been there awhile. From what he knew of this yearly ritual, probably since before the sun rose, never mind the cold. It was warmer now, at least in the sunlight, and she’d shed the heavy coat that now lay beside her on the blanket she was sitting on.

She didn’t seem to notice him as he approached, and he was unsurprised to see the dampness on her cheeks. He knew as well as anyone that grief like this never went away, it only changed.

“Doesn’t seem possible it’s been five years, does it?” he said softly.

Amanda’s head snapped around, and when she saw him she leaped to her feet. “Quinn!”

She ran to him and enveloped him in a hug. He hugged her back. “I won’t ask how you are today, because I can guess.”

She looked up at him. “I know you can. But I’m okay the rest of the time, truly. It’s just today that’s so hard.”

He nodded. “I know. It always will be, to some extent. But your work’s going well.”

She had become what she called a victim advocate shortly after her father’s death. She had told Quinn about her choice that first year, when they had happened to meet here on this same day. “I felt so helpless, and I had so much help from Dad’s friends, and you, making decisions, thinking clearly for me when I couldn’t. I can’t imagine how anyone without that kind of support system survives something like this. So I want to be that system, for people who don’t have anyone else.”

That had been enough for him to contact Charlie and suggest the Foxworth Foundation help out.

“It is,” she answered now. “Thanks to Foxworth and Dad’s insurance. You may get to stop supporting us someday.”

“We’ll support you as long as necessary, and probably after that, too,” Quinn said. “Not sorry you turned down that lucrative job offer?”

Amanda smiled. “No. Working for the city council would have been close to my worst nightmare, although it was nice of Ms. Harris to offer.” She looked up at him intently. “What about you? You’re all right? No...lingering aftereffects?”

“I’m fine.” It was true; he felt nothing more than an occasional tightness from the bullet he’d taken in the moment before he’d grabbed her dying father’s sidearm and taken down the man who’d come out of the shadows and shot them both. Well, and some extreme pleasure when Hayley lingered over the scar above his hip before she journeyed farther south...

She looked around, saying, “Is Hayley with you?” and snapping him out of that pleasant reverie. And then she spotted his wife several yards away and waved at her. “She’s so sweet. No wonder you’re crazy about her.”

“That I am,” Quinn said with a grin, still feeling the heat his last thought had brought on.

Hayley nodded to Amanda, and began to slowly walk toward them as Quinn bent to place the spray of flowers beside the headstone.

“She looks as happy as she did at the wedding,” Amanda said. “And so do you.”

“I am. And I hope she is.”

“Thank you both for coming,” Amanda said. “It means so much to me.”

“Five years felt like it should be marked, somehow,” Quinn said.

“I—”

She stopped abruptly, and Quinn saw her looking past him. Instinctively, he turned. Spotted the man approaching them from the east.

“Adam,” he said softly. “He must have felt the same way.”

“I do not care what Adam Kirk feels, about anything, ever,” Amanda said tightly. “And I’ll be leaving now.”

Quinn’s head snapped back around. There had been nothing short of venom in her voice. It was so unlike her he frowned.

“You still blame him?” he asked.

She frowned. “Of course I do. It was his fault. He could have stopped it, and he didn’t.”

“Amanda, he couldn’t—”

“My father died because he was sloppy. Because he made an assumption. He admits it himself.” Her voice rose slightly. “And I hate him.”

“Believe me,” came a low voice from behind them, “I know. And you’re not alone.”

Quinn turned again, and this time Adam Kirk was close enough for him to see his eyes. And there was a look in them he recognized all too well. They used to call it battlefield guilt.

Survivor’s guilt.

Chapter 2

Both of them. Adam swore to himself over his lousy timing. Quinn Foxworth and Amanda. He would have turned around and come back later if Amanda hadn’t spotted him. But running would only prove her right. Although why that mattered when he already knew she was right, he wasn’t sure.

And so now here he was, about to be face-to-face with the two people who knew the complete truth. The man who, when he’d thought he was innocently stopping for a cup of coffee had ended up doing what Adam should have done that night, and the woman whose life had been forever changed by his mistake.

He made a sharp movement with his right arm, trying to force it. As always, it replied with a jab of pain and a refusal to bend any farther. But the pain was what he’d needed, and he had a grip on his roiling emotions again. Enough that he could at least face Quinn, who was looking at him assessingly, and with a recognition beyond that of realizing who he was.

“Adam,” he said quietly.

“Mr. Foxworth.” He said it respectfully, although he doubted it would make any difference to this man. He glanced at Amanda, who was glaring at him with such hostility he wondered how he was still on his feet. “I’ll...wait,” he said, and turned away from her without saying anything more. He walked a few feet to his right, belatedly realizing someone was there. A woman. But no one he knew.

“Adam.”

He stopped, blinking, as the woman called him by name. “I...don’t know you, do I?”

“We’ve never met, no. I’m Hayley, Quinn’s wife.”

“Oh.” He didn’t remember Quinn having been married before.

“Almost a year now,” she said, as if she’d heard his thought. “We met a little over two years ago when he kidnapped me and my dog.”

Adam blinked. “He what?”

“It’s a long and, if I do say so myself, entertaining story. But not something you want to hear just now, I’m guessing.”

“No, Mrs. Foxworth. I need to get...out of Amanda’s sight. If I’d realized she was here, I would have waited until she was gone.”

“Hayley, please. And I understand. She does seem a bit...angry.”

He let out a sour chuckle. “Angry isn’t the half of it.”

“She still blames you?” At his look she nodded. “Quinn told me the story. And,” she added, “he said it wasn’t anyone’s fault. And more, that you probably saved his life, after he was shot.”

“He’s more generous than he should be,” he said flatly.

“I certainly wouldn’t argue that, although not in the sense you mean.”

“Amanda’s father died because I didn’t check carefully enough before I went inside the store. He had an accomplice still outside who killed Greg. Nothing can change that.”

He had never forgotten anything about that day, no matter how much he would like to. And even if his mind had cooperated his right arm, the elbow shattered by a gunshot, wouldn’t. The limit on its range of motion reminded him multiple times a day, and every time the weather changed he was even more sharply reminded for the time it took the old injury to adjust.

The bottom line was that everything Amanda Bonner had screamed at him that day in the hospital was true.

“I understood you were cleared of culpability by the official investigation,” Hayley said.

He held her gaze then. “In large part because of your husband’s deposition. Like I said, more generous than he should be.”

He turned to go, but she spoke again, and he couldn’t walk away without being more rude than he wanted to be to Quinn Foxworth’s wife.

“You’re living over on the dry side, Quinn said.”

He was a little surprised Quinn knew that, but then realized his cutting and running for home had probably been common knowledge.

“Yes. My family’s got a ranch outside Palouse, on the Palouse.”

She smiled at his phrasing. “That’s quite a drive to here. Do you do it often?”

“Once a year,” he said flatly, pointedly.

“On this day,” she said softly, and it wasn’t a question. “Tell me, does the trip bring you any absolution, in your mind?”

His gaze sharpened as he stared at her. Then he nearly laughed at himself. He should have known Quinn would marry a sharp, smart, perceptive woman. “No. Not an iota.”

“No one demands as much penance from us as we do from ourselves.”

“No amount could make up for Amanda losing her father.”

“No. Nothing can.”

Something that had come into her voice made him say, “You know, don’t you?”

She nodded. “My father was also a police officer. Killed in the line of duty when I was sixteen.”

His eyes closed and he let out a weary sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Unlike with some who say that but know nothing about it, I believe you.”

That made his eyes snap open. “I—”

He broke off as something moved on the edge of his vision. He looked that way. It was a dog, heading toward them at a run.

“Uh-oh,” Hayley said. “That dog I mentioned? He’s really smart. As in open the truck hatch smart.”

“He’s yours?”

“Uh-huh. And,” she added as the animal rapidly covered the ground between them, “he’s apparently on a mission. Quinn?”

She called out the last, and her husband turned to look. But instead of being upset or worried that the dog was loose, he looked only interested.

Adam watched as the animal slowed to a trot now that most of the distance separating him from his people was covered. He looked like he’d be about knee-high to him, and his coloring was rather distinctive, mostly black over his head and shoulders and a sort of russet tan from there back to a very full, plumy tail. He greeted Hayley with a quick swipe of his tongue over her fingers, and she stroked his head. But then she, as Quinn was doing, just waited.

The dog stopped in front of Adam, sat and looked up. The animal’s gaze was so intense it was a bit unsettling. He wasn’t sure if he should try to pet the dog or not, but then a wet nose nudged his hand. His right hand. He gave the animal a tentative stroke. The dog leaned into it, in a way that somehow eased the turmoil in his mind, and unknotted his gut. He stared at the animal, a little stunned at how much better he felt. Even his elbow, aching a bit in the December chill, felt better.

“Meet Cutter,” Hayley said softly. “The four-footed member of the Foxworth team.”

“And perhaps the most indispensable.”

Quinn’s voice came from behind him; apparently he’d come over to see what was up with the dog. Thankfully, for Adam, Amanda had remained where she was.

“He’s...” He couldn’t think of a word.

“Yes, he is,” Hayley said. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Does he always have this effect on people?”

“Unless you’re one of the bad guys,” Quinn said. “Then you’d likely have lost that hand by now.”

“And in case you’re wondering,” Hayley added, “he’s an excellent judge of character.”

“Among other things,” Quinn said, with a glance at his wife that had so much love—and heat—in it that it made Adam lower his gaze.

The dog got to his feet again, gave Quinn the same swift lick of greeting he had Hayley, and then trotted off toward Amanda. Adam couldn’t resist watching. The dog sat at her feet much as he had before but, apparently familiar with him, Amanda didn’t hesitate to bend and stroke his head. He leaned into her in the same way he had Adam, and he could see by her expression it was having the same calming effect.

But then the dog did something odd. He stood, turned, sat again, this time with his back to Amanda, and stared at Quinn and Hayley. Then he came back to Adam, sat in the same way and did the same stare.

“Well, well,” Quinn said with interest.

“Indeed,” said Hayley, with a glance from him to Amanda and back again.

Adam had no idea what all that was about. He glanced at Amanda, and she seemed just as puzzled.

“So tell me,” Hayley said, “before her father’s death, how did you and Amanda get along?”

Adam blinked. What on earth had made her ask that? He wished she hadn’t. Because it brought back all those memories. Of the first day he’d met his partner’s daughter, who had not at all been the girl he’d sort of expected but a lovely young woman. The kind who would have turned his head anywhere. But then he’d always had a weak spot for redheads, and her long, silky fall of hair had that burnished autumn-leaves color that always caught his eye.

And when she had smiled at him up from under thick, gold-tipped lashes, her eyes that vivid, heart-stopping green, he’d thought, for a moment, there might be something...

But now all he knew for sure was that she hated him.

And she had every right.

Chapter 3

Amanda still couldn’t believe he was here.

Adam Kirk. The man who had been her father’s partner that night, who should have had his back. Yes, he’d still been a rookie, but nearly off probation, and even he had said if he’d been quicker to realize what was happening, his partner might still be alive. And yes, he’d been shot himself, but only in the arm, while Quinn had been shot in the torso and still had managed to grab her father’s weapon and take the shooter down.

And on top of that, he was a quitter. He’d left the department after the killer’s trial, left town after that, and never come back. She had no respect for that, she who had been raised by the man buried here, who had taught her to never quit on anything she really wanted.

She stared at Adam across the distance between them, her jaw tight. She hadn’t seen him since the trial, and hadn’t spoken to him since the day she’d blown up at him in the hospital. She refused to feel bad about that, even now. He’d been there with only his arm bandaged while her father was down in the morgue. He’d had it coming, every bit of it. And he knew it. He’d never said a word back, he’d just refused to meet her eyes and taken it, so she knew he knew it.

She wished she could have hung on to that odd sort of calm that had come over her when Cutter, the Foxworths’ dog, had come to her. She didn’t like feeling this angry. And sometimes she wondered if her lingering anger had something to do with the fact that when she’d first met her father’s new partner, she’d practically drooled. Dark hair and gray eyes that made her question her usual preference for blue. That tall, lean body, that way of walking that wasn’t quite swagger, and made sense when she’d learned he’d grown up on a ranch. Which also made him the cowboy of her more girlish dreams, an image that had been sealed in her mind the day he’d shown up at the police-sponsored booth at the fair in Puyallup in a black cowboy hat.

And suddenly she was back to that day, looking up at him, wanting to make him smile so she could see that dimple in his right cheek flash. So she’d teased him that he was a police officer, he should be wearing a white hat now.

White hats get dirty too easily, Mandy.

She had allowed him the use of the nickname, a sign of her instant attraction she supposed. Of course she’d retracted that permission, furiously, that night in the hospital when she’d told him exactly what she thought of him.

But now, as she looked at him across her father’s grave, she remembered his words as if they’d been a warning. He didn’t wear a white hat because he didn’t really deserve the appellation, the symbol. He didn’t wear a white hat because he knew he’d dirty it.

She was startled when Quinn and Hayley—and Cutter—seemed to be leading Adam back toward her. The dog, in fact, was nudging at him from behind, just as a herding dog would a stray.

Quinn hadn’t blamed Adam for what had happened that night, even though he had been hurt much worse. She had been puzzled at first, since it was so obvious, but realized she was looking at it like someone who had grown up around cops all her life. And rule number one was, you always have your partner’s back.

Adam had not had her father’s back.

“Took you five years to decide you cared enough to show?” The words broke from her before she thought. She didn’t want to have a fight here, over her father’s final resting place.

Adam’s head came up then. And her first idiotic thought was that his eyes were a darker gray than she remembered. “I’ve been here every year,” he said quietly.

He had? Or was he just saying that?

“I’ve run into him here twice,” Quinn said, as if he’d heard her doubts.

A long moment of silence spun out, seemingly magnified by the peaceful setting.

“I didn’t know your father,” Hayley finally said, her voice soft. “But from what I’ve heard and read, he would not want his beloved daughter to spend the rest of her life angry.”

“I’m not. Most of the time.”

Her gaze flicked to Adam in time to see him wince. It gave her no pleasure to have hit home. And, as on that day in the hospital, he said nothing.

“Amanda, it wasn’t his fault,” Quinn began, but somewhat to her surprise, Adam cut him off.

“It was. And she knows it as well as I do. I deserve every bit of what she feels about me. I was his partner, and I didn’t have his back.” He shifted his gaze to Amanda. “I’m sorry I disturbed you. I didn’t see you in time, or I would have waited.”

He walked past her then and stopped next to her father’s headstone. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, and she found herself wondering what he was thinking. Then he straightened, stared at the stone for a moment. And lifted his right hand toward his forehead as if about to make a formal salute. But he stopped short.

Like he did in everything.

And then, silently, without another look at her, he walked away.

Adam wanted nothing more than to get back in his truck and head home. If he hadn’t had that appointment in the morning he would have. But the orthopedist had been adamant about this final checkup. He supposed he had some city paperwork to sign off on or something. Otherwise Adam didn’t see the point. His arm was as good as it was ever going to get, at least as it was now, he knew that. The only thing they’d been able to offer for the existing joint was a seemingly endless stream of surgeries that might or might not help. He’d already had six, carried around enough plating and screws to set off metal detectors, and adding another surgical scar wasn’t high on his list of things to accomplish. Eventually, he might go for the elbow replacement surgery they’d been pushing. But for now, he’d had enough of hospitals, doctors and, most of all, scalpels.

The only thing he liked less was this urge he felt to run. Again.

And so he didn’t. He instead made himself drive to the center of their old beat, found a parking place in front of the hardware store, got out and began to walk. It had changed a bit in five years. He passed the bakery, where Greg had often stopped not for the cliché of doughnuts, but for a particular cinnamon roll treat his daughter loved. They had still lived together, their relationship close, tight, since Greg’s wife had died when their daughter was barely five.

He remembered the first time it had hit him that Amanda was an orphan now. And the fact that she was an adult didn’t make that any less true, especially as close as they’d been. He had tried to imagine what it must feel like, what he would feel like, what it would have been like if he hadn’t had his folks, if they hadn’t been there to see him through the worst of his physical recovery. He couldn’t.

He passed the pet supply store, thankful not to see any sad-eyed, hopeful puppies that made him want to buy them all just to get them out of there. They’d given that up apparently—thankfully—because the window was instead full of treats and leashes and collars and some sweaters the ranch dogs would tear to bits rather than be caught wearing.

As he got closer, he realized his fists were clenched and his neck was tight. He tried to relax them, but it lasted only another three steps. Because then he was on the corner, looking across the narrow side street to the convenience store. Set back from the road enough for one small row of parking spaces, the 24/7 operation had always been on their patrol list. The owner at the time had been a Sikh, a badass guy whose grandfather had fought with the Allies in Italy in World War II, a fact Adam had learned during one of Greg’s impromptu history lessons given in this very store, to the delight of the owner who pronounced his account accurate. That man and his entire family had come to Greg’s funeral.

Adam had heard they’d sold the store soon after, not wishing to stay where this man they had considered an honored friend had died. He didn’t know who owned it now, and it didn’t really matter. The only thing that mattered was what had happened here.

The first thing he noticed was that they’d resurfaced the parking area. That didn’t matter either; he still knew exactly where Greg had gone down. He himself had been inside, but the instant when he’d gotten to the doorway after the sound of shots was acid-etched into his brain. His partner down, blood already pooling beneath him, and the stranger a couple of feet away, also bleeding, but who had somehow managed to roll over, grab Greg’s weapon from his limp hand and fire three rounds into the darkness at the side of the store.

Quinn Foxworth, doing the job he should have done. All because he’d believed the night cashier when she’d told Dispatch the robber had just run out the door and up the street. That Greg had told him to go on in while he checked the area didn’t matter either; he should have had his back.

Shoulda, coulda, woulda.

The old refrain rang in his head now as he once more faced the fact that what he should have done, could have done, would have done were all pointless and useless now. He’d done what he’d done, he hadn’t done what he didn’t, and the end result never changed; one of the finest men he’d ever known was dead. His adoring daughter’s life would never, ever be the same.

And he had no right to complain just because his wouldn’t, either.

He turned on his heel and walked back the way he’d come. He didn’t know what he’d hoped to accomplish by coming here. He only knew that what he had accomplished was to make his already grim mood even darker.

Chapter 4

The Foxworth dog was amazingly polite, Amanda thought as she refilled Quinn’s coffee mug.

When they’d first come in, she’d only been thinking she’d like to get to know Hayley better, which was why she’d asked them to come back to the house with her. She’d glanced out into the living room while she made the coffee and had seen Quinn standing in front of her father’s official department photograph on the wall, looking lost in thought.

Hayley had taken a seat on the sofa, with Cutter sitting politely at her feet. She’d never had a dog, although she’d always liked them. It wouldn’t have been fair to the animal when she’d been away at school so much and her father had worked odd shifts.

When they were all seated around the low coffee table, Cutter got to his feet and came to her. He sat in front of her, watching her with that same steady regard he had at the cemetery. Instinctively, she reached out to stroke his head. And there it was again, that same feeling of...calm. Soothing, that’s what it was. The dog’s thick, plumed tail wagged slightly, and that only added to the feeling. She decided she could forgive him for being upset that Adam had left; he must be one of those dogs that just loved people. Maybe that’s what caused the feeling of tension easing.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Hayley said. Amanda looked up to see Quinn’s wife smiling.

“Yes,” she said.

“You should see him when he makes visits as a therapy dog.”

“I’ll bet he’s really good at that.”

“He is. Took almost no training at all. They said it’s instinctive with some dogs.”

Amanda stroked the dog’s head again, then impulsively leaned down and planted a kiss between his ears.

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Quinn said with a chuckle. “He’s going to make himself at home.”

“He’s welcome to,” she said, meaning it since clearly the dog had excellent manners.

But she was a little surprised when Cutter got to his feet and began to wander, not idly as if curious, but... almost intently, as if he were looking for something.

“Are you glad you moved back here?” Quinn asked.

She knew he meant the house; she’d had her own place for a couple of years, but had moved back here immediately after that night. And she knew she owed this man above all others honesty. “Yes and no. It both comforts me because he feels close, and hurts because he’s gone. Although it would be worse if it was actually in the city where he worked.” As if they could have afforded that, even if they’d wanted it. She sighed. “People keep telling me to move, but...”

“Everybody walks this path at their own pace,” Hayley said gently, and Amanda remembered her own mother had died several months before she’d met Quinn. “And you may reach a point where staying does you more harm than good, but only you can decide when that is.”

“Just be honest with yourself,” Quinn advised. “If it hurts too much to go, stay. If it hurts too much to stay, go.”

“That’s my husband, ever logical,” Hayley said with a loving smile.

“If I only knew the answer to either of those,” Amanda said wryly.

“Leave for a while, then, and see how it feels,” Quinn suggested. “Go somewhere for the rest of the winter. Be a snowbird for a bit.”

“I’ve thought about that,” she admitted.

“So do I,” Hayley said, “whenever I go south to visit my brother. Which we’ll be doing in a few days.” A broad smile curved her mouth. “He’s getting married.”

“Congratulations to him,” Amanda said, meaning it; she had nothing but good feelings about the Foxworths and anyone connected to them. “I was—”

A sharp bark cut off her words. Cutter had disappeared, and the bark had come from the back of the house. She instinctively looked at Quinn. For translation, she supposed.

“Hmm. That’s interesting,” was all he said, but he got up and headed toward the sound.

Amanda followed. She was a bit apprehensive and more than a little startled when she realized the dog had gone into what she now called—or tried to—the library, but which had also always been her father’s office. His desk was here, and the laptop she’d spent so much time poring over immediately after his death. The bookshelves along one wall were full; her father had grudgingly used an e-reader for some things, but print had always been his first choice. She had also kept her own books there, mostly from before her own e-reader days, which she had taken to much more thoroughly than he had.

That’s because I’m old, Mandy.

He’d been half joking, but it still wrenched at her. Because he would never get old now. She’d heard someone say once that you never really understood what forever meant until you lost someone you loved. She hadn’t gotten it then. She did now.

Cutter was nosing at the bottom shelf, which held her childhood favorites, including a magical series she to this day went back and read now and then. And she had been very tempted lately, as this grim anniversary had neared, to begin anew with book one, hoping to find some escape in the much-loved story.

She gave a start when the dog pawed at the middle book; she didn’t want it damaged. The books had all been gifts from her father, who had amusedly gone with her to the midnight release parties at the bookstore that was now, sadly, half the size it had once been. But she saw that Cutter was being very gentle about it, in fact he was more patting the book than pawing at it. Then he stopped, that paw atop the book, and looked up at Quinn.

“What have you got there, boy?” Quinn asked as he crouched down. He pulled out the volume the dog had been touching, the middle—and longest—book of the series. The moment he did Cutter sat. Quinn straightened, looked at the dust jacket of the hardcover. “Yours, I assume?”

“Yes.” She quickly explained about the books and their meaning to her, and the connection with her father.

Quinn gave her a steady look. “You ever go back and read these again?”

She colored slightly. They were children’s books after all. Supposedly. But she’d always found worth in them, even now. “Yes. I do.”

Quinn glanced around the room then. Nodded toward the desk in the opposite corner. “Your dad used this room as an office?”

“Yes,” she said, her brow furrowing now, wondering what that had to do with anything. Wondering even more what Quinn was finding so significant. “What is it? Does he smell something on that book?” She managed a faint smile. “I admit I tended to eat when I was reading them, because I couldn’t put them down for dinner.”

“You’re not the only one.” Hayley’s quiet voice came from beside her. “I remember reading those to my mom when she was sick. It was the only thing that gave her any enjoyment when it got really bad.”

Amanda smiled, and grabbed Hayley’s hand to squeeze it.

“Let’s see if we can find out what’s got him intrigued,” Quinn said.

Amanda appreciated how carefully he held the book, and it made her think he had probably done the same with his own father’s things one day in the past. She knew the basics of how Quinn and his sister had founded the Foxworth Foundation, in memory of their parents who had been killed in the terrorist bombing of an airliner when they had been just children. And that the foundation’s mission had been born out of their fury and frustration that the perpetrator had been released after a backroom political deal.

Yes, Quinn had had to deal with this kind of pain much younger than she had, and the knowledge of that had only increased her respect for the man. And the proof of his utter happiness with Hayley—and Hayley’s own joy, after losing her father just as she had, and her mother’s long illness and death—now gave her some hope for her own future. Someday.

She watched as he flipped the pages of the volume, her mind straying into the story it held. But then, about halfway through, he stopped. And then he looked down at his dog.

“Found it, boy,” he said softly. The dog’s tail thumped against the wood floor. “Good thinking,” he murmured then. “It wouldn’t fall out in a quick search, or be seen by someone just riffling pages...”

“What?” Amanda asked, almost breathlessly.

Quinn looked up at her then. “Your father knew you read these periodically, right?”

“Yes, he did. It always made him smile because it was part of...us.”

Quinn nodded. “And so he knew exactly where to hide—” he held the book out for her to see “—this, so you would eventually find it.”

And in a small hole, carefully cut into about a half inch thickness of the book’s pages near the binding—not disturbing a word of the text, she noticed—something was nestled, secured by a single layer of clear tape.

A flash drive.

A cold chill rippled down her spine. The memory formed as clear as if her father were here before her right now. It had been one of the few times when he used her full name, and that alone had gotten her attention.

If anything bad ever happens, Amanda, remember where you always found comfort, in those stories.

She’d thought he meant things like losing her mother’s ring, or getting a bad grade. But now...

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “He told me. I didn’t realize it until just this moment, because I didn’t understand, but he told me where to look...if anything happened to him.”

Quinn’s arm came around her, steadied her. “Then let’s see what he wanted you to find.”

Chapter 5

Adam spent a mostly sleepless night in the small motel near the University of Washington Medical Center where his appointment was. The appointment was fairly quick, although he’d had to wait nearly an hour. The results were what he’d expected. The only thing left to try for real improvement was the joint replacement. Major surgery and a lot of rehab. Again.

As he walked back to his truck after his usual “I’ll think about it,” to the doctor, he was already planning his departure. Or escape. He’d go back across the floating bridge and hit the 405, take it down to Interstate 90, and then he’d be headed home. The weather looked like it would hold until he got well over the Snoqualmie Pass, so it should be clear sailing.

He stopped to pay his bill since the place didn’t run to video checkout, and told the clerk he’d be leaving within the hour. The place did run to a coffeepot in the room—this was Seattle after all—and he started a fresh pot while he changed back into jeans and packed his other clothes and what little else he’d unpacked. He preheated the thermos with some hot water, then refilled it with coffee that should get him home even after the few hours’ sleep he’d managed. Then he poured what was left into the now empty cup from this morning, grabbed up his duffel bag and the thermos and headed for the truck, pulling the door closed behind him.

He had just put his bag on the seat and the cup in the holder when his cell rang. A faint smile flitted across his mouth; Natalie, no doubt, making sure he was getting on the road. He pulled the phone out and glanced at the screen. Frowned at the unfamiliar number that wasn’t in his contacts. But he knew the area code was for the other side of the Sound, so he answered.

“Adam? Quinn Foxworth. Are you still in town?”

His brow furrowed with curiosity. What would Quinn want with him, after yesterday? Why did he even have his number? “Yeah. I was just getting ready to leave.”

“Glad I caught you, then. Can you delay going back?”

“Ask the snow heading for the Cascades. Why?”

“Amanda is here, at Foxworth. And we need your help.”

He went very still. There wasn’t a single thing he could think of that Amanda Bonner would need—or want—his help with.

“My...help?”

“With something she found. It could be nothing, or it could be important. Can you get here?”

“Does she know you’re calling me?”

“She knows.”

“And she agreed to it?”

“Yes.” There was a pause before Quinn said wryly, “Not happily, I admit, but she agreed.”

“She must be desperate.”

“We all are, at this point.”

And just how was he supposed to say no to that? He had no idea what they thought he could do, but for Amanda to agree to contacting him, desperate must be the word.

He sucked in a deep breath, and said, “All right.”

Adam didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but the building hidden in the trees wasn’t it. He wasn’t even sure he had the right place, no matter how much his map program insisted. He wasn’t familiar with this side of the Sound. The ferry ride had been pleasant and had given him a chance to grab a quick lunch from the galley aboard—the famous clam chowder had been one thing he’d missed from over here on the rainy side. But once on the other side of the Sound he’d had to focus on finding his way. Especially since it had started to rain as he was getting off the ferry.

There was no sign, nothing except the street number on a post out on the road. He’d made the turn and followed the winding drive until he caught a glimpse of the square green three-story building that almost blended into the evergreens that surrounded it.

When he got closer, he glimpsed through the trees a small parking area, and a second warehouse-looking building to one side. And in between the buildings was a...helipad?

He frowned, slowing down even more. What exactly was the Foxworth Foundation? One of the few people he’d stayed in touch with at the department had told him Quinn had some kind of a charitable organization, but that was all he knew.

He approached cautiously. Thought he heard something. This was a mild winter day by Palouse standards, so he rolled down the window to listen. And heard the sharp but muffled bark of a dog. Quinn and Hayley’s Cutter? Or a strange guard dog who would be looking to take a bite out of him?

And then he slammed on the brakes. There wasn’t a jolt because he’d been going so slow, but he felt exactly as if there had been. Because as he’d made that last turn and come into the clearing the buildings sat in, he could also see the entire parking area. And sitting there, instantly recognizable to him, was a very familiar car. Greg’s precious classic Camaro. The vivid blue, racy little coupe brought back a flood of memories. And Adam had to fight down the inner ache.

Amanda was driving her father’s beloved car. She’d kept it. And not just that, it looked as pristine as it had always been when Greg Bonner had been driving it. It was a classic, he’d said, and he worked to keep it in tip-top shape. Adam remembered when that had segued into a lecture about treating your weapons the same way. A dirty, neglected gun might fire most of the time, but the one time it didn’t was likely going to be the time you needed it most.

Of course, that’s assuming your partner had your back and so gave you time to fire at all.

His fingers curled tightly. And he moved his left hand and slammed his right elbow with a fist. The answering pain gave him the edge he needed to get back under control.

He’d just parked his truck, a safe distance from the taunting blue car, when a door in the building slowly opened. The moment it was wide enough a dog slipped through and headed for him full tilt. He recognized the ground-eating run as well as the coloring.

No one came out behind the dog. He wondered who had opened the door and just let him out. Maybe the now pouring rain had stopped them. He got out of the truck cautiously. True, the dog had met him yesterday, and seemed friendly enough, but this was clearly his own turf and he might be feeling a bit more protective.

Cutter came to a halt before him, then reached out with his nose and nudged his hand in greeting. The right hand again, Adam noted, even though his left was closer to the animal. Was it simply that more people were right-handed and he knew it, or did the dog somehow know that that arm was damaged? He himself certainly did right now, and he wished he hadn’t been quite so energetic with that punch.

Cutter gave him a soft whuff, then turned back the way he’d come. He went a few steps, then stopped and looked back at Adam. The invitation—order?—couldn’t have been clearer.

“Lead on, dog,” he muttered, and started after him.

The moment he saw Adam was going to follow, Cutter trotted toward the door he’d come out of, seeming heedless of the rain. But if he was the herding breed Adam was guessing he was, being out in weather would hardly be a deterrent.

When they got close enough, Adam saw a square metal pad beside the door. This one didn’t have the wheelchair logo, but he guessed it was an access pad. Even as he thought it Cutter rose up on his hind legs and batted a front paw at it. The door began to swing open, and Adam wondered if that was why it was there, to give the dog free rein. Hayley had said he was very smart. And if he managed to open a vehicle hatch, he supposed something like this was child’s—or dog’s—play.

He hesitated while holding the door. Not because it was a strange place and it felt odd just going in, because Cutter had made it quite clear he was if not welcome, at least expected. No, he hesitated because he had the strangest feeling that stepping through that door was going to change everything. That being face-to-face with Amanda again was going to shatter what he’d gained by going home and spending long days riding the Palouse. He hadn’t found absolution there, for it wasn’t to be found, but he had achieved a rather fragile peace. And she was the one person most capable of shattering it.

Cutter’s head came back out the door, as if to ask why he wasn’t already inside.

“You’d better come in,” Quinn’s voice called from inside. “He won’t give up until you do.”

Adam looked down into Cutter’s dark eyes. There were the gold flecks he’d noticed yesterday, giving the dog’s stare a depth he wasn’t used to seeing in an animal. But he read the truth of Quinn’s words in the intensity of that gaze.

He stepped inside. And was startled. Because the bottom floor of this rather industrial-looking building was anything but. Instead it looked like the massive great room of a home, with comfortable seating of four chairs and a sofa in a square around a thick rug laid out before a gas fireplace that was burning merrily, no doubt supplying the warmth he could already feel. At the back on the left was a small but efficient-looking kitchen, on the right was a door open just enough to see it was a bathroom, and another door beside it that was closed.

He noticed all this as if he was taking inventory. And he knew it was to avoid looking at the three people seated in front of that fire. Quinn and Hayley in the armchairs on one side, and in one of the chairs on the other side, the one closest to the fire... Amanda. He didn’t have to look to verify it was her, he could feel it.

He noted he was on a tile floor, and there was a long row of hooks on the wall, so he guessed this was essentially a mudroom to shed wet things. His jacket definitely qualified, so he pulled it off and hung it on one of the hooks. There was a mat to dry his feet, so he used that, as well. Noticed also a stack of towels in a basket by a bench where he guessed you could sit and take off boots and shoes if they were wet enough. He didn’t think his were from just that walk from his truck.

Cutter sat next to the basket, just watching him.

The dog. It hit him suddenly the towels were there for the dog. He should have realized sooner, his mom kept a couple by the back door for the same reason.

“Want me to dry him off?” he asked across the room.

“Have at it,” Hayley answered. “I’d appreciate it. He’s been so crazy all day he’s driving us mad.”

She sounded approving, and he wondered crazily if he’d passed some sort of test. Both she and Quinn were watching him. But Amanda—he risked a glance now—was staring determinedly at the fire. Frowning. It didn’t take a genius to see that he’d been right about her not really wanting him here.

Still not looking at any of them, he picked up one of the towels. The moment he did Cutter stood up and stepped toward him. This was the routine, he guessed, and the clever dog knew it. He stood patiently as Adam ran the towel over his coat first, then each leg and paw. It wasn’t the easiest of chores done mostly one-handed, but he got it done all right. And the dog himself signaled when it was done by backing away.

Adam hung the now damp towel on one of the hooks. Cutter was again doing the “follow me” routine. So he did, even as he wished himself somewhere, anywhere else than in the same room with Amanda.

He headed for the end of the sofa farthest from her. But Cutter kept getting in his way, leaving only one path open to him, and again he was put in mind of the dogs back home, chivying cattle or horses until they went where they were supposed to.

“Dog,” he muttered. Cutter looked up at him innocently but refused to move so that he could get to any seat except the chair next to Amanda. Right next to her. Arms touching close. He could step over the dog, but something about the way the animal was looking at him...

He surrendered, figuring at least this way he was looking across to Hayley and Quinn. Who were, he now noticed, watching their dog with interest, but with no apparent desire to call him off. Instead they exchanged a glance that seemed significant, even if he had no idea what the significance was.

Amanda kept staring at the fire. He almost spoke to her, to tell her he understood she didn’t want him here, but stopped himself. There was nothing to gain there—it was obvious to all here how she felt. Well, except maybe Cutter, who didn’t seem to have gotten the message.

He waited. Silence spun out in the room. And suddenly he felt very stubborn. They’d called him here, he certainly wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t, so it was up to them to start...whatever this was.

He joined Amanda in staring at the fire. Silently. And figured this was as close as they would ever come to being in accord.

Chapter 6

Amanda wasn’t happy. She hadn’t wanted him here but had to admit the logic of Quinn’s point. And so she had agreed to the call, still half hoping he wouldn’t answer or would refuse to come. He surely had to know he wouldn’t be welcomed. By her, at least. She didn’t know about Quinn; the man was more than capable of hiding his feelings behind that cool exterior.

At the very least Adam could have sat somewhere else. Even if Cutter did keep getting in the way, he was only a dog after all. He could have stepped over him or something. Then again, where he was it was easier for her to avoid looking at him. She could just keep her eyes on Quinn and Hayley, or the fire. So maybe the dog had done her a favor.

Even as she thought it Cutter, who had taken up a position on the floor in front of them both even though the space between their feet and the big, heavy coffee table was a bit cramped for him, gave a short woof. It sounded just about like she felt, wanting to get on with it.

“Point taken,” Quinn said, sounding amused. He leaned forward and picked up the laptop from the table. The laptop where they had now plugged in the flash drive Cutter had found. She still had no idea how, and Quinn and Hayley merely shrugged and said they’d given up trying to figure out how the dog knew what he knew.

“We—or rather Cutter—found this flash drive hidden in Greg and Amanda’s office. Very well hidden. In a place where only Amanda would have likely found it, eventually.”

Quinn hit a couple of keys, and the flat screen above the fireplace came to life. He hit a couple more, and the now familiar image appeared. She looked away, unable to bear looking at the familiar handwriting.

“Recognize this?” Quinn asked.

Adam studied the image for a moment, his brow furrowed. And now Amanda couldn’t resist looking at him, when he was safely focused on the screen. He looked...older. Not just the five years it had chronologically been, but as if he’d aged two for every one. Not that he wasn’t still a good—okay, great—looking guy, but the time had left its mark. At least on the boyishly handsome face she remembered.

And had fallen for at first sight, fool that you are.

He unexpectedly glanced her way then, and she flushed as he caught her looking at him. Her gaze darted away, even as she tried not to, knowing it was a guilty reaction. She wanted to simply stare him down, showing he didn’t just mean nothing to her, but that she loathed his very presence.

“I... It’s Greg’s,” Adam said. “But you must already know that.”

“Yes,” Hayley said, her tone quiet. “Amanda told us. And how he hated typing.”

Adam nodded. “He was old school. Said the process was different, mentally, between typing and handwriting.”

“There’s truth in that,” Hayley agreed. “They’ve done studies.”

Again he nodded. “So he’d write things and then take photos of the pages to have a digital record.”

“Must have gone over well on police reports,” Quinn said.

“I did those, mostly. I was pretty fast at it.”

“Do you recognize this, specifically?” Quinn asked.

Amanda found herself holding her breath as he looked back at the projected page. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she hoped he could make sense of the jumble of seemingly unconnected words and letters and numbers.

“I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure. That’s Greg’s code, though.”

“Code?”

Amanda couldn’t stop herself from asking. Adam started to look toward her, then stopped. And she saw suddenly he didn’t like this any more than she did. It gave her a little jolt, to realize she had never, ever considered or cared about his feelings back then, other than to hope he was as miserable as he deserved to be. And her earlier thought about how much older he looked than the young-faced rookie she’d remembered came back to her, and she could only conclude that her hope had come true. Somehow it made her feel worse rather than better.

“He had this personal code he used when he wanted whatever it was kept private.”

“You mean secret?” Quinn asked.

Adam nodded. “Usually it was just hunches, speculation, things he couldn’t be sure of or prove. He didn’t want to send anyone off on a wild hair he had no proof of.”

“Our tech expert was able to break the encryption on the file and open it, but he hasn’t been able to decode the document itself. And because it’s in handwriting, an algorithm for the computer to work on it would be iffy at best.”

Adam nodded. “One of the other reasons he did it this way. He had a healthy skepticism about putting everything digital.”

“He’s not alone there,” Quinn said, rather grimly.

Cutter, restless again, got to his feet and started to pace. Which she understood, since she felt the same way, as if she were hovering on the precipice, and one breath of air would send her over.

Quinn went on. “Amanda called some of her father’s friends still at the department. None of them could make sense of this, either.”

“They couldn’t, unless they knew how Greg set up the code.”

“Do you?” It burst from her, again against her vow to remain completely silent while he was here. But this was too important.

“Yes.” He stopped.

“Don’t play games, Adam Kirk,” she snapped. “This file was last saved the day he died. It could be important.”

He finally looked at her then. And she saw the shadows that darkened his eyes. Shadows that were familiar, for she’d seen them often enough in the mirror. She saw the muscles in his jaw tighten, then release. Then he looked back at Quinn.

“It’s a double alphabet code.”

Quinn glanced at the screen. “What about the numbers?” he asked, obviously knowing what Adam had meant by that.

“They were to work with his foundation alphabet, because it had repeating letters.”

“So he numbered them,” Quinn said in understanding. “A one through five, N one through five, and so on.”

Adam nodded.

“Could someone please explain to the non-secret agent in the room?” Amanda said, trying to keep her frustration out of her voice. She knew she was touchy about this, and Adam should get some credit for at least coming when he was asked. Shouldn’t he?

Quinn answered her. “Double alphabet. One, the real one. The second, the encoding one, can be anything. The simplest—and oldest—is the real one in reverse order, but you can use anything as long as you have twenty-six letters.”

“But how does it work?” Hayley asked, and Amanda threw her a grateful glance, glad she wasn’t the only one lost.

“You just write out the two, then substitute the encoding alphabet letters—or in this case also some numbered letters—for the real alphabet,” Quinn explained.

“Or if you’re like Greg,” Adam said with a sad smile, “you do it from memory. I swear, he could read his encoded stuff like it was straight English.”

Amanda’s breath caught. It had always amazed her, her father’s memory. Brain’s a steel trap for trivia, Mandy, he had always warned her when they had watched a quiz show on television when she was a kid. Somehow that Adam knew that unsettled her. As if he had shared something personal she had thought of as her own. Childish, but sometimes she just slipped back into being a girl who really missed her dad.

“But we’re still at the starting block without his encoding alphabet,” Quinn said.

Adam sucked in a deep breath Amanda could hear. Then he let it out slowly. “I know that, too.”

Amanda stared at him. And suddenly another memory, one pushed out of her mind long ago, crashed back. He’s a good man. I trust him completely.

Apparently it was true, if he’d trusted him with the key to his code. Her father hadn’t made many mistakes about who he trusted. Only one, that she knew of. And he was sitting right here, studying his hands.

“I get he probably swore you to secrecy,” Quinn said, “but under the circumstances...”

Adam looked up then. But not at Quinn. At her. And then, slowly, he said, “It’s Amanda Catherine Bonner Aspen.”

Amanda nearly gasped aloud. Quinn looked at her. “Your full name and a significant location?”

She nodded a little numbly, even as she felt her cheeks heat. Her full name and where she had been conceived, on her parents’ first anniversary trip.

And one look at Adam’s face told her he knew the exact significance of that location. Her father had told him. Probably in that joking way guys had, about getting lucky that night or some such. Her father had been ever decorous around her, but he’d been every inch a man, and she’d heard enough of him with other friends to guess at this.

Belatedly—very, very belatedly—it struck her that Adam and her father had likely shared that kind of relationship, with the kind of joking that made women mostly roll their eyes. The kind that explained why he knew exactly what Aspen meant in the context of her life.

And she had no idea how that made her feel.

Chapter 7

Adam paced the room, occasionally stopping to look out the expansive windows. They’d moved upstairs to what was apparently the office space of Foxworth, contrasting with the homey setting below. It was a large room with a meeting table, some cubicles and cabinets along the side, and an impressive computer station on the back wall. The opposite wall was almost all window, looking out on the clearing the building sat in, across an expanse of meadow to a stand of thick trees with now bare maples stark against evergreens and a couple of madronas.

Those evergreens and the stylish, red-barked madronas were also among the few things he missed about this side of the mountains, where he’d also left behind the shattered remnants of his life’s dream.

He turned away from the window and resumed his pacing, glancing at the computer station where another of the Foxworth personnel, a guy Quinn had introduced as Liam Burnett, their local tech expert as opposed to the guy in St. Louis, had arrived and was looking at the file on the flash drive. Cutter, who had been restlessly pacing and refusing to settle, greeted him with delight, so obviously there was a big connection there.

“Hey, partner,” Liam had said, bending to scratch behind the dog’s right ear, which made the animal wiggle in delight. “Ria says Hi, and you’d better come over for some cookies soon.”

Cutter gave a short little woof that sounded for all the world like “Yep!” Adam spent a lot of time with dogs on the ranch, but he’d never seen one quite as communicative as this one.

Liam went back to studying the file, then gave a slow shake of his head. “Sorry, boss,” he said to Quinn. “It’s not likely any character recognition program would be able to translate this accurately.”

Adam thought he heard a trace of a drawl in the man’s voice, and wondered where he was originally from. Texas, maybe; they had a hand on the ranch from Tyler, and he sounded like Liam.

“Cursive’s very tricky in the first place,” Liam explained further, “since even the same letters can be shaped differently. Add in that there are too many spots where the size of the letters and numbers change to fit what space he had left, and the pages they’re written on were unlined and so the rows of text aren’t always straight, and it’s impossible.”

“So in this, at least, the human eye and brain has it all over the electronic one,” Hayley said.

Liam grinned. “Yes. Hard though that is for me to admit.”

He sent the photographed images to the printer as he set up a decoding grid with the double alphabet laid out for each of them. They would be doing this the old-fashioned way. There were twenty-five pages of notes on the drive, so they each took five and settled in at the table to translate, letter by letter, dating each page with the date on the original.

Even Cutter seemed to realize this required concentration and quiet, because he padded over to first look out the window, then plopped onto a comfy-looking dog bed beneath the glass and settled in to wait.

Adam had to shift things a bit, to get to the angle he needed to write—thankfully no one seemed to notice the rather odd positioning—but he still finished first. Maybe because he had a better idea of what he was looking at, more familiarity with his partner’s phrasing. He recognized place names quickly, and thought maybe he’d absorbed more of Greg’s code than he’d realized. He sat there reading through the decoded pages he held, frowning a little. When Liam handed him his pages he only nodded and started reading those, too. Quinn, Hayley and Amanda finished moments later, and they all slid their pages across the table to him. He was already putting them in date order before he realized what they’d apparently all tacitly decided, that he was the one to read all this and figure out what it meant.

For a moment the thought of trying to make sense of all this seemed beyond daunting. But he owed it to Greg to at least try. And so he read. Made a couple of notes. And read. More notes. The room stayed silent, and in a moment when his mind strayed he had a vision of them all watching him, holding their breath. It made him want to hurry, but he forced himself to go at it methodically, as Greg always had. He’d been nothing if not thorough. Which told Adam the answer was here, somewhere, he just had to find it.

When he finished reading the last page he sat staring at it. In part trying to process everything, but also because he knew the moment he put down this last page they’d all be waiting for him to explain everything. And he could, some of it. What he couldn’t give them was the biggest, most important piece.

Finally, he gave in and set down the page. And although every part of him told him not to, the first person he looked at was Amanda. He wondered how she felt, having her name and that place laid out before them all, knowing that this above all was what her father had valued so much to make it the key to all of this.

She met his gaze, waiting silently. And in this moment, this precious moment, there was less of the anger there, even less hatred in her eyes. Because he might be able to give her something, some final piece of her father?

It was a moment before he could manage to speak.

“I...remember some of this. Four of these interviews I was there for. But the notes he made here don’t seem to have much to do with what we did those interviews for. Or with each other, for that matter. The other three I don’t know about. Judging by the times on them, they were done either after hours or when I was on another assignment, so I wouldn’t have been there.”

“Another assignment?” Quinn asked.

He was glad of the reason to look away from Amanda. “I was still pretty new, so they would stick me in other divisions for a week or so at a time so I’d know where they were coming from.”

Quinn nodded.

“And you remember when those times were?” It was Amanda, and it would be beyond rude not to look at her, even if he was wondering if there was an accusation in the question.

“I remember all of it,” he said flatly. “Every day.” And it haunts me every night.

“After hours?” Hayley asked then. “Did he do that often?”

“If he had his teeth into something,” Adam explained. “He was the most dedicated cop I ever saw.” He looked back at the pages stacked in front of him. “And he had his teeth into this.”

“The question is,” Quinn said, “what exactly is ‘this’?”

“It looks like a long list of various meetings or gatherings of the criminal element,” Adam said, with a gesture at the pile, “that aren’t connected to anything specific. Except...”

“Pix,” Quinn said.

Adam’s gaze shot back to Quinn’s face. And he saw in the man’s eyes what he’d forgotten for a moment, that Quinn Foxworth had been a soldier, a fighter, long before he’d become...a champion against injustice, or for lost causes or whatever he was now.

“Yes. It occurs in nearly every reference. If there’s anything that tied it together, in Greg’s mind at least, it was that.”

“What is pix?” Amanda asked.

“I wish I knew,” he said. “Greg obviously thought he was onto something big.”

“Is there any chance he would have used the actual letters for this one thing, instead of the code? Should we be looking at Btp, instead of Pix?” Liam asked.

Adam shook his head. “If he wanted it secret, he’d never risk something someone could just guess.” He looked back at the pages yet again. “The way it’s used, in context with the rest and capitalized, it seems like it has to be a name.”

“Agreed,” Quinn said. “Question is, thing or person?”

“I would have thought person,” Hayley said, “but I suppose it could be a place.”

“An organization, maybe?” Amanda put in.

“Could be,” Quinn said. He looked at Adam. “Any common thread in the cases you remember here?”

“Not that I can think of right now. I’d have to see the case files to really remember.”

Quinn nodded. “I’ll see what we can do about that.”

Adam opened his mouth to say it was unlikely they could get the full files, then remembered who he was talking to. Quinn Foxworth was remembered and remembered well at the department, and he could probably get whatever he darned well pleased. He, on the other hand, would likely get the door shut in his face, no matter what the official investigation had concluded.

“It has to be important,” Amanda said quietly. “He never would have hidden it like that if it wasn’t.”

“Agreed,” Quinn said.

“Where exactly did he hide it?” Adam asked. “He didn’t freeze it in an ice cube, did he?”

Amanda’s head snapped up. “He told you about that?”

He couldn’t stop his smile. “Yeah. He was pretty proud of that one.”

For the barest instant, he thought she almost smiled back. “He should have been. It took me nearly two weeks.” She glanced at Quinn, who raised one eyebrow at her. “I got a speeding ticket. Dad took away my car key and hid it. Said it was somewhere in the house, and I could drive again when I found it. Took me nearly two weeks. I looked in the freezer, but I never thought to look actually in an ice cube. I just remember wondering why he had an old-fashioned ice cube tray in there when we had an ice maker.”

This was the most normal she had sounded since he’d gotten here. Not that there wasn’t the undertone of sadness when she spoke of her father, but she didn’t sound miserable. Just full of her love for the man who had practically raised her on his own. And it was that that made him speak again.

“Did he ever tell you how proud he was of you, that you didn’t drop his name trying to get out of it?”

“He told me I did the right thing,” she said. “That it wasn’t something to be proud of, it was just what a good person did.”

“Well, he was proud,” Adam said. “But then, he was always proud of you.”

“And I him,” she said, and a tiny bit of that old snap had crept back into her voice.

He vowed he would stay in speak-only-when-spoken-to mode from here on. And keep his gaze away from the woman who kept drawing it without even trying.

“We’ll dig into this a bit,” Quinn said. “I’d like to know how this is all connected, and why it was so important that he hid it so carefully.” He glanced at Adam. “Taped in a small square cut out of just enough pages near the spine of one of Amanda’s favorite books.”

Adam immediately did what he’d vowed not to do and looked at Amanda. “The wizard books,” he said. Her eyes widened slightly. He lowered his gaze. “He told me once one of his best memories of when you were a kid was reading those with you.”

There was a long moment of silence, during which he stared at the stack of pages, before she spoke. Her voice was quiet, and held a stronger note of that sadness. “Thank you for telling me that. It’s one of my best memories of him, too.”

The way she said it eased him, at least she wasn’t mad at him again. He wondered how she would feel if he told her just how much of her Greg had shared with him. Her dreams, her fears, his worry because of this or that, and the fears any father of a daughter had, amplified geometrically by being a cop and too often dealing with the worst of the worst out there.

You’ve done your best, Greg. She’s fit, she’s strong, you’ve taught her to fight, she’s smart and she pays attention.

But if she crosses paths with the wrong guy, it may not be enough.

If she crosses paths with the wrong guy, there’s a good chance he’s going to be the one running away screaming.

“You were the light of his life,” Adam said softly. “He never stopped talking about you. Or worrying about you.”

“And I never stopped worrying about him,” she answered. And then, with acerbity back in her voice she added, “For all the good that did.”

And so the truce seemed over. And Adam tried to tell himself he should be glad it had happened at all, even if it hadn’t lasted.

Chapter 8

Now that Foxworth had clearly taken over...whatever this was, Adam was pondering what to do. He should have been well on his way home by now, probably through the pass and halfway there. He opened the weather app on his phone, since they somehow had a strong signal even out here. Better than at home anyway. Which was just as well, kept him from buying fancy, expensive phones. They had decent internet at the house and barn, but out on the Palouse, good luck with any kind of connection.

The storm that was still pouring rain on them here was already dumping snow in the mountains. The camera at Snoqualmie showed a near whiteout. Right now they were letting people through with snow tires, but from the look of it they’d be requiring chains soon. And the thought of wrestling chains onto his truck mostly one-handed was enough to make him groan inwardly.

Stop the pity party, Kirk.

“Thinking about tackling that?”

Hayley’s voice from behind him snapped him out of his thoughts.

“More thinking about not tackling it,” he admitted.

“Wise decision, I think.”

Hayley came around the chair, sat in the one next to it and handed him a cup of coffee. Adam took it gratefully. They’d moved back downstairs when they’d reached the point of rehashing the same ground again and again and accomplishing nothing. Until they knew who or what Pix referred to, they were at a loss.

“You’re going to keep digging into this?” he asked.

Hayley nodded. “If only for Amanda’s sake. Because he was obviously working on it when he was killed, it’s important to her.”

Adam glanced toward the small kitchen, where Amanda was with Quinn, apparently putting together some kind of lunch.

“He’s been looking out for her ever since, hasn’t he?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “My husband is hardwired that way.”

“So it wasn’t just...what happened to his parents?”

“That only solidified it, I think. Gave him direction, and determination.”

“He told me he wanted an organization that wasn’t hamstrung by regulations or politics, like cops are.”

Hayley nodded. “He wanted to be able to focus on helping, whatever it took.”

“Admirable,” Adam said. “I wish I could help more.”

Hayley gave him a quizzical look. “We still wouldn’t have a clue if you hadn’t come to help.”

“Doesn’t seem like much.”

“You’re pretty hard on yourself,” Hayley said, leaning back in her chair and taking a sip from her own mug.

He didn’t think so, but it seemed rude to protest what was clearly meant as a kindly observation, so he only shrugged.

“I presume you meant to beat that today?” she asked, nodding toward the snowy image.

“Yeah.” He grimaced. “I’d better call home.”

“You need a place to stay tonight?”

“I can go back to the motel by U-Dub,” he said.

“That’s where you were last night?”

He nodded. “Doctor’s appointment this morning,” he said absently, focused on calling up his contact list; Nat would be outside, prepping in case this storm still had snow left when it got to them, so he’d try her cell first. She wouldn’t be happy, but neither was he, leaving her and their folks with all the work.

“Still, huh?”

It took him a moment to remember what he’d said, and when he did he wished he hadn’t. “Still trying to sell me on more surgery,” he said, hoping she’d let it go.

“Would it help?”

“They say yes.”

“You don’t believe them?”

He put down the phone; Quinn’s wife was nothing if not persistent. But she was so kind it was impossible to dodge without being bad-mannered about it. “It’s more that I’m really, really tired of them cutting on me.” Which was true, but also a dodge, because they’d also told him he would end up with more function and much less pain, and he wasn’t certain he deserved that.

“That,” Hayley said, “is totally understandable.” Then, unexpectedly she said, “Why don’t you stay here tonight?”

He blinked. “Here?”

She gestured toward the back of the room. “There’s a comfortable bedroom back there, and a bathroom with a shower. And there’s food in the kitchen—you can help yourself.”

It was too much, for how little he’d done. “I...thank you. That’s really nice of you, but I think I’ll head back over and be that much closer in the morning, or whenever this lets up and I can get through.”

“Your choice,” she said, “just know it’s an option.”

He nodded. “Thanks again.” He hesitated, then thought it would be easier to ask her than Quinn, and said, “Would you let me know? If you find out anything?”

“Of course,” she said easily.

When he got up to leave, Hayley gave him a hug, Quinn shook his hand and Amanda, rather stiffly, said simply, “Goodbye.”

She had her purse over her shoulder and her keys in her hand, so he gathered she was leaving, too. But she was hesitating, so he guessed she wanted to say something to the Foxworths without him hanging around. Oddly, it was Cutter who protested his departure the most energetically, almost blocking the door and looking from him to Amanda and back, his gaze intense, as if he were trying to communicate something. He whined slightly, and it had such a worried sound Adam almost laughed at the dog. But something about this animal made laughing at him seem...inappropriate, if not foolish.

It was Hayley who called him back to her, also oddly by saying to the dog, “Not yet.”

When he was back in the truck, he remembered he was going to need gas. Might as well do it now in the hopes of an early start home in the morning. Or maybe he should just start home now, and hope they had the pass plowed by the time he got there. Not that it would do much good if it was still coming down that fast and thick, but he’d feel better.

Until you got stuck up there and had to tough it out in freezing temps or ended up in a snowdrift with the truck wrecked.

His map program told him the nearest gas station was a couple of miles away, on the way to the ferry. He found it easily and pulled in. He rather grimly watched the numbers on the pump roll as he filled the truck’s large fuel tank. He’d just finished the hit to his debit card when it struck him that he and Amanda would likely be on the same ferry going back to the other side. And for a moment he seriously pondered either waiting for the next one, some forty-five minutes later, or driving a half hour to the nearest other ferry. But a glance at his watch told him that would dump him in downtown Seattle at a peak traffic hour, and even if he survived to get on the freeway he’d be going through peak traffic there, too. Even though it was less than half as far, it would likely take him four times as long. Not something he wanted to deal with.

At least the blue classic car would be easy to spot. He would just stay several vehicles behind her, and once on board he would stay in the truck, he thought. Then he would never encounter her, because she certainly wouldn’t approach him.

He pulled out of the station onto the road and headed for the boat. It was the in-between time on this side, it seemed, too early for the rush of commuters coming back, and too early for those heading over to the city for the evening. And so he had the road pretty much to himself at the moment, only a few cars in sight ahead. His regular glance in the rearview mirror told him it was even sparser behind him, without a vehicle in sight.

Just as he looked back forward, something registered, like a freeze-frame of an image. His gaze shot back to the mirror. He’d been right. It had been a flash of bright blue that had caught his eye. He waited, realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to suck in some air. The blue got closer, close enough that he knew. Definitely Greg’s car; the likelihood of there being two of those classics here, on this road at this moment, was so slim as to be nonexistent. It was still raining fairly hard, so he couldn’t see into the vehicle. Not that he needed to, he could imagine Amanda at the wheel easily enough.

He made himself look forward again. Saw that he’d slowed to a creep, only then aware he’d taken his foot off the accelerator.

Good thing there’s not much traffic, Kirk. You’re driving like an idiot.

He resisted the urge to cut onto a side street and let her go past him, even though it would be easier to stay clear of her if she was ahead of him. But she was close enough to see him now, and if she recognized his truck, which she probably would, she’d know he was dodging. Why that mattered, with everything else she thought of him, he wasn’t sure. But it did.

They could still ignore each other, he told himself. Even if she was still right behind him when they boarded. Maybe he’d get lucky and they’d end up getting on at the point where the crew divided the oncoming vehicles, sending them to opposite sides of the vessel. Maybe—

A resounding crash cut off his thoughts. No screech of tires, but the road was probably too wet for that. Nothing in front of him... His heart jammed up in his throat. And even before he looked in the rearview mirror, he somehow knew.

The blue car was not in sight. Another vehicle was making a wild U-turn, and it sped off in the opposite direction.

He made the same maneuver and sped back the way he’d come. Not after the fleeing vehicle, but with his eyes scanning, searching...

There. A glimpse of blue. The side of a car at an unnatural angle. Greg Bonner’s pride and joy, sideways in the roadside drainage ditch. Smoke rising from the engine compartment.

And Amanda, pinned inside.

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