CHAPTER 1

April 2005

"Hey, Dolph!"

Ray's head jerked, and he grumbled under his breath at the high school nickname he'd despised.

He recognized the voice. But Stephanie Laakso—no, she was Anderson now—had never called him that. Why now? He placed two of his parents' dining room chairs in the bed of his truck and turned to see Stephanie crossing the neighbors' lawns, heading toward him with purpose. She balanced her toddler on her hip and motioned for him with her free arm.

"Hey. How's it going?" The car in front of her house was still there, and behind her, two men stood in her driveway. He eyed them as he strolled toward Stephanie. Both wore tan chinos, long-sleeved dress shirts, and ties, and the redheaded one wore a suit jacket. Their hands were empty—no products for sale or visible Bible tracts—though they could be there to share their faith. He lengthened his stride as they started to follow her.

"Can you help me?"

The way she exaggerated "help me" and her wide-eyed expression stole Ray's focus from the wisps of naturally blonde hair framing her face. "What do you need?"

Alexis stared up at him and began to cry, probably intimidated by his height.

"I hate to impose, but could you and Emily watch Alexis for me again for a few hours tonight?"

The slight shake of her head contradicted her words.

"These detectives"—she jerked her head, appearing startled they stood a few feet away—"need me to come to the station regarding Sam's murder."

Emily? Why would Stephanie bring up his high school girlfriend? She wasn't making any sense, yet her sky-blue eyes stayed locked on his. Another look at the detectives and things clicked into place. Detectives who wanted her to come in at nearly seven o'clock at night didn't add up. Sam was killed eight months ago, about a month after Ray's two-week leave from Iraq. Not likely there'd be a time-sensitive break in the case now. His body tensed the same as if he heard an incoming mortar siren. He thought quickly. "I wish we could help, but I have to finish loading this furniture and, uh, deliver it tonight." He stopped before saying names or places. If Stephanie avoided using his real name, she could have a reason.

"I understand." Relief flashed across her face. "Do you have a minute to help me with something in the house, though?"

"Sure." He wasn't leaving her side with these goons here.

She turned to face the detectives. "Sorry. I really need to feed my daughter and get her in bed. I can come by in the morning before work. Should I ask for one of you or Detective Boothe?"

The thinner detective with limp brown hair hesitated. Ray added another inch of intimidation by raising on the balls of his feet. Alexis cried harder, and the man cowered. "Detective Boothe is out this week."

"Okay. Can I get your card?" Stephanie asked.

"Uh, no need. Ask for either of us." The detectives started to back away.

"You said you're Detective Wiesner, and you're Detective Farmer?" She motioned from the thinner guy to the redhead.

"Yes, ma'am. We'll see you in the morning." Wiesner nodded to a grumpy-looking Farmer, who cast one more chilling glance at Stephanie before he followed.

While Stephanie opened the trunk of her car, Ray watched the men pull away before he grabbed the groceries and carried them inside.

"You want to tell me what that was about?" He set the bags on the kitchen table. "Because I'd bet a month's pay those men were not detectives." Spotting an envelope and pen on the counter, he wrote down the vehicle's license plate number.

Stephanie exhaled audibly, shaking her head. "Thank you. I didn't think so either."

"Smart not using my name. Is that why you asked for their cards?"

"Partly. And I could swear the first time he said his name was Wieser, not Wiesner. Liar," she muttered. She placed Alexis in the high chair and fastened her in. "Them showing up without calling and wanting me to come down to the station didn't make sense even if Detective Boothe is out of town." She filled a sippy cup with milk, then handed it to Alexis. The child quieted, and Stephanie turned on the stove and slid a cast-iron skillet over the burner.

"Did they show you badges?" Those could be faked, though. He unloaded the bags while Stephanie removed the top from the container of rotisserie chicken and kept working.

"As a matter of fact, they did not." Now she growled, though it wasn't an overly threatening sound coming from her.

"Didn't think so. They had regular tags instead of permanent license plates for official state vehicles, too." He was pretty sure the police departments around Fort Campbell had permanent tags, but Taylors was a small town, and maybe South Carolina did things differently.

"I didn't even …" She absently tucked a free strand of hair behind her ear, then began cutting up the chicken with shaky hands.

"Let me do that." He touched a finger to her hand, afraid she'd slice something other than the chicken. She let him take the knife. "Is this Detective Boothe the one investigating Sam's death?"

"Yes. He's had the lead since the beginning." She picked up the package of tortillas and bag of shredded cheese and assembled a quesadilla in the skillet. "Considering what I told him about last week, I think he'd be the one to contact me if he learned anything."

"What did you tell him last week?"

She looked at him and hesitated before asking, "How much did you hear about Sam's murder?"

"That he was found shot in the lot at Floyd's Fine Motors. My dad said they thought it was attempted robbery or someone trying to boost a car."

Stephanie nodded. "They didn't have much to go on. The security cameras were not working, so there wasn't any video and no leads. But I stopped back at the dealership one night last week …"

"Wait. You're still working there?"

"Yeah." She cut the quesadilla and took a nibble before placing a triangle on the high chair tray. "The owner, Gary Floyd, was shook up after it happened and offered to give me a recommendation, but I was a wreck and couldn't deal with taking care of Alexis and trying to find and learn a new job."

Ray couldn't imagine working at the same place where her husband was killed but kept his mouth shut. She didn't need him pointing that out when she dealt with it every day.

"The part-time receptionist who helped with the title work did quit. Gary decided not to replace her, saying I could do both jobs, and he'd pay me more. Only it's enough additional work that I have trouble getting it all done. On Wednesdays, Gary leaves at five, so my friend Renee, who works at the day care, takes Alexis home with her, and I stay late to catch up." She assembled another quesadilla. "Last week, I heard a car pull in as I was about to leave. With what happened to Sam, it made me nervous, so I took my phone with me in case I had to call the police and peeked out. I saw a guy get something from one of the cars that had come in that day. I couldn't help but wonder if it could be related to Sam's murder."

Ray's mind had gone there, too. "Did you see what he got out of the car?"

"No. It might have been wrapped in a bag, but it wasn't big. I tried to get a picture of the guy but only got his back before he got in his car and left. I debated whether to tell Gary because I didn't want him knowing I stayed late and thinking I can't keep up. I really need this job. But I had to say something. Gary seemed more focused on why I was there, but when I told him, he said the guy who drove the transport carrier had left something in the car. He said he left the car unlocked—which would explain how the guy got in without breaking a window."

"But …" Ray picked up on her hesitation.

"Something felt off. So I did a little digging. You want a quesadilla?" she offered.

"No." He wanted the rest of the story.

"Gary buys about half his inventory from bigger dealers and auto auctions. That day we'd had two cars delivered. One of the vehicles came from a dealer in Miami that he buys from regularly. At least once a month. It got my brain spinning with ideas."

"Whoa." What were the chances that was purely coincidental? Slim to absolutely none would be his guess.

"I called Detective Boothe and told him, and he thought it sounded suspicious and was going to contact the local authorities in Miami to see what they could tell him about the dealership there. I haven't heard from him yet."

"You should call him to check these guys out."

"Good idea." She turned off the burner, then plucked a business card from the wire letter holder next to the phone on the counter. After about thirty seconds, she gave an exasperated sigh.

Ray waited until she'd left a message. "He probably won't get that tonight. Why don't you call the station and ask for those detectives?"

She nodded and dialed again while Alexis slurped down milk. "Yes, I'd like to speak to Detective Wieser, or maybe it's Wiesner. He's not. Is Detective Farmer in? Can you transfer me to his voice mail, please?" Her face scrunched while listening before she hung up. "I couldn't tell if that was Farmer's voice because he didn't say much, but the names check out. Maybe I'm being paranoid," she conceded.

"I'm not convinced you are, and until you talk to Detective Boothe, you can't stay here."

"I don't have anywhere to go," she interrupted him.

"If they aren't legit, they could come back. It's not safe for you or Alexis. You can stay at Mom and Dad's new condo."

"I can't impose on them."

"It's not up for debate. Pack what you need for a day or two for you both." He drilled her with the intense stare he'd developed as second-in-command in junior ROTC, hoping it'd work.

She met his gaze head-on before the trace of defiance in her eyes fled. Her shoulders sagged, and she stroked Alexis's curls, which were nearly the same champagne shade of blonde as her own. "Okay. Thank you."

He caught the shimmer of moisture in her eyes before she checked and removed the second quesadilla from the pan. It evoked a desire to take her in his arms and assure her that she'd be safe. That she didn't have to face this alone.

Stephanie took a bite of a quesadilla and handed Alexis another piece. "Can you keep an eye on her while I throw some stuff in a bag?"

"O-kay." Why did overseeing one toddler for a few minutes stir up more fear than doing door-to-door searches for insurgents in Iraq?

"I'm right down the hall if you need me."

Stephanie must have picked up on his hesitation, based on the amused grin she shot him. It was worth it to see her smile though, even if only for a second.

Once she disappeared, he surveyed the kitchen. In high school, he'd spent as much time here, hanging out with her brother Niklas, as his own house. Stephanie and Sam moved in after her dad's promotion took her parents back to Finland, and the house had hardly changed. Now he looked around through the eyes of a combat veteran. With the little Stephanie had told him, he'd already concluded that the men were on the other side of the law, trafficking illegal drugs. If they weren't detectives, they wouldn't come back during daylight. This was typically a safe street. The neighbors kept the front lights on, and the older houses were close together. If he wanted to break in, he wouldn't risk coming in the front door. The back door, though …

He stepped over and checked the door that entered into the kitchen. No security alarm panel. In addition to the simple doorknob lock—that would take all of twenty seconds to pick or force—there was a deadbolt. Still, that wouldn't keep out the wrong kind of people. They could bust a windowpane on the door, or the side window, or even a bedroom window in a matter of seconds. She was not staying here. But this was her home now, and she couldn't stay away indefinitely. He needed a plan.

Alexis banged her empty cup on the tray.

"You want more?" he asked, though several pieces of her dinner remained.

"Ma-ma-ma," she said and pushed away some of the food, then rubbed a fist over her eye.

It took him a minute to figure out how to release the tray from the high chair. When he tried to lift her, he met with resistance, then found the strap holding her in. Once he unfastened it, he carried Alexis down the hallway. Stephanie was in her childhood bedroom, which now held a crib, rocking chair, and small dresser. She packed diapers into a fashionable backpack.

"Do you have a video camera?"

She looked up from her task. "Yeah. We bought a used one so we could send videos of Alexis to my parents and grandparents in Finland and Sam's mom, dad, and stepmom in Nebraska. Why?"

"I'm going to set it up in case you have visitors tonight."

"It's in the coat closet. Top shelf." She took Alexis from him, worry clear in her eyes.

After he retrieved the black bag, he laid the contents on the kitchen table and took inventory. The player was nice and compact. He rewound the tape and pressed play. As he expected, the scene that played was of Alexis. Her laughter as she went down a small, colorful slide made him smile. Her innocence reminded him of why he'd dropped out of college to join the Army shortly after 9/11. Someone had to fight evil in the world. Joining up had been his plan for years, but after watching the towers fall, he wasn't waiting three more years to graduate.

He let the little girl's laughter seep into his core. No way was anyone hurting her or Stephanie on his watch. He left the video playing while he removed the cellophane wrap from an unopened tape. After he replaced the tape, he set aside the one Stephanie would want to keep.

Stephanie's voice carried down the hall in that animated way adults talked to babies, little kids, and animals. Ray checked the amount of charge on the main camcorder battery, then swapped it for the spare. After he plugged in the charger, he skimmed through the owner's manual and adjusted the settings for the longest play. Six hours. Still not long enough. And he couldn't count on the max battery life with an older recorder. He needed a backup plan to cover the whole night and going forward.

Okay. Where to put it? The top of the fridge would be stable and had a clear line of sight to the door. However, people doing something shady tended to keep their heads down. He needed a face shot of anyone who came in. The kitchen counter was too obvious. Unless …

Rummaging in the cupboards, he found a cracker box and held it next to the camera. He took the package out and slid the camera in. Perfect.