“Send her in.”

Nothing Jaxon had read in the file prepared him for the beautiful woman who stepped inside. Avery Tierney had been a skinny, homely looking kid with scraggly, dirty brown hair and freckles, wearing hand-me-downs. She’d looked lost, alone and frightened.

This Avery was petite with chocolate-brown eyes that would melt a man’s heart and curves that twisted his gut into a knot.

Although fear still lingered in those eyes. The kind of fear that made a man want to drag her in his arms and promise her everything would be all right.

“You have to help me stop the execution and get my brother released from prison,” Avery said, her voice urgent.

“Why would I do that, Miss Tierney?”

A pained sound ripped from Avery Tierney’s throat. “Because he’s innocent.”

Cold Case in Cherokee Crossing

Rita Herron

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Award-winning author RITA HERRON wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded storytelling to kids for writing romance, and now she writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. She lives in Georgia with her own romance hero and three kids. She loves to hear from readers, so please write her at PO Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225, USA, or visit her website, www.ritaherron.com.

To my beautiful daughters who, as counselors, are the real heroes.

Love you,

Mom

Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

Blood splattered the wood floor and walls. So much blood.

A scream lodged in nine-year-old Avery Tierney’s throat. Her foster father, Wade Mulligan, lay on the floor. Limp. Helpless. Bleeding.

His eyes were bulging. The whites milky looking. His lips blue. His shirt torn from dozens of knife wounds.

The room was cold. The wind whistled through the old house like a ghost. Windowpanes rattled. The floor squeaked.

Horror made her shake all over.

Then relief.

That mean old bully could never hurt her again. Never come into her bedroom. Never whisper vile things in her ear.

Never make her do those things....

A noise sounded. She dragged her eyes from the bloody mess, then looked up. Her brother, Hank, stood beside the body.

A knife in his hand.

He grunted, raised the knife and stabbed Wade again. Wade’s body jerked. Hank did it again. Over and over.

Blood dripped from the handle and blade. More soaked his shirt. His hands were covered....

His eyes looked wild. Excited. Full of rage.

She opened her mouth to scream again, but Hank lifted his finger to his lips and whispered, “Shh.”

Avery nodded, although she thought she might get sick. She wanted him to stop.

She wanted him to stab Wade again. To make sure he was dead.

A siren wailed outside. Blue lights suddenly twirled, shining through the front window.

Hank jerked his head around, eyes flashing with fear.

Then the door crashed open and two policemen stormed in.

Hank dropped the knife to the floor with a clatter and tried to run. The bigger cop caught him around the waist.

“Let me go! Stop it!” Hank bellowed.

The skinny cop moved toward her. Then he knelt and felt Wade’s neck. A second later, he looked at his partner and shook his head. “Dead.”

The cop turned to her with a frown. “What happened?”

“Don’t say anything!” Hank yelled.

Avery’s cry caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to do. What to say. She’d seen the knife in Hank’s hand. Seen him stabbing Wade over and over.

Something niggled at the back of her mind. Something that had happened. Wade had come into her room.... She’d heard a noise....

“Where’s your mother?” the policeman asked.

She didn’t know that, either. The foster homes had been her life.

“Stop fighting me, kid.” The big cop shoved Hank up against the wall, pushed his knee in Hank’s back, then jerked his arms behind him.

Tears blurred Avery’s eyes as he handcuffed her brother.

“It’ll be okay, sis,” Hank shouted.

Avery let out a sob. Hank was all she had.

What were they going to do to him? Would they take him to jail?

If they did, what would happen to her?

Chapter One

Twenty years later

“Thirty-four-year-old Hank Tierney is scheduled for execution in just a few days. Protestors against the death penalty have begun to rally, but due to Tierney’s confession, his appeals have been denied.”

Avery stared at the local television news in Cherokee Crossing, her heart in her throat as images from the past assaulted her.

Hank holding the bloody knife, Hank repeatedly stabbing Wade Mulligan...

Her doing nothing... She’d been in shock. Traumatized, the therapist had said. Dr. Weingarten had tried to protect her from the press. Had sat with her during the grueling forensic police interviews. Had tried to get her placed in a safe, stable home.

But nobody wanted Hank Tierney’s sister.

Especially knowing their father was also in prison for murder.

That fact had worked against Hank. The assistant D.A. at the time had argued that Hank was genetically predisposed to violence. The altercations between him and their foster parents hadn’t helped his case.

A couple of the neighbors had witnessed Hank lashing out at Wade when Wade had reprimanded him.

Wade’s wife, Joleen, their foster mother at the time, had testified that Hank was troubled, angry, rebellious, even mean. That she’d been afraid of him for months.

Avery had been too confused to stand up for him.

But she’d secretly been relieved that Wade was dead.

And too ashamed of what the man had done to her to speak out.

“Hank Tierney was only fourteen at the time he stabbed Wade Mulligan. But due to the maliciousness of the crime, he was tried as an adult and has spent the past twenty years on death row. His sister, Avery, who was nine when the murder occurred and the sole witness of the crime, has refused interviews.”

The nightmares that had been haunting Avery made her shiver. Hank’s arrest and the publicity surrounding it had dogged her all her life, affecting every relationship she’d ever had.

Just as Wade’s abuse had.

She was shy around men, reluctant to trust. Cautious about letting anyone in her life because once they heard her story, they usually ran.

A photo of Hank at fourteen, the day of the arrest, flashed on the screen, then a photo of him now. He was thirty-four. Not a teenager but a man.

His once thin, freckled face had filled out; his nose was crooked as if it had been broken. And he’d beefed up, added muscles to his lanky frame.

There were scars on his face that hadn’t been there before, a long jagged one along his temple. But the scars in his eyes were the ones that made her lungs strain for air.

Still, he was that young boy who’d stepped in front of her and taken blows for her when Wade was drinking. Who’d sneaked her food when Wade was on one of his rampages and she was hiding in the shed out back to escape his wrath.

Hank had spent his life in jail for what he’d done. For taking away the monster who’d made her young life hell.

She should have told.

Although the therapist had assured her it wouldn’t have mattered, that the number of stab wounds alone indicated Hank suffered from extreme rage and was a danger to society.

But Hank had killed Wade in self-defense. And Wade had deserved to die.

Still, her brother would be put to death in just a few days. It wasn’t fair.

She looked outside the window at the dusty road and woods. The prison was only an hour from Cherokee Crossing. Subconsciously she must have chosen to settle back here because she’d be close to Hank.

Or maybe because she’d needed to confront her demons so she could move on.

Just like she had to see Hank before he died and thank him for saving her life.

* * *

TEXAS RANGER JAXON WARD took a seat in the office of Director Landers, his nerves on edge. He’d just gotten off a case and his adrenaline was still running high. Beating the suspect the way he had done could get him kicked off the job.

Hell, he didn’t care.

He was ready to hang up his badge anyway. Maybe open his own P.I. agency. Then he wouldn’t have to play by the rules.

“You asked to see me?”

“Yes, I’ve decided to grant your request to work the domestic-violence team.”

Jaxon tried not to react. The director knew his background, that he’d grown up in the system and that domestic violence was personal for him.

In fact, it had been a strike against him. The director had expressed concerns that Jaxon might allow his own experiences, and his anger, to cloud his judgment, and that he’d end up taking his personal feelings out on the alleged abusers.

The director had good reason to worry.

Today was the perfect example. When he’d seen Horace Mumford go after his kid with a wood board, Jaxon had taken the board to him.

“Thank you, sir.” Jaxon stood, waiting on the reprimand.

But it never came. Instead the director cleared his throat. “Your first assignment is to make sure the Tierney execution goes forward.”

Jaxon frowned. “I didn’t realize there was a problem.”

Director Landers ran a hand over his balding head. “Some young do-gooder attorney wanting to make a name for herself is trying to get a stay and a retrial.”

Jaxon had seen the recent protests against the execution in the news. Not unusual with death row cases.

“Go talk to Tierney. Make sure everything stays on track.”

Jaxon’s gut tightened with an uneasy feeling. “Why the interest?” According to the news, the guy was only a teenager when he murdered his foster father. And he’d been railroaded into a confession.

“Because that case was one of the first ones I worked when I was a young cop. It built my career.”

Now Jaxon understood. The director was worried about his damn job, not whether or not a man was innocent.

“Wipe that scowl off your face. I didn’t screw up. Hank Tierney was as guilty as his father was of murder,” Director Landers said. “The kid was caught with the bloody knife in hand, blood splattered all over him. Hell, even his sister said he stabbed Mulligan.”

“Fine. I’ll go talk to him myself.” He’d also ask about his motive. He didn’t remember that being reported, only that the police thought the kid was violent and dangerous.

Director Landers gave him a warning look. “Listen, Ward, I know your history, so don’t go making this kid out to be some hero or I’ll can your ass. Your job is to make sure that case does not go back for a retrial. If it does, it could affect all the cases I worked after that.”

That would be a nightmare.

Still, Jaxon silently cursed as he walked out of the office. Was this some kind of test to see if he followed orders?

Or did Landers just want to make sure nothing happened to tarnish his reputation?

* * *

AVERY SHIVERED AT the stark gray walls of the prison as the guard led her to a private visitors’ room. Apparently the warden had arranged for them to actually be in the room together versus being divided by a Plexiglas wall.

Because she was saying a final goodbye to her brother.

She twisted her hands together as she sank into the metal chair, guilt making her stomach cramp.

She should have visited Hank before now. Should have come and thanked him for that night. Should have made sure he was all right.

The door closed, locking her in the room, and her vision blurred. Suddenly she was back there in that cold room at the Mulligan house. Lying in the metal bed with the ratty blanket...

Joleen was gone. She’d left earlier that day to take care of her mama. Avery knew it was going to be a bad night. Wade had started with the booze as soon as he’d come home from his job at the garage.

She clutched the covers and stared at the spider spinning a web on the windowpane. Rain pounded on the tin roof. Wind whistled through the eaves, rattling the glass.

“Get in there, boy.”

“Don’t tie me up tonight,” Hank shouted. “And leave Avery alone.”

Avery fought a scream. She wanted to lock the door, but she’d done that before, and it hadn’t stopped him. It only made him madder. He’d broken it down with a hatchet and threatened to kill her if she locked it again.

Something slammed against the wall. Wade punching Hank. Grunts followed. Hank was fighting Wade, but Wade would win. He always won.

Footsteps shuffled a minute later, coming closer to her room. Hank shouted Wade’s name, cussing him and calling him sick names.

She bit her tongue until she tasted blood. The door screeched open.

Wade’s hulking shadow filled the doorway. She could smell the sweat and beer and grease from the shop. His breathing got faster.

He started toward her, and she closed her eyes. She had to go somewhere in her mind, someplace safe where she couldn’t feel him touching her.

Then everything went black....

The sound of keys jangling outside the prison door startled her back to reality. The door screeched open, a guard appeared, one hand on the arm of the man shackled and chained beside him.

Hank. God... Her heart stuttered, tears filling her eyes. She remembered him as a young boy—choppy sandy blond hair, skinny legs, eyes too hard for his age, mouth always an angry line.

But he was a man now, six feet tall with muscles. His eyes were cold and hard, his face and arms scarred from prison life. He was even angrier, too, his jaw locked, a vein pulsing in his neck.

He shuffled over to the chair, pulled it out, handcuffs rattling as he sank into it. The guard stepped to the door, folded his arms and kept watch.

She waited on Hank to look at her, and when he did, animosity filled the air between them. He hated her for not visiting.

She hated herself.

A deep sense of grief nearly overwhelmed her, and she wanted to cry for the years they’d lost. She’d spent so much of her life struggling against the gossip people had directed toward her because of her father’s arrest, and then Hank’s, that she hadn’t thought about how he was suffering.

For what seemed like an eternity, he simply stared at her, studying her as if she were a stranger. He shifted, restless, and guilt ate at her.

“You came,” he finally said in a flat voice. “I didn’t think you would.”

The acceptance in his tone tore at her. Maybe he didn’t blame her, but he was still hurt. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit you before. I should have.”

Hank shrugged as if he didn’t care, his orange jumpsuit stark against his pale skin. But he did care. He’d always acted tough, but on the inside he was a softie. When she was little, he used to kiss her boo-boos to make them better.

No one had been here to soothe him the past few years, though.

“I’m so sorry, Hank. At first, there was so much happening—the Department of Children and Family Services the foster system, your trial...” And then she’d had to testify to what she’d remembered.

Her testimony had sealed his fate. “I should have lied back then, said I didn’t see anything.”

Another tense second passed. “You were only a kid, Avery.”

“So were you.”

His gaze locked with hers, the memories of the two of them huddled together out in the rain after their mother had left them returning. I’ll take care of you, Hank had promised.

And he did.

How had she paid him back? By abandoning him.

He cleared his throat. “I tried to find out what happened to you after I got locked up, but no one would tell me anything.”

Avery twined her fingers on the table. “Nobody wanted to take me,” she admitted. “I wound up in a group home.”

He made a low sound of disgust in his throat. “Was it bad?”

Avery picked at her fingernails to keep from rubbing that damned scar. “Not as bad as...the Mulligans.” Nothing had been as bad as living with them.

Of course, Hank might argue that prison was.

“They told me you didn’t remember the details of that night.” Hank lowered his head, then spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m glad. I hated what he did to you. He was a monster.”

Shame washed over Avery. She’d never told anyone except the therapist the truth. But Hank knew her darkest secret.

Avery reached across the table and laid one hand on his.

“I’m so sorry for everything, Hank. I know you killed Wade for me.” Tears clogged her throat. “I...should have spoken up, told someone about what he was doing. Maybe it would have helped get you off, or at least they’d have given you some leniency and a lighter sentence.”

Hank studied her for a long few minutes, his expression altering between anger and confusion. “You still don’t remember?”

She swallowed hard. “Just that he was drinking. That you fought with him, and he tied you up. Then he came in my room.” She pressed a finger to her temple, massaging where a headache pounded. The headaches always came when she struggled to recall the details. “Then everything went black until I saw you with that knife.”

Hank pulled his hand away and dropped his head into his hands. “God, I don’t believe this.”

Avery watched him struggle, her heart pounding.

“Hank, I’m sorry. I should have lied about seeing you with that knife. You always stood up for me, and I let you down.” Her voice cracked with regret.

The handcuffs clanged again, as he reached for her hands this time. The guard stepped forward and cleared his throat in a warning, and Hank pulled his hands back.

“Look at me, Avery,” Hank said in a deep voice. “I didn’t kill Wade.”

“What?”

“I didn’t kill him,” Wade said again, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Avery gaped at him. Was this a last-minute attempt to save himself from death? “But...you told them you hated him, that you were glad you’d stabbed him.”

He leaned closer over the table, his look feral. “I did stab him, but he was already dead when I stuck that blade in him.”

“What?” Avery’s head reeled. “Why didn’t you tell the police that?”

“Because I thought you killed him,” Hank hissed.

Avery gasped. “You...thought I killed him?”

“Yes.” The word sounded as if it had been ripped straight from his gut. “He was in your room, and there was no one else there in the house. And you had a knife. It was bloody.”

“What?” Avery looked down at her hands. “But I don’t remember that.”

Hank rubbed hand down his face. “I...I took it from you. You were...hysterical, in shock.”

Avery tried to piece together the holes in her past. “But...I didn’t kill him, Hank. At least I don’t think I did.”

Hank’s eyes narrowed. “You said you blacked out?”

She had lost time, lost her memory. Because she’d stabbed Wade herself?

Her pulse thundered. Had she let Hank go to jail to cover for her?

God... “Hank, tell me the truth. Did you see me stab him?”

“No, not exactly.” Hank rolled his hands into fists on the table, his scarred knuckles red from clenching his hands so tight. “But I heard him going into your room that night. I knew what he was going to do. I’d known it when Joleen left that morning and I’d been dreading it all day.”

So had she.

“So I sneaked a knife under my pillow. But he tied me up like always. I lay there and heard the door open, and I got angry.” His cheeks blushed with shame. “Then I heard you crying again, and I got madder and madder. He was a monster, and I was your big brother. I had to do something.”

“But you did,” Avery said, her heart aching as memories surfaced. “You tried to pull him off me before, and he beat you for it.” She paused, struggling with the images hitting her. Wade on top of her. Wade holding her down.

Or was that another night? So many of them bled together....

Nights of Wade shoving Hank against the wall and beating him with his belt. His fists. A wooden mallet. Anything he could get his hands on.

“I wanted to kill him,” Hank said, his voice gaining force. “So I twisted in the bed until I got hold of that knife and cut myself free. But when I made it to your room, Wade was already bleeding on the floor. His eyes were bulging, and he wasn’t breathing.”

Avery’s head swam. “He was already dead?”

Hank nodded. “I thought you’d stabbed him. You were crouched on the bed, crying and shaking. I tried to get you to stop crying, but you wouldn’t. And you wouldn’t talk, either. You just kept staring at the blood, and I heard the siren and was afraid they’d take you away, and you didn’t deserve that.”

A cold chill enveloped Avery. “Oh, Hank, what have we done?”

Silence fell between them, fraught with emotion. They were both lost in the horror of that night.

Finally Avery swiped at her tears. “This is unreal.... You went to jail for nothing. I should have come forward and told everyone what he’d done to me.” Rage and pain suffused her for all Hank had lost. For what they’d both lost. “I’m so sorry.... We have to make this right. We have to get you out of here.”

Despair settled on Hank’s face, the scar on his temple stark beneath the harsh lighting. “It’s too late now. My execution is already set.”

She couldn’t let him die for a crime he hadn’t committed. “No, I’ll find a way,” she said. “I’ll talk to your lawyer.”

Hank grunted. “Not the one I had in the beginning. He didn’t give a crap. But there is a new lady, just out of law school. She came to see me a few weeks ago.”

“Did you tell her what you told me?”

Hank shook his head. “I was afraid they’d come after you and arrest you. There’s no way I’d let you end up in this place.”

Avery’s throat burned with regret, yet her anger gave her strength. “What was this lawyer’s name? I’ll talk to the warden, and then I’ll call her.”

“It won’t do any good,” Hank said, defeat in his voice. “I told you, it’s too late.”

“No, it’s not.” Avery took a deep breath. “What was that lawyer’s name?”

“Lisa Ellis,” Hank mumbled. “But I’m telling you, it won’t make any difference.” He gestured around the room, then at the guard. “I know how things work in here.”

Avery’s voice gained conviction. “I’m not going to let you die for something you didn’t do, Hank. I’ll talk to that lawyer and if she can’t help, I’ll find someone who will.”

Avery stood, anxious to make the phone call. Hank had given up hope long ago because she hadn’t been there for him.

No one had.

It was time that changed.

* * *

JAXON IDENTIFIED HIMSELF to the warden, a chuffy bald man with thick dark brows and ropes of tattoos on his arms, and explained that he wanted to visit Hank Tierney.

“Yes, you can see him, but this is odd,” Warden Unger said. “Tierney has only had one visitor in the past twenty years until today. Today he’s had two.”

Jaxon straightened his shoulders. “Who else came to see him?”

“His sister.” The warden scratched his head. “Obviously with the execution date approaching, she wanted to say goodbye.”

Or perhaps that lawyer Director Landers had mentioned had spoken with her.

The warden twirled the pen on his desk. “What brings you here?”

“My director wanted me to make sure the execution is still on.”

Warden Unger nodded. “Good. Thought you might be working for that pansy-ass attorney out to get a stay.”

“I take it that means you think Tierney is guilty.”

Unger shrugged and dropped the pen. “A jury convicted him. My job is to make sure these animals in here don’t slit each other’s throats, not argue with the court.”

A buzzer sounded on the warden’s desk, and his receptionist’s voice echoed over the speaker.

“Warden, Avery Tierney insists on seeing you right away.”

Unger glanced at Jaxon and Jaxon nodded in agreement. “Send her in.”

Jaxon had studied the files on the case before he’d driven to the prison. Avery Tierney had been the only person at the house when her brother murdered their foster father.

She was nine at the time, and according to the doctor who’d examined and interviewed her afterward, she’d been in shock and too traumatized to talk.

The door opened, and the warden’s secretary escorted Avery Tierney in.

Nothing Jaxon had read in the file prepared him for the beautiful woman who stepped inside. Avery Tierney had been a skinny, homely-looking kid wearing hand-me-downs with scraggly, dirty brown hair and freckles. She’d looked lost, alone and frightened.

This Avery was petite with chocolate-brown eyes that would melt a man’s heart and curves that twisted his gut into a knot.

Although fear still lingered in those eyes. The kind of fear that made a man want to drag her in his arms and promise her everything would be all right.

She looked back and forth between him and the warden. “Warden Unger,” Avery said, her voice urgent. “You have to help me stop the execution and get my brother released from prison.”

The warden cleared his throat. “Why would I do that, Miss Tierney?”

A pained sound ripped from Avery Tierney’s throat. “Because he’s innocent. He didn’t kill Wade Mulligan.”

Chapter Two

Jaxon forced himself not to react. Avery was obviously emotional over losing her brother, and desperate now that his execution was less than a week away.

Warden Unger gestured toward Jaxon. “This is Sergeant Jaxon Ward with the Texas Rangers. Sit down, Miss Tierney, and tell us what’s going on.”

Avery’s brows pinched together as she glanced at Jaxon. “You came to help Hank?”

Jaxon gritted his teeth. “I came to talk to him,” he said, omitting the fact that he’d actually come to confirm the man’s guilt, not help him.

Avery didn’t sit, though. She began to pace, rubbing her finger around and around her wrist as if it were aching.

His gaze zeroed in on the puckered scar there, and his gut tightened. It was jagged, ridged—maybe from a knife wound?

Was it self-inflicted or had someone hurt her?

* * *

AVERY TRIED TO ignore the flutter in her belly that Jaxon Ward ignited. She had never been comfortable with men, never good at flirting or relationships. And this man was so masculine and potent that he instantly made her nervous.

His broad shoulders and big hands looked strong and comforting, as if they could be a woman’s salvation.

But big hands and muscles could turn on a woman at any minute.

Besides, she had to focus on getting Hank released. Sorrow wrenched her at the thought that he’d been imprisoned his entire life for a crime he hadn’t committed.

“Miss Tierney?” Sergeant Ward said. “I understand you’re probably upset about the execution—”

“Of course I am, but it’s not that simple. I just talked to Hank and I know he’s innocent.”

That was the second time she’d made that statement.

“Miss Tierney,” the warden said in a questioning tone, “I don’t understand where this is coming from. You haven’t visited your brother in all the time he’s been incarcerated. And now after one visit, you want us to just believe he should be freed.”

“I should have come to see him before,” Avery said, guilt making her choke on the words. “I...don’t know why I didn’t. I was scared, traumatized when I was younger. I...blocked out what happened that night and tried to forget about it.”

“You testified against your brother,” Jaxon said. “You remembered enough to tell the police that you saw him stabbing Wade Mulligan.”

A shudder coursed up her spine as she sank into the chair beside the Texas Ranger. “I know,” she said, mentally reliving the horror. The blood had been everywhere. Hank had been holding the knife, his T-shirt soaked in Wade’s blood.

“But Hank just told me what really happened.” She gulped back a sob. “He said he found our foster father on the floor, already dead. He thought I killed him, so he covered for me.”

Jaxon and the warden exchanged skeptical looks. “Hank is desperate, Miss Tierney,” Jaxon said. “At this point, self-preservation instincts are kicking in. He’ll say anything to convince the system to reevaluate his case. Anything to stay alive.”

“But you don’t understand—” Avery said.

“He confessed,” Warden Unger said, cutting her off. “Besides, the psych reports indicated that your brother was troubled. Other foster parents testified that he was violent. Mulligan’s own wife stated that Hank was full of rage.”

“Yes, he hated Wade and so did I.” Avery’s anger mounted. “We both had good reason. Wade used to beat Hank, and he...” She closed her eyes, forcing the truth out. Words she’d never said before. “He abused me. Hank was only trying to protect me that night. He took beatings for me all the time.”

Jaxon leaned forward. “Protecting you and hating his abuser give him motive for murder,” he pointed out. “Although I’m surprised Hank’s attorney didn’t use that argument in his defense.”

“So you read his file?” Avery asked.

Jaxon shrugged. “Briefly.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Warden Unger said. “Hank Tierney confessed.”

“Because he thought I killed Wade,” Avery admitted in a broken voice. “That’s the reason he confessed. He thought I stabbed Wade, and he didn’t want me to go to jail.”

* * *

JAXON’S PULSE JUMPED at the vehemence in her voice. “Why would he think that you killed Mulligan?”

Avery stared down at her fingers, then traced that scar on her wrist again, a fine sheen of perspiration breaking out on her forehead.

“Because Wade...was coming into my room that night.” Avery’s voice trembled. “Joleen, our foster mother, left earlier that day, and Hank and I both knew what that meant.”

Jaxon had a bad feeling he knew as well, but he needed her to say it. “What did it mean?”

She visibly shuddered. “It meant we’d have a bad night,” she said in a faraway voice. “That Wade would be drinking.”

The pain in her eyes sent a shiver of rage through Jaxon.

“He’d hurt you before?”

She nodded again. Which meant Hank could have planned the attack, that it was premeditated. According to the transcript of the case, Hank had never expressed any remorse for what he’d done.

Hell, Jaxon couldn’t blame Hank. Knowing his foster father was hurting his sister could make a fourteen-year-old boy stab a man to death and not regret it.

Avery sucked in a shaky breath. “I tried locking the door, but that only made Wade madder and he tore through it with a hatchet. And that night...I heard him yelling at Hank. Hank tried to fight him, but he tied Hank in his room.”

Jaxon’s jaw ached from clenching it.

“Then I...heard the door open and...”

The images bombarding Jaxon made him knot his hands into fists. But he didn’t want to frighten Avery, so he stripped the rage from his voice. “What happened then?” he asked softly.

She lifted her gaze, her eyes tormented. “I don’t remember. I... Sometimes when Wade came in, I blacked out, just closed my eyes and shut out everything.”

The warden was watching her with a skeptical look. But Jaxon had grown up in the system himself. He knew firsthand the horrors foster kids faced. The feelings of abandonment, of not being wanted. The abuse.

“What do you remember?” he asked.

She ran a hand through the long strands of her wavy hair. Hair the color of burnished copper. Hair that he suddenly wanted to stroke so he could soothe her pain.

“The next thing I remember was seeing Hank holding that knife.” She straightened and brushed at the tears she didn’t seem to realize she was crying. “But it could have happened the way he said. Someone else could have killed Wade. Then Hank came in and thought I did, so he stabbed him and took the blame to protect me.”

“But you were the only two people in the house,” Jaxon said. “You and Hank both said that.”

Avery looked up at him with a helplessness that gnawed at his very soul. “But there had to be someone else,” she said. “Hank only confessed because he thought I stabbed Wade. I can’t let him go to the death chamber for protecting me.”

Jaxon wanted to believe her, but there hadn’t been signs of anyone else at the house.

And without evidence or proof of her story, there was no way to save her brother.

* * *

AVERY SENSED THE warden was not on her side. He’d obviously heard hundreds of inmates declare their innocence.

Death row inmates in the last stages of their lives probably always made a last-minute plea of innocence.

But she believed her brother and had to help him.

Because the person who’d really killed Wade Mulligan had escaped.

Her heart hammered.

What if I did kill him?

The thought struck Avery like a physical blow. Hank must have had a reason to think she did....

He’d mentioned that she had a knife.... She didn’t remember that.

Did she have blood on her hands?

For a second panic seized her.

What if she discovered she had stabbed Wade, and that she’d let her brother take the fall?

Bile rose to her throat.

“Avery, are you all right?”

Sergeant Ward’s gruff voice made her jerk her head up. His deep brown eyes were studying her with an intensity that sent tingles along her nerve endings. It was almost as if he were trying to see inside her head, trying to read her soul.

She felt naked. Vulnerable. Raw and exposed in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

Because she’d just confessed about the abuse, which meant others would be asking questions. And if Hank’s case were reopened, she would have to go public with her statement.

Shame mingled with nausea. Could she open herself up to that kind of publicity? Then everyone would know....

“I’d like to talk to Hank myself.” Sergeant Ward turned to the warden. “Can I do that now?”

The warden’s scowl cut Avery to the bone. “Sure. But you’re wasting your time. In all the years Tierney has been here, this is the first time he’s ever claimed innocence.”

“What kind of prisoner has he been?” the Texas Ranger asked.

The warden pulled up his record on his computer. “A loner. Kept to himself. Got into fights a lot when he first got here.” He scanned the notes. “Prison psychologist said he kept saying he was glad Mulligan was dead.”

Avery’s chest ached with the effort to breathe. “Was he abused in prison?”

The warden folded his hands on his desk. “Lady, this is a maximum-security facility. We do our best to protect the inmates, but we’ve got rapists, murderers, pedophiles and sociopaths inside these walls. They’re caged up like animals and have a lot of testosterone and pent-up rage.”

Avery bit her lip. She’d heard horror stories of what happened to prisoners, especially young men. And Hank had only been a teenager when he was arrested. Not able to defend himself.

“When he was sentenced, he was only fourteen.” Sergeant Ward said. “Why didn’t he receive psychiatric care and chance of parole?”

Warden Unger grunted and looked back at the computer. “The prosecuting attorney showed pictures of the gruesome, bloody crime scene, a dozen stab wounds altogether. That was enough for the jury to see that Tierney was violent and dangerous enough to be locked away forever.”

Avery rubbed her wrist, a reminder of her past.

And how far she’d come.

At least she thought she’d survived. But she’d been living a lie. Never moving forward.

Ignoring her brother who’d fought and lied and risked his life to save her.

The system had failed them by placing them with the Mulligans.

Shouldn’t the fact that she and Hank were being abused have factored in to the court’s decision? Hadn’t anyone argued for Hank that he’d been protecting himself and her?

* * *

JAXON STOOD, BODY TAUT. Avery Tierney was obviously upset and struggling over her visit with her brother. Had Hank Tierney manufactured this story as a last-ditch effort to escape a lethal injection?

Was he guilty?

An uneasy feeling prickled at Jaxon’s skin. If Avery didn’t remember the details of the murder, could she have stabbed her foster father, then blocked out the stabbing?

Damn. She’d only been a child. But if the man had been abusing her, and she’d fought, adrenaline could have surged enough for to fight the man and inflict a deadly stab wound.

Not likely. But not impossible.

The more believable scenario was the one the assistant district attorney had gone with when they’d prosecuted Tierney. They had concrete evidence, blood all over the boy and his hands, and those damning crime photos. For God’s sake, Hank was holding the murder weapon and had admitted to stabbing Mulligan.

And Hank and Avery were the only two people in the house at the time.

“Talk to Hank and you’ll see that he’s telling the truth,” Avery said. “Please, Sergeant, help me save him.”

Man, that sweet voice of hers made him want to say yes. And those soulful, pain-filled eyes made him want to wipe away all her sorrow.

But he might not be able to do that. Not if Hank were guilty.

Avery touched his hand, though, and a warmth spread through him, a tingling awareness that sent a streak of electricity through his body.

And an awareness that should have raised red flags. She was a desperate woman. A woman in need.

A woman with a troubled past who might be lying just to save her brother.

He’d fallen into that trap before and almost gotten killed because of it. He’d vowed never to make that mistake again.

But the facts about the case bugged him. Considering the circumstances, the kid should have been given some leniency. Offered parole. He’d been fourteen. A kid trying to protect his sister.

Unless those circumstances hadn’t been presented to the jury.

But why hadn’t they?

His boss would know. But hell, Landers wanted Hank Tierney to be executed.

Because he believed Hank was a cold-blooded killer?

Or because he’d made a mistake and didn’t want it exposed?

Chapter Three

Jaxon tried to reserve judgment on Hank Tierney as a guard escorted the inmate into the visitors’ room, shackled and chained. Hank’s shaved head, the scars on his arms and the angry glint in his eyes reeked of life on the inside.

A question flashed in Tierney’s eyes when he spotted Jaxon seated at the table.

“Hello, Mr. Tierney, my name is Sergeant Jaxon Ward.”

The man’s thick eyebrows climbed. “What do you want?”

“To talk to you, Hank. I can call you Hank, can’t I?”

The man hesitated, then seemed to think better of it and nodded. For a brief second, Jaxon glimpsed the vulnerability behind the tough exterior. But resignation, acceptance and defeat seemed to weigh down his body.

“I just talked to your sister, Avery.” Jaxon watched for the man’s reaction and noted surprise, then a small flicker of hope that made Tierney look younger than his thirty-four years. Maybe like the boy he’d been before he was beaten by Mulligan and he was locked away for life.

“I can’t believe she called you. I just saw her.” Emotions thickened his voice, a sign that he hadn’t expected anything to come of their conversation.

That he hadn’t expected anything out of life for a long time.

“She didn’t,” Jaxon said, knowing he couldn’t offer Hank Tierney false hope. In fact, all he really knew was that a jury had convicted him.

And that he and his sister might have concocted this story to convince a judge to order a stay of execution.

“I came at the request of my director. But your sister showed up at the warden’s office while we were talking.”

Cold acceptance resonated from Hank at that revelation. “So you came to make sure they stick the needle in me?”

He was world-weary.

Jaxon folded his arms and sat back, his professional mask in place. “I came for the truth. Your sister insists you’re innocent.”

Hank’s chains rattled as he leaned forward. He ran his hand over his shaved head, more scars on his fingers evident beneath the harsh lights. When he finally looked back up at Jaxon, emotions glittered in the inmate’s cold eyes. “You believe her?”

Jaxon scrutinized every nuance of Hank’s expression and mannerisms. According to his files, he’d been an angry kid. And according to Avery, he’d been abused.

Twenty years in a cell had only hardened him more. The scars on his body and the harsh reality of prison conditions attested to the fact that he’d suffered more abuse inside. But judging from the size of his arms and hands, he’d learned to fight back.

“I don’t know,” Jaxon said. “I read the file. You confessed. You were convicted.”

Hank shot up, rage oozing from his pores. “Then why did you come here?”

Because your sister has the neediest eyes I’ve ever seen.

He bit back the words, though. Avery Tierney had survived without him, and if she were the victim she professed to be, she might be lying now.

Worse, his boss wanted him to make sure the conviction wasn’t overturned. Wouldn’t look good on Director Landers if one of the cases that had made his career blew up and it was exposed that he’d sent an innocent man to prison on death row.

But something about the case aroused Jaxon’s interest.

Because Avery had created doubt in his mind. Just a seed, but enough to drive him to want to know the truth.

“I had my reasons for confessing.” Hank turned to leave, his chains rattling in the tense silence, his labored breath echoing in the room.

“Did you kill Wade Mulligan?” Jaxon asked bluntly.

Hank froze, his body going ramrod straight. Slowly he turned back to face Jaxon. The agony in his eyes made Jaxon’s gut knot.

“I wanted him dead,” Hank said, his voice laced with the kind of deep animosity that had been built from years of thinking about the monstrous things Mulligan had done. “I hated the son of a bitch.” He shuffled back to the table and sank into the chair.

“Every night I lay there in that damned bed across the hall from Avery, staring at the ceiling just waiting. The old lady would take her pills and pass out. He’d wait a half hour or so, wait till the house was dark and he thought everyone was asleep.” Hank traced one blunt finger over a fresh bruise on his knuckle. “But I couldn’t sleep, and I knew Avery couldn’t, ’cause we both knew what was coming.”

Jaxon gritted his teeth.

“Then I’d hear that squeak of the door....” Hank’s voice cracked. “At first, I was so scared I crawled in the closet and hid like a coward. But one night...I heard Avery crying and something snapped inside me.” He balled his hands into fists, knuckles reddening with the force. “I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to do something.”

Jaxon’s stomach churned as he imagined Avery at nine, lying helpless at the mercy of that bastard. “What happened then?”

“I ran in and tried to drag him off her.” Hank’s voice shook, his eyes blurry with tears. “He knocked me off him and beat the hell out of me. Used a belt that night.”

“It happened more than once?”

Hank dropped his head as if the shame was too much. “Yeah. After I started fighting back, I couldn’t stop. But the beatings got worse. Then he started locking me up at night, tied me to the bed so I couldn’t come in and stop him.” He groaned. “I had to lie there like a trussed pig and listen to that grunting, the wall banging. I wanted to kill him so bad I imagined it over and over in my head.”

Hank lapsed into silence, wrestling with his emotions. Sweat trickled down the side of his face.

“Tell me about the night of the murder,” Jaxon finally said.

“The old lady was gone, left for a couple of days.” Hank sucked in a deep breath, his eyes glazed as if he were thrust back in that moment. “I knew it was going to be bad that night, that he’d stay at it till dawn. So earlier, I hid a kitchen knife in my bed, under my pillow.”

“He tied you up?”

Hank nodded. “But then Avery screamed, and I got mad. I twisted until I got that knife and cut the ropes.” He jerked his hands as he might have done that night. “Then I tiptoed to the door and peeked into the hallway. Avery’s door was cracked.... I could hear her crying....”

Jaxon swallowed. If he’d been Hank, he would have killed the animal, too.

“Then what happened?”

Hank pinched the bridge of her nose. “I had the knife in my hand, and I tiptoed across the hall. I wanted to sneak up on him, stop him once and for all. Make him feel pain for a change.”

He paused, his expression twisting with horror. “But Mulligan was on the floor at the foot of Avery’s bed. He...was staring up at the ceiling, his eyes wide like he was dead. Blood soaked his shirt, and he wasn’t moving....”

Jaxon leaned forward, trying to visualize the scene. “He’d already been stabbed?”

Hank nodded. “Blood was on his shirt and the floor. One of his hands was covered in it where he’d grabbed his chest.”

“Where was your knife?”

“In my hand.” Hank slowly lifted his head, eyes cloudy with confusion. “Then I...saw Avery holding one.”

Jaxon would have to check the police reports to see if there was any mention of a second knife. And he needed to look at the autopsy reports. “Then what happened?”

“She was pitiful, crying and rocking herself back and forth.” He gulped. “So I ran over and took the knife from her. Then I wiped it off.”

“If he was dead, why did you stab him?”

Hank gripped his thighs with his hands. “I don’t know. Avery was sobbing, and I thought she’d get in trouble, and I couldn’t let that happen. She was already suffering enough.”

Jaxon felt for the kid and his situation.

“I wanted to cover for her. And I don’t want to get her in trouble now.”

“Let me worry about that,” Jaxon said. “I just want the truth. Tell me about stabbing Mulligan.”

Hank shrugged. “I was so mad. I had to make sure that monster never got up and hurt her again, so I lost it. All that rage and hate I had for him came out, and I went after him. I just started stabbing him, over and over and over.”

Hank closed his eyes, pressed the heels of his hands against them and sat there for a long minute, his shoulders shaking.

Jaxon understood the man’s—the boy’s—rage. He’d felt helpless. Had felt responsible for his sister.

But there were still unanswered questions, pieces that didn’t fit. “Hank, what happened to the knife you brought into the room?”

He looked confused for a moment. “I...don’t know. I think I dropped it when I ran to Avery.”

“Did Avery have blood on her hands? On her night clothes?”

Hank shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Jaxon breathed a small sigh of relief. If Avery had stabbed Mulligan, she would have had blood on her. She was only nine, too young and traumatized to have stabbed someone and clean up the mess.

Hank made another guttural sound in his throat. “Then Avery didn’t kill him?”

“I doubt it,” Jaxon said.

“That’s the only reason I confessed, to keep her from being taken away.” Hank gripped the edge of the table. “But if she didn’t kill him, then I’ve spent my life in a cell for nothing.”

Jaxon knew his boss wasn’t going to like it. But he actually believed Hank Tierney.

“There’s one major problem with your story,” Jaxon pointed out. “You and Avery both claimed there was no one else in the house that night.”

Hank pinched the bridge of his nose again. “There had to have been. Maybe someone came over after Mulligan tied me up in my room.”

Jaxon gritted his teeth. That was a long shot. But it was possible.

Even if the man had killed Mulligan, Mulligan had deserved to die. Hell, Hank Tierney was a hero in Jaxon’s book.

He didn’t deserve a lethal injection for getting rid of a monster.

He should have been given a medal.

And if he hadn’t killed Mulligan, then someone else had. Someone who was willing to let Hank die to protect himself.

* * *

AVERY WAITED IN an empty office for the Texas Ranger while he questioned Hank. She was still reeling in shock over her conversation with her brother.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him over the years. She’d been too busy trying to survive herself, working to overcome the trauma and shame of her abuse and the humiliation that had come from being a Tierney, born from a family of murderers.

Therapy had helped put her broken spirit and soul back together, although she still bore the physical and emotional scars.

But she had been free all this time.

Her brother had been labeled a murderer and spent most of his life behind bars, living with cold-blooded killers, rapists and psychopaths.

Hank didn’t belong with them.

She had to talk to that lawyer. The guards had confiscated her cell phone when she arrived and would return it when she left, so she stepped to the door and asked the mental health worker if she could use the phone.

“I need to call my brother’s lawyer.”

The woman instructed her how to call out from the prison, and Avery took the card Hank had given her and punched the number. A receptionist answered, “Ellis and Associates.”

“This is Avery Tierney, Hank Tierney’s sister. I’d like to speak to Ms. Ellis.”

“Hold please.”

Avery tapped her shoe on the floor as she waited. Through the window in the office, she could see the open yard outside where the inmates gathered. Only a handful of prisoners were outside, four of them appearing to be engaged in some kind of altercation.

One threw a punch; another produced a shank made from something sharp and jabbed the other one in the neck. All hell broke loose as the others jumped in to fight, and guards raced out to pull them apart.

She shuddered, thinking about Hank being a target. How had he survived in here? He must have felt so alone, especially when his own sister hadn’t bothered to come and visit him.

How could he not hate her?

“This is Lisa Ellis.”

The woman’s soft voice dragged Avery back to the present. She sounded young, enthusiastic. “This is Avery Tierney, Hank Tierney’s sister. Hank told me that you came to see him and are interested in his case.”

“Yes,” Ms. Ellis said. “I’ve looked into it, but unfortunately I haven’t found any evidence to overturn the conviction. And your brother wasn’t very cooperative. In fact, he told me to let it go.”

Avery traced a finger along the edge of the windowsill as she watched the guard hauling the injured inmate toward a side door. Blood gushed from his throat, reminding her of the blood on Hank’s hands and Wade Mulligan’s body.

“Miss Tierney?”

“Yes.” She banished the images. “I just talked to Hank. We have to help him. He’s innocent.”

A heartbeat of silence. “Do you have proof?”

Avery’s heart pounded. “No, but I spoke with a Texas Ranger named Jaxon Ward and he’s going to look into it.” At least she prayed he would.

“I read the files. You were the prime witness against your brother.”

“I know, but that was a mistake,” Avery said. “A horrible mistake. I was traumatized at the time and blocked out the details of that night.”

“Now you’ve suddenly remembered something after all these years?” Her tone sounded skeptical. “Considering the timing, it seems a little too coincidental.”

Frustration gnawed at Avery. The lawyer was right. Everyone would think she was lying to save her brother.

“I didn’t exactly remember anything new,” Avery said, although she desperately wished she did. “But I just spoke with Hank, and we had a long talk about that night. It turns out that he confessed to the murder because he thought I killed Wade.”

Another tense silence. “Did you?”

Avery’s breath caught. That was a fair question. Others would no doubt ask it.

And if she had killed Wade... Well, it was time she faced up to it.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I don’t think so. But Hank said when he came into my bedroom, Wade was already lying on the floor with a knife wound in his chest. He saw me crouched on the bed, crying, and he thought I killed Wade in self-defense, so when the police came, he confessed to cover for me.”

“That’s some story,” Ms. Ellis said. “Unfortunately without proof, it’ll be impossible to convince a judge to stop the execution and reopen the case.”

Despair threatened to overwhelm Avery. She understood the lawyer’s point, but she had to do something.

“Can’t you argue that someone else came in, killed Wade Mulligan and left?”

“With you in the room?”

Avery closed her eyes, panic flaring. If only she could remember everything that had happened that night...

“The social worker and doctor who examined me afterward can testify that I was traumatized, but that it was possible.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Tierney, I want to help. But I need more.”

Determination rallied inside her. Then she’d get more.

Footsteps pounded the floor, and she looked up and saw the handsome-as-sin Texas Ranger appear in the doorway. His square jaw was solid, strong, set. Grim.

His eyes were dark with emotions she couldn’t define.

He didn’t believe Hank. He wasn’t going to help her.

She could see it in his eyes.

Hank’s scarred face haunted her. She’d let him down years ago when she told the police she’d seen him stab Wade. And then again when she stayed away from the prison. When she let holidays and birthdays pass without sending cards or writing or paying him a visit.

If Ranger Ward wouldn’t investigate, she’d do some digging around on her own.

Chapter Four

Jaxon’s insides were knotted with tension. He believed Hank Tierney.

But he would be in hot water with his boss if he challenged his opinion and the verdict that had landed Tierney on death row.

Landers also knew Jaxon’s past and would question his objectivity regarding the situation. Hell, the man had practically dragged Jaxon from the gutter himself.

Jaxon owed him.

But...Avery had sounded upset, and the way she described that night sounded so heart wrenching that she couldn’t have made up what had happened or been acting.

Could she?

Unless...she’d been so traumatized that the details of the evening were distorted to the point that she believed the story she’d told.

Or...there always the possibility that she and her brother had concocted this story at the last minute to create enough reasonable doubt that the governor would have to grant a stay and retry the case. And if they both stuck to their story, it was possible they could garner enough sympathy to convince a jury that Hank was innocent. That they were both victims.

Which he believed they were.

Avery dropped the phone into its cradle. “You aren’t going to help me, are you?”

Jaxon’s lungs tightened. Damn if she didn’t have the sweetest voice.

He scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. What the hell was wrong with him? When had he become such a sap?

“I will investigate,” Jaxon said, knowing he was jeopardizing his career, but that he had to know the truth. “I’d like to talk to the foster mother you lived with at the time.”

Avery’s eyes widened in surprise. “I have no idea where she is. At the trial, she said Hank and I ruined her life.”

They had ruined her life? “What happened to you after the trial?”

“They placed me in a group home. I never heard from her again.”

“She and her husband should have been prosecuted for child abuse and endangerment.” And the old man for rape.

“Did you tell the social worker about the abuse?” he asked.

Avery averted her face. “No. I was too ashamed at the time. I thought...that I did something wrong. And Wade said if I told, he’d kill me and Hank.”

He wished Wade were alive so he could kill him himself.

Worse, if the social worker hadn’t documented evidence of abuse, then it was Avery and Hank’s word against a dead man’s. A prosecutor would argue that they’d invented the story to save Hank.

But he didn’t think Avery was lying about the abuse. That kind of pain was hard to fake.

Besides, any woman who stood by and allowed abuse of any kind to take place in her home was just as guilty as the perpetrator.

Although psychologists argued women were too afraid physically of their abusers to leave or stand up to them. And they often felt trapped by financial circumstances.

Worse, if a woman sent her abuser to jail, when he was released he often went straight home and took his anger out on her all over again.

It was a flawed system, but if it were his child, he’d die to protect him or her.

“I’ll find her,” Jaxon said. “I’d also like to speak with the social worker who placed you and Hank in that home.”

Because that social worker should have realized what was happening and stopped it.

* * *

AVERY COULDN’T BELIEVE the Ranger’s words or that his voice sounded sincere. But something about the man’s gruff exterior and those deep-set dark, fathomless eyes, told her that he was a man of his word.

Not like any other man she’d ever known.

Don’t believe him, a little voice in her head whispered. Men who make promises either lie or have their own agenda.

He’ll want something in return.

She was not the kind of girl to do favors like that.

“You really are going to talk to them?” she asked.

He tipped his Stetson, a sexy move that spoke of respect and manners and...made her heart flutter with female nerves.

Good heavens. She had to get a grip. Jaxon Ward was a Texas Ranger. And she needed his help for Hank.

Nothing more.

He took a step closer, his masculine scent wafting toward her and playing havoc with her senses. “Hank said he stabbed Wade Mulligan, but that he was already dead. If you didn’t deliver the deadly blow and Hank didn’t, that means there was someone else in the house.” The silver star on his chest glittered in the harsh lights. “Who else might have wanted the man dead?”

Avery had desperately tried to forget everything about the man. But if she wanted to help Hank, she had to confront the past.

“Avery, can you think of anyone?”

“His wife,” she said, her heart thundering. “If she knew he was coming into my room, maybe she tried to stop him.”

Jaxon’s expression was grim. “That makes sense, but didn’t she have an alibi for that night?”

Avery’s head swam. “She claimed she was at her mother’s.” Panic began to claw at her chest. “Maybe Joleen lied about going to her mother’s. Or she could have come back for some reason, and she saw Wade tie up Hank and come into my room. Then she slipped in and killed him.”

Although even as she suggested the possibility, despair threatened. The problem with that theory was that Joleen hadn’t cared for her or Hank.

She certainly hadn’t loved them enough to kill her husband for them.

* * *

JAXON GRIMACED. DISCUSSING the case would definitely reopen old wounds for Avery, but questions had to be asked and answered. “Do you know if Mrs. Mulligan continued to take in foster children after her husband was murdered?”

“I have no idea what happened to her,” Avery said.

“What about the social worker who placed you with the Mulligans? What was her name?”

Avery rubbed her forehead as if thinking back. “I...think it was Donna. No, Delia. I don’t know her last name.”

“There should be records,” Jaxon said. “What do remember about her?”

Avery shrugged. “Not much. She gave me candy on the ride to the Mulligans’ the day she dropped us off.” Her voice cracked. “But I don’t remember her coming back to visit.”

Jaxon bit back a response. “Did she testify at your brother’s trial?”

Avery rubbed the scar around her wrist. “I don’t think so. But I was so young that they didn’t let me inside for some of the trial.”

That made sense.

“I’ll pull the transcripts from the trial and review them, then question her.”

Avery squared her shoulders. “I’d like to go with you to see her.”

He hesitated. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Avery folded her arms, a stubborn tilt to her chin. “I may have been a child then, Sergeant, but I’m not anymore. My testimony put my brother in prison, and got him the death penalty. Now that I know he’s innocent, I have to make things right.”

Jaxon lowered his voice. “Avery, do you think it’s possible that Hank twisted the truth because he’s afraid to die?”

She shook her head. “No. Hank’s not like that. He always owned up to things he did wrong. Even if it meant he’d be punished for it. Besides, he just said that he confessed because he thought I killed Wade.”

Oddly it sounded as though Hank Tierney had character, that he wasn’t the bad seed the prosecutor had painted him to be.

And if a jury heard his testimony now and heard Avery’s story, they might let Hank Tierney go.

So why hadn’t the D.A. and Tierney’s defense attorney pleaded not guilty and put the kid on the stand?

Dammit, he needed to see the autopsy report for Wade Mulligan. If someone else had delivered the fatal stab wound before Hank Tierney had unleashed his rage, it might show up in the autopsy report.

* * *

AVERY’S PALMS BEGAN to sweat at the idea of dredging up the details of the past. Already she felt drained from the day’s visit with Hank and now this Texas Ranger.

And if she helped Hank—and she had to help him—this was only the beginning. Everyone in the town—hell, everyone in the state—would know her sordid story.

Taking a deep breath to fortify her resolve, she lifted her chin. “Please. It’s time for me to face the past. Maybe seeing Joleen Mulligan and the social worker will jog my memory of that night.”

“That’s possible.” Sergeant Ward’s dark eyes met hers. “But are you ready for that?”

No. She wanted to run as fast as she could and as far away as possible. But Hank’s troubled voice claiming he was innocent, that he’d taken the rap to save her from arrest, echoed in her ears. There was no way she could allow him to be put to death when he’d confessed to protect her.

“Yes. I have to do this, Sergeant.”

“All right. Give me your number, and I’ll call you when I locate them.”

Avery recited her cell number, and he entered it into his phone.

The dark, handsome Ranger tilted his head to the side. “One thing, Avery—I will look into Hank’s story, but I can’t promise anything. It’s almost impossible to get a murder conviction overturned this late in the game.”

“It’s not a game,” Avery said, her senses prickling. “This is my brother’s life.”

A heartbeat of silence stretched between them. “I know that. But I don’t want you to get your hopes up.” He pierced her with a dark look. “And if I find out either of you is lying and using me, I won’t hesitate to tell the judge that, either.”

Her heart hammered against her breastbone. “Hank and I aren’t lying,” she said. “Hank didn’t kill Wade Mulligan. That means that the real killer has been walking around free for twenty years thinking he got away with it. And I can’t live with that.”

A muscle twitched in his strong jaw. “You may have to. Sometimes the justice system fails.”

Yes, it had done so twenty years ago.

But she’d do everything within her power to change that now.

* * *

JAXON’S PHONE BUZZED as soon as he left the prison. His director.

Still contemplating what to tell him, Jaxon let the phone roll to voice mail.

Wind whistled across his skin as he climbed into his SUV and pulled from the parking spot. He’d worked in law enforcement for ten years, yet the razor wire and armed guards made sweat bead on his skin. He liked the law, thought the system worked for the most part.

But occasionally a case went wrong. An innocent victim fell through the cracks.

Hank Tierney had been locked up since he was a teenager. Should he have been free all this time?

Had his life been stolen from him by someone who’d murdered his foster father, then walked around free for twenty years while he lived in hell?

Chapter Five

On the way to Cherokee Crossing, Jaxon stopped for lunch at a barbecue joint, wolfed down a sandwich, then looked up the number for the attorney interested in Tierney’s case. The receptionist patched him through immediately.

“Sergeant Ward, I talked to Avery Tierney earlier. She said you were investigating the murder conviction.”

“I am,” Jaxon admitted. “Did you find anything that might exonerate Hank?”

“Nothing specific,” Ms. Ellis replied. “I just had a feeling when I read the story that there was more to it. Foster-care kids get bum deals. I wanted to know more.”

“You may be right.”

“Listen,” Ms. Ellis said, “if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. If that man is innocent as his sister claims, he deserves justice.”

He agreed with her on that. “Thank you. Call me if you learn anything that might be helpful.”

He hung up, then used his tablet to access police databases and search for Joleen Mulligan. It didn’t take long to find her. She had a rap sheet.

Two DUIs and an arrest for possession of narcotics. She’d also been dropped as a foster parent after Mulligan’s death, so she’d resorted to government assistance and project housing.

Jaxon phoned a friend with social services—Casey Chambers, a young woman in her twenties whose parents had been killed when she was twelve, throwing her into the system. She’d seen enough of it to want to help other kids get out like she had.

“Hey, Jaxon, what can I do for you?”

“I need some background information on a case that came through the social service agency twenty years ago.”

“What’s this about?”

“The Hank Tierney murder conviction.”

“You’re looking in to that?” Casey made a soft sound in her throat. “I’ve seen the protestors, and I heard some young lawyer was asking questions, too. Is that true?”

“Yeah. I was at the prison and some questions have come up regarding the conviction. I need contact information for the social worker who placed Hank and his sister, Avery, in the Mulligans’ home. Her first name was Delia.”

“That was a long time ago and the agency has a pretty high turnover rate. Burnout and all.”

“I understand. But can you find it?”

“I’ll see what I can do and get back with you.”

“Thanks, Casey.”

“Jaxon, what do you think? I read about the murder and the guy’s confession. He admitted to stabbing the man. But something doesn’t ring right to me.”

Avery’s pain-filled eyes taunted him. “I know. That’s why I want to talk to the social worker.”

A hesitation. “Jax?”

“Don’t repeat that to anyone,” he said. “Just get me that information.”

“You got it.”

The waitress brought his check, and he paid the bill and left her a nice tip, then drove toward the courthouse. The land seemed even more deserted with winter taking its toll. Everything looked desolate, deserted, dry, almost like a ghost town.

Cherokee Crossing looked like a throwback in a Western movie with a bar/saloon in the heart of town, and a tack-and-boot store beside it. Life moved slower here. Residents told stories about the Cherokee Indians being the dominant tribe in the area, and the canyon that had literally and figuratively divided the Native Americans and early settlers.

The town had been built to bridge that gap.

Jaxon parked in front of the county courthouse, noting the parking lot was nearly empty. It was four-thirty; people were heading home for the day. He parked next to a pickup, then strode up the sidewalk to the courthouse steps. He identified himself, then went through security and headed to the clerk’s office.

He greeted the secretary, reminding himself to use his charm. Death penalty cases were always controversial and stirred emotional reactions on all sides.

Alienating people would not get him what he wanted. Avery’s tormented expression haunted him. He hoped to hell he wasn’t being a sucker and being lured into believing an act.

Maybe the social worker could shed some light on the situation. He also needed to review the trial transcripts, study the way the lawyers handled the case, make sure nothing was overlooked or evidence hadn’t gotten lost, misplaced or intentionally omitted.

Roberta, the clerk in charge of records, was always friendly and knew more about the goings-on in the courthouse than anyone else. She’d also worked with the court system for thirty years.

Jaxon had only been a year older than Hank Tierney when Hank was arrested. That was probably one reason he remembered the case so well.

It had been all over the news. Jaxon’s uncle, the only living relative he’d had at the time, was disabled and had watched the story with him, then had a come-to-Jesus talk with Jaxon. He’d told him he was going to end up like Hank Tierney one day if he didn’t get his act together.

Unable to raise him, that uncle had shipped Jaxon to a military school, where he’d learned to be a man. He’d hated it at first.

But looking back, he now saw that that school had saved him from going down the wrong path.

“Hi, Roberta, I need some help. Can you get me a copy of the transcripts of Hank Tierney’s trial twenty years ago?”

Roberta’s eyebrows climbed. “The Tierney man who’s about to die?”

“Yes. My director wants me to review the matter because of some young lawyer looking to get the conviction overturned.”

Roberta sighed. “I always felt sorry for that boy and girl. Folks said the boy was scary, that he stabbed that man a bunch of times, but if you ask me, something else was going on in that house. Something nobody wanted to talk about.”

“You remember the trial?” Jaxon asked.

“Of course.” She reached for a set of keys in her drawer. “Never forget how terrified that poor child looked when the reporters pounced on her. That young’un was scared to death. Something bad happened to her, I tell you. Children don’t look like that unless they’ve seen real-life monsters.”

True.

She ambled around the side of the desk. “Those files are old, Sergeant. They’ll be archived downstairs.”

“That’s fine. Can you find them and make a copy for me?”

“Sure. But it might take a few minutes.”

“No problem. I’ll be glad to wait.”

She maneuvered her bulk toward the door and walked down the hall. Jaxon phoned Avery. She answered on the third ring. “Hello.”

“Avery, this is Sergeant Jaxon Ward. I found an address for Joleen Mulligan. I’m going to visit her tonight.”

Her breathing rattled in the silence that fell between them. “I’ll call you after I talk to her,” he said.

“No,” Avery said in a shaky voice. “I want to go with you.”

Jaxon gritted his teeth. “Are you sure you’re up for that?”

“No,” she said softly. “But I’m the reason my brother is in this mess. It’s my place to get him out.”

A wealth of guilt underscored her words.

Jaxon found himself wanting to erase that guilt. But that might not be possible. Chances were slim that they could get her brother’s execution postponed, and even slimmer that they could prove him innocent and free him.

* * *

AVERY LOWERED HER head between her legs and inhaled slow, even breaths just as her therapist had instructed to do to ward off panic attacks.

That had been years ago, although occasionally old fears swept over her when she least expected it. The least little thing could trigger a reaction.

A sudden dimming of lights. A noise. The sound of someone breathing too hard. The smell of smoke or...body sweat.

And cologne, the one Mulligan wore. The musty smell hadn’t mixed well with the rancid odor of his beer breath.

“Avery?”

The Texas Ranger’s voice startled her, jerking her back to reality. “Yes.”

“Do you want me to pick you up, or do you want me to meet you somewhere?”

Her first reaction was to meet him. She didn’t like to be in enclosed spaces with men. But Jaxon Ward was a law officer, and he was trying to help her.

He’d think she was strange, rude, maybe paranoid or unstable if she balked at riding in the car with him.

“I’m almost to my house if you want to meet me there.”

“Fine. I’m at the county courthouse. It’ll probably be a while before I leave. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

“That works.” She needed that hour to pull herself together. Maybe do some yoga to relax and focus her energy on her well-being.

On the fact that she had survived the Mulligan abuse and family years ago, and she was an adult now. Joleen Mulligan couldn’t hurt her.

She wouldn’t let her.

* * *

BY THE TIME Roberta returned with the files, it was already getting dark outside.

“I had to dig deep,” Roberta said. “But you have to sign in to have access, and that took a while. The guard in charge asked a half dozen questions. Said you were the second person in two weeks to ask for a copy of the trial transcripts and copy of the police investigation report.”

“Did he mention who else made the request?”

“That lawyer, Ellis. Said she was gonna talk to Hank Tierney, too.”

“Thanks, Roberta,” Jaxon said. “You take care.”

Roberta caught him by the arm before he could leave. “You do right by them, Mr. Jaxon, you hear me? They were just kids when all that went down.”

She was obviously sympathetic to Avery and her brother.

“I will,” he said, although he couldn’t make any promises to her, either. When Landers found out what he was up to, he might pull him from the case.

Or fire his butt.

Tension knotted his shoulders as he carried the file through the building and outside to his SUV. The sky had turned a dismal gloomy gray while he was inside, the sound of thunder rumbling.

Texas temperatures could drop quickly, and the chill of the night was setting in.

He checked his phone for Avery’s address as he climbed into his SUV, his pulse quickening when he realized she lived only a few miles from the government-funded project housing where Joleen Mulligan had spent the past few years.

As he expected, traffic was thin. The storm clouds gathered and rolled over the horizon, making it look bleak for the night. He maneuvered through the small town, around the square, then turned down Birch Drive, a street lined with birch trees.

The houses were small, rustic and quaint, but even with winter, the yards looked well-kept. A few had toys indicating small children, a Western theme evident in the iron mailboxes that all sported horses on the top of the barn-shaped boxes.

Avery’s house was the last one on the right, with flower boxes and a windmill in the front yard. He couldn’t see the back, but it was fenced in, which surprised him since the land didn’t back up to anything else. Then again, she might have a dog.

He pulled up behind a Pathfinder and shifted into Park, then climbed out, reminding himself that he was here on a job.

Not because meeting Avery Tierney sparked an attraction that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hell, the woman had been abused as a child. That fact alone warned him to keep his distance. He had no idea what kind of scars she carried inside her, but he’d bet his life trusting men wasn’t high on her list.

A bad side effect of foster life—kids grew up learning not to get attached. They were shuffled around so much, and it hurt too much to leave friends and people behind.

Besides, Avery was a case, nothing more. At least if he investigated, maybe he could sleep without those wounded, pain-filled eyes haunting him, telling him that he should have done something other than accept everyone’s word that Hank Tierney deserved to die.

He punched the brass doorbell, then heard footsteps clattering inside. Seconds later, Avery opened the door.

He grew very still when he saw her pale face. Obviously today’s visit at the prison had done a number on her.

What would facing the woman who should have protected her from that monster Mulligan do to her tonight?

* * *

AVERY PASTED ON a brave face, determined not to let Sergeant Ward see how the idea of confronting Joleen Mulligan was affecting her.

“Are you ready?”

She clutched her purse strap and nodded, but her heart was pounding as she locked the front door and followed him to his vehicle. She reached for the door handle and startled when he beat her to it and opened it for her.

Her nerves raw, she twisted her head up to look at him.

“I’m just opening the door for you,” he said. “Relax, Avery. I’m trying to help you.”

“Why?” The question flew from her mouth before she could stop herself from asking.

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