And for just a minute, he allowed himself to wonder—if things had gone differently, would he and Trish have had a son? With red hair and big blue eyes?

Trish had wanted a child. Once she’d finally made the decision to get married, she’d jumped in with both feet.

When he’d had to leave, had been forced to disappear, he sweated out the first couple months, until he was sure that he hadn’t left her pregnant. He still wouldn’t have been able to go back, but he’d have figured out some way to ensure that his child was well taken care of. Just like he’d figured out ways to ensure that Trish was safe, protected.

He’d done a good job.

But now something had gone wrong and Trish was paying the price.

Deep Secrets
Beverly Long

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BEVERLY LONG enjoys the opportunity to write her own stories. She has both a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in business and more than twenty years of experience as a human resources director. She considers her books to be a great success if they compel the reader to stay up way past their bedtime. Beverly loves to hear from readers. Visit www.beverlylong.com, or like her at Facebook.com/beverlylong.romance.

For Kathy and Randy and their family, who have made us feel very welcome in Missouri.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Trish Wright-Roper stuck the fork tines through the paper napkin, ruining it. Normally, she didn’t mind rolling silverware. It was a mindless activity, really. But on a day like today, when her brain was too busy remembering, it was irritating her beyond reason.

She could hear Milo finishing up in the kitchen. Earlier he’d dropped a steam table pan onto the tile floor and the clang had echoed through the empty café. She’d gone back to investigate and he’d been staring at the pan, his face flushed with anger.

Not at himself. Not at the pan. Not even at her.

For her. Because everyone who knew Trish well knew that four years ago today, Rafe Roper had died and her heart had been broken. And everybody who cared about her, which definitely included Milo, was on edge. No one would admit it, though. Instead, they’d practically turn somersaults to get her to think of something else.

Milo was no different. “What do you say you and me catch a movie in Hamerton tonight?” he asked, coming out of the kitchen. The man’s hair was pulled back from his face in a tight ponytail and it hung practically to the middle of his back. He was an ex-con who’d applied for work just weeks after Rafe’s death. He’d been a lifesaver because she’d been in no shape to work, to hold up her share of the responsibilities.

“You hate movies,” she said. “You think it’s ridiculous to pay ten dollars to see something that you’ll be able to see for nothing in just a couple of months.”

“Yeah, but there’s this one I’ve really been wanting to watch.”

She shook her head. “No, there isn’t. You know that Summer and I usually watch some silly romantic comedy today and you also know that she’s not due back from her honeymoon until tomorrow. You’re filling in.”

He drummed his thumb on the counter, a sure sign that he was frustrated. “She hated that she was going to be gone. I promised her that I had this.”

When her twin sister, Summer, had married handsome Bray Hollister, the love of her life, several months earlier, they’d postponed their honeymoon until Summer’s kids could take a week off school. Bray had made the honeymoon arrangements and Summer hadn’t had the heart to tell him that she wanted to be back in Ravesville a day earlier.

But her twin had felt terrible about it. She and Trish had discussed it. Trish had assured her it was fine. Summer had wisely not mentioned that she intended to draft her own replacement.

“Come on. Your sister is going to be mad at me if I don’t get this right,” Milo said, proving that he was willing to play upon every emotion.

“Are you scared of her or her tough-guy husband?”

“Both.”

She smiled at him. Milo wasn’t afraid of anything. Over the years he’d been at the café, they’d had more than one disruptive customer. It was bound to happen, especially in a café that attracted one-timers, the people driving through on their way somewhere else. In those instances, with a minimum of fuss and mess, Milo would have his arm around the customer, gently pushing him out of the café, with a stern warning not to bother to come back.

He was prepared to defend them. One time when he’d been lying on the kitchen floor, fixing a temperamental fryer, she’d spied an ankle holster. She knew as an ex-con he likely wasn’t supposed to have a gun. She also believed that he carried it purely for protection. For himself. For her and Summer. When he realized that she’d seen the gun, he challenged her. “You have a problem with this?” he said.

She didn’t really like guns. When she’d been married to Rafe, he’d owned one and had insisted that she learn to shoot it. Had said that he wanted her to learn for safety reasons, that if there was a gun in the house, every adult needed to know how to use it safely. She’d gone along with his wishes and had got good enough that she was confident that she wouldn’t shoot her own foot off. So when Milo asked, she’d shaken her head. “No problem here.”

He’d smiled and gone back to fixing the fryer. As she walked past, he muttered, “Always did think she was a smart girl.”

Now she stared at the man who’d become much more friend than employee. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

He studied her. Kept drumming his thumb. The poor digit was going to be bruised. “I suspect Rafe would want you to keep living,” he said finally.

“How do you know? You never met him,” she challenged, her words clipped. She could usually count on Milo not to offer advice. It was always a rare reprieve and it made her mad that even that had changed.

“I...I just think he would. People have to go on. Even when it’s hard.”

He probably knew something about that. After all, he’d survived prison. “I know you mean well,” she said, her tone kinder than before. “I’ve actually taken that advice,” she added hesitantly.

“How so?”

“I signed up for an online dating site,” she said.

Thumb stopped, head jerked up. “You never said anything about that.”

She hadn’t. To anyone, not even Summer.

“Any matches?” he asked.

“One that looks interesting,” she admitted. “We’ve been emailing back and forth for a couple of weeks.”

“You need to be careful with sites like that,” Milo said, his voice heavy with concern. “Why don’t you give me this guy’s name? I’ll check him out for you.”

She could do that or she could call Chase Hollister, Bray’s brother, who’d taken over the role of Ravesville chief of police recently, and ask him to run a check. “I haven’t said that I’ll meet him yet,” she said. “If I do that, I’ll decide then whether he needs to submit his fingerprints. In triplicate, of course. Maybe give a blood sample.”

He smiled, as much as Milo ever did. “I realize you’re not the foolish type, Trish. But I care about you. A lot of people do.”

“I know. And believe me, it helps. Now, let’s finish up here. I want to go home. It’s been good to have Raney and Nalana Hollister here to help in Summer’s absence, but it’s still been extra work. I just want to go home and take a hot shower and crawl into bed.”

“You’re still planning to take a few days off next week.”

“I am. Payback.”

“Summer will be delighted. You never take time off.”

She rarely did. And on the occasional day that she did play hooky, she generally worked in her yard, which had a never-ending supply of projects. Weeds to pull. Plants to move. Trees to trim.

But this time, she was doing none of that. She felt a little guilty about not confiding in Milo, but he worried way too much about her and Summer.

“Maybe we could go fishing one day,” he said. “I could teach you a few things.”

She held up a hand. “I do not want to hear one more time about that bass you caught.”

He tossed his head and laughed. “It’s not bragging when a man has pictures.”

“I suppose not. I’ll let you know if I’m available to be humiliated,” she added, picking up a fork.

He looked at her pile of silverware. “I’ve got one more load of dishes and then the garbage. Will you be ready in ten minutes?”

When it was just the two of them at the end of the night, he always insisted that they leave together. “You bet,” she said and watched him walk back to the kitchen.

She glanced out the front windows of the Wright Here, Wright Now Café. All the parking spaces in front of the café were empty. The town got quiet fast, even on a pretty spring evening. Tulips had bloomed last week in the flower box in front of the law office across the street, and now they were dancing in the light wind.

Didn’t matter how unbearable the winter was, those flowers always came back. And she had, too. Yes, she’d suffered a great loss. But she had much to be thankful for. A wonderful sister. Her nephew, Keagan, and her sweet little niece, Adie. Her new brother-in-law, who made sure she knew that every one of the Hollisters considered her family.

And now that she was almost thirty-eight years old, it was time to get on with her life.

A soft sob escaped and she looked around the empty café, grateful that no one was there to witness her lapse. Most of the time she was able to fool people. She could laugh and joke with the best of them. Only a precious few knew how much she mourned Rafe, who’d had the bad luck to go on a stupid float trip with his buddies. Only a precious few knew that sometimes she would go to the river and stare at the murky depths, so angry that it had taken her husband from her, not even generous enough to give her back a body to bury.

She rolled the last knife, fork and spoon and gently laid the napkin on the top of the stack. Then she carefully slid the tray of rolled silverware under the counter, where it would be easy to grab in the morning. Tables would fill up fast. She loved it when the place was really busy, when there were customers to wait on, tables to clear and money to take at the cash register. She loved the noise and the energy of people enjoying a good meal.

And while the café had a very different feel at the end of the day, when it was empty and quiet, it was satisfying to sit on a counter stool and look around at the clean floor, the shiny counters, the freshly washed pie case and know that she and Summer had built this from practically nothing.

They had purchased the café more than five years earlier. The previous owners had let the place get run-down and business had dwindled. Once she and Summer had signed on the dotted line, they’d had to close the place for a month just to get it ready to open again. Walls had been painted, floors and counters replaced, booths and tables repaired and all new dishes acquired. Then they’d tackled the kitchen. A new grill had been installed, the walk-in refrigerator scrubbed from top to bottom, and best of all, they’d purchased a new dishwasher.

Summer wanted the day shift to be home with her kids at night. That had been just fine with Trish. She’d always been a bit of a night owl. They’d hired a small staff and opened their doors to the grateful appreciation of all the other business owners on Main Street. The small downtown had been in danger of going the way that most small towns had, with empty storefronts and dilapidated buildings. There were high hopes for the Wright Here, Wright Now Café.

Summer and Trish Wright had grown up in Ravesville and people were willing to give the place a try. Word spread quickly that the service and food were top-notch and business had grown rapidly.

Four months after they’d opened, Trish had been just about to lock the doors the night that Rafe had blown into town. Literally. It had been a hot summer day and the weather forecasters had droned on about the possibility of tornadoes. At nine o’clock, like every night, she’d hung the Closed sign in the window. Had been grateful that the restaurant had cleared out by eight thirty. She had already sent Daisy, her night cook, home, because the woman was deathly afraid of storms.

She’d been walking back to the kitchen, to do one final sweep of the space, when pounding on the front door got her attention. She’d turned, locked eyes with the handsome stranger and, as crazy as it seemed, realized immediately that her life was about to experience a fundamental shift.

She’d unlocked the door just as the Ravesville tornado sirens started ringing. The stranger had smiled at her. “I think it’s about to get interesting,” he’d said.

She’d had no idea.

The café didn’t have a basement, so she and the man had ridden out the storm sitting on the floor in the small space between the back wall and the counter, protected from the possibility of flying glass. They’d each had two pieces of banana cream pie because he’d convinced her if they were both about to die, there was no sense worrying about calories.

The café had survived the storm, and when he’d said goodbye, he’d touched her cheek. She’d thought she’d seen the last of her mysterious stranger, that he’d been a one-timer, but then two nights later, he was back, asking her to dinner. By the following weekend, they’d been lovers.

Neither one of them were kids. She’d been thirty-three and he was just a year older. She hadn’t been especially interested in marriage. She was well aware of how miserable Summer was with her husband, Gary Blake, and she didn’t have any interest in making a similar mistake. When Rafe asked her to move in with him after six weeks of dating, she said no. She liked her independence and didn’t see a need to give it up.

But Rafe Roper knew how to wear a girl down. He was an amazing lover but it was more than that. He was different than the other men that she’d dated. Most important, he made her laugh. Every day. And he remembered all the little things. She’d get up in the morning and there would be chocolate doughnuts on her front porch. He’d have dropped them by early on his way to Hamerton, where he was part of the construction crew building the new mall. He would send her flowers. Never roses, because she’d mentioned just once that they weren’t her favorites. He sent lilies. Always lilies.

He was a fabulous cook and could make all her favorites, including eggplant parmigiana and shrimp scampi. He’d teased her mercilessly about owning a café and being barely capable of boiling water.

She and Summer still had work to do on the café and he was always willing to lend a hand, to fix a door or paint a wall. She could still see Summer standing near the pie case, telling Trish that she’d be a fool to let him get away.

And Trish knew she was right. So when Rafe asked her to marry him after they’d been dating for three months, she didn’t hesitate to say yes. And he didn’t give her time to think about her decision. They were married just two weeks later. Then they bought a house together, too big for just the two of them, but she’d started dreaming about babies to fill the empty rooms. Babies with dark eyes and an amazing smile, just like their daddy.

And life was pretty darn near perfect.

Nine months later, he was dead. He’d gone back east to visit a friend who was sick. She’d assumed it was a dear friend because when he’d returned, she’d sensed that he was still upset. When he’d left the next day on a float trip with his buddies on the construction crew, she’d hoped it would cheer him up.

His raft had overturned and his body had never been recovered.

Then it was not just the rooms of her house that were empty.

Her heart. Her soul.

Her spirit.

She’d wished she was dead, too. But she’d lived. And somehow, someway, had managed to crawl her way back. Didn’t expect to ever feel full again but had developed an odd contentment with the emptiness. Except for nights like this, when it became unbearable.

She’d expected to feel blue today. That was probably why earlier in the week she’d jumped at something Mary Ann Fikus had said. M.A., as everyone called her, worked at the bank and ate lunch almost every day at the café. She was just back from a week in the Ozarks. She’d been going on about the cottage where she’d stayed.

Trish had been to the Ozarks, the lake-filled, mountainous area in southwest Missouri, several times and had even stayed at the particular lake that M.A. had visited. It was a lovely area.

And when M.A. described the cottage, it had sounded like the perfect place to rest and read books and maybe, just maybe, fish. Thinking there was little chance it would be available at such late notice, Trish had called the owner and been pleasantly surprised that it was. She’d assumed they would want a credit card to hold it, but Bernie Wilberts had told her that she could simply leave a check on the table when she left. She’d been very careful to explain that she would arrive on Sunday, but he’d told her it didn’t matter, that the cottage was empty. He’d given her the combination code for the lock on the door.

If Summer had been around, Trish would have told her about her plans. She’d thought about telling Milo, but given his propensity to worry about her, she’d thought better of it. She’d tell him just before she left town.

She turned to walk back to the kitchen and stopped abruptly when there was intense pounding on the door. Her heart leaped in her chest. It was like that night so long ago. She turned.

And through the glass, she saw Keagan, her fourteen-year-old nephew. With five-year-old Adie next to him. Summer and Bray were a little slower to get out of the SUV.

She opened the door and the four of them tumbled in. “What are you doing home?” she asked, hugging each of the kids. Then Bray. Finally, her sister. She hung on an extra minute. She knew why her sister was here. “You shouldn’t have,” she whispered.

Summer shook her head. “When I told Bray what today was,” she said, grabbing her new husband’s hand, “he changed our flight so that we could get back. He insisted.”

She rolled her eyes in her brother-in-law’s direction. “I guess I do understand why she loves you,” she said.

Bray winked at her and focused on Adie, who had found her favorite seat at the counter and was whirling on the stool at warp speed.

“How are you feeling?” Trish asked, looking at Summer’s still-flat stomach.

“Fine. But anything that went in circles at Disney World was Bray’s domain. I stood on the sidelines and ate orange Popsicles.”

It was unbelievable that Summer and Bray would be adding to their family in just seven more months. More proof that life really did go on. She drew in a breath and smiled. “Well, Milo was insisting on a movie tonight. I guess you’re all excited to see Pretty Woman one more time.”

“How did you know that was my favorite movie?” Bray asked with a straight face.

Summer lightly punched her husband’s biceps before turning back to Trish. “I’m sure you’re glad that you’re not holding down the fort alone any longer. Next week, I want you to rest up. You will take a couple of days off, right?”

“I think I will,” Trish said.

“Where’s Milo?” Summer asked, moving quickly to the next topic.

She could tell them both about her plans. “Taking out the garbage. I’ll get him.”

Trish went through the swinging door that connected the dining room to the kitchen. No Milo. The back door was open just a fraction of an inch, letting the cool spring air blow in. The light near the back door was on.

“Milo,” she called, walking toward the door. “Summer and Bray are—”

She opened the back door and almost tripped. On a body.

Milo. Oh my God. “What happened?” she asked, dropping to her knees.

There was blood everywhere. On his body, on the pavement, running out of the side of his mouth. “Milo,” she cried, reaching to lift his head off the cold, hard ground.

“Trish,” he said, his breaths raspy. “Tell Rafe they know.”

He closed his eyes and she started to scream.

Chapter Two

Tell Rafe they know.

Trish sat on the edge of a booth, her feet flat on the floor, her eyes closed. Hoping that the world would stop spinning. Somebody had draped a blanket over her.

Maybe it had been Summer. Or Bray. Or maybe even Chase Hollister, who hadn’t even been on the job for six months. He was about to investigate his first murder.

Milo was dead. Knifed to death. Gutted like a fish. That was what she’d heard one of the volunteers from the fire and rescue squad say before Bray had grabbed his shirt collar and jerked him out of the room. The man had come back, said a quiet apology in her direction and been more respectful until Chase finally let them take Milo’s body from the scene. Of course, it had seemed like hours before they’d moved him off the cold ground. At some point, more police had arrived. They were still here. Portable lighting had been set up behind the café, making it look even more surreal.

The images in her head were disjointed. Opening the door, practically stumbling over the body. Blood. So much blood. Bray whipping the door open, pulling her back.

Thank goodness for Bray. He’d taken charge. She and Summer had been hustled back inside the café, where Keagan and Adie waited, scared to death that their aunt had been screaming. He must have called the police, too, because within minutes Chase Hollister had arrived, looking very serious.

At some point, Cal Hollister and his pretty wife, Nalana, had arrived and taken Summer and the kids away from all the ugliness. Her twin hadn’t wanted to leave, but she’d already thrown up three times and Bray had had enough. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Summer said, as Nalana was guiding her out of the door. “We need to talk about a funeral.”

Milo didn’t have family. It would be up to them. He wouldn’t want a funeral. And if he’d known about her trip, then he’d have been mad as hell at her if she canceled so that they could have one.

But funerals weren’t for the dead. They were for the living, to make it easier to say goodbye. They would definitely have a funeral.

* * *

THEN SHE HAD watched Summer and the kids leave. She wasn’t worried about them. Bray’s youngest brother, Cal, had been a Navy SEAL. Nalana, his new bride, was still an FBI agent.

She’d stared at the floor after that. Until she’d finally got so tired that she needed to close her eyes.

“Trish,” she heard someone say.

She wanted to ignore it, to pretend that the past several hours hadn’t happened. But that wasn’t an option.

She lifted her head. Chase was squatting down in front of her, his eyes full of concern.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

She licked her dry lips. “He was a good man,” she said, choosing to ignore the question. She wasn’t up to pretending that she was fine. She was so damn tired of always pretending that she was fine.

“Yes, he was,” Chase said. “And we will find the person who did this. I promise you.”

If anyone could, it was probably Chase. He’d been a cop in St. Louis before coming back to Ravesville, ostensibly to get his deceased parents’ house ready for sale but really to guard a key witness in a murder case. He’d done more than just guard the witness. He’d married her. And now Raney Hollister was one of Trish’s favorite people.

“Was there anyone unusual in the café tonight or maybe even within the last couple of days?”

The question wasn’t unexpected. She’d been trying to think of the same thing for the past hour. “I don’t think so,” she said. “We had a few strangers, of course.” That wasn’t unusual. Travelers. Usually vacationers. People in need of a hot meal and a cup of coffee. “But nobody that I considered unusual or suspicious.”

“Did Milo have any visitors or receive any unusual telephone calls that you’re aware of?”

“No. I don’t think he had any plans for after work because he’d asked me if I wanted to see a movie.”

She saw Chase exchange a quick glance with Bray. “Did you often watch movies together?” Chase asked, probably wondering if he’d missed a romantic connection between her and Milo.

“Never,” she said. “But he knew that today was a tough day for me.”

Another glance between Chase and Bray. Oh, for goodness’ sake, Bray didn’t have to explain this. She was a big girl. “My husband, Rafe Roper, died four years ago today,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Chase said.

She believed him. Chase Hollister was a good man. She’d known him since he was a kid. Which was why she was going to tell him everything, even though her mind hadn’t made sense of it yet.

“Milo said something before he died.”

Bray’s head whipped up. This was news to him.

“What was that?” Chase said gently.

“‘Tell Rafe they know.’”

Chase didn’t look at Bray this time. He was staring intently at her. “You’re sure that’s what he said?”

“Yes.”

Chase stood up, walked over to the window, looked out at the street. Finally, he turned. “Did Milo know your husband?”

“No. Rafe was already dead before he came to work here.”

“Did the two of you frequently talk about Rafe?”

“No. I don’t discuss Rafe with many people. But Milo and I had been talking earlier in the evening and his name came up.”

“Is it possible that Milo was confused? That your conversation earlier in the evening was on his mind, and that’s why he mentioned him before he died?”

“I guess,” she said, her tone flat. It made as much sense as anything. But she’d never seen Milo confused or discombobulated about anything. He was always calm, always controlled. But then again, she’d never seen him bleeding to death on the dirty pavement, either.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice breaking. “I just don’t know and it’s driving me crazy.”

Chase reached out for her hand. It probably wasn’t police protocol, but given that his brother was married to her twin sister, she and Chase were family. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “I know hearing something like that would be very upsetting. But he was dying. Losing lots of blood quickly. He wouldn’t have been thinking clearly.”

She’d been telling herself the same thing. But for some strange reason, it really irritated her to hear someone else say it. “They were his last words. I think they were important to him,” she snapped.

“Of course,” Chase said.

Bray stood up. “I think I should take Trish back to my house,” he said.

When Summer and Bray had got married, Bray had moved into the small house that Summer had rented with her two children. They were building a new home but the walls had just gone up. “You don’t have extra space,” she said. “I’ll go to my own house.”

“You can stay with Raney and me,” Chase said immediately.

She did not want to stay with anyone. She was strung so tight that she was about to lose it. “Is there any reason to think that I’m in danger, that the attack on Milo had something to do with me or Summer or the café?”

“We have no way of knowing that,” Chase said. “Milo was attacked from behind. As best as I can tell, he was in the process of putting the garbage into the Dumpster when he was stabbed. Based on what Bray has told me, I understand you opened the door to check on him and he was already on the ground. Whoever had done this was gone.”

She nodded. “He’d been in prison. Do you think it could be someone from his past, someone who maybe held a grudge?” She was grasping at straws but she so desperately wanted to make sense of it.

“I don’t know,” Chase said. “I’ve asked for help from the state. They have more sophisticated resources than we have to process the scene. We’re going to be done here in just a little while, but I’d prefer it if you could keep the café closed tomorrow, just in case.”

Saturdays were usually busy days. “I’ll put a sign on the door,” she said, getting up to find paper and a pen. The sign probably wasn’t necessary. It was a sure bet that at least one of the volunteer fire and rescue squad would tell his or her spouse what had happened here tonight and it would spread like wildfire. By morning, everyone in the small town would know why the café wasn’t open.

It was one of the reasons she hadn’t said anything before this about Milo’s last words. She hadn’t wanted it to be overheard.

Because if one well-meaning person asked her what she thought about it, she might explode. She didn’t know what she thought. Tell Rafe implied something that she couldn’t even fathom. They know. Know what, for God’s sake? “I want to go home,” she said. “To my house. I have Duke. He won’t let anyone get near me.” It was true. The German shepherd was fiercely protective, had been since the day he’d wandered up to her doorstep without any tags. She’d searched for an owner for a week, even putting an ad in the paper, but no one had come forward. Duke had become her dog.

“A dog isn’t much protection against a bullet,” Chase said gently.

“This was a knife, not a bullet.”

“You don’t know that’s the only available weapon,” he said.

“The café emptied out at least a half hour before we closed. I was alone in the dining room, clearly visible if someone outside had bothered to look in the window. If they wanted to harm me, they had a chance. But they waited until Milo took the trash out. I think this was about Milo, not about me.”

“Even with that final comment?” Bray asked.

“Like Chase said, Milo was dying. He might have been confused.” She picked up her purse and kissed her brother-in-law on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for bringing Summer home early, thank you for being here and for having the wherewithal to respond.”

Then she turned to Chase. “I trust you, Chase. With every bone in my body. I know that you’ll do everything you can to find Milo’s killer. He was a wonderful friend and he didn’t deserve to die like this.” Then she leaned in and gave him a quick hug.

Bray picked up his keys from the counter. “At least let me follow you home and make sure you get inside safely.”

The Hollister men were very protective of the women they loved, and by virtue of being Summer’s sister, she was automatically included in their circle. “Fine. Let’s go.”

* * *

HER FOUR-BEDROOM RANCH house was too big for one person, and tonight, more than ever, she felt as if she was drifting from room to room, looking for ghosts. She was grateful, though, for the silence.

Bray had been true to his word. He’d left, a worried look on his face, after he’d checked every room and the garage. She’d assured him that she’d set the alarm immediately and she had.

Now she stood in her kitchen and Duke crowded in next to her, almost as if he knew that something wasn’t quite right. He was poking his nose at her knees, and when she reached down to pet him, she realized that there was blood on her dark blue pants.

Milo’s blood. She hadn’t seen it before, but when she’d knelt next to the body, the blood had got on her.

“Oh, Milo,” she sobbed, catching hold of the kitchen counter to keep herself upright. Tell Rafe they know. “What did you mean?”

With jerky movements, she peeled off every stitch of her clothes. Then naked, she stuffed them into the kitchen garbage can. She roughly yanked out the plastic bag insert and tied it up tight. With heavy arms, she tossed the bag by the door that led to her garage.

Then, feeling very old and weary, she walked back to her bedroom and straight into the adjoining bath. She turned on the shower, as hot as she could stand it. And when she stepped under the spray, she let the tears that she’d held back all night run down her face.

Her chest heaved with her sobs and she braced herself against the wall.

She wasn’t stupid. Tell Rafe. That implied that Rafe was alive. Was that even possible? His body had never been found. But what would keep him away? What would keep a husband away from his wife?

Four years. Four long years.

Over fourteen hundred days of heartache.

It just wasn’t possible. Rafe would never hurt her like that.

* * *

RAFE HOPED THERE were no snakes in the damn grass. It was damp and scratchy and smelled like a herd of cattle had passed through. He’d arrived before dawn and had been on his stomach for the past several hours. He badly wanted a cup of hot coffee. But he didn’t move.

Windows were open in the villa and music drifted up the hill. When the song changed, his gut tightened up. They played that one at his wedding. And in the morning, his beautiful bride had been humming it.

She’d been so happy. And he’d thought it would last until balls started dropping out of the air. Accidents, some said. He knew better.

His trusted coworkers had been murdered. He didn’t care what anybody said.

And he suspected the man inside, who was probably about to sit down to breakfast with his family, was responsible. Luciano Maladucci. Richer than several European countries put together and more evil than most could even imagine, he delighted in playing chess with people’s lives.

Unfortunately, Rafe hadn’t been able to prove Maladucci was behind the deaths. It had been his sole focus his first six months back, but every lead turned into a dead end. He had to stop when his boss told him in no uncertain terms to let it go.

He let it go. At least as far as most people knew. But he’d found another way to tighten the noose around this man’s neck. One way or the other, he was going to see him behind prison bars.

With his binoculars picking up every detail, he watched a Ferrari Spider turn into the circle drive. What was the youngest Maladucci son doing here? The older son and his family lived in the east wing of the villa. It was rare for the two brothers to be together, probably because the younger brother had slept with the older brother’s wife three years ago.

Real friendly, the Maladuccis.

Real deadly, too.

He felt the buzz from his cell phone. His private cell phone. What the hell? Milo wasn’t supposed to check in until Sunday. It was Saturday.

He shifted, pulled his phone out and realized it wasn’t Milo, but someone else he trusted explicitly. He stared at the text message.

Milo is dead.

There were a hundred possibilities. Like a heart attack or a stroke?

But none of those would have warranted a special message. No. This message meant that there was danger. And it was headed toward Trish.

Chapter Three

She stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out. When she got out, she considered not drying her waist-length hair but knew that it would be a tangled mess in the morning if she went to bed with it wet.

She should have cut it years ago. But when she’d been married to Rafe, he’d convinced her to keep it long. I love your hair, he used to say. Your beautiful red hair. The night of the storm, I saw it through the window of the café. It looked like liquid fire. I thought I’d never seen anything quite so wonderful.

After he’d died, she couldn’t bear to do any more than trim the ends. Wore it pulled back most of the time in a low ponytail.

Tell Rafe they know.

She sat down hard on the edge of the bathtub. It was crazy but she was so angry at Milo. The poor man was dead and she was furious that he’d said something like that and then died.

She was a bad person. Horrible. A man was dead and all she could think about was herself.

She jabbed the on button and held the dryer for too long in one spot, burning her scalp. Ten minutes later, she gave up. Her hair was still damp but she was so damn tired. She picked up her toothbrush, spread some toothpaste and halfheartedly brushed. When she tossed her toothbrush back onto the counter, a memory hit her so hard that she almost doubled over.

Rafe putting his toothbrush back just so, in exactly the same spot every time. His shaving cream and razor, too. Everything in its place, he used to say, lightheartedly poking fun at himself. Before she’d married him, she’d considered herself pretty neat and organized. But Rafe had been the king of patterns and order. She’d noticed it slowly, over time. He kept very little paper around, usually just a small pile of unpaid bills. If you asked, he could tell you, in the order it appeared, what was on his desk at any one time.

He never made a big deal out of it. And she had never taken it too seriously until one night they’d come home from a movie in Hamerton, entered the house, and he’d sensed that something was different. He’d grabbed her, pulled her behind him, and the gun that he always carried on him had been in his hand. The hallway light wasn’t on when we left, he had whispered in her ear.

He’d inspected the whole house but had come up empty. But she could tell that he was bothered by the incident. It wasn’t until she finally checked her cell phone, which she’d turned off at the movies, that she heard the message from Summer. She’d stopped over to borrow a dress.

When she’d told Rafe, he’d waved it off. She could tell he didn’t want to discuss it. But she hadn’t forgotten it. She had seen a side of her husband that night that was fascinating. It was not as if he’d morphed into someone new. No, it was more subtle than that.

He was still Rafe, the handsome construction worker who had stolen her heart and made her laugh every day. But he was someone else, too. Someone very capable. Someone fearless.

Someone, she suspected, who would do whatever it took to protect her and their home. He’d handled the gun expertly. She’d been in awe, really.

And she’d started paying more attention to the things around her. Noticing when things changed. It was like playing a game where there was no score and she was competing only against herself. She got better at it every day. Nobody got new glasses, highlighted their hair or had their teeth fixed that she didn’t pick up on it. It was just crazy small stuff but she had fun with it.

It was only one of the many ways that loving Rafe had changed her.

She left the bathroom. She didn’t bother to dress. Simply crawled into bed naked. She could hear Duke pacing in front of her door, his nails scratching against the wood floor. “Good night, Duke,” she said, knowing that he wouldn’t settle down if that nighttime ritual wasn’t observed.

The pacing quieted and she knew the big dog had taken his spot outside her door. He’d knock his hind end on the door at five the next morning, ready to go out. Until then, she could sleep.

Except that every time she closed her eyes, she could see poor Milo. After a half hour, she gave up and turned on her light. Duke immediately whined, letting her know that he knew that something wasn’t right. She opened the bedroom door. “We’re leaving early,” she said.

She had to. She absolutely had to leave this house that she had bought with Rafe, where she had made plans, dreamed big. The memories of Rafe were still too strong here. She could see him at the stove, wearing his jeans low on his hips and no shirt, waving a spatula in her direction. Could see him snoozing on the couch, a book open on his chest. Could see him walk across the kitchen naked for that first cup of coffee in the morning.

Could practically smell his earthy masculine scent.

Was it because it was the anniversary of his death? Was it because she and Milo had been talking about him? Was it because of what Milo said?

Probably some of all three. It didn’t matter. It felt as if she was losing her mind.

No better place to do it than a little cottage in the middle of nowhere. If she started to scream and crawl the walls, nobody would be there to witness the meltdown of the century.

Summer would understand and would proceed to plan the funeral. They could have it at the end of the week, when she was back.

With her head on straight.

Maybe with a fish story—in Milo’s honor.

Duke cocked his head and watched her closely as she dragged her suitcase out of the closet and started throwing clothes in it. Swimsuit. Shorts. Water shoes. A couple of summer dresses. Sandals. Some things to sleep in. Then she added toiletries and a lightweight jacket in case the evenings got cool. By this time, Duke was pacing, well aware that his routine was upset.

She dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved green T-shirt and slipped her feet into her favorite cowboy boots. Then she went to the kitchen, where she pulled out a half-full bag of dog food. Plenty for five days. She’d originally planned to leave on Sunday since the café was closed. But now she was free to leave a day early.

She pulled a sack out of the cupboard and haphazardly picked items from her counters and cupboards. The half loaf of bread. A jar of peanut butter. Cereal. There had to be a small town nearby where she could buy milk. Two bottles of wine. She thought about adding another one but figured that was overkill. Boxes of macaroni and cheese. A jar of honey-roasted peanuts. And for the heck of it, she threw in the three bananas that she’d been ignoring for days.

She looked at her watch and debated whether she should call Summer now. Quickly discarded the idea. Summer had been so sick after seeing poor Milo’s body. She needed her rest. Trish would call her in the morning to let her know her plans.

She made one more pass through her house, pausing outside her bedroom door to gaze at her pale gray bed skirt. Shaking her head, she walked into the room, got down on her knees, reached underneath the bed and pulled out her gun case.

Rafe had bought a gun for her several months after the last time she’d gone to the range with him. It had been a surprise. Initially she’d been inclined to tell him to take it back. But he’d been insistent. You should have your own, he’d said.

* * *

SHE HADN’T SHOT it for more than four years. Had kept it locked up, under her bed. Was it crazy to pull it out now? M.A., who was single, had been traveling with her ten-year-old niece and she’d said that she’d felt perfectly safe.

But Trish wasn’t a fool. She was a woman, traveling alone. A little extra protection made sense. Especially after what she’d seen earlier tonight.

She took it out of its case and slipped it into her shoulder bag. “Let’s go,” she said to Duke.

He followed her to the kitchen, and when she opened the door to her attached garage, he hurried ahead of her, like he always did. When she opened the passenger side door of her two-door Jeep, Duke jumped in and promptly scrambled over the middle console into the backseat. She went around back and shoved her suitcase and sack into the rear space. In the corner of her garage was her fishing gear. She grabbed it and put it in the Jeep. Then she got in.

Took a breath. Then another. Wiped her damp palms on her blue jeans.

She didn’t normally steal away in the middle of the night.

But then, there had been nothing normal about this night. The heavy weight of her gun in her shoulder bag was even more proof of that.

It was just after one when she pulled out of the garage and shut the door behind her. Determined to think about something else, she turned on the radio and hunted for a station that had music. She finally found one that was playing oldies from the ’50s and ’60s.

Great. She felt about a hundred. It would be perfect.

She would be in the right area in just over an hour. It might take her a while to wind around the country roads and find the cottage. Hopefully her GPS would behave nicely.

“Are you excited?” she asked Duke.

He barked just once.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, settling back. She wasn’t worried about falling asleep while driving. Her body was practically humming with energy. She would not have been able to sleep.

She’d lost a good friend tonight.

Had Milo simply been a convenient target? Was it possible that a vagrant had been hiding in the alley, and when Milo had opened the door, the attack had been a spur-of-the-moment decision? Or was it something much more sinister? Had someone been waiting for Milo, someone from his past?

She prayed that Chase Hollister would find the answer. She wanted Milo’s attacker to pay for what he’d done. It wouldn’t bring Milo back but it would help to know that a killer had not gone free.

She pressed down on the accelerator, fully aware that she couldn’t outrun the image of Milo’s dead body on the dirty cement. She could not forget about what had happened. No. That was asking too much.

But she could drive, and then tomorrow, when she woke up in her little cottage, she would make coffee and take it down to the lake and dangle her feet in the cool water.

And she would come to terms with another senseless death.

She would have to.

Sometimes the only thing one could do was keep going.

* * *

RAFE GOT OFF the damn hill as fast as he could and ran the mile to where he’d hidden his car. Once inside, he sent a quick text to others on his team, letting them know about the arrival of the youngest Maladucci.

He looked at his watch, mindful of the seven-hour time difference between Italy and home. It was almost nine, which meant it was almost two in the morning at home. Time for most people to be sacked out.

But Daniel, who had sent this message, would be awake. He would anticipate that a return message was on its way. He picked up his private cell phone. Trish? he typed and pushed Send.

Within minutes he had his response. Left café around midnight, arrived home safely.

He took a deep breath. Then another. That was good news. But he was edgy. Had been for the past twenty-four hours. Nothing unusual about that. Always the same, year after year.

Maybe someone was walking over his grave.

Hell, he’d walked over his own grave. Less than a month after Trish had the service, he’d been back in Ravesville, with Duke in tow. Just weeks before he’d died, he’d purchased the dog and arranged for it to be specially trained. From the beginning had called it Duke because Trish had always said that if she ever got a dog, Duke would be his name. His plan had been to surprise Trish on their one-year anniversary. When he’d had to leave, he’d expedited the training and delivered the dog to Trish’s backyard two months earlier than expected.

But Duke had been a champ and Rafe had rested better knowing that the dog would protect Trish. Not that Trish should have been in danger still. That should have ended when Rafe left. But he couldn’t stop being extra careful. Trish was too special.

So she’d been home for more than an hour. She would be sleeping. There was no need to request an updated report. No need at all.

Screw it. He typed. Reverify. And waited.

Thirteen minutes later, he knew something was terribly wrong when his phone rang. “Yeah,” he answered.

“She’s gone,” Daniel said.

He gripped his phone and swallowed hard. “Signs of violence?”

“None. Dog is gone, too.”

Milo was dead and Trish and Duke were missing. He stared up at the sun that was bright in the blue sky. It was going to be a nice day.

Not that it mattered. He had things to do.

* * *

IT WAS ALMOST two thirty before Trish pulled up in front of the cottage. There was a narrow half-gravel, half-grass road leading to the small wood structure. She knew the details from M.A. One bedroom, one bath, a kitchen and a big screened-in porch that had a great view of the water. It had sounded perfect, and now that she was here, even though it was too dark to see much of anything, she realized that she’d been right.

Unless, of course, there were mice inside. Even with her gun, she was no match for rodents. “Duke, you’re going to need to protect me.”

He nudged her shoulder with his wet nose. I’ve got your back, it seemed to say.

There was a small light burning next to the cottage door, but even as she walked the short distance from the car, she became aware of how dark the Missouri wilderness could be. Based on what M.A. had told her, the nearest cottage was a half mile away. It didn’t help when Duke decided that he needed a potty break and he took his time sniffing for just the right area.

Her heart started to beat a little faster in her chest and she was glad when the dog finally finished. When it came time to enter the combination on the lock that hung over the door handle, she had to enter it twice before she got it right. The door swung open. Duke pushed in front of her and she made no effort to hold him back. She reached inside, hoping to feel for a light switch.

It was six inches farther away from the door than she’d expected. But once she found it and flipped the light on, she felt much better. It really was just perfect. The main part of the cottage had a small living area with just a couch and a bookshelf. There was no television. It led into the kitchen, where there was a big braided rug under the table. There was a stove, refrigerator and sink.

There was no door on what she suspected was the bedroom. She walked over and found the light. It had a double bed, a small table with a lamp and a dresser. The only other room in the main portion of the cottage was a small bathroom that was off the kitchen. It was old but clean with a bath/shower combination, a toilet and a vanity.

It was the porch that really interested her. It ran the entire length of the cottage, with windows and a back door making up one whole side. It was the size of all three of the other rooms put together. The shades on the windows and door were down, which made sense. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to see anything right now anyway, but she was confident that in the morning, it was going to be dazzlingly beautiful. M.A. had told her the back door opened to steps that led to a long dock where the owner kept a boat for the renters to use. Then there was water for as far as you could see.

On the porch was a small, round slate table, the size where four could squeeze in to have breakfast, with four wrought-iron chairs with padded seats. Also a forest green sofa, a couple of overstuffed chairs, and a big wooden coffee table, the kind with drawers underneath. It had rained a couple of days when M.A. had been here and she’d said the board games and cards that she’d found in the coffee table had been a lifesaver.

Trish unpacked her sack, putting the few groceries away in the cupboard. She pulled out Duke’s water and food dishes and filled both. He immediately started eating.

It probably wasn’t a bad idea. She’d had nothing since lunch, more than twelve hours earlier. She made herself a peanut butter and banana sandwich and poured a glass of water from the faucet. There was a roll of paper towels in a holder next to the sink. She pulled one off and wrapped it around her sandwich. Then she went onto the porch, sat on the sofa and ate.

It had been the right decision to come. She could feel it. Both her body and mind needed rest. Then she could face what had happened tonight.

She’d always figured that Rafe would have liked Milo. Would have appreciated the man’s cooking ability, liked his dry sense of humor and been satisfied that he’d kept a watchful eye on Trish and Summer. Not that Ravesville was dangerous.

But it had been earlier tonight. She’d thought it couldn’t get worse than when Summer’s little girl had been kidnapped, along with her ex-husband. But she’d been wrong.

Murder.

She wadded up the paper towel around the quarter of the sandwich she hadn’t eaten. Then got up, found the garbage container under the sink and tossed it away. Then she took her suitcase into the bedroom and opened it. Pajama pants and a tank were near the top and she quickly undressed and pulled them on.

Duke plopped down in the doorway, and she realized that without a door she’d probably be awakened the next morning, not by a hind-end knock, but rather by a lick in the face. “Maybe you should go outside again. You drank a lot of water.”

His ears perked up.

“Let me get your leash,” she said. She hadn’t taken more than three steps when she heard a noise.

She listened. It had sounded like a car door. Not right outside but not far away, either.

Just one door.

At almost three in the morning.

“Could you hold it until morning?” she asked, absently rubbing the fur on Duke’s back. She knew the dog was confused. He was starting to push up against her leg.

Maybe it was somebody else who was simply arriving at their cottage very late.

There was probably a very reasonable explanation for the noise.

She moved away from the door and Duke came with her. But instead of returning to her bedroom, she went back to the porch, detouring through the kitchen to get her shoulder bag. She pulled out her gun and sat on the sofa with her legs curled up underneath her.

This was crazy. Not counting the nine months that she’d lived with Rafe, she’d lived by herself since she was eighteen. Almost twenty years. She was independent. Certainly not someone who got spooked easily.

She’d also never had someone’s blood on her knees before.

She listened carefully, didn’t hear anything else. Minutes went by. She was almost ready to relax when she heard a noise outside the back door. Footsteps on what had to be the back steps that M.A. had described. The hair on Duke’s back stood up and she could see his teeth.

And then the knob on the back door started to turn.

She raised her gun.

Chapter Four

The locked door held. And the next sound she heard was a sharp knock.

She was surprised she heard it since her heart was beating so loudly. She didn’t move. Duke continued his low growl.

“It’s Bernie Wilberts. Is that you, Miss Roper?”

She almost dropped her gun. She managed to stuff it under the sofa cushion. Then she grabbed Duke’s collar and hung on tight.

She recognized the voice. It was the man that she’d talked to on the telephone about renting the cottage.

She unlocked the door and opened it just inches. A man, his body lean and tall, with a few lines on his tanned face, stood on the back porch. He had a flashlight but it was pointed down toward the ground. He looked interested, but not terribly alarmed that he’d encountered someone in a cottage that was supposed to be empty.

“Hi,” she said. “Yes, I’m Trish Wright-Roper. I arrived early.”

“I saw the car and figured that was the case. And then I saw the light, so I figured I better check.”

She opened the door a little wider. “You’re out late, Mr. Wilberts. I was going to call you but I didn’t want to interrupt your sleep.”

“Call me Bernie,” he said. “I wasn’t even Mr. Wilberts when I was in the corporate world. Anyway, best fishing is in the middle of the night.”

That made her think about Milo and what had sent her scrambling to the cottage. He’d caught his last bass. She felt a pain in her chest and wondered when it would get easier. “Of course,” she said.

By now, Duke had squirmed his way around her legs and poked his nose out the door.

“That’s a fine-looking dog,” Bernie said.

“He was just about to go out,” she said. “Duke, sit.” The dog, who normally obeyed really well, continued to pull forward, and she knew that she was about to lose her grip.

“Watch out,” she said.

Duke flew past Bernie, almost knocking the man off the back steps. Oh, good grief, she thought, stepping out after him. Her bare feet hit the back step. There was just enough room for her and Bernie. “Sorry about that,” she said.

She could hear Duke, thrashing around, but couldn’t see him. It was very dark outside. “May I?” she said, pointing at Bernie’s flashlight.

“Of course,” he said.

She shone the light around and caught a glimpse of Duke. He was circling a log. “Get busy, Duke,” she called out, her voice soft, aware that even though there weren’t any close neighbors, sound carried at night.

“Looks as if he could hold his own against the coyotes,” Bernie said.

That didn’t scare her. She’d had coyotes in her backyard for years. But even so, she hoped the dog had the good sense to come back in. She didn’t relish looking for him in the dark.

Duke came bounding back onto the steps and she stepped back inside. “Well, I’ll be going, then,” Bernie said. “I’ll stop back at a more reasonable time tomorrow or the next day, and we can get acquainted.”

“Great,” she said. “I’ll be interested in learning about the best fishing spots.”

She watched the man walk down the steps and around the corner of the cottage, presumably toward a car that he’d parked somewhere nearby. She shut and locked the door.

She turned and looked at Duke. “Well, that was exciting,” she said.

He barked once in response.

She turned off the light on the porch. “We made the right decision, Duke,” she said. “We needed this.”

* * *

BERNIE WILBERTS DIALED the number that he knew by heart. “She’s there,” he said. “Early.”

“Why?”

“How the hell should I know?” He hated this. He really did. “I saw a car and I checked. She’s by herself. She’s got a dog. But I suspect a bullet will take care of him easy enough.”

The voice at the other end was quiet for a moment. “Fine. I’ll be in touch.”

* * *

IT WAS CLOSE to nine before Trish woke up. Given that it had been after four before she’d dropped off, she knew she could probably have slept later. But Duke had other ideas when he put his nose in her face.

“Fine,” she muttered, throwing back the sheet.

He ran to the door and then had to wait for her. She walked, scuffing her bare feet on the wood floor. Running was out of the question until she’d had coffee. She snapped on his leash and opened the front door. She took a few steps outside and let the leash out so the dog would have his choice of trees and shrubs to water.

She could hear birds singing in the trees and there wasn’t a cloud in the blue sky. It was a perfect day.

She took a deep breath. Then another, expanding her lungs. The air was already warm and was heavy with humidity. The trees smelled damp and she knew it had rained here recently. There was mud around the log that Duke was once again circling.

If he got dirty, he could wash off in the lake. She might do the same.

However, he managed to stay clean, and once he was done, they went back inside. She checked her cell phone to see if there were calls from Summer. Thankfully there were not. She would have been worried if Trish had not answered.

She dialed her and it rang three times before Summer picked up. “Hey,” her twin said. “I was just about to call you.”

“How are you feeling?” Trish asked.

“Better,” Summer said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay last night.”

“If you hadn’t voluntarily left, I think Bray might have had a stroke.”

“He worries,” Summer said. “I’ve tried to tell him that I threw up every day for three months when I was pregnant with Keagan and Adie, but he’s not buying it.”

Her sister was very lucky. She and Bray had loved each other since they were teenagers, but life had intervened and it had taken them fifteen years to find their way to one another.

“I need a favor,” Trish said.

“Of course.”

“Can you take care of the arrangements for Milo’s service? I would help but I drove to the Ozarks last night.”

“In the middle of the night?” Summer squeaked.

Trish almost laughed. “Yes, Mother. In the middle of the night. But I arrived safe and sound. No need to worry. And speaking of mothers, will you let Mom know what’s going on?”

“Of course. But where are you?”

“Near Heelie Lake. I got a recommendation from M.A. She was here recently with her niece. You knew I’d been planning to take a few days off once you were back. After this thing with Milo, I thought about canceling, but I...I just had to get away.”

“I totally get it. It’s so awful. I’m going to miss him so much.”

She could tell Summer was close to tears.

“I’ll be back on Wednesday.”

“Promise me that you’ll keep your cell phone on and charged at all times. And no more driving in the middle of the night.”

“Of course,” Trish said.

There was a pause on the other end. Finally, Summer spoke. “It must be horrible for you, Trish. To have Milo die on the same day as Rafe. It’s just too much.”

“Two good men,” Trish said, her own throat closing up.

“I’m glad you got away,” Summer said. “I’m really glad. Just be safe. I love you. We all do.”

The line went dead. And Trish knew her twin was either crying or vomiting. But Bray would be there to handle either.

Maybe if she’d had someone at home, someone to hold her, she wouldn’t have felt the need to run in the middle of the night. She didn’t begrudge her twin’s happiness. Their lives were just different and she’d learned a long time ago to accept that.

She put her cell phone down and started a pot of coffee. Then she raised every shade on the porch, even the one on the door. M.A. had been right. The view was lovely. From the back steps, there was a little patch of grass that M.A. hadn’t mentioned, maybe twenty feet wide, before one hit the edge of the water.

The wooden dock that extended another fifty feet over the water was faded but in good repair. Bernie Wilberts’s boat, tied at the end, was white with brown panels. The aluminum fishing boat wasn’t new but, like the dock, appeared sturdy. It would suit her just fine.

Now that the blinds were up, she realized that wasn’t enough. She opened several of the windows, happy to see that there were screens to keep the bugs out. Duke rested his chin on one of the sills, looking about as happy as a dog could look.

She could practically hear the lake calling her name. Trish. Trish Wright-Roper.

“Give me ten minutes,” she said to Duke.

She walked back into the kitchen, toasted two slices of bread and slathered them with peanut butter. She grabbed a couple of handfuls of dry cereal and chewed. She washed it all down with the coffee that was now ready.

She hadn’t bothered to unpack the night before. But now she opened her suitcase and pulled out light blue capri pants and a blue-and-white tank. She slipped on a pair of sandals that she’d brought. She loved her cowboy boots but they weren’t good for dangling feet in the water.

On her way out the back door, she grabbed a well-read romance novel off the bookshelf in the living room. Duke bounded ahead of her, racing up and down the dock three times before she made it to the end.

The sun was warm on her face and she could smell the heady scent of the water. There was very little algae and, when she sat at the very end of the dock, it was clear enough that she could see the bottom of the lake through the ten or so feet of water.

Two hours later, she was a hundred and thirty-eight pages into her book, pleasantly warm and, truth be told, a little sleepy. But there were things she needed to do. The idea of more dry cereal was not appealing. She needed to find a grocery store. It was a little early for lunch but she wasn’t on anybody’s schedule but her own. She’d grab a bite to eat and still have the whole afternoon to take the boat out for a little fishing. Bernie Wilberts might like to dangle a line in the middle of the night. Not her.

She stood up and Duke, who had been stretched out next to her sleeping in the sun, immediately woke up. He stayed close as she walked back to the cottage. Once inside, she tossed her book on the slate table and then closed and locked all the windows and did the same for the back door.

Then she grabbed her purse and keys and walked out the front door, making sure that it was locked behind her. She opened up the door of her Jeep and Duke jumped in.

It was fifteen minutes before she got to Heelie. She wasn’t sure which had come first. The town or the lake. But now each was an extension of the other. Every other place on the three-block stretch was a T-shirt shop or a souvenir store. There was one coffee shop, three ice cream parlors and two small restaurants. She parked in front of one. She rolled down the window for Duke. She wasn’t worried about anybody stealing him. He’d bite the person’s arm off who tried that.

The place had fewer tables than the Wright Here, Wright Now Café and there was no shiny pie case in the corner. The menu looked similar but the prices were higher.

Maybe it was time for her and Summer to increase theirs. She ordered a BLT with fries and, to test the young waitress, an Arnold Palmer to drink. The girl smiled and said, “My mom drinks those.”

Trish managed to keep a smile on her face as the young girl trotted off to get her lemonade–iced tea combination. The girl’s comment had been a stark reminder that she was an age where she could have a daughter working behind the counter.

But look at Summer, a little voice nagged at her, as she unrolled and rerolled her silverware, tighter than it had been before. Summer was exactly the same age and she’d be having a new baby in seven months.

You’re not over the hill, she told herself.

But had she crested the peak and was the descent staring her in the face? Suddenly motivated, she pulled out her smartphone and scanned her emails, looking for the last one from the guy that she’d met online. The one she’d told Milo about.

Maybe it was time to fish or cut bait.

Barry North wanted to meet her for dinner. She found his message and, before she could change her mind, sent him a quick note confirming that she’d be available to meet him the following Saturday.

When her BLT and fries arrived, she forced herself to eat. She was moving on. This was good. When she got back to Ravesville, she was tossing out those self-help books about dealing with loss. She was dealing just fine.

She’d just pushed her plate away when her phone dinged, indicating a new email. She picked it up, ignoring that her hand was shaking. So great to get your message. Glad we’re finally going to do this. Where and when? I don’t mind a drive.

She’d told him that she lived about ninety minutes southwest of St. Louis but hadn’t been specific about Ravesville. She wasn’t stupid. She might be new at the online dating game, but she knew enough not to give out her personal information. He lived in Kansas City.

Maybe Hamerton. It was a twenty-minute drive from Ravesville. There were a couple of good places there. She wanted someplace nice but not too fancy. She typed back. Mulder’s in Hamerton. At seven.

Almost immediately came the response. Looking forward to it.

She closed her phone feeling suddenly very warm. She had a date. The idea of it made her BLT rumble in her stomach.

She pushed her chair back, walked to her Jeep and got Duke out to take a little stroll. They went up and down the streets, with Duke stopping frequently to drink out of the dog water bowls that many of the merchants left outside their entrances.

Then it was back to the Jeep for Duke while she went to the grocery store and bought milk and eggs and more fresh vegetables than she probably needed. But hopefully she’d catch a fish this afternoon and be able to cook the fish and the vegetables on the gas grill that was chained outside the cottage.

Back at the Jeep, she shoved the groceries inside the back door and slipped into the driver’s seat. It was a very warm day, and through her capri pants, she could feel the heat of the leather. She leaned back in the seat gingerly, knowing that her tank wouldn’t provide much protection. She’d pulled her hair into a low ponytail, like she usually wore it to work, but it felt heavy on her neck. Maybe it would be cooler on the water.

She checked both ways and then pulled out of her parking space. Duke had his head hanging out the window. There was a lot of traffic that didn’t lighten up until she’d turned off onto the side road that would wind around until it led her to the cottage.

She remembered several of the hairpin turns from the previous night and realized that they were much scarier in the daytime. She hadn’t been able to see how narrow the shoulder on the road was.

Fifteen minutes later, when she was back at the cottage, she let Duke out to do his thing and grabbed the groceries. She held both plastic bags in one hand so that she had a free hand to enter the combination.

She got it on the first try this time. The door swung open.

And by habit, her eyes swept the room. Call her crazy but it seemed different than it had when she’d left two hours earlier. It smelled different. And the handle of the faucet on the kitchen sink was turned to a slightly different angle. And the rug on the floor had one corner flipped up, as if someone had caught it with a shoe.

Trust your instincts.

She could almost hear Rafe’s voice in her ear.

She dropped her groceries and ran for her car. Where the hell was Duke?

She was reaching for the Jeep door when someone caught her from behind. She turned, swinging her fist.

The stranger caught her arm. He was big and beefy and he smelled strongly of garlic. He was completely bald, maybe late fifties.

She opened her mouth to scream and he backhanded her. She fell to her knees.

“Shut up or we put a bullet in you,” he said. “Get the dog.”

She thought he was talking to her but realized that there was a second man. He was standing five feet away, holding a gun. He was much younger, with dark hair that touched his shoulders. But there was no doubt that the two were related, maybe father and son.

Her ears were ringing and she was pretty sure she had a bloody nose. She lifted her head, looking for Duke. He was fifty feet away, his fur raised, on full alert. He was going to charge the man with the gun.

“Oh, no, Duke,” she cried.

The man pulled the trigger, catching Duke as he leaped into the air. She heard his sharp yelp of pain and saw him fall.

Duke’s big body hit the hard ground and he lay there.

She pushed herself off the ground. She had to help him. “You bastard,” she screamed. “You killed him.”

And when the younger man laughed, Trish launched herself in his direction, kicking and screaming with everything she had.

It took both men to subdue her, and she only stopped when they had her on the ground with the gun pressed up against her temple. She turned her head to see her poor dog.

He lay absolutely still.

Chapter Five

“You son of a bitch,” she screamed at the younger man.

He laughed and yanked her arm, pulling her to a standing position. Then he pushed her toward the cottage and through the doorway. She stumbled over the spilled groceries. She was shoved toward a kitchen chair and her tailbone hit it hard.

The older man had followed them in and was now going through her purse that she’d dropped outside during the struggle. He pulled out her billfold, flipped it open and held it up, squinting at it. “Trish Wright-Roper. Jackpot.”

He had to be comparing her to her driver’s license. Jackpot. That could mean only one thing. This hadn’t happened by chance. They’d been looking for her.

It made no sense. She didn’t have enemies.

Maybe not, but a man had been murdered outside her café the previous night. Was that what this was about? Milo?

She sat in the chair and faced her attackers, attempting to control her spiking emotions. The idea that these men might have had something to do with Milo’s death fueled an anger that she’d never thought herself capable of. And then there was what they’d done to poor Duke.

But she couldn’t get so upset that she couldn’t think.

“Anthony, go finish off that dog,” the older man said. He pulled Trish’s cell phone out of her purse. He didn’t bother to look at it. Just dropped it on the ground and stepped on it with the heel of his boot.

Anthony looked up from the cookies he’d grabbed from the floor. He tore at the packaging. “I’m eating.”

“You can eat when this is over,” the older man said. He spoke in a tone that made it clear he considered himself in charge.

Anthony evidently understood the pecking order because he tossed the now-open cookies onto the counter. “What the hell am I supposed to do with it?”

“This isn’t that difficult. Just get it out of sight. Put the carcass in the woods, under something.”

Duke deserved so much more. She was going to kill both of these men when she had the chance. And leave their bodies for the buzzards.

Anthony stalked to the door, leaving it open behind him. She couldn’t see but Old Guy was watching.

“What?” he said loudly, his voice cross.

Anthony didn’t answer, but perhaps he motioned or something because a look of exasperation crossed Old Guy’s face. “Fine,” he said. “Just come back in.”

She could barely keep the smile off her face. It could mean only one thing. Duke had somehow had enough life in him to slink away.

Stay alive, Duke, she thought. I’ll try to do the same. With that thought in mind, she once again tried to channel her anger, to make it into something productive. Her phone was out of commission but her gun was still on the porch, still stuffed underneath the cushion, where she’d left it last night. She needed to somehow find a way to get to it.

When Anthony came back inside, he picked up the other groceries on the floor and seemed delighted that the eggs hadn’t broken. He ignored the cookies he’d opened and poured himself a bowl of cereal. He added milk and noisily ate. Old Guy gave him a dirty look but didn’t say anything else.

“Who are you?” she asked, proud that her voice didn’t shake. She would not let these people know that she was terrified.

“Why, we have friends in common,” said Old Guy. Then he laughed and wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand. “That makes us friends.”

She was confident that she’d never seen either of these two men before. But she decided to let his comment play out. “You’ve got an odd way of showing it,” she said.

He shrugged and turned his head to look at Anthony. “Tie her up.”

Anthony set down his bowl and pulled out a small ball of heavy twine from his pants pocket. He squatted in front of her. He smelled of sweat and garlic and she fought back the urge to gag. When he roughly pulled her ankles together and wrapped the twine around four times and then tied it tight, she fought back the instinct to scream.

“To the chair,” Old Guy said, frowning.

Anthony stood up. Instead of tying her wrists together, he tied each wrist to the back of the chair, at the spot where the seat curved down to the leg.

If she went anywhere, the chair was going with her.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Now we wait,” said Old Guy, smiling at her.

“For?” Trish asked. She needed to figure out the plan if she hoped to outthink them.

His smile faded. “Stop asking questions or I’ll gag you. You’ll know soon enough.”

He pulled a cell phone out of his shirt pocket. Held it up so that he could take a picture of her. Evidently not happy with the shot, he moved to the side. “Anthony,” he said, motioning for the man. “Put your gun up to her temple.”

Anthony seemed only too happy to do that. She could feel it, warm from either the sun or the man’s body, pressing against the soft part of her skull.

Old Guy took several shots. Then he lowered the phone and typed something, using his thumb. “That should do it,” he said.

Were they sending the picture to Summer? Trish’s stomach twisted at the idea of her sister opening up a message and seeing this. It had been only six months since Adie had been kidnapped. Could Summer survive this again?

She could. She was strong. And now she had Bray and his brothers, too. They would find her. Save her. She had to hold on to that thought.

“He won’t be able to resist that,” Old Guy said.

He? He who?

But Old Guy was done talking. He walked out onto the porch and she lost her view of him. But she could hear him cross the length of the porch, heard a creak as he sat down. Probably on the couch. Maybe even on the same cushion that her gun was stuffed under. She guessed it was too much to hope for that it would accidentally go off and shoot him.

But Old Guy didn’t worry her as much as Anthony, who was staring at her. With her arms behind her back, her breasts were more prominent, pushing against the thin material of her tank top.

If he touched her, that would be more than she could endure.

* * *

AFTER LEAVING THE MALADUCCIS’, Rafe drove to his apartment and picked up the things he would need. On the way to the Milan airport, he made phone calls. One to Henri, to let him know that his services were going to be needed.

Nobody knew about Henri. Rafe had encountered the man years before he’d ever met Trish. It had set him back some to look across a crowded restaurant and see someone who very closely resembled him. It was widely believed that everybody had a double. Well, Rafe had met his.

He’d cultivated a relationship with Henri that had been profitable to both of them. Financially profitable for Henri because Rafe paid him very well. Rafe had benefited from the resemblance because whenever Rafe was supposedly off the clock on holiday, Henri filled in, coming and going from Rafe’s apartment, making it appear as if Rafe was indeed home.

Truth be told, Rafe had actually been in the United States, spying on his wife. Nobody that he worked with knew about Trish. Not even his boss. And he intended to keep it that way. It was safer for her.

Once Rafe had been confident that Henri understood the plan, he’d made a second call to arrange transport back to St. Louis. He didn’t intend to fly commercial. First of all, there were no direct flights from Milan to St. Louis. He would have to connect in New York or Atlanta and there would likely be delay after delay.

And he didn’t intend for his name to show on any manifest. At least, not yet. That was essential.

For years, he’d prepared to have to make a last-minute flight back to the States. Just in case. That was going to pay off today.

His call was answered. He spoke in the common language of dollars and, within five minutes, had secured a spot on a charter flight that, according to the manifest, was delivering medical equipment. Perhaps there would be an antiseptic wipe on board.

He was leaving at 10:00 a.m. his time, which was 3:00 a.m. Missouri time. It was a ten-hour flight. Therefore, he would be there by 1:00 p.m. Missouri time. He sent a text to Daniel to let him know where to pick him up.

He parked his car, walked up the steps of the plane, spoke to the pilot briefly and settled into his seat. He listened to the engines rev up as the plane taxied down the runway and tried to tell himself that there could be a thousand reasons why Trish wasn’t at her house. It did not mean she was in trouble.

After all, she’d taken Duke with her. That was a good sign. Right?

But somebody had killed Milo. It was possible that it had been random. Even so, it was plenty enough to get his attention and to get him back to the States. The timing was bad but he’d stay just long enough to ensure that Trish was okay.

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