Getting involved shouldn’t be this dangerous...

Cate Sullivan is no damsel in distress. She’s kept herself and her son safe for six long years. Built a good life in Indian Lake. But now that her drug-dealing ex-husband is moving his operation here, that life is about to explode.

Her instincts tell her to trust Detective Trent Davis. That he’s more than just a handsome cop doing his duty. The former Green Beret has even formed a fast bond with her son. But there’s something he’s not telling her. Some darkness that keeps him from giving in to the feelings she knows are growing between them. Cate trusts Trent to keep her safe, but the real question is whether he’ll trust himself with her heart.

“Listen, Trent, I should be honest with you.”

She pierced him with a look so earnest, he held his breath.

“Please.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m...well...a maiden in distress. I can take care of myself. One of the things I’ve realized is that I’m a magnet for guys who...are inappropriate for me.”

“That’s diplomatic.” He frowned.

“I can’t stand losing control. You have to know that, and right now I can’t let you take over my life—”

“I wasn’t trying to do that.”

“Sure you were. Our situation gives you a control over me and Danny that isn’t healthy...in the long run, I mean.”

He let her continue.

“Listen, I think it’s best I take a step back.”

She was right and he hated it.

Dear Reader,

For those of you who have followed the loves and lives of my friends in Indian Lake, you may remember I introduced Cate Sullivan in my first book of the series, Love Shadows. In that book, she was the Realtor who sold Luke Bosworth’s house when he couldn’t pay his deceased wife Jenny’s medical bills.

As I wrote other books, Cate kept niggling at me, but her words were strange. “You don’t know me. Nobody does. I won’t let them. I’m in disguise.” The night I heard that in my head, that did it. I had to delve into Cate and find out who she was.

Then, when I wanted to write a miniseries within the Indian Lake series on the issue of illegal drugs in our modern lives and how all of us feel those wretched effects, Cate’s story slapped me in the face. I really had to pay attention to her, because she wasn’t about to leave me alone.

I have always found silver linings in the worst circumstances. To find the love of one’s life while pitched into the center ring of death and terror not only makes for an edge-of-your-seat story but, to me, proves that love does conquer all. Happily-ever-after is that much sweeter after a high-stakes battle, and Cate and Trent have earned their joy.

Please share your thoughts with me—I’d love to hear from you. Write to me at cathlanigan1@gmail.com and connect with me on Twitter (@cathlanigan), Facebook, LinkedIn and Wattpad, and at www.catherinelanigan.com and www.heartwarmingauthors.blogspot.com.

All my best,

Catherine

Protecting the Single Mom

Catherine Lanigan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CATHERINE LANIGAN knew she was born to storytelling at a very young age when she told stories to her younger brothers and sister to entertain them. After years of encouragement from family and high school teachers, Catherine was shocked and brokenhearted when her freshman college creative-writing professor told her that she had “no writing talent whatsoever” and that she would never earn a dime as a writer. He promised her that he would be her crutches and get her through his demanding class with a B grade so as not to destroy her high grade point average too much, if Catherine would promise never to write again. Catherine assumed he was the voice of authority and gave in to the bargain.

For fourteen years she did not write until she was encouraged by a television journalist to give her dream a shot. She wrote a six-hundred-page historical romantic spy thriller set against World War I. The journalist sent the manuscript to his agent, who then garnered bids from two publishers. That was nearly forty published novels, nonfiction books and anthologies ago.

This book is dedicated to my son, Ryan Pieszchala, whose sense of honor, responsibility and unconditional love for his family was the inspiration for my hero, Trent Davis.

And to all the men and women in blue who Serve and Protect our lives across rural farmlands and sprawling cities: your sacrifices do not go unnoticed. God bless you all. You are true heroes and heroines.

To my late husband, Jed Nolan, my hero, my best friend. I will love you to the moon and back, throughout all galaxies and all the universes.

Acknowledgments

Passions and causes have rumbled through my life and my writings since I wrote my first poems at the age of ten. I wish I was powerful enough to eradicate heroin from the streets and the playgrounds. I wish I could stop every man from beating his wife and children. I wish I could eradicate harsh and hateful words and actions from all humans.

I can’t.

My blessings are the trust and belief that my editors, Claire Caldwell, Megan Long, Dianne Moggy and Victoria Curran have in my ability to deliver a romance that has wide wings and deep, moral roots. It is your intelligence, commitment and heartfelt compassion for my story and me, that gave me the courage to delve into Cate’s fears about loving and her unrelenting devotion to her son, her friends and her town.

I can’t change the world, but as a writer, I can change a reader’s perspective. Even if one person who is being abused physically, mentally or verbally, reads this story and finds the courage to make changes in her life, then I have succeeded.

Thank you to everyone at Heartwarming for giving me the voice to help others.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

TRENT DAVIS GRIPPED his fully loaded Smith & Wesson M&P 45 semiautomatic pistol and motioned to his fellow officers who had approached the abandoned brick building with as much stealth and expertise as his Special Forces team had used in Afghanistan. They plastered their backs against the outside walls. All wore Kevlar vests and navy windbreakers with yellow ILPD patches on the back. Trent tried the rickety door. It was locked. He gave a hand signal that said he would bust it down.

“Police!” Trent bellowed with a voice that used to thunder down rocky mountains and desert terrain, as he kicked the door in.

The heroin dealers were sitting at a table counting money, just as the two undercover officers had planned. Both Sal Paluzzi and Bob Paxton had been Green Beret just as he was. They’d been to Iraq while Trent had been all over the Middle East. The three of them had worked closely on this sting for two months.

Trent knew a lift of an eyebrow, sidelong glance or nod of recognition could blow future efforts if this bust didn’t go well. Trent had worked undercover a few times and never liked it. He didn’t like living amid criminals even for a single day. He wanted them behind bars where they couldn’t sell dope to a kid or pull the trigger on an innocent bystander.

Trent worked best as the leader. The first guy in. The one who might have to take a bullet for his men, but who knew he could take down any obstacles in his path.

Trent was not just good at his work, he was excellent. He knew it. The United States Army had plastered ribbons and stars on his chest because they knew it, and now the Indian Lake Police Force knew it.

He was prepared for anything. Even to die.

Instantly, Trent recognized Sal and Bob slouched in their metal folding chairs watching the gang leader count money. Behind the table was a stack of plastic-wrapped heroin. Five-pound bags, Trent assumed. All of it looking like innocent sugar.

There has to be half a million dollars of dope in that pile.

Sal and Bob shot to their feet, whipping their guns out from under their shirts.

In a nanosecond, the tall, lean Asian dealer whisked his semiautomatic off the table, spun around and away from the table, making himself a tougher target to hit. Immediately he fired, spewing bullets at Sal and Bob.

Trent fired and winged the perp. Right shoulder. It didn’t faze the creep, who kept firing. Trent dropped to the floor, belly down flat, aimed and shot the perp’s gun out of his right hand. Blood sprayed the man’s face. He screamed and hugged his hand to his chest.

Another gang member, as rotund as he was tall, spilled off his chair, hit the floor and rolled, spraying bullets randomly from his black .40-caliber Smith & Wesson. Bullets pierced the tin ceiling, pinged off pipes, but, mercifully, didn’t hit anyone. Trent guessed the guy was a wheelman.

Trent shot the jerk in the foot. He squealed like a pig.

More bullets from the third gang member zinged through the air as he spun the table on its side, sending money fanning in all directions. The guy was quick. He moved like the wind toward a far wall where a window was covered by a sheet. The man was tall, dark haired and stared at Trent with black, cunning, evil eyes.

Eyes Trent had seen once before. Eyes on a terrorist in Afghanistan who’d held Trent dead in his sights. He’d thought he’d been a dead man for sure. But he’d been too fast for the poorly trained al-Qaeda shooter. Trent tried to shake off the memory, but it held him like a prisoner. The flashback of the sound of his gun firing reverberated in his ears. His aim had been deadly. Trent had lived.

The present slammed back at Trent as the sound of his men shouting broke through his PTSD terrors. He looked up to see the gang leader getting away.

“Le Grande,” Trent shouted, and the hair on his neck prickled as he stared down the leader. Trent wanted this one—bad.

Le Grande scrambled toward the far wall and was out the window. He bolted down the alley.

Trent cursed and leaped across the overturned table in pursuit. He swung through the window.

A black SUV started, and Le Grande jumped in the passenger’s seat. It sped down the alley, out on to the street.

Trent shot at the tires and missed. He ran as fast as he could, trying to catch up to the vehicle. As the SUV raced through a red light, dodging one oncoming car and swerving around another, Trent realized that the license plate had been muddied enough he couldn’t get an accurate read.

Out of breath, he stopped in the middle of the empty side street, bent at the waist and placed his hands on his knees to catch his breath. What he wouldn’t give to be nineteen again. At thirty-one, he felt like an old man.

Trent hustled back to the building and heard obscenities fill the air, but the sound of bullets had died. Then he heard the rattle of handcuffs being latched to wrists. Miranda rights were recited. More curses.

But Trent’s hands shook as he finally holstered his gun. He shoved them in his pants pockets and let his eyes scan the melee.

The interior was exactly as his undercover investigation team had described, but that wasn’t what Trent saw. Suddenly, he was inside a bombed-out building in Kandahar where his special ops team had rappelled in to extract an American marine who’d been taken prisoner by al-Qaeda terrorists. He smelled rotted food, urine, sweat and blood. He heard voices hammering curses in Pashto and Dari like rattlesnakes. The images slithered across his memory, reminding him of horrors.

Trent knew one thing—evil was everywhere. Even in Indian Lake.

And right now, Trent’s home was under fire. Drug lords thought they’d found an easy target here. Little kids, ripe for the picking. Citizens so naive and trusting they couldn’t believe that drug lords would set up shop in their town.

Yes, they were at war in Indian Lake—just like he’d been in Afghanistan.

Sal Paluzzi was talking to him, but he couldn’t make out the words.

Instructions.

Sal wanted instructions, and Trent was their leader.

Trent tried to remember. Yes. The chopper. There was always a chopper, and it would be here in seconds. Hoist them out as if they’d never been here.

“...back to the station?” Sal said. “Sir?”

Trent blinked. Only once. He was here. He never stayed back there too long. Couldn’t afford to.

“Copy that. Get these creeps out of here,” Trent ordered, as his eyes scoped the interior. He touched the radio phone Velcroed to his shoulder. “Coming out. Send in Forensics.”

Trent turned and led the way for his men—as was expected of him.

* * *

TRENT POURED COFFEE from the glass pot into a foam cup, sipped the stale, nearly cold brew, then dumped the rest down the drain. He looked around. The break area was vacant. Dead as a tomb. It was nearly midnight. Everyone had gone home. He stared at the stained coffeepot. He guessed the last batch had been made around suppertime—when he’d been bringing in the perps. Booking them. Filling out paperwork. Doing his job.

He shoved the pot onto the warming plate. “Too late for coffee.”

He went to the nearly empty vending machine and bought a pack of jalapeño potato chips. He hated them. But the Doritos were long gone. He knew. He was probably the only guy eating them.

He went to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. It was the only thing that the department provided free. That and the coffee.

Trent went to his desk and stared at the computer screen. He’d nearly finished his report. He felt as if he’d written a book.

Trent had been assigned to this sting for three months, but it had been ongoing long before his promotion to detective. The Indian Lake police chief told Trent that the Chicago Police Department had been hunting Le Grande for two years. The man was like a shadow. No one knew his real name, but he was a vicious drug lord, and his gang had tentacles from Houston to Chicago to Detroit. Le Grande’s network went straight through Indian Lake. Thanks to geography and unpatrolled country highways and roads, drugs moved from Mexico through Texas all the way to Toronto.

In Trent’s background report on Le Grande, he discovered that Le Grande was the name of the gang, though the members called this man Le Grande, too. His largest contingent gang was based in Chicago. His minions sold drugs on the first floor of the John Hancock Building, the Merchandise Mart and even in the lobby of the luxe Drake Hotel. These were scores of a thousand dollars each. Sometimes more.

There was nothing small-time about Le Grande, and whenever the CPD closed down his dealers, they were replaced within hours. Le Grande grew dealers like an amoeba replicated.

But the one thing that Trent knew was that evil could exist only so long. Sooner or later, Le Grande would be apprehended. Trent had hoped to be the man who took him down. But not tonight.

Just as Trent downed a slug of water, a new email popped onto his screen. It was from Richard Schmitz, a lieutenant with the Chicago Bureau of Organized Crime, with whom Trent had been working for months. Richard wanted to nab Le Grande as much as, or more than, Trent did.

Trent respected Richard’s ability to sift clues out of a mass of information, and he always came up with gold. Richard’s analytical skills were the very reason Trent and the Indian Lake PD had been brought into the investigation. Richard and his superiors at CBOC strategized with Trent and Stan Williams, Indian Lake’s chief of police, about the plan for this sting. They’d all been so certain that this time they would lure Le Grande into their trap.

But Trent had bungled it. He felt guilty. And angry with himself. He was better than this. It had been that split second. That tiny falter where his mind had tripped there. To Afghanistan.

The military said he had PTSD. He hadn’t believed them at first. He’d thought it was just an adjustment to civilian life, but it had been over five years now. He’d tried counseling until he felt he was counseling the counselor. He’d meditated. He took medications guaranteed to stop the flashbacks. He’d been to the mountain of Zen and back. Nothing worked.

Finally, he faced the fact that like the memories, the flashbacks would never go away.

They just were.

And that could get him killed. He couldn’t and wouldn’t tell a soul about his flashback today. It had been a blip. Two seconds. Maybe less. But that’s all it had taken. If Le Grande had been firing his gun, Trent or someone else could have been killed.

Trent had to find a way to push through his demons. He’d learned to focus more on the moment, and that had helped. But it wasn’t perfect yet. He wasn’t perfect.

The email pinged again.

Trent shook off his dour thoughts and read Richard’s note.

Trent—

I can’t believe we’ve been on this guy’s case so long and missed this one. Get this. He’s been married before. Even has a kid. And yes, you guessed it, she’s right there in Indian Lake. My team is all over the news. No wonder the creep is in your backyard.

Keep this on the down low. Except for your COP, I’d play it close to the vest for now. We don’t need anyone alerting her to our knowledge about Le Grande. She could be in on his gang activity. We’re checking that out.

Trent, I have a man on the inside. Undercover cop. Not just an informant, which I don’t trust completely. He’s feeding me intel.

There’s not much on her. We tracked down a divorce decree. No particulars other than that. And there was no mention of a kid in the decree. It was six years ago. So maybe he didn’t know about the kid.

Le Grande chose Indian Lake initially as a transfer station for drug trafficking. This new intel is a game changer. Because of the ex-wife, we believe he’s not lost to you.

Was it possible that he was getting a second chance? Maybe his luck had turned. He and his men had rounded up every man in the building. They’d only missed Le Grande.

So, Le Grande had a family.

Now that was an anchor for any man.

Trent had never had a family of his own and didn’t think he ever would. Not with his PTSD. But even his two undercover agents had wives and kids. Lives. They didn’t seem to have any problems after Iraq. At least none they talked about.

Trent finished reading Richard’s note.

The woman’s name is Susan Kramer. We believe Raoul Le Grande is actually Brad Kramer. They lived on Chicago’s South Side.

She’s living in Indian Lake under an alias. You’ll find her as Cate Sullivan.

Trent slammed back against his chair. “Cate Sullivan? The real-estate agent?”

Cate Sullivan had her photograph plastered on huge agency billboards at the main entrances to town. She was that pretty brunette he’d seen at the Indian Lake Deli from time to time with one of the deli owners, Olivia Melton, who’d just got engaged to Rafe Barzonni. Trent knew the four Barzonni brothers—Gabe, Rafe, Mica and Nate—as well as their mother, Gina, a recent widow, because they donated heavily to the policemen’s widows and orphans fund as well as the City Playground Fund, which Trent spearheaded. He’d even seen Cate with Sarah Bosworth, the wife of his workout buddy, Luke.

Luke was a former navy SEAL and, along with Scott Abbott, a journalist for the local newspaper and owner of the Book Stop and Coffee Shop; they all tested their skills at the shooting range south of town twice a month. Just yesterday morning, Trent had bumped into Cate at Cupcakes and Cappuccino, Maddie Barzonni’s café.

Trent swiped his face. So while he didn’t know Cate Sullivan personally, he definitely knew of her.

This was ludicrous. She seemed like a nice person. A sweet woman, always smiling and polite.

She was mixed up with one of the biggest drug dealers in the Midwest?

Trent stared at the email. The longer he was a cop, the more humanity shocked him. He’d thought he’d seen it all in Afghanistan.

But the thought that Cate Sullivan was part of Le Grande’s heroin trafficking gang—Trent’s heart grew weary with the idea. God help them all.

CHAPTER TWO

CATE WALKED INTO the living room during the baby shower for Liz and Gabe Barzonni in time to see her six-year-old son, Danny, holding Liz’s baby, Angelo Ezekiel. Sarah and Luke Bosworth’s children, Timmy and Annie, sat on either side of him. On the floor surrounding the kids was a sea of tissue, boxes and glittery gift bags that Liz and Gabe had clearly opened earlier. The children were oblivious to the mess or the pile of presents to the side of the sofa.

“Danny, be careful,” Cate said as she deposited a silver tray of petits fours on the linen-covered dining-room table. She’d never been to a couple’s shower like this. Nearly every light in Sarah’s house had been turned on, not to mention dozens of taper candles and votives flickering on the tables, mantel and along the windowsills. The house was so illuminated it could probably be seen from outer space, Cate thought. And everywhere laughter suffused the air with joy.

“I’m doing good, Mom!” Danny assured her, tilting the baby into the crook of his arm. He looked so grown-up and sure of himself at that moment, her little man. It seemed only a blink ago that Danny was a baby, and here he was already in kindergarten and making new friends.

Cate looked around. The entire Barzonni family was present, and not one of Cate’s girlfriends was missing. Mrs. Beabots, an elegant eighty-year-old wearing a black vintage Chanel suit with a half dozen ropes of pearls, gold links and colored gems, held court with the newly engaged Olivia Melton and Rafe Barzonni.

Luke walked through the room with an open bottle of sparkling wine. “Gabe’s vineyard is very proud of their first sparkling crop.” He smiled at Cate.

“Oh, Luke, wine isn’t a crop,” Cate joked.

“Why not?” He foisted a wounded look onto the bottle with its gold foil label.

“It’s a batch,” handsome, black-haired Gabe said, breezing through the clusters of guests with empty glasses and another bottle.

Luke winked at Cate. “You watch the kids for me? I have to help pour.”

“Sure.”

Cate had known Luke when he was married to his first wife, Jenny. She’d sold them their lovely bungalow house. She’d also resold it for him after Jenny died. It all seemed impossible to her that Jenny could be dead. And now, Luke was as happy—or happier—with Sarah, who’d been one of the first friends Cate had met in Indian Lake.

“Mom!” Danny called as he looked up from the sleeping baby. “Come here. Don’t you think Zeke is cute?”

“He is,” Cate replied, approaching to look at the baby. “Is his name Zeke? I thought it was Angelo. After his grandfather.”

“Oh, no,” Annie and Timmy chimed together.

“It’s definitely Zeke,” Annie stated.

“Definitely.” Danny and Timmy nodded.

“He’s got a lot of black hair.” Danny grinned proudly. “Like me.”

Gabe walked up, put his arm around Cate’s shoulder and said, “You get yours from your mother, Danny. Zeke’s hair is like mine. I’m told a baby’s hair can fall out and grow back another color.”

Danny’s blue eyes widened. “No way. Is that true, Mom?”

Cate nodded. “Actually, yes. When you were a baby, you were a towhead. Er, blond.”

Danny shook his head. “That’s just crazy. Why would I do that?”

Cate shrugged. “I don’t know. Must have been someone in the family.”

“Well,” Gabe said as he scooped up baby Zeke, “I have to take him to his momma.”

Cate was aware Danny appeared slightly reluctant to release the baby. “She probably needs to change him.”

“Yeah, I know,” Danny said. “Mom, when can we get a brother for me?”

Before Cate could answer, Annie chimed in. “Good luck with that,” she groaned. “We’ve been asking our mom that for months.”

“Yeah,” Timmy said. “She’s not listening to us at all.”

“But you guys have each other,” Danny replied. “I don’t have anybody to play with.”

“Sure you do. Sarah said you can come play with Timmy and Annie after school anytime you want.” Cate held out her hand. “C’mon, sweetheart, don’t you want a cupcake or a petit four?”

Timmy jumped off the sofa. “Maddie made them special for us! Let’s get Beau.”

Danny took his mother’s hand as Annie scrambled off the sofa as well and raced away. “Mom, do you think that’s a good idea letting the dog have cake?”

Cate stifled a laugh. “I think if Sarah says it’s okay, it’s fine. Just take one cupcake.”

Danny grinned. “Sure, Mom.”

Cate knew that mischievous look on her son’s face. He was up to something. “Only one treat. No cookie. No petits fours. Just the cupcake.”

“Aw, Mom!” Danny stomped away as if his shoes were lined with lead.

Sarah stood next to Cate. “He’s adorable, Cate. The kids love him to pieces, and they all play so well together. Honestly, anytime you have to show a house or do an open house, we’d love to have him stay with us.”

Cate felt her smile of gratitude bloom. “Sarah, you don’t know what this means. Ever since his regular babysitter moved, I’ve been in a quandary. He hates day care, because all the kids are younger than he is. He’s only six, but he thinks he’s fifteen. He’s growing up so fast.”

Sarah smiled wistfully. “I know what you mean. Annie is so much the young lady now, it scares me. Her piano playing is astounding and her voice... Last week she asked me if she could enter the Indiana Junior Miss Pageant.”

Cate’s jaw dropped. “For real?”

“Uh-huh. You know? I think she’d win.”

“But that’s...so much, er, notoriety. I mean her photo would be everywhere. She’d be on television,” Cate replied, trying to suppress a wave of niggling fear.

“Facebook. Twitter. Instagram. Oh, absolutely,” Sarah said.

“So what are you going to do?” Cate put her fingers to her lips as if to stifle her fearful words. Cate hated that her buried demons crept up on her at times like this. Sarah’s decisions had nothing to do with her—or Danny. She and her son were safe. Secure. She’d made certain of that.

“We’ll go for it. The one thing that Luke and I agree on is that we don’t want to hold the kids back from anything within reason. Too many people go through life trying to do the sensible thing. When it’s all said and done, they wish they’d taken more risks. If the kids fail, at least they tried.”

Cate kept her gaze on Danny as he and Timmy sat on the floor with Beau, petting him. Danny was the happiest, most well-adjusted little boy she’d ever seen. She loved him beyond measure and would do anything for him.

Cate knew all about risks. She could write volumes about the determination that came from terror. Half the people in this room didn’t have the first clue about life-and-death risks. Except Luke, possibly.

He never talked about his time as a navy SEAL, but Cate had always been curious.

She supposed her caution was because she’d taken a lot of risks for Danny. Risked her life. She still risked her life for him. Daily.

No one knew that. And they never would.

“Mom! If I can’t have a baby brother, can I get a dog like Beau?” Danny asked, getting up from the floor.

He had white icing on his lips. Cate wiped his mouth with the napkin she held. “A dog? I’m not sure. But, I will think about it.”

“Promise?” Danny asked excitedly.

“Yes.” It might be time he started learning some responsibilities. “You could help out by feeding and walking it.”

Timmy patted Beau’s head. “Don’t forget cleaning up the poop. Mom wouldn’t let me do that till I was seven. I have to wear plastic gloves,” he said matter-of-factly.

Danny nodded seriously. “I could do that.”

Cate laughed. “Yes, you could.” She ruffled his hair. “We better get our things. Tomorrow is a school day.”

“I know,” Danny said dejectedly as he gave Beau one last pet.

“I have to say my goodbyes, Danny. You stay there,” Cate said, going into the kitchen where Sam Crenshaw and Gina Barzonni were pouring coffee. Ever since Gina’s husband, Angelo, had died of a sudden heart attack, Cate had noticed that Liz’s grandfather, Sam, always seemed to be at Gina’s side. Cate wouldn’t be surprised if there was something romantic brewing between the two.

Sarah was at the sink washing dishes.

“Sarah, I have to take Danny home,” Cate said. “It was a wonderful party. I think Danny would be happier if Liz let him take the baby with us.”

Gina laughed. “He’ll have to stand in line. That baby has got half the town wrapped around his tiny fingers.”

“You can say that again.” Sam smiled, pulling Gina closer to him and giving her a look that was so loving and intimate, Cate nearly winced. No one had ever looked at her like that.

She knew she’d never give anyone the chance to, either.

Sarah dried her hands. “Let me give you some cookies to take home. Luke will go nuts if I keep all this sugar in the house.”

“Thank you, Sarah. That’s so kind. Assure Luke that I’ll dole them out carefully. No sugar overload at my house.”

Sarah placed six oatmeal-and-raisin cookies inside a plastic container and snapped the lid shut. “Actually, they’re fairly healthy. I made them myself.”

Cate went to the living room and hugged her friends one by one.

Mrs. Beabots tugged on Cate’s hand and whispered, “Anytime you want to bring Danny over, I wouldn’t mind watching him. He’s such a good boy.”

“What a nice thing to say, Mrs. Beabots. I’ll do that.”

“See that you do,” Mrs. Beabots replied. “Being around the little ones keeps me young.”

Cate squeezed her hand and went to get her purse. Though she and Danny were the first ones to leave, she noticed that others were starting to say their goodnights, as well.

Cate buckled Danny in and reversed out of the drive.

Her house was on the west side of Indian Lake, though not on the lake itself. They were close enough so that she and Danny could walk to the beach, but she didn’t have the sky-high property taxes.

The 1930s Craftsman-style bungalow was Cate’s third house in town. The same week that she’d landed her first real-estate commission, she bought her first house. It had been a matchbox, but she didn’t care. It had been a start, and they hadn’t needed much since Danny was a baby then. She’d traded up until she’d finally bought this house. It was sturdy, in a good neighborhood and shouted respectability. The house was the antithesis of what Cate felt in her soul.

She would do everything in her power to make certain her son had a good life. A happy home, security and friends.

So far, Cate had provided all that.

But Danny was getting older and asking a lot of questions. Ones that she couldn’t answer or didn’t dare to.

As was her custom, she parked in the detached garage. Waiting until the automatic garage door lowered, they got out of the car. She locked it and they exited the garage through the side door, which Cate also locked, double-checking the handle to make sure it was secure. They walked the short sidewalk and up the back steps. Cate unlocked the door and they entered the kitchen.

She turned on the light, reengaged the lock and threw the inside bolt. Again, she tried the handle to make sure the door was tightly shut.

“So, Mom. Can we talk about what I was talking about?” Danny asked as he took off his jacket.

Cate glanced out the window. “What? I’m sorry, sweetheart. What did you ask?”

“A baby brother? Remember? When can we get one?” Danny stood with his hands on his little hips, his face earnest and concerned.

“Sweetie, in order to do that, I have to have a husband. And that could take a long time. Then he and I would have to decide if we want anyone besides you. Honestly, I’m very happy with the current arrangement.”

Danny shook his head. “That’s not how it works.”

“It’s not?” She couldn’t wait to hear his take on this one.

“No. You go to the attorney’s office. I saw a sign for one on Main Street. You get the baby there.”

“Who told you this?”

“Jessica. She’s in my class. Her mom can’t have any more babies. So they went to the attorney. Now she’s got a sister. I don’t want a sister. I really want a brother. Can you tell the attorney that?”

The laughter that threatened to explode from Cate was next to impossible to choke back, but she had to. Danny was so serious. This was a complication she hadn’t ever calculated. Cate knew Jessica Anderson’s parents. She’d sold them their house six months ago. She’d wondered why they’d wanted so much extra room. Now she knew.

“Sweetie, I’m pretty sure that getting a baby like Jessica’s parents did would be very expensive. Right now I can’t afford a baby that way. Plus, I also believe because they had a mommy and a daddy, the adoption went fairly well for them.”

“Hmm. Yeah. Jessica has a daddy.”

“A father is an important ingredient for an adoption.”

“But not for a family, right? Because we’re a family. Even if my daddy died. And he never got to see me.”

Cate’s heart went out to her little boy. There was so much he was missing because he didn’t have a father. Sure, there were thousands of boys without a father, but she’d never planned to be a single mother. She’d wanted the dream. A knight in shining armor. Happily-ever-after. Still, she’d been granted the most perfect child a mother could ever want.

Danny was her blessing. She’d take that.

“Yes. He never got to see you, but I know he sees you from heaven. Don’t you think?”

Danny smiled, as he always did when they talked about his father. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Time for your bath and pajamas. I’ll run the water. You pick out a book for me to read to you.”

“Okay!” Danny rushed off to his bedroom as Cate went to the bathroom.

She turned on the water, testing the temperature. She could feel fingers of gloom pulling at her. She always felt this way when Danny mentioned his father.

Brad Kramer could be dead. Should be dead if there was justice in the world, but she didn’t know for certain. She didn’t want to know.

“Mom! I found my raptor! He was under my pillow all this time!” Danny raced to the bathroom stark naked and jumped in the tub before she had a chance to slow him down.

Using a plastic tumbler, Cate doused his thick dark hair and built a foamy lather with tearless shampoo. Danny pretended his dinosaur was diving into the sea while she scrubbed his back, arms and legs. She rinsed his hair and took a towel from the wicker stand.

Danny hummed one of the songs he’d learned at school while she dried his hair and helped him into his pajamas. He was the sweetest thing, and it took a great deal of self-control to keep her kisses to less than a dozen every night.

He raced to his bedroom and scrambled between the covers. “Here,” he said, handing her a Shel Silverstein book. “You like this one.”

“My mother read that to me when I was a little girl.”

“Uh-huh. And she’s with Daddy in heaven.”

Cate felt a twinge of sorrow as she always did when she thought of her mother, who had died when Cate was seventeen. That was the year she’d met Brad.

Brad couldn’t have been more perfect if he’d walked out of a dream. He was dark haired, tall and handsome. He worked as a lifeguard at the public pool where she and her two girlfriends hung out on weekends. He was twenty-one years old and tanned, wearing the regulation black bathing trunks and aviator sunglasses. He looked like a mysterious, rock-hard model. When he asked her out for a burger one Saturday, she’d felt as if she’d walked on air. Even now, she could remember the heady rush of excitement and the thrumming of her heart when he got off his shiny chrome motorcycle at Smitty’s Hamburger Diner holding a single rose.

He worked two jobs, driving a truck during the week and working as a lifeguard on weekends—to keep up his tan.

Brad told her he’d watched her for two weeks before getting up the courage to ask her out. He told her he didn’t date much. He had to watch his expenses.

He told her she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. He played old Johnny Mathis love songs on every jukebox in every diner they went to over that first month. And each time he did, he sang along, as if serenading her. He held her hand when they walked to his bike.

And he kissed her with so much passion she thought she would melt to the pavement.

Despite the fact that Cate was struggling with grief, trying to adjust to the foster home where the state forced her to live until graduation, she believed she was in love with Brad from that first night.

Cate didn’t understand the nuances of grief. She didn’t know that what she was feeling wasn’t love. She didn’t recognize that Brad was simply the force that filled the void left by her mother’s death. Cate didn’t know how to combat grief.

Over that summer, Brad offered her excitement and recklessness. She’d ridden on the back of his motorcycle, wondering if she could find her mother in the wind. They’d sped across downstate Illinois highways, through country towns, drinking beer and eating mini-mart food because they had so little money. He was wild, and she wanted to be wild, hoping the pain and grief would go away.

Brad pleaded with her to marry him. She’d been flattered. She’d felt special, even important, after months of feeling small and insignificant. Brad wanted her, and when he kissed her with so much fire and abandon, her reasoning turned to ash.

Because Cate had promised her mother she would finish high school, she kept Brad at arm’s length until she graduated. He’d been angry about that. Very angry. Cate had translated his outbursts as desire and passion. She was convinced she’d bewitched him.

The night they were married by a justice of the peace, Brad got drunk, started an argument and hit her. He swore it would never happen again. He begged her forgiveness.

He’d treated her like a queen—for five days. He bought her roses, ran her bath and brought her breakfast in bed. He said odd things that, at the time, she thought were endearments.

“You belong to me now,” he’d said. “You’re mine. All mine now that we’re married. You have my name, and I like that very much.”

A month later, it happened again. This time he was more than just drunk. His pupils were dilated, and he looked as if he had a fever. He’d told her that because they were married, he could do whatever he liked. He wanted her to be submissive. When Cate refused, he hit her and threw her against the wall. She’d hit her head and was stunned, momentarily unconscious.

The incident must have frightened him, because Brad apologized again. This time he brought home an expensive bottle of champagne and a silver bracelet she knew they couldn’t afford. When she asked him where he got the money, he told her that he’d started a “side business” to cover “extras.”

Cate didn’t trust a thing he told her.

Of all the things she was, stupid wasn’t one of them. It was as if the minute she’d agreed to marry, he changed. The challenge of winning her was gone.

She had to admit that she’d changed, too. She’d dreamed of a little house with children someday. Brad had argued that he didn’t have the kind of income to afford a house. Their very small apartment in a complex filled with people she didn’t know—who appeared to sleep all day and party by the pool all night—was not enough. She wanted more.

Each time she tried to discuss her dreams with Brad, he yelled that he would never be able to afford the things she wanted. Cate realized if she brought in a paycheck, she could make her dreams a reality. She applied for a data entry job at a nearby pool equipment company and was hired on the spot. Brad was furious. He’d stormed out of the apartment to meet his friends.

That night, Brad came home drunk, though now she realized he was high on some drug that his friends had sold him. He marched toward her with menacing eyes and balled fists. He screamed obscenities at her. Then he said, “I own you!” Before he took the first swing, Cate took action.

She ran out of the house with her wallet containing forty-two dollars. She ran. And ran.

She kept to the state highways and eventually a middle-aged woman who said she was driving from Chicago to Detroit stopped to pick her up. By the time they reached Indian Lake, they needed gas. Cate appreciated the ride, but the woman asked too many questions. It was to that woman that she’d first given her alias. Cate Sullivan. The name had come to her quickly. She’d had a classmate in grade school whose parents were Irish, and the real Cate had competed in Irish dance competitions. Cate envied her those lessons and had wanted to be that girl with both parents still alive.

In an instant, she altered her life drastically.

She’d covered over a hundred miles that night. That’s when Cate knew she was a survivor.

“Mom? The story?” Danny nudged the book toward her.

“Sorry.” She kissed the top of his head and hugged him close.

No, she thought. She was more than surviving. She was living the dream she’d wanted for herself. She had Danny, her pretty house and wonderful friends who loved her. Indian Lake was no accident in her life. It was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and she cherished every moment.

CHAPTER THREE

TRENT MADE A fresh pot of coffee and delivered a cup to Ned Quigley, the dispatcher, just as a 911 call came in. With only a skeleton crew on duty, Trent waited until Ned had written down the particulars.

“What is it?” Trent asked, sipping his coffee and thinking that one of these days he had to learn how to make decent coffee. It couldn’t be all that tough, could it?

“Home invasion. Wife’s on the phone. Appleton is a block away.” Ned patched through to the cop on duty and gave him the address. Then Ned sent two more patrols as backup. He looked at Trent.

“Where is it?” Trent asked.

“By the skating rink.”

That was only half a mile from Cate’s address. Trent knew Le Grande was too smart to draw attention to himself on the same night as a shootout with cops. So where would Le Grande have gone after the bust? To Chicago where the CPD practically had him in their sights? The guy had to know that all of Indian Lake PD was on alert for him. Most of the drug dealers coming into small towns across the Illinois border tended to underestimate local law enforcement. They thought they were dealing with hicks and idiots. Granted, the citizenry might not be as astute about drugs and dealers as Chicagoans, but the police investigators were savvy and well-informed. What men like Le Grande didn’t know was that because the number of active cases with a small-town force was much less than in a city, the investigators had time to spend on each one until it was solved.

Trent listened as Ned gave instructions to the patrol cop. Trent’s neck hairs prickled. An intruder, Ned had said.

What if Le Grande had discovered Cate’s—or Susan’s or whatever her name was—existence here in Indian Lake just as he had? Would he go to her? There was a possibility that Trent had shot him. Winged him, maybe. If Le Grande knew about Cate, he might have gone to her for help. Even if she was resistant, Le Grande might think he could get money from her. Steal a car or coerce her to drive him out of town.

Then there was the question of Cate-Susan herself. Was she a cover for Le Grande? Part of his gang? Had she scoped the town for him, pretending to be someone she wasn’t?

There was no criminal record on her or any reason for Trent to suspect that she was dealing drugs. She had a kid, after all. Not that a kid would stop an addict mother from using or dealing.

She didn’t strike him as anything but a model citizen.

But she’d been married to Le Grande.

If Le Grande went to her and needed help, would she do it?

As usual when new information on a case came to light, it posed a myriad of new questions. Trent knew exactly what to do.

Investigate.

Following Richard’s advice, Trent would keep this new info quiet. There were too many leaks in any organization. “The chief at home tonight?”

“Should be. You need him?”

“Nah. Just curious. I didn’t finish my report.”

“Slacker,” Ned joked.

“I’m going out for a sandwich. You want anything?” Trent took out his car keys.

“No, but thanks,” Ned replied as another call came in.

Trent decided to call the chief from his car and fill him in about Cate.

He exited the station and went to his unmarked car. As he climbed in, he had the eerie feeling that Le Grande was close. Trent had looked the man straight in the face. It was the blink of an eye, but they’d exchanged that look—the one between foes—the hunter and the prey. In Le Grande’s case, his look communicated the steely belief that he, Le Grande, was the hunter and Trent was the prey.

He’s here. He never left, Trent thought as he turned the key. The engine roared. He smiled. Two years ago, Trent had bought a high-performance Mercedes-Benz engine at a Chicago junkyard. Being an amateur wrencher, he installed the engine into his unmarked car—at his own expense. He’d had some help from Kenny at Indian Lake Service Garage, but he’d gotten the job done. When the day came that he was in pursuit of a drug dealer in a Porsche, Trent would be well-equipped for the task.

Trent patted his shoulder holster as was his habit every time he left the station. He’d cleaned his gun and filled the magazine at the station after the shoot-out. If, by any chance, he came up against Le Grande, Trent didn’t want to be short. He checked to make sure his cell phone was on, the dispatch radio was tuned into the station and he checked to make certain he had a full tank of gas.

Still, he felt very unprepared.

* * *

TRENT HAD PUNCHED Cate’s address into his GPS. He drove up the street and parked three houses away. There were few cars on the street. The houses were all bungalow types, Craftsman style, built in the 1930s and well maintained. They were over a third of a mile from Indian Lake, and the residents took great pride in ownership. The hedges were clipped, the weeds pulled and late-summer flowers and lush potato vines filled planters and window boxes. It was the kind of area Trent would have liked to live—if a normal life could ever be his.

He turned off his lights and got out. It was dark, with only a quarter moon. Good night for intruders. It was the kind of night that someone like Le Grande would prefer to skulk around an ex-wife’s house. Or, if Cate was a willing participant in Le Grande’s schemes, an evening the neighbors probably wouldn’t notice him coming or going.

The lights in Cate’s house were on. She was up. Probably the kid, too.

Trent turned to the right and saw the drive led to the detached single-car garage. Her car.

If the car was gone, then he had to find out if she was part of Le Grande’s gang or if he’d threatened her. Trent was walking a fine line by coming here tonight.

Protocol stated he should knock on the door and conduct a proper investigation. Regulations demanded he show his badge, offer his card.

But protocol didn’t consider that Le Grande could be hiding in that garage at this very minute, armed with his 9 mm gun. Ready to blow Trent away and think nothing of it.

Trent crept closer, taking out his gun. He picked up sounds—the scurry of a small animal over the garden mulch; the chirping of a cricket near the garage door. He felt the breeze as it slipped around the house, chilling the night.

A night-light burned in a socket near the entry door. Not only was it a smart idea so she could easily see to lock and unlock the door, but it also illuminated the car.

“Not here,” he whispered to himself and instantly spun toward the house. “But are you closer? Inside?”

Trent stuck his gun in his holster. No need to get anxious. Still, he needed to make sure his instincts were simply being overly alert before going to the front door to announce himself.

He moved toward the back porch, checking the boxwood hedges for any signs of footprints, lost items. Anything Le Grande might have dropped in his haste.

* * *

CATE HAD JUST finished the story for Danny.

“Mom, can I have some water?” Danny asked.

“Sure, pumpkin. I’ll be right back.”

In the kitchen, she took a glass from the upper cabinet next to the kitchen window. She glanced into the yard as she turned on the tap, thinking that she needed to plant more daffodil bulbs. Maybe those Casa Blanca lily bulbs she’d seen in the catalog.

Suddenly, a man’s face was framed by her kitchen window.

She dropped the glass in the sink, and the sound of shattering glass and her scream stung the air.

The man put his palms against the windowpane. He shook his head.

“Mom!” Danny shot into the kitchen carrying his baseball bat. “What is it? I’m here!”

Cate felt as if she’d been socked in the chest. She couldn’t breathe. She was light-headed. She was dying.

She held on to the edge of the sink with one hand and pointed toward the window. “You go away! Get out of here or I’m calling the police. Right now! Go away!” she screamed at the figure on her porch, unsure of the man’s identity. She was so terrified, she could be seeing things.

The man stepped back and disappeared into the darkness. Cate sucked in a breath, holding her hand over her heart. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening, could it?

Then she heard Danny talking. He held her cell phone to his ear. “Hello, 911? Help!”

Cate looked out the window, but the man was gone. Suddenly, the front doorbell rang.

Danny stared at the phone. “Wow. That was fast!” He raced into the living room.

“Don’t open that door!” Cate shouted anxiously as she rushed up behind Danny and shoved him behind her. “You don’t know who it is. What if it’s him?”

“The bad guy?” Danny asked, wide-eyed.

“Absolutely.” She peered through the peephole. He didn’t look like a bad guy. He was dressed in a sport jacket, white shirt and tie. His hair was dark, groomed and he was handsome. But there was no mistaking it. It was the Peeping Tom.

“Go away!” she shouted through the door. “We’ve called the police.”

“Ma’am, I know. I am the police.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Here’s my badge. My name is Trent Davis. I’m very sorry to have frightened you.”

Cate looked at the badge through the peephole. “You’re really a cop?”

“Yes, ma’am. Detective.”

Detective. The man had barely gotten the word out and already Cate’s hands were shaking and her mouth had gone dry. Her next words felt as if they were tumbling out over sand. “What do you want with us?”

“I’m investigating a break-in a few houses away. Again, I’m very sorry to have frightened you. I thought I’d seen someone in your backyard. I’d like to ask you some questions. May I come in?”

“Questions,” she said to herself as she backed up and bumped into Danny.

“Mom, let him in. He’s a policeman.”

“I’m not sure.” She chewed her thumbnail. Cate had woven a perfect cocoon around Danny and herself. No one had invaded their privacy because she hadn’t given anyone a reason to look past the face she presented to the town. When she’d first arrived in Indian Lake on that frightening night, the owners of the mini-mart and the adjacent marina and docks—Captain Redbeard, Redmond Wilkerson Taylor and his wife, Julie—realized her plight, without her saying much at all. They didn’t care that Cate didn’t have a penny to her name. They saw through her anxiety to the honest person she was.

They asked her if she had a place to live. When she’d hemmed and hawed, they insisted she stay with them.

Cate had never seen such unquestioning trust.

They’d offered her a job working the register in the mini-mart and she took it. During the course of one long night, her life spun on that thin dime of fate—and all for the better.

Yet, even they didn’t know the whole truth. She’d never told anyone about the abuse. She’d only said she’d run away.

Questions.

As if someone had thrown a breaker, electricity ignited every cell in her body. She reasoned it was adrenaline. It felt like terror.

Danny circled her and put his hand on the knob. “Talk to him, Mom.”

Cate turned the dead bolt and opened the door. The man was still holding his badge for her to inspect. Gingerly, she took it from him and read the specifics. She returned it, noticing how big his hands were and how his shoulders seemed to fill the doorway. He looked strong and buff under his jacket. She supposed his looks and strength would probably put some people at ease. Instead, her nerves were erratic.

He was a cop. Poking around in her backyard. What if he was one of those cops who’d snapped? What if he’d had some kind of meltdown and was now exactly what she’d thought earlier: a Peeping Tom? Or worse.

“May I come in?”

“No,” she replied with more force than she’d intended.

Danny was looking at him like he’d hung the moon. “Can I see your badge, too?”

“Sure.” Detective Davis handed the badge to Danny.

“Wow. Cool.” Danny traced the brass edges and lettering with his fingers as if memorizing every carving.

“Danny, give the man his badge,” she ordered, folding her arms over her chest, feeling as defiant as she probably looked.

“Thanks,” Danny said.

The detective closed the door behind him, leaving it slightly ajar. “I should explain that I’d come to your front porch initially, but I was certain I’d seen someone in your backyard. You should get some motion lights.”

“I have them,” she replied.

“But, Mom,” Danny said. “That light burned out. Remember? We got the new one.”

“Right,” she said sheepishly, and dropped her arms. “I haven’t had time to put the replacement in.”

“I could do that for you,” Trent offered.

“That’s not necessary,” she said curtly. “I’m quite capable of changing a light bulb.”

The detective scratched the back of his head and smiled. “Boy. We’ve really gotten off on the wrong foot. Not only am I trying to apologize for frightening you, but I want to warn you about home invasion.”

“You said there was a break-in.”

“There was. About half a mile from here, there was the report of a home invasion.” He looked at Danny, then at Cate. “Anyway, what I wanted to know was if you’d seen anything unusual. Anyone on the street you’ve never seen before? Strange cars?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

He handed her his card. “I’d appreciate you letting me know if you do see anything. Maybe ask your neighbors to do the same. That’s my cell,” he said, pointing to the last number on the list of contact information.

“Okay,” she said, realizing that her hand was still shaking.

“Look, Mrs. Sullivan. I’m very sorry to have frightened you.”

“I’ll live,” she quipped, and forced a smile. She’d be fine after he left. Detectives were gifted with keen curiosity, laser eyesight and brains that put puzzles together. At least that’s how she saw him. He was the kind of detector who could unmask her. Expose her. Ruin her life. “Well, if I see anything, I’ll be sure to call.”

She reached around him and pulled the door open.

He didn’t move.

What was with this guy? He wasn’t taking the hint to leave.

Goose bumps skipped across her arms. She’d bet a hundred bucks he knew something about her past. He was smooth and polished, formal and courteous as he talked to Danny. Still, Trent didn’t take a single step to leave. She didn’t trust him in the least.

“So, what school do you go to?”

“St. Mark’s. I’m in kindergarten.”

“That’s cool. Your school is only a block from the police station.”

“Yeah,” Danny said with a big grin. “I watch the cop cars go in and out of the parking lot.”

Cate could see that Danny’s eyes were filled with admiration. She glanced at the detective and realized that he had picked up on it, too.

“You know, Danny, next weekend is the Sunflower Festival, and our station has a booth to raise money for widows and orphans of other cops. If you stop by, I’ll save a brownie for you.”

“We go to the Sunflower Festival every year.” Danny looked at his mother. “Don’t we, Mom?”

“Uh, yes.” Cate was perplexed as she raised her eyes to Trent.

He pushed on. “Mrs. Beabots makes the brownies for us as her donation. They’re the best in town.” Trent smiled broadly.

“She gave me a brownie tonight at the party,” Danny said.

“Party?” Trent cocked his head toward Cate.

Cate paused, her eyes locked on Trent. “It was a baby shower.”

“Oh,” he said, and turned to Danny. “So, I’ll see you at the Sunflower Festival?”

“Sure,” Danny replied quickly.

Cate noticed that Danny didn’t look to her for approval. He was too busy smiling at the detective.

“I’ll be going,” Trent said as he opened the door fully. “Make sure all the doors are locked, and double-check your windows, too.”

Cate’s eyes widened. “The windows.”

“They are locked, right? You always check them, right?” he asked warily.

“Uh. No.”

“What about the basement windows where someone can crawl in?”

“Those I had boarded up and sealed when we moved in. I try never to go down there if I can help it.”

“Yeah,” Danny chimed in. “It’s spooky.”

She nodded. “It is.”

“Do you want me to check the windows for you?”

“No, I can do it. There aren’t that many,” she said.

“Okay.” Trent stepped out. “Lock up behind me.”

“Goodbye... Detective Davis.” She closed the door and locked it.

Cate felt as if she’d run a gauntlet through swinging knife blades. Police. The last thing she needed in her life right now was a cop. Now or ever.

* * *

TRENT WENT TO his car. As he drove away, he noticed that Cate and Danny were watching him leave from the living-room window.

Purposefully, he drove down two blocks, then doubled back, turning off his headlights so she wouldn’t see him returning. He parked four doors away.

As his eyes tracked over to the house, he noticed as each of the lights was turned off. The last one was at the far right end of the house. Presumably, Cate’s bedroom.

Cate.

He’d never paid much attention to her when he’d seen her around town. Thinking about it, he realized she was the kind of woman who didn’t meet a man’s eyes. She didn’t flirt. Didn’t smile much, either. Now he knew why.

She was pretty enough. Soft peachy skin. Thick brunette hair that hung in a straight cut just past her chin.

Trent flung even the hint of Cate out of his head. With his PTSD, he wasn’t relationship material—for anybody. To save everyone heartache, it was best for him to bury romantic emotions.

Cate was simply part of his investigation. That was all.

Trent’s life worked best with him alone. No one to hear his screams in the night. No one to talk him down from another nightmare. No one to whom he’d have to describe what it was like to have his best buddy blown to pieces right before his eyes. The IED should have been detected. It would have been better if Trent had been the one to die. Trent didn’t have a wife and kids. But Parker had.

The vision of Parker’s bloody body pieces strewed over the sand was burned on his soul. It was part of him. He couldn’t right click and delete it. Shoot it or kill it. It lived deep in his psyche where it haunted him.

Trent dropped his face to his hands. Sweat had sprung out on his forehead and ran down his temples. It was always like this. He’d heat up and then when the memory faded, he’d cool off. His mouth was dry.

It was always the same. Predictable. But the onset was like a rogue wave. He never knew when it was coming. Only that it would be back again and again. That was the hell of it.

Because no treatment worked. Cognitive processing therapy and prolonged exposure therapy didn’t help. He’d tried a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor, but it hadn’t made a dent.

He drank deeply from his water bottle and looked at Cate’s bedroom window.

The light had gone out.

“Time for some shut-eye,” he mumbled as he stared at the house.

Trent sat up in his seat as he remembered Cate’s brown eyes.

That was it. There was something wrong with her eyes. Tonight, in the harsh overhead foyer light, she’d looked straight at him.

That’s when he’d noticed it. She wore colored contacts. The kind that muted the eye. Made it difficult, if not impossible, to read someone’s thoughts. Trent was usually spot-on with deciphering expressions, voice tones, nuances that disclosed valuable information.

He’d frightened her tonight. He’d blundered and hoped he’d smoothed it over. He needed her to trust him. It was a bonus that her son had taken a liking to him. He might need some support in the days to come. Cate was wary and suspicious, as well she should be. He couldn’t imagine what life had been like for her all this time—living this lie.

Looking at the situation from Cate’s side, he imagined that to her, he was just about the worst thing that could happen to her. His investigation would blow her story to pieces.

Cate was right not to trust him.

In order to throw the snare on Le Grande, he might hurt Cate.

CHAPTER FOUR

CATE THREW BACK the last precious drops of the cappuccino that Maddie Barzonni had made especially for her. Maddie had drawn a little house with a “sold” sign over the door because Cate had a showing with a new buyer today. Maddie was a firm believer in manifesting one’s destiny. So was Cate. In fact, she’d been manifesting and creating her life so expertly and for so many years, she felt she should give fiction writing a shot.

“Maybe a screenplay,” she mumbled to herself as she drove up to 415 Park Street.

She looked at the computer printout she’d brought with her. The house had been on the market for nearly a year, and Cate could see why. The grass was ankle-high, all the landscaping was in need of watering and trimming. The windows were dirty, and there were flyers and free newspapers flung around the door.

“Definitely no curb appeal,” she grumbled as she unhooked her seat belt. She gathered her purse, briefcase and the code she’d need to unlock the key lock. Cate had seen this situation before. The house was part of an estate, and the remaining family lived thousands of miles from Indian Lake. There was no one to oversee the house, and the listing agent realized early on that the place was a hard sell and, quite obviously, didn’t bother to mow the yard or have any work done. Efforts like those were paid for by the agent in hopes of a large commission. Even Cate would have given up on this house.

As she approached, she could see that the house needed paint, repairs to the gutters and a new storm door. Cate tried to tuck the piece of screen that had come loose into the metal groove along the inside of the frame, but the screen was so old and rusty, she was afraid she’d need a tetanus shot.

She was just about to punch in the security code when she heard a thundering rumble as a massive black Toyota Tacoma truck pulled up. The tires were so huge, the vehicle looked more like a military tank than a flatbed truck.

The door opened, and a man dressed in blue jeans, work boots and a black T-shirt that looked spray-painted over his broad chest, shoulders and bulging biceps swung out of the truck. This was Rand Nelson. On the phone, he’d told her he was a fire jumper who’d just moved back to town. Rand was tall, she thought, but not as tall as Trent Davis.

Fleetingly, she wondered what a black T-shirt would look like on Trent.

What was the matter with her?

She hadn’t thought about a man or his physique in years. And why on earth would Trent Davis come to mind?

She felt the hairs on her arm stand on end as she put logic to her reactions. Trent was a lawman. Rand was a firefighter, but his job also skirted too close to those kinds of individuals who asked a lot of questions. How did the fire start? Were you anywhere near the house when it was set ablaze? When did you move to Indian Lake? What’s your real name?

Questions like that. Though she’d legally changed her name before she enrolled in real-estate school—which also made Danny’s legal name Sullivan—she didn’t like probing questions. Of any kind.

Rand stared at the house, feet sturdily apart, hands on his hips. Gnawing his bottom lip. Contemplating.

Cate swallowed hard. Buyers had a way of keeping a check on their emotions when they looked at houses. She’d seen clients who could go through a house, even on a third walk-through, and still not register a single speck of desire or dislike. Some people didn’t want to get their hopes up. Others somehow believed they could keep the price down by appearing ambivalent.

This guy was the best at stoicism she’d ever seen. He was stone. But she would still bet he wasn’t interested, and she didn’t blame him. She let the computerized lock dangle on the door latch. She wouldn’t need the code after all.

“Hi.” She waved, starting toward him. “I’m Cate Sullivan. You must be Rand Nelson.”

“I am,” he replied, still surveying the house and not once glancing at her.

“After we talked on the phone and you told me your price range, I thought I’d start here. Clearly, the photo and specs I sent you are out-of-date.”

“How long has it been on the market?” he asked, his ink-dark eyes tracking up to the roof.

“Eleven months and a couple days. It needs a landscape crew to—”

“No sprinkler system. That’s why the bushes died. The trees might make it.”

“Uh-huh.” She flipped through the other printouts in the manila folder she carried. “I have a house over on Sutton Court, just off Lily Avenue, that you might like. It’s closer to town, and I could call the owner—”

“Not yet. I like this one.”

Cate’s eyes widened. “You do? Why?” Her gaze locked on him. He was unreadable.

Rand pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “It needs me.”

“It—”

“Can we go inside? I need to see the kitchen. From the photographs, it looked awesome.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” Cate replied, taking the key code out of her purse and walking to the house.

While she pressed the buttons, Rand continued assessing the front yard.

“Yep. I can put in the sprinkler system myself. Paint the house. It’s not that large a place, which is what I want. Shouldn’t take long. Fix that gutter up there. Some redbud trees would be nice along that side there, don’t you think? They’re pretty in the spring. Or flowering almond. I have to think about that.”

Cate opened the door. She couldn’t believe it. Rand was sold before she’d made a pitch about the house only being four blocks from the lake or shown him the interior. Was this her lucky day or what?

Cate walked into the living room and went to the white French doors that opened onto a small patio. She frowned at the weeds sticking up between the old bricks. “The backyard is fenced,” she said as she turned around.

Rand had gone to the right and into the kitchen. “Would you look at this?”

Cate entered the kitchen as Rand opened the stainless-steel refrigerator door. The kitchen had been remodeled three years prior. The owner had apparently died before using it much.

“This stove looks like it’s never been turned on. Six gas burners. A dream. And did you see?” He pulled out a stainless-steel drawer. “A warming oven. The wall oven is convection. A microwave.” He ran a hand over the charcoal-gray, slate-looking countertop. “What is this?”

“Soapstone,” Cate said. “Impervious to everything, I’m told. I’ve never had one, but one of the women in my office has it. She loves it.”

“I never heard of it.” He frowned.

This was one of those times that Cate was glad she’d done her homework. Showing a house was not the same as selling a house. She was not one of those agents who opened the door then went to her car to text her friends. She stayed on the job.

“Soapstone is a natural quarried stone like granite. It just comes in shorter sheets. It’s metamorphic rock and feels a bit soft or soapy because of the talc in the stone. I believe this stone comes from the Appalachian Mountains. The owner who did the remodel was adamant that all the products be made in the USA.”

“Hmm. I like this guy.” Rand grinned brightly.

“I’ll show you the rest of the house.” Cate started toward the hall.

“I suppose I should see it,” he replied. “But I’m sold. I’ll take it.”

Cate whirled around, surprised and a bit shocked. She’d never sold any house this easily, especially without having shown every nook and cranny. “Just like that?”

“Look, Cate. There’s just me. I’m a fire jumper. They fly me wherever I’m needed. I’m here because my mom is sick and she’s too much for my siblings to handle. Other than some family dinners, which this kitchen can handle like a dream, I’m pretty much a homebody. When I’m off duty, I cook for relaxation. My father was a carpenter, plumber, handyman, you name it. I learned a lot about houses from him. We used to remodel houses on the side to make ends meet. There’s nothing I can’t do here myself...within reason, of course. But I didn’t want to live through a kitchen remodel.”

Cate smiled. “Then I suggest we breeze through the rest of the house, see the garage and check the plumbing. We should talk about what kind of offer you want to make.”

“That’s your area of expertise. I’ll take any direction you suggest.”

“You could pay their asking price but make it a stipulation that they pay for some of the yard cleanup, including removal of the dead shrubs.”

“That sounds fair,” he said.

“Good,” she replied with a satisfied smile. “I’ll go to the office, call the owners and then write up the papers. Can I reach you on your cell?”

“Yes, and if I don’t answer, try the fire station number I gave you. I’m working there in between forest fire assignments. Just to help out. My brother is a firefighter, as well. He talked me into it.”

“Sounds like a great family, Rand. I’d like to meet them all some time. So, can I bring the papers there for you to sign?”

“Absolutely,” Rand said, and quickly walked through the master bedroom, which was larger than he’d expected. The other rooms were smaller than he’d hoped. Still, he was happy.

As Rand rumbled down the street in his truck, Cate couldn’t help thinking that it suited him perfectly.

Cate called Sarah. “Hi. I finished much earlier than I’d thought. I have to run by the office, but I shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

Sarah explained she and Miss Milse were making dinner for the kids, and there was no rush. Danny and Timmy were playing with Beau, and Annie was practicing the piano.

Cate pulled away from the curb and drove to the first stop sign. She glanced in her rearview mirror, saw only a black Mercury sedan behind her, then checked right and left before proceeding across the intersection. She stopped at the red light at Indian Lake Avenue, turned on the stereo and punched in a new classical station she’d found.

Cruising toward the real-estate office on Indian Lake Avenue, Cate looked in the rearview mirror, checking the traffic.

She nearly froze. Was that the same black Mercury she’d seen on Park Street?

“No.” She refused to believe that anyone could be following her. This was a coincidence. Lots of people would travel to town taking the same route she was.

But after the visit from Trent Davis and his warnings about home invaders and watching for anything that was out of the ordinary, she had to admit to being slightly spooked.

Each time she came to a red light, even though the Mercury was directly behind her, it stayed back far enough that she couldn’t see the driver. That, in itself, seemed strange. And she didn’t like it.

Because of Cate’s work as a real-estate agent, showing houses, sitting in vacant houses on weekends, she’d taught herself to be aware of her surroundings. Maybe her ultrasensitivity or flat-out paranoia was due to the fact that she’d been living in disguise for over six years. Whatever it was, she knew when things didn’t feel right.

Like now.

There was only one way to find out if she was imagining things or if she should call the cops. She hit her turn signal and slipped to the right lane. Then she made a right turn onto Cove Beach Lane, which circled the entire lake.

The Mercury followed.

Cate’s blood pounded in her temples, heating her veins despite the fact her fingers were cold. She gripped the steering wheel. There was only one person who’d ever speared her with so much fear that she turned off all human emotion.

Brad.

That was impossible, wasn’t it? How could Brad be here? When she’d changed her name, it had needed to be published in the Indiana newspaper, but she still felt fairly safe since Brad had never looked at a newspaper that she remembered and he lived in Illinois. Still, she wondered how he could have found her. These days, there were ways. There were internet sites notorious for finding lost family and friends. Cate had been ridiculous in her distrust of providing any online information. She never paid her bills online. In fact, she hand-delivered her utilities checks. She paid cash at the grocery store, and she always paid the mortgage in person. Once she secured her first mortgage, she cancelled her credit card. Cate kept her money in a floor safe in her house. If she ever had to run again, even in the middle of the night, she was prepared.

There was the matter of her face being on not one, but three roadside real-estate billboards at the primary entrances to town. These billboards were a major part of her agency’s advertising campaign. Cate had tried to ditch the photography session, but her boss had been insistent. Cate had no choice but to agree to the photo.

This same photo of her was plastered on the company website, free neighborhood newspapers, the Indian Lake Argus newspaper and on flyers on a corkboard at the Indian Lake Grocery.

For years she’d told herself that the chances of Brad driving through Indian Lake were one in a billion.

He would never find her.

But what if he had stumbled upon her little town?

What if he had seen the billboard? Being supercritical now, she realized that, except for the hair and eye color, she really hadn’t changed much in the past seven years. Brad had always been sharp—it was one of the things she’d been attracted to. She liked smart people.

Her nerves jangled. Logically, there was no reason for her to think for one millisecond that the Mercury following her was driven by Brad.

But her intuition had never betrayed her. Never.

Cate tilted her head to the rearview mirror and looked hard and long at the man driving the Mercury. Though terrified at what she might see, she eased off the gas and let him approach.

He had dark hair, but that was all she could see.

If it was Brad, he had to want something.

But what?

She didn’t have any real money, just a few thousand in her safe. If Brad had found her, and knew anything at all, he most certainly knew about Danny.

Cate felt her stomach twist. She ground her jaw, already feeling massively protective toward her son. Late at night when dread drew mental pictures of Brad confronting her, she felt the kind of aggression that wouldn’t stop until she’d eliminated him from their lives completely. Brad’s need to possess was toxic. Cate believed that if Brad found out Danny was his son, he would try to take him away from her. Not because he loved Danny. Not because he wanted Cate back. He would take because that’s what Brad Kramer did. He took. He sucked energy from people. He stole lives.

It stupefied her that she’d once been so gullible, so naive as to fall into his trap. And it had been a trap—hard steel and metal teeth. Like the wolf that would bite off its own paw to escape from a hunter’s snare, Cate did the same thing. She’d thrown away everything she’d ever known to be rid of him.

Cate followed the curving road around the north side of the lake. The Mercury pursued. She didn’t dare drive to her house. She wasn’t safe there.

If this was Brad, he would follow her and break down the door once he knew she was home alone. Then what would he do? Beat her like before? Kill her for leaving him?

Cate’s hands trembled as she wiped a tear from her cheek. She wasn’t crying—was she? She’d never cried before over Brad and she scolded herself for doing it now. She had to think.

The Mercury pulled closer. Was he going to run her off the road? Slam into the back of her? Or just damage her car to punish her?

Cate pressed the gas and lurched out of his way. She was speeding, but she didn’t care. She’d circle the lake and then head into town. If he followed her, she’d drive straight to the police station.

Are you crazy? And tell them what? That you’ve been living here in disguise for over six years? That all your friends don’t even know who you really are?

Just then, Cate’s eyes shot to the right to check her side mirror. She saw Sophie Mattuchi pulling a garden cart filled with yellow and bronze mums into the front yard of Jack Carter’s condo. Automatically, Cate waved and Sophie waved back, signaling for her to pull in.

Cate quickly made her decision. The mysterious Mercury was enough to give her arrhythmia. She needed help. Now.

She turned into the drive, but didn’t get out. She watched her rearview mirror while pretending to put on some lip gloss.

The Mercury drove past. Slowly.

Cate choked on her breath. There was no mistaking the handsome face, the strong jaw and wide shoulders. She had no idea how or why Brad was in Indian Lake.

Was Brad’s presence here a fluke? A random trip? Was he a tourist like so many people from Chicago?

She wouldn’t know until she talked to him and that wasn’t an option.

Every muscle in her body had tightened, causing pain to shoot from her neck to her tailbone. She was as rigid as steel when Brad looked directly at her and lifted his forefinger like it was a gun barrel. He blew on his fingertip, stepped on the gas and sped away.

Brad. After all this time. He’s found me.

For more than six years, Cate’s new identity had worked to keep her invisible. Now he’d seen her. And that pointed finger. That was a promise—of bad things to come.

In those days when she’d been shackled to him, he used to point his finger like a gun then ball his fists. She knew precisely what Brad meant to do.

She dropped the lip gloss. She felt as if a vacuum had sucked her up a portal to an alien ship. All reality altered. She was in terror land. Pain, loss and danger circled her, harping at her like screaming banshees. She covered her ears.

“Hi, Cate!” Sophie called as she walked toward the car. “It’s nice to see you.”

Cate opened her eyes.

Not banshees.

Sophie. What is she saying? Get it together, Cate.

She forced her shaking, frigid hands to open the door, forced herself to climb out. “Hi, Sophie.” Cate tried to smile, but her lips felt like they’d been dragged through concrete. Brad had that effect on her. She walked toward Sophie, and when Sophie stretched open her arms for a hug, Cate hugged her back. “What are you doing?” She managed to cough out the words. She put her fist to her mouth and coughed again. “Sorry. Dry mouth. Allergies.”

She was back on earth. Talking to her friend. Brad was gone. At least for the moment. She had to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside her.

“Can I get you some water?” Sophie asked sweetly.

“I’m fine.” Cate thought she was smiling. She couldn’t tell. “So, what’s all this?” Cate asked walking toward the wagon.

“Oh, I’m planting my fall mums. I thought some yellow against the green Japanese yews and the white house would be pretty. What do you think?”

Though Cate’s mind was still disabled from the encounter with her ex-husband, she had enough presence of mind to act curious. “Your mums?” Cate looked at Jack’s condo—the one she’d sold him nearly a year ago. But Sophie lived in Mrs. Beabots’s upstairs apartment. Cate turned to Sophie. “Your mums, you said.” Cate was certain her hearing had been impaired by the shock she’d just endured.

“Er, uh,” Sophie stammered.

Cate’s eyes narrowed. Sophie was a cardiac nurse, a smart, career-oriented woman. Cate had never seen her at a loss for words. “Is something wrong?”

Sophie smiled sheepishly. Then she blushed.

Cate had run into Sophie over the years at various social events. They weren’t close friends the way Cate was with Sarah, Liz or Maddie. But they knew each other. Cate knew Sophie to be serious-minded nearly all the time. Sophie was a take-charge woman. There was nothing sheepish about her.

Then it hit Cate. “You and Jack?”

Sophie nodded like a bobblehead doll and chuckled. “Can you keep a secret?”

Could she? No one in the world could keep secrets as well as Cate. Her entire life was a secret. “I certainly can.”

Sophie thrust up her left hand. A diamond solitaire twinkled in the sunlight. “We’re engaged!” She blurted and covered her mouth as she started laughing. “Isn’t it amazing?”

Cate’s reaction was to be filled with dread. Marriage meant entrapment. Danger zone. Everything dire in life. Other people believed in happiness, love and forever. Cate wanted none of that.

She’d never shared her innermost thoughts with any of her friends. She didn’t dare start now. “I’m so happy for you,” Cate lied.

“Oh, thanks, Cate. Hardly anyone knows. Mrs. Beabots does, of course. Jack and I are starting to talk about the wedding and set a date. But it’s just crazy. My family would go nuts if we did it at city hall, but I can’t wait for my new life to begin. I never thought that I...”

“...would get married,” Cate murmured.

Sophie sighed dreamily. “Uh-huh.”

“I had no idea you were seeing him. I mean, that he was seeing you. Or that you two were together.”

“Nobody does, really. I mean, I took him to meet my parents just last weekend. They adore him already and he loves them, too, which is a very good thing. Don’t you think?”

“Oh, I do. I do.” Cate suddenly spied a black sedan drive past. He was stalking her. And there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

She glanced at the car.

A Cadillac. Not Brad.

Cate exhaled. She planted a particularly sweet smile on her lips. Acting. Cate had been doing it for years. She was good at it. “I’m sure your parents will want a wedding with all the trimmings for their only daughter.”

“You’ve got that right. But I don’t want it to be too nuts, you know. We’re having the reception at their farm. Plenty of Italian food and lots of flowers from my grandmother’s sunflower garden, of course.” Sophie gushed. “It’ll be beautiful. You’re invited, of course. And please bring Danny. We definitely want kids there.”

“So,” Cate said. “You’ll be moving in here after the wedding.”

“Yes. But you know, Jack says he wants to look for a proper house. Still on the lake and one with a pier so he can have a little fishing boat. I don’t know what he’s thinking. This condo is wonderful.”

Cate shook her head. “Sophie. Please. He’s smart. He’s thinking of the future. You can’t put little kids in a house like this.”

Sophie’s brown eyes rounded. “Oh, my gosh, that is what he’s thinking, isn’t it? He’d said he wanted to talk to you so that you could be on the lookout if anything came up.”

Cate took out a business card from her jacket pocket. She’d meant to give it to Rand Nelson, but with the instant sale she’d forgotten. “Here. My new cell number is on the card. Tell Jack not to worry. I’ll ask around. I know a few houses where the couples want to downsize. And I won’t tell a soul anything about your engagement until after you make the announcement.”

“Thanks, Cate. I’ll be sure to tell him.” Sophie hugged Cate. “We’re lucky to have a good friend like you!”

Cate smiled at Sophie. She’d never seen Sophie so effusive. She’d always been standoffish and distant. Her relationship with Jack had certainly brought out a new and more affectionate side that Cate liked. “I have to run. You take care.”

“Bye, Cate.” Sophie waved and returned to the wagon of flowers.

Cate backed out of the driveway and drove away. Sophie and Jack. Cate thought Jack would be a good mate for any woman. She’d thought he was handsome when she first met him. Liked the way he did business. He treated people with kindness and fairness.

It would be nice if Cate had found a man like that. But she hadn’t. She’d chosen the worst kind of person a woman could pick.

Cate shook the visions of weddings and engagements and happily-ever-afters out of her head. Those things were fine for other women.

Just not for Cate Sullivan. Susan Kramer. Or whoever else she had to become in order to keep away from Brad—and stay alive.

CHAPTER FIVE

TRENT FINISHED TIGHTENING the heavy ropes that held the blue-and-gold-striped tent in place and shaded the Indian Lake Police booth from the noon sun. There were four officers working with him not counting Max, their one and only K-9 officer. Max was a highly trained narcotics detection canine and could be invaluable in helping Trent ramp up his investigation to bring down the Le Grande gang.

As much as Trent wanted to focus on the assorted donated items the men had gathered to sell—baked goods fragrant with sugar and butter, jars of homemade jellies, salsa, barbecue marinades, as well as jewelry made by some of the police widows and wives, and potted herbs the children had been growing all summer—his mind was on Le Grande.

Last night’s telephone conversation with Richard Schmitz had been enlightening.

“I met with my inside man and here’s what I know. Le Grande’s wife isn’t part of the gang. She’s clean. He didn’t know she was in Indian Lake when he set up operations there. He wanted your town because those country roads of yours are not well-patrolled. His Detroit connection has been using Indian Lake for years. That’s how Le Grande heard of it.”

“Does he know she’s here?”

“Yeah. My man was with him at a mini-mart buying cigarettes. There was a photo of her on a real-estate flyer under the glass at the checkout counter.”

“I’ve seen that flyer.”

“Apparently Le Grande goes off his nut when my guy brings up the subject of his wife. Le Grande told our guy that once he owns a person—family or gang member—that person is his for life.”

“So, Le Grande has objectified her.”

“Affirmative,” Richard replied dourly. “That fact has its good points. For one, it makes his actions predictable. People who see other humans as objects have a relentless need to possess and control. Le Grande’s mental issues could be to our advantage.”

“In his mind his business, drugs, gang members and ex-wife are all in the same category.”

“Exactly. It’s all his property,” Richard agreed.

“So he’s going to want her back.”

“I’m hoping so. If he concentrates on Indian Lake, where he hasn’t set up safe houses, hideaways and escape routes, we just might catch him in the act.”

“Is CPD thinking to set up another sting?”

“Think we, buddy. Both Chicago PD and Indian Lake need to plan this carefully. By the way, my inside guy says that Le Grande thinks the wife will want him back now that he’s wealthy.”

“I don’t see that at all,” Trent countered.

“Well, you’d know that from your end. I’m giving you a heads-up. We have to work out a lot of details. I’ll be in touch.”

Trent had a great deal to consider. He’d been relieved to know that Cate had no part of Le Grande or his drug trafficking business. Her sweet persona had not been put on, and she was the caring mother he’d gauged her to be. For a brief moment, he felt his tension lift. However, the focus of the CPD and ILPD was now on Cate. Trent knew that Richard was dedicated to ending Le Grande’s reign in Chicago. Trent wanted the drug lord out of Indian Lake for good.

Trent felt his nerves jangle. Utilizing an untrained citizen for a police sting was precarious, but often effective. Already he could think of a dozen reasons not to move forward and one reason they should.

With Trent and his military skill set as a Green Beret at the helm, it should work.

Drake Parsons, Max’s handler, bumped him with his elbow. “Help me with this poster, would ya, Trent?”

“Yeah, sure.” Trent cleared his mind of thoughts about Cate and Le Grande. He tacked the poster to a wooden framework he’d put together to display snapshots of the annual policemen’s picnic in City Park, and the police baseball team in their winning game at the city championship in late August. Trent had pitched after the regular pitcher had torn a ligament in his shoulder. Trent had surprised himself since he hadn’t pitched much since high school and a few impromptu games in the military.

In Afghanistan.

Just the thought of a baseball, its stitches fitting familiarly in his palm, skin against skin, brought back horrors. He dropped his arms and felt a spring of perspiration on his forehead. Nerves. Not heat. Would he ever get past the past?

“Trent, is that you?” He heard a woman’s voice behind him. He whirled, holding the hammer like a weapon.

He shook away the sticky cobweb of memories, peering through it to see Mrs. Beabots holding a huge apple pie.

She had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Approaching her was Cate Sullivan, whose eyes were dull—due to the brown contacts she wore. He wondered what color her eyes were. Blue? Green? Hazel? He’d probably never find out. Strangely, he wanted to know. It mattered to him, but he didn’t know why. It was probably because of his overactive detective antennae.

“Wow.” Trent reached to take the spectacular-looking pie from Mrs. Beabots. “This should bring a good price. Maybe we should auction it.”

Mrs. Beabots winked at him. “That’s the ticket. I like that idea.”

“Hi, Cate,” Trent said, noticing her eyes were focused on him. She stood still, holding a tray with two pies.

“Hi,” Cate replied with a faint smile. She continued to look at him, as though she were inspecting him. Taking stock. Her behavior was odd based on their meeting the night of the intruder.

But then she’d been frightened.

Terror twisted things. He should know.

Danny wiggled in between both women and shoved a canvas bag at Trent. “We have more in the car,” the boy said. “I’m going back.”

“Not without me you aren’t, young man,” Cate said instantly.

Trent could have sworn the little shake of her head was to break her focus on him. He wasn’t sure why she took such close inventory. Did cops make her nervous? He had to believe that was partly true since she’d been lying to everyone in town.

Fascinating, when he thought about it. He wondered exactly how she had picked Indian Lake. It could have been as simple as the fact that she didn’t know anyone here. No relatives to blow the whistle on her. No former friends. Anonymity. That had to be it.

He’d seen the scenario a million times over. Fresh starts. New vistas. And no past to think about. But even he knew that no matter how focused one was on the future, the past never left. His past crept around like slinky varmints with sharp teeth ready to gnaw at his Achilles’ heel.

“Do you have a lot of stuff?” Trent asked Cate as she started to walk away.

“Enough to fill all four of these tables,” Mrs. Beabots said. “Cate and Danny were kind enough to help me.”

Trent turned to Drake, who was placing price stickers on jars of green pepper jelly. “I’m going with Cate. Be back in a few.”

Drake’s eyes shot over to the pretty brunette. “Sure, Trent.” He chuckled with a playful lift to his grin. “You go right ahead.”

He was no more interested in Cate romantically than he was in pigs flying. He followed her, noticing the tight fit to the skinny jeans she wore and the feminine, aqua-and-blue print blouse. There were silver hoops in her ears that hung below the precision-cut edge of her chin-length dark hair. She wore some kind of open-toed canvas shoes that revealed brightly painted aqua toes.

The toes matched her blouse. She liked fashion? Or was she meticulous about her appearance? He remembered that her house was very clean—and she had a six-year-old son. The way he remembered being six, he’d been constantly in and out of dirt, and almost never walked into the house without grass stains from playing baseball at the nearby park. Was she overprotective? Paranoid? Or both?

They reached the SUV, and Cate opened the hatch. Trent noticed that the vehicle, too, was immaculate. The windows didn’t have a speck of dirt or grime, and it would take him half a Saturday to get a wax gleam this perfect.

Cate lifted a tray of cupcakes. “You take these. I’ll bring the pies. Danny, sweetheart, you take the pan of brownies.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Danny replied, staring wide-eyed at the chocolate confections.

Trent couldn’t help it; he had to ask. “You just have your car detailed?”

“Huh?” She looked at the tan leather seats. “Not really. I keep it up myself. An agent’s car is practically the office, you know. First impressions to clients are crucial.”

“I’ve heard that,” Trent replied with a smile.

Cate didn’t return the smile, only scanned him with laser-like scrutiny.

Had he revealed too much too soon? He had to win her confidence if he was to get any information about Le Grande. He continued smiling as they walked to the booth.

Keeping up with small talk was important. As an investigator, he never knew when an important piece of information would drop in his lap. “Well, you must be doing something right because you’ve built a good business here in town. How long have you been in real estate?”

“A little over five years. The minute I had my license, I went right to work. I swear, I haven’t had a day off since. It’s been good to me, and I enjoy every minute. My clients have become friends, as well.” There was a slight stiffness to her response.

Trent had the impression she’d given this same explanation many times before. She was treating him like a prospective client.

At the booth, Mrs. Beabots had rearranged half the goods on the tables and made room—in the very front, of course—for her pastries. Trent couldn’t hide his smile. Mrs. Beabots was the take-charge woman he’d heard so much about. This proved it.

“I’ll take those blueberry pies, Cate.” Mrs. Beabots put them on the table. “Then the brownies next to them. I brought some paper plates so we could arrange them in groups of half a dozen. After all, no one eats just one.”

“Don’t say that,” Cate said, putting her hands over Danny’s ears in mock fashion. “I tell him one is plenty.”

Danny pulled her hands away. “She’s right, Mom. One for each hand. Right, Mrs. Beabots?”

Trent crossed his arms over his chest and shot a stern look at Danny. “I’m pretty sure your mother knows what’s best for you, Danny.”

Mrs. Beabots nodded. “I said a cookie for each hand, Danny. And those were my small Snickerdoodles. My brownies are very rich.”

Danny hung his head. “Aw, gee.”

Cate’s gaze again clamped on Trent. He wished he was a mind reader. Or that she would drop her guard. He had to hand it to her. She’d learned how to mask her emotions like a highly trained actress. He couldn’t tell if she was angry, concerned, curious or pleased. He had to wait for her comments, but unfortunately, she thought long and hard before speaking.

Looking away from Cate, Trent saw Sarah and Luke Bosworth, Annie and Timmy.

“Mrs. Beabots!” Sarah called and waved. “We got here just in time. I want that apple pie before anyone else buys it.”

Mrs. Beabots looked over Sarah’s shoulder at Luke. “Really? No objections from you, Luke?”

“Me? Object to you? Never.”

“How goes it, Luke?” Trent asked, placing his left hand on Luke’s strong shoulder and shaking his right hand with a firm grip.

“Great. You working out tomorrow?”

“I was planning on it,” Trent replied. “I’ll meet you at the Y. One o’clock?”

“Great,” Luke replied and looked at Timmy, who was trying to get his father’s attention by grabbing his belt. “What is it?”

“Dad. Mrs. Beabots made brownies. The really good ones. Can I buy some? I have my allowance.”

Luke rolled his eyes.

Trent laughed. “Think of the kids he’s helping. It’s a good cause.”

“Okay.”

Timmy’s jaw dropped. “You mean it?”

Sarah’s eyes shot to Luke. “What are you saying?”

Luke shrugged. “I caved.”

The tented booth was filling with patrons buying jewelry and jams, pies and what was left of the brownies.

Trent saw Danny as he watched his friend, Timmy, leaning against his father’s leg, eating a brownie. Luke was talking to Sarah and Mrs. Beabots, absentmindedly running his hand over Timmy’s thick hair, then down to the boy’s shoulder. Timmy barely made any sign that he felt his father’s endearing touch; he was used to love and comforting caresses.

Danny’s expression showed sadness sifted over jealousy. And yearning.

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