Suspected of a crime she knows she didn’t commit...

All she wants for Christmas is to remember.

Blood on her blouse. A gun in her hand. A cartel leader’s dead body in front of her. Widow Asia Stratton can’t remember what happened—just that she’s been framed. The only way to prove her innocence is to work with her ex-sweetheart, Nebraska state trooper Slade Jackson. But can they clear her name before this Christmas turns even deadlier?

SHAREE STOVER is a Colorado native transplanted to Nebraska, where she lives with her husband, three children and two dogs. Her mother instilled in her the love of books before Sharee could read, along with the promise “If you can read, you can do anything.” When she’s not writing, she enjoys time with her family, long walks with her obnoxiously lovable German shepherd and crocheting. Find her at shareestover.com or on Twitter, @shareestover.

Also By Sharee Stover

Secret Past

Silent Night Suspect

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Silent Night Suspect

Sharee Stover

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-000-8-90080-9

SILENT NIGHT SUSPECT

© 2019 Sharee Stover

Published in Great Britain 2019

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

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

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

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“If they run us off the road, we’re dead!”

Slade accelerated, hoping to outrun the pursuers, but the truck stayed close behind.

Another slam propelled them sideways.

Slade jerked the wheel, and his response had the car deviating through the ice-covered median as he battled the velocity forcing them out of control.

Heart jackhammering against his ribs, Slade pumped the brakes, but the car seemed to have a mind of its own and continued to speed up.

Asia screamed, and he jerked the wheel, avoiding a mile-marker pole by inches.

“I don’t have brakes!” He slammed his foot repeatedly against the pedal, but it was useless.

“Slade, do something!”

But he couldn’t stop.

Desperate, Slade yanked the wheel. The overcorrection sent the car careening into the ditch. “Hang on!”

They slammed on the driver’s side, went airborne, then smashed down again. The impact shook every part of his body.

Each horrific recurring tug of gravity imprisoned them on a nightmare amusement park ride...

What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.

—Psalm 56:3

Dear Reader,

I hope you’ve enjoyed Asia and Slade’s adventures in Silent Night Suspect.

These characters are especially dear to me because they’ve carried such heavy burdens for so long. Asia’s perceptions have tainted the way she sees everyone, even God. Slade realizes extending a tiny olive branch leads to his own healing.

If you’re carrying a heavy burden or feeling like the storm is never going to pass, I hope you find encouragement in Asia and Slade’s story. Rest assured, you’re never alone in the Lord and good can come from even the worst circumstances.

I love hearing from readers, so please find me on my webpage at www.shareestover.com, or email me at authorshareestover@gmail.com.

May the source of all our hope bless you,

Sharee Stover

To my Lord and Savior, Jesus. All glory and honor belong to You. And for Jim, Tawny, Cody and Andi because you see the best in me, even when I can’t.

Acknowledgments

I’ve heard it said it takes a village to raise a child, and I think that’s applicable to writing a book, as well. I am beyond grateful for the incredible group of people who support and encourage me through every sentence.

Many thanks to:

My editor, Emily Rodmell, for sticking with me as this story evolved and for your wisdom in its development.

Tina Radcliffe for seeing past the dry bones and helping me to revive and breathe life back into this book.

Connie, Jackie, Rhonda, Sherrinda and all of the Writing Sisters. You all are precious.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Bible Verse

Dear Reader

Dedication

Acknowledgments

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Asia Stratton’s gaze remained transfixed on the lifeless eyes staring back at her. Dark pools—so black they appeared to be bottomless holes—silently demanded an explanation for the single bullet wound to the center of the man’s forehead.

An explanation she couldn’t provide.

“Asia, drop the gun. Put your hands up,” a male voice ordered.

She jerked at the mention of her name and squinted against the blinding light veiling the stranger in the doorway. Darkness had fallen, and Nebraska’s icy winter wind blasted through the unfamiliar living room.

The dead man’s silent inquisition beckoned, and Asia reverted her attention to him.

“I said, drop the gun,” the intruder repeated.

His words trickled through the fog in her brain and she gasped at the Glock gripped in her palm. Asia released her hold, and the weapon toppled from her shaking hands onto the dirty carpet. She lifted her arms in obedience, sending a jolt of pain radiating up her shoulder. She cried out, then caught sight of the crimson stain marring her white blouse.

“Keep your hands up! Don’t make any sudden moves.” In her peripheral, she saw the man enter, taking cautious, steady steps, gun trained on her. His familiar uniform publicized his law enforcement authority. “Don’t move,” he repeated, then kicked the door closed behind him, sending another wave of cold air her way.

She winced and shivered, keeping her arms raised as high as she could tolerate. The flickering glow from the muted television, combined with the officer’s flashlight beam bouncing off the walls, rivaled the intense headache pounding in Asia’s skull. Dizziness swirled, and nausea overwhelmed her senses.

The trooper stepped between her and the dead stranger opposite her. “Whose blood is on your blouse? Yours or his?” He turned off the flashlight, then used it to gesture at her.

Asia swallowed. “Mine. I think?”

“Lower your hands slowly, keeping them where I can see them.”

Her gaze traveled up the barrel of the officer’s gun until she focused on his face. Fear morphed into confusion, only to be replaced by annoyance. Of all the cops in the world, it had to be him. Nebraska state trooper Slade Jackson. Her deceased husband’s ex-partner—and her backstabbing former high school boyfriend.

“Very slowly, extend your hands toward me.”

An argument lingered on her lips, but the murkiness in her brain had her complying. She momentarily broke her gaze from the dead man. “I don’t—”

Slade encircled her wrists with cold metal, startling her. “This is necessary for your safety and mine. Protocol.” The click of handcuffs stabbed her with irritation. “I’m supposed to secure your arms behind your back, but with your shoulder injury...”

He was justifying handcuffing her? She stared at him, hoping to mask her fear. “Are you kidding me? Handcuffs? You’ve known me since kindergarten.”

Her words had no effect on him. Of course not. Slade was always the rule follower. Procedure Boy. Even when it meant destroying other people’s lives.

Slade stepped to her side and kicked the Glock out of reach. “Is there anyone else here?” His gaze bounced between Asia and the small hallway behind her. The questions etched on his face no doubt mirrored her own bewilderment.

“I don’t... I didn’t...” She gulped, trying to form an intelligent sentence. How could she answer him when she had no answers? She surveyed the unfamiliar compact living room. Where was she, and how had she gotten here?

He pressed a cloth against her shoulder. “It’ll be a little tough with the handcuffs but keep pressure on the wound.”

She held the fabric against her chest, which tightened with each breath.

He knelt and pushed his fingers against the deceased’s neck. Asia rolled her eyes. Surely he needed to check off a rules-for-finding-a-dead-body box somewhere.

“Why are you here with Nevil Quenten?” Wide-eyed, Slade spoke in a hushed tone and pointed at the dead guy.

“That’s Nevil Quenten? The Colombian drug cartel leader?” Asia squeaked, her gaze ricocheting between Slade and the man. “Zander talked about him, but somehow I envisioned him...more evil looking.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but this is Quenten.” Slade held his service weapon in one hand and offered to help her stand with the other. He tilted his head as if to say trust me.

No way. She gave the proffered hand a cursory glance as she shifted. The pin-prickling sensation made her yelp. “My legs are asleep. Give me a second.”

He stepped back, granting her space, but never lowered his weapon. Asia attempted to get to her feet again, surrendering to Slade’s outstretched palm as he pulled her upright. At five feet ten inches, she stood nose to nose with Slade. The quick change of position had her teetering off balance on her tingling legs. His steadying contact stabilized her. Grounded her. Like he’d done when they were kids.

Slade remained silent, helping her to the closest of the three green-and-white lawn chairs that passed for living room furniture.

She paused.

“Don’t be difficult,” he cautioned.

Asia bristled against his touch and shifted away from his hold with a huff. “I’m not being difficult. For your information, I’m worried the chair might fall apart.” She nodded at the frayed material.

“It’ll be fine,” he assured her.

She frowned and dropped onto the seat without comment, hoping the fabric would rip and prove him wrong.

“Stay put.”

“You’re leaving me alone? With him?” She shivered and shrank back, as if the dead man would rise and attack her.

“He’s not going anywhere. Just wait here.” Slade pressed down on her uninjured shoulder, emphasizing the instructions before moving into the hallway.

Asia studied Nevil Quenten, torn between terror and curiosity. The man’s tidy appearance complete with a gray suit and navy tie reminded her of a bank manager. But he was an unmerciful drug cartel leader who had destroyed her deceased husband, Zander.

And now Nevil Quenten was dead. In the same room as her.

She shifted farther to the side and racked her brain. The dissipating haze brought no great revelations. Why couldn’t she remember anything? The abyss in her mind explained nothing about her present conditions, and the strain exaggerated the headache clawing its way across her temples.

She scanned the foreign space with its worn brown carpet and plastic walls. Not drywall? What kind of house had plastic walls? A mobile, trailer or prefabricated home? She had no friends or acquaintances who lived in any houses like those. Why can’t I remember anything?

The rancid scent of urine and rotting food added to her queasiness. Lawn chairs half circled the dated nineteen-inch television. Empty blue-and-white pizza boxes stacked in a haphazard tower decorated the floor beside the yellow refrigerator in the tiny kitchenette to her left. A pathetic string of silver garland hung from the broken window blinds in uneven loops, and chipped red Christmas ornaments tugged the tinsel downward. The display provided a sad attempt at sprucing the place up with holiday spirit.

Where was she? Anxiety ratcheted, twisting her stomach into knots.

Slade returned and slipped his service weapon into the holster. “The house is clear.”

“What about the outside?”

He quirked an eyebrow, annoyance tainting his tone. “I checked the perimeter before entering this place. It’s protocol.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why did you text me to meet you here? To show me you killed him?”

That got her attention. “I didn’t kill anyone, and I never sent you a text! I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She might not be able to explain how she’d gotten here, but murder wasn’t in her DNA. And texting her ex-boyfriend ranked among the top five on her not-in-this-lifetime list.

He walked toward the kitchenette and flipped on the switch, illuminating the space. She regarded his solid build outlined in the starched navy blue uniform with Ginsu-knife creases. Not a dark hair out of place in his meticulous, close-cropped style. Zander had been the perfect state trooper too. Might’ve still been if he’d gotten the help he needed before—

“What’s going on here?” Slade probed, facing her in the classic feet-shoulder-width-apart power stance.

Asia contemplated her answer. They’d written the Miranda warning for occasions such as this, but that applied to real criminals. You have the right to remain silent...starting now. She had nothing to hide, since she had no memory of whatever she should be hiding, anyway.

“I came to just before you walked in. I have no idea how long I was unconscious, and your knock on the door jarred me into this bizarre scene. I don’t remember anything beyond being in my apartment getting ready for bed.”

Slade’s frown conveyed his skepticism.

“You wanted the truth and I’m telling you,” Asia continued, her words tumbling out faster. “When I caught sight of the dead guy—” She tried to point to Nevil’s body, but the handcuffs restricted her movement and the bloodied cloth tumbled to the floor. “I reacted. Just grabbed the thing off my lap and then you walked in.” She nodded toward the Glock. “I didn’t even realize it was a gun.”

“You don’t seriously expect me to believe that.” Slade stooped, lifted the cloth and reapplied it to her shoulder before moving to the TV and shutting it off. Silence hovered between them like an invisible shield of disbelief. “I need you to tell me what happened before I got here. I can’t hold off calling this in to dispatch any longer.” His caramel-brown eyes pleaded with her to respond, though he remained in his defensive posture.

Their history should eliminate the caution he maintained. They’d grown up together, had dated through most of high school, had basically known each other forever. Surely those memories counted for something. Asia’s gaze jerked from Slade to Nevil’s body, then to the weapon on the floor. Please, Lord, make my memory return. Give me wisdom in what to say.

“Was it self-defense?”

She met Slade’s penetrating look. All they were missing was a spotlight and metal table for the way his interrogation was going. “Nice try, but I didn’t kill him.”

“I saw you holding the gun.”

The allegation stung, raising her defenses. “Are you listening at all? I told you, I went to bed early. In my apartment. Next thing I know, I’m waking up here. Wherever ‘here’ is.”

“Can anyone corroborate your story?”

Asia sat up straighter and lifted her chin. “No, because I was alone. And it’s not a story. It’s the truth.”

“Fine. If you refuse to cooperate, we’ll stick to procedures and I’ll treat you like any other murder suspect.” Slade depressed the button on his portable shoulder mic. “Request assistance and ambulance. One injured suspect, one dead, possibly more people unknown and unaccounted for.”

“Ten-four, twenty-two fifty,” the dispatcher confirmed.

Asia jumped to her feet, unable to breathe past the vise squeezing her chest. Ten fifty at night. How long had she been here? “What day is it?”

Slade tilted his head. “Don’t even try the helpless damsel thing.”

She clamped a hand onto his forearm clumsily and demanded, “Tell me what day it is.”

He plucked away her fingers then led her back to the chair. “You have to sit down. We don’t need you losing more blood.”

“The date?” Asia insisted, searching his eyes.

He cocked his head to the side and blew out a breath. “December twenty-second.”

“Are you sure?” The room swayed, and Asia’s hands fell heavy in her lap.

“Of course I’m sure.” Slade adjusted his mic wire, clearly frustrated. Well, he wasn’t the only one.

“No. That’s not possible,” Asia mumbled. “It can’t be.” Her thoughts traveled to her color-coded salon appointment book. Pink for haircuts, blue for pedicures—and December twentieth in bold print at the top of the page. Horrified, she doubled over, pressing her bound wrists against her stomach.

“Hey, are you okay?” The warmth of Slade’s hand on her shoulder kept her fixed in the moment, though she longed to escape.

“I don’t... How can it be December twenty-second?” She sat up. “How did I lose two days of my life?”

He shook his head. “Asia, stop messing around. I’ve gotta start this report before backup arrives.”

She blasted him with her best death glare. “Slade, I’d love to spout the answers you want, but let me clue you in. I was in my apartment on December twentieth. It was payday, and I was trying to figure out how to make my rent. One of the many joys of being a widow whose drug-addicted husband took everything and sold it to supply his habit.”

Doubt marked his frown, and he knelt beside the Glock, surveying but not touching the weapon. “Still doesn’t explain why you were pointing a gun at Quenten.”

Asia bit her lip, scanning the room again, and landed on Slade’s unbelieving frown. “I’m trying to help you, but you can see how this will sound to the district attorney.”

She stiffened. “I am being honest, and no, thanks—I’ve seen your idea of help.”

The verbal slap tightened Slade’s jaw and irritation flashed in his eyes, but his tone remained unwavering. “Asia, I’ll never be able to tell you how sorry I am that Zander is gone. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about him. He was my friend, my partner.”

“Wow, beautiful. Is that the same little speech you told Sergeant Oliver before you betrayed Zander?” She pinned him with a glower. Slade was a traitor, and he’d destroyed her life.

They held their wordless staredown until Slade glanced out the window, watching for backup. “Zander made his own choices and put us both in an impossible situation, including backing me against the wall. Turning him in was my duty. I had no other options.” He spun to face her.

Asia looked away. Choices. There was no disputing the facts. Zander had chosen drugs, a plethora of other women and repeated binges. The combination proved to be the catalyst for their separation a year before his death had made her a widow at thirty-four. He’d walked a dangerous path, leading a double life as a trooper and working for Quenten. Eventually, it was bound to catch up to him. Asia had warned him repeatedly to get help and talk to Sergeant Oliver. In the end, Zander’s murder hadn’t been a surprise. He’d played too long with a dangerous, consuming fire.

Still, Asia would never pretend to be okay with Slade’s method of handling things. He could’ve helped Zander. Been a real friend. Instead, Slade earned accolades by arresting Zander and putting a homing target on him that led Quenten’s men right to him. They’d silenced Zander permanently as a result of Slade’s by-the-book philosophy.

Asia had lost everything. And Zander was dead.

Slade was to blame. It was that simple.

The familiar sorrow she’d befriended beckoned again.

Slade exhaled, and his posture relaxed. “What happened with Quenten?” A gentle tone slipped through, reminding her of the boy she’d once known. He withdrew a small notepad from his uniform pocket.

Stay angry. It’s safer. Easier. “If you ask me a hundred more times, I will tell you the same thing. I don’t know how or why I’m here. I never shot him. And I. Don’t. Remember. Anything.” Asia kept her voice tight and controlled, maintaining her composure to prevent any weakness from leaking through.

“If you have no memories of being here, how can you be sure you didn’t shoot Quenten?”

Asia forced her cuffed, shaking hands flat against her thighs. “My turn to ask questions. How’s your new position with the drug task force? Tell me, Slade—did your promotion come as a reward for betraying your partner? Or was it a consolation prize for arresting him and giving his murderer easy access to kill Zander?”

Slade flinched at the verbal attack. Deserved, but painful nonetheless. The venomous words stabbed his heart, a vicious reminder of his failures. His guilt. And he couldn’t agree with Asia more.

She’d never forgive him. And she’d never understand that turning in Zander had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. Maybe to some degree, she was right to blame him for Zander’s death. But he hadn’t complied with Zander’s unfathomable request to arrest him for the pleasure of earning a promotion, or anything else self-serving.

Zander’s plan should’ve been simple. Slade would publicly arrest him so Quenten would believe his insider had been compromised. Then Zander would compile whatever evidence he’d assured Slade he had, ferret out the mole within the Nebraska State Patrol, turn state’s evidence and go into WITSEC. Zander had refused to share the details with Slade, wanting to protect him by not dragging him into the mire.

Except everything went horribly wrong, and within twenty-four hours of being arrested, processed and released on bail, Zander was murdered. Slade had no evidence of corruption, no proof of a mole, and he’d been marked a backstabbing cop for turning in his partner. He bore Asia’s blame and anger and was left in an impossible situation of keeping Zander’s secret even after his death.

“A good partner would’ve helped him instead of taking the first opportunity to prove your disloyalty for a lousy promotion.”

Slade didn’t refute her words, but if she only knew the truth... Zander always got everything he wanted, including Asia. Slade had respected her decision all those years ago, tucking his own feelings far away where they couldn’t hurt either of them. He inhaled and replied with stale facts. “He was a drug-addicted thief working with that guy.” He pointed at Quenten’s body. “Which brings me back to what you’re doing here with a gun and a dead man. The circumstances, such as they are, aren’t looking good for you.”

“I’m fully aware of how this looks. Contrary to yours and the entire state patrol’s beliefs, I’m not stupid.”

His radio squawked, halting their conversation.

“Go ahead,” he answered.

“Multivehicle injury accident with confirmed fatality on Highway 275. Backup is delayed. Will dispatch next closest ambulance,” the dispatcher rattled on.

Just another night in rural Nebraska. Never enough responders, and everything happened at once. “Ten-four,” he acknowledged. “Guess it’ll be a bit before they get here. So how about if we start over? First, your injury appears to be a through-and-through gunshot wound, from the little I can see. May I take a closer look?”

She glanced down and removed the cloth. “Fine.”

Slade examined her bleeding shoulder then pressed the fabric tighter against the injury. “Yep, looks like the bullet went clean through.” A blood-matted section on the back of her head caught his eye. “You’ve got a head injury too.”

“What?”

When he reached out to examine her, she flinched at his touch. He retracted his hand, the sting of her rejection piercing his heart. They used to be friends. “I won’t hurt you.” I’ve done enough damage already to last a lifetime. “I only want to check the injury.”

“Okay.”

He withdrew his flashlight, then separated her raven shoulder-length hair clotted with dried blood to reveal a goose egg.

“Ouch!” Asia dodged to the side.

He jerked back his hand and replaced the light in his gun belt. “Sorry. Any idea where you got that knot?”

“No.”

“Do you have any other injuries?”

She narrowed her eyes. “If I weren’t handcuffed, I might be able to answer your question.”

The department-issued restraints latched on her wrists tore at him. Never in his wildest imagination had he considered the possibility of arresting Asia. “It’s protocol.”

“Right—I forgot you never break the rules.” Her uncharacteristic sarcasm sliced through his heart.

When had she grown so cold toward him? The sweet girl he’d known all his life had morphed into an angry woman, but he saw fear in her dark eyes masked behind the facade of her bitter tone.

“I’ll remove the handcuffs, but don’t try anything stupid.”

“You’re joking, right?”

Joking was the furthest thing from his mind. This whole situation was beyond his comprehension. He knelt in front of her and removed the cuffs. Asia was the last person he’d thought capable of murder. Almost fifteen years in law enforcement had awakened him to a lot of unbelievable realities. Still, his gut said she wasn’t guilty. Or was it his heart?

Asia lifted her hand and rubbed her wrists, then gingerly fingered the head wound and winced. “That solves the mystery behind my headache and the internal bullhorn amplifying every word you speak.”

Slade stilled her with a raised palm. It was too quiet.

“I—”

“Shh.”

She glared at him but remained silent.

He stepped into the hallway and scanned the two bedrooms again. He entered the back bedroom, stepping around the king-size mattress and knee-high junk piles to the window. Slade peered out of the broken blinds into the darkness.

The trailer was located in the middle of an abandoned farm away from the road. A large dilapidated shed surrounded by mounds of jalopy cars sat two hundred feet from the mobile and close to the neglected cornfields. Slade lifted the window and scanned the area with his flashlight, illuminating the ominous shadows.

Nothing but the wind whipping over the land and trees greeted him. He slid the window closed and repeated his surveillance in the bedroom facing the front of the property. Trash bags and boxes stacked high obscured the window, forcing Slade to move around the mess. He shifted between the towering displays of clutter and glanced out the dirty glass. A glimmering light flickered in the distance.

A shiver writhed up his spine. The light faded. A passing car on the county road?

He returned to the small living room. The home had to be at least thirty years old. Deserted and in the middle of nowhere. Not a place he’d expect to find Asia. So why had she texted him to meet her here?

A sense of foreboding hung heavy in the air like the putrid atmosphere. Maybe he should just arrest her and get out of here. The isolated locale left them exposed and too far from help. Whatever her situation, they’d work out the details at the patrol office. He closed the space between them, determined. “I think we’d better—”

Headlights beamed through the window and the crunching of tires on the ice-covered snow drew Slade’s attention. A large black vehicle sped toward the house. Too fast. “Get down!” He tugged Asia to the floor.

Slade crouched and peered through the bottom corner of the blinds. A barrage of gunshots turned his patrol car into Swiss cheese.

“Shots fired! Shots fired! Newer-model black SUV. Need backup! Now!” His voice reverberated and increased an octave, hollow in his own ears. Anticipating a blast, he shielded Asia with his body.

Several seconds passed with no explosion. Pulse drumming and fury radiating up his neck, Slade shifted to get another glance outside. “Stay down.” His hands shook with adrenaline as he pushed the blinds aside.

The assailants circled on the snow-covered ground, filtering headlights inside again. They were coming back! He dived, covering Asia a second time.

Bullets blasted through the home, shattering the window and raining glass.

The dispatcher’s robotic response melded into the background of machine gun fire. Slade tucked Asia under him, protecting her from the debris pelting his neck and arms.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” He glanced up, catching sight of the hallway. Grateful he’d cleared the property earlier, he considered their only exit strategy. The bathroom and bedroom at the front of the home would shield them until they climbed out the rear-facing bedroom window.

Rhythmic pinging penetrated the fabricated home’s thin walls, and the TV took several hits before emitting sparks.

“Stay low and move to the back.”

“Okay,” she cried over the noise.

They army-crawled through the hallway and into the bedroom. Slade pushed the door shut, providing a barrier—albeit a flimsy one—against the firepower.

“Can you climb out the window?” He lifted the latch, pulled open the tall rectangular glass and shoved out the screen. “It’s only a few feet down. I’ll lower you.”

“I’ve got it.” Asia moved in front of him and scrambled through. She perched on the ledge before hopping down.

Slade followed behind and grasped her arm. “Hold on.”

The gunfire ceased, leaving an eerie calm hanging in the air.

Had the shooters gone?

The ground was covered in hard-packed snow and their footprints would be easily visible. Only two viable options of escape remained. Run through the cornfields and hope they reached help before the men found them or hide in the shed. If they ran to the front of the house and the men were waiting, they were dead. Scattered assorted metal junk pieces covered the backyard. They’d have to use the debris in a disorganized game of hopscotch to hide their location. Asia’s compromised state and blood loss combined with his undrivable unit meant hiding was the only logical choice. They’d have to take their chances.

“Follow me and step only on the junk. Do not let your feet hit the snow.” Slade gripped Asia’s hand and they made their way to the random assortment of hubcaps, cinder blocks and other unidentifiable scraps.

They neared the shed and Slade peered over his shoulder. Men’s voices echoed inside the house. They’d pursue as soon as they spied the open window.

He shoved aside the shed’s rusted metal door hanging by one rotted hinge.

“Is this safe?” Asia whispered, squeezing through the gap.

It was a good question. “Get behind the hood.” Slade gestured toward an old truck hood leaning against a dried and decaying bale of straw.

Asia maneuvered around the junk and squatted. Slade joined her and inspected the shadowy space. His flashlight would prove beneficial, but advertising their location would be unwise. Darkness hid things he’d rather not spot, anyway. Various vehicle parts including two more hoods pressed against the far wall, shielding them on all sides. A barricade of automotive leftovers. Please, Lord, let them protect us.

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, silencing his radio.

Together they faced the door. A sliver of an opening provided a decent vantage point of the back of the home but trapped them with no other way out.

“They escaped.” A man’s voice carried from the house across the open land.

“They found the window,” Slade murmured, more to himself than Asia. “Stay behind me,” he warned, moving in front of her.

“Hey, I need—”

“Not now,” he hissed. Weapon poised, Slade peered around the oxidized hood and spoke into his shoulder mic. “Shooters still on the premises.” The speaker remained muted because it didn’t matter what the dispatcher said. They had to get out of here—and fast.

Where was his backup? Slade angled past the bales and crept toward the entrance. Asia started to follow, but he halted her with his hand. He peeked through the crack between the door and the frame. Figures moved inside the bedroom. How many were there?

“At least Nevil Quenten is dead.” The man’s booming voice made him easy to distinguish.

“Excellent,” the first replied. “Where’re the cop and woman?”

Slade stiffened. What had Asia gotten herself into?

“They got away. You need shooting lessons. All that damage and you still didn’t kill them.”

Asia shifted behind him and a hollow ting resounded in the small shed. Slade jerked as the offending noisemaker rolled to his feet. A hubcap.

“Quiet! I heard something,” the voice outside demanded.

Slade moved to where Asia stood near the hood and bales. He pinned her with a glare. She shrugged and mouthed “Sorry.” Tugging her down, he crouched with her behind the metal barrier. He strained to hear the men’s conversation.

“There’s nothing out there. I told you, they escaped,” the other argued.

“No. I see a shed. That’s where they are.”

Within seconds, the crunching of boots on snow drew closer.

Slade surveyed the confined space again, searching for a way out. They were trapped.

The steps paused outside the shed.

Please, God, get backup here. Fast!

“Knock, knock.” The man’s taunts were followed by two quick raps on the door.

Slade held his breath, gun at the ready and heart drumming in his ears. He might be able to outshoot them, but were there more intruders in the vehicle? If he missed, and Asia was hit... No, he’d have to be dead on target.

A rat skittered over Slade’s boot, and he flinched, nearly squeezing the trigger. The rodent scurried out of the opening, evoking a curse from the intruder.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Scared of the dark or the little mouse?” The second man roared with laughter. His voice echoed, confirming he was farther away.

“It’s not funny. Rats carry disease,” the first whined.

Footsteps drew closer. “Move, so I can look inside.”

“Forget it. I’ll take care of them from here.”

Slade interpreted the warning and shoved Asia to the cement floor, covering her with his body. Bullets pinged all around them in rapid succession. The hood and the bale suffered the brunt of the attack, spitting shards of straw like confetti at a parade.

At last, the rain of fire stopped. Asia’s staccato panting lingered, but to her credit, she never uttered a sound.

Slade lifted his head and pressed his fingers against his lips, reminding Asia to keep quiet. She nodded. Slade shifted into a crouch while considering the number of bullets in his magazine. Were there enough for him to blast their way free of the shed?

“Let’s see if you win the prize.” The door creaked, and the intruder’s hand grasped the metal.

Slade aimed, prepared to fire. He’d have to take his chances and pray he hit his target the first time.

And then he paused at the beautiful scream of sirens in the distance.

TWO

“One of those blue-and-red-flashing beasts better be an ambulance,” Slade murmured.

Sound carried over miles in the flatlands of Nebraska. Only a few minutes had passed since the men had fled at the wail of the approaching emergency vehicles. Each rendition acted like a tornado siren, warning time was running out to get Asia talking.

Slade knelt beside her. The uneven rotting boards of the pockmarked trailer’s porch steps dug into his knees, and the cold pierced through his long-sleeved uniform shirt. At least Asia hadn’t balked at wearing his patrol-issued coat. He’d draped it over her shoulders and kept his hand on her back to maintain pressure against the bullet’s exit wound. Concern flowed through him at the soaked material. She was losing blood at an excessive rate, and his internal frustration boiled over at her silence.

Asia leaned against the paint-chipped railing, applying another gauze compress to the front of her shoulder. She’d given his mumbled declaration a second-long glance but had remained mute.

He sat and made one final plea to her stubborn denial. “I want to help you.”

“I know.” She shifted and met his gaze with a softened expression. “The cavalry is almost here. You’d better put on the handcuffs.” Asia held out her wrists, wincing with the movement.

“Don’t worry about them. Focus on staying awake and keeping pressure on the wound.” Slade gently returned her hand over the injury, noting the smoothness of her skin. His attention shifted to the dark red stain mixed with streaks of grease and dirt marring her white blouse. The grime did nothing to distract from her beauty. Her shoulder-length hair hung in disheveled, shadowy rivers, framing her oval face and dark eyes.

“I’m fine,” she rasped.

“You’ve always been a terrible actor.”

The corners of Asia’s lips tugged upward, then fell away as her eyes fluttered closed.

“No sleeping for you,” he prodded. If she had a concussion, she had to stay awake.

“I’m fine,” Asia repeated, righting herself and backing from his touch. Her shoulders slumped and seemed to bear the weight of the world.

Slade concentrated on the flashing lights, fighting the desire to remove her burdens. She couldn’t be guilty. The internal policy and procedure manual played like background music in his brain, battling with concern for her well-being. “Do you remember anything else?”

Dumb question since he’d already asked her the same thing a hundred different ways, but he had to help her. He owed it to Zander—and to Asia. “Maybe you recall being attacked? Or waking in a trunk?”

The briefest hint of a smile broke through her downcast expression. “You watch too many television shows.” She shook her head, then glanced down. “You’re doing your job, and I need to follow the rules. I won’t fight.”

Rumbling engines barreled down the snow-packed gravel driveway. Slade recognized his sergeant’s patrol car—the twin of his own pre-bullet-ridden vehicle—leading the pack with Slade’s brother Trooper Trey Jackson’s white K9 pickup following closely behind. Two brown sedans with sheriff county logos and an ambulance joined the entourage.

“Are you able to walk?” Slade offered his hand. “Otherwise, I’ll carry you to the ambulance.”

Asia straightened as if he’d cattle prodded her. “You’re not carrying me anywhere.” She grasped hold of the railing and pulled herself up. Her obstinacy rivaled any mule.

Slade started to touch the small of her back, then thought better of it. “Just stay by my side and let me do the talking.” For once, she didn’t argue, and they walked toward Sergeant Oliver’s vehicle.

“Jackson! What’s going on?” Oliver yelled, clambering out of the attractive low-profile Charger. The twenty-pound gun belt, Kevlar vest and the man’s bulky stature made for a difficult exit from the car. “Are you all right?” His gaze bounced from Slade to Asia, registering her presence. “Mrs. Stratton?” Oliver’s confusion said he too was trying to make sense of the situation.

“Shooters bolted when they heard the sirens.” Slade stepped protectively closer to Asia’s side.

“What happened to your car?” Oliver asked, mouth agape.

The newer vehicle’s damage costs would make their way up the chain of command and right to the colonel’s desk. After Slade spent the next week filling out paperwork.

Two EMTs advanced, and Slade sent a silent prayer of thanks for the interruption. “Let me get Asia—Mrs. Stratton—taken care of.” He excused himself from Oliver and addressed the medics. They visually assessed her condition as Slade provided a robotic report. “Mrs. Stratton has a bullet wound to her shoulder—appears to be a through and through—and she has a contusion on the back of her head.”

The shorter of the two men nodded vehemently while charting on his iPad. White embroidery on his blue uniform shirt spelled Hereford. Easy to remember. Uncle Irwin had bred Hereford cows. The man’s youthful appearance had Slade questioning whether he was even old enough to drive the rig. Then he realized he sounded like his father, always complaining that everyone else was getting younger when the reality was he was the one aging.

“I’ll get the stretcher.” The taller EMT jogged to the ambulance before Slade caught sight of his name on his badge.

“I’m not riding on a stretcher.” Asia shook her head, one palm up in defense.

“Ma’am,” Hereford began.

“I’ll assist her to the rig,” Slade promised, not wanting her to become more agitated. What was wrong with her?

Hereford frowned and joined his partner.

Slade moved between Asia and the EMTs as a high school memory bounced to the forefront of his mind. “Still claustrophobic? Or are you boycotting ambulances?” he teased, hoping to lighten her anxiety.

She blinked, and understanding shone in her eyes. “You remember?”

“Um, yeah. You nearly capsized our canoe in the amusement park’s tunnel of love.” His neck warmed at the romantic recollection of their junior year in high school. He’d spent half his earnings from the grain elevator just to win Asia a giant teddy bear. That had been a wonderful time.

Slade shoved the painful reminder down. Those days were long gone, having been replaced by adult tragedies.

Asia’s dark eyes searched his, and he noted the hardness had returned. She took a step back. “I don’t feel well,” she admitted, then added, “I’m not sure I can handle riding in the enclosed van alone with a stranger.”

The small glimpse of her vulnerable side bolstered his protectiveness. “I happen to be down a vehicle. How about if I ride with you and keep you occupied? Distractions help the trip go faster.” He used his best conspiratorial tone and said, “Plus, it’ll delay the report I have to write about my car’s demise.”

Asia shrugged without comment, but relief softened the lines on her forehead. Slade took the token of acceptance and helped her to the ambulance. “I need to confer with my sergeant. Then I’ll accompany Mrs. Stratton to the hospital,” he told Hereford, who grunted his acknowledgment.

“One minute,” Slade assured Asia.

She waved him off, and he returned to where Oliver, Trey and the deputies stood inspecting his damaged patrol unit. Slade provided a brief recap of the events, starting with Nevil Quenten’s DOA status—temporarily omitting the significant detail of Asia’s gun possession—emphasizing her injuries and then concluding with the shoot-out in the shed.

Oliver pulled himself to his full six-foot-two-inch height and addressed the team. “Thank you for responding. Set up a perimeter.” He turned to Trey. “Have K9 Magnum search the property. Mark whatever you find with flags, but do not touch it. We’ll let the evidence techs handle collection.”

“Affirmative.” Trey strode to his pickup and released his police service dog, Magnum, from the cab. The Belgian Malinois barked his appreciation, and the duo navigated to the rear of the home, where they’d work a spiral search pattern of the exterior, starting outside the shed.

Oliver continued issuing the directives, but his voice faded into the background. Slade’s focus returned to Asia, sitting at the rear of the ambulance as the paramedic dressed her wound.

The two deputies sprinted past him, yanking Slade to the present as they sped off the property.

Now was his chance to buy Asia some time with his boss. Slade moved quickly to where Oliver stood alone, typing into his cell phone. “Sir?”

The sergeant finished his entry before looking up.

“I can’t believe Asia—er, Mrs. Stratton—would commit murder. It’s obvious she’s in danger and needs our help.”

Oliver slipped his phone into his belt clip. “You don’t have to pretend she’s a stranger. I’m aware of the friendship you and Zander once had, including the fact the three of you were childhood classmates.”

Slade and Asia had been more than classmates, but Oliver didn’t need to know any of those details.

“Right. I respectfully request time to gather more intel before making any hasty decisions.”

“You mean you don’t want to arrest her.”

“I don’t want to prematurely arrest her. The stigma of a cop’s wife committing murder...”

“The press and public would bake her. I understand and agree. However, I’m still confused as to how you ended up here in the first place.”

“That’s a little trickier to explain. I received a text from Asia’s number asking for help, with a map screenshot of this location.”

“She lured you here?” Oliver’s tone hardened.

Slade withdrew his cell phone and displayed the message. “She insists she never sent the text. It came from her number, but that doesn’t prove the sender.”

Oliver shook his head. “You said Quenten was already DOA?”

“Yes, sir.” Slade hesitated.

“Did she have defensive wounds?”

“She’s got injuries, possibly defensive, but she’s unsure how they occurred.”

“She’s claiming amnesia?”

Slade shifted from one foot to the other. “Partially. Asia said the last thing she recalls is being in her apartment on Thursday. She’s got no recollection of arriving here or the time in between.”

Oliver’s expression gave no indication as to whether he believed Slade. “Quenten’s got enough enemies. Start at her home. Perhaps returning to a familiar place will help trigger her memory. One more thing.” Oliver stepped closer and lowered his voice. “The clock is ticking. We’ll help Asia in every way possible, but we will not ignore the law. She’s our only suspect, and unless something drastic changes in the next seventy-two hours, she must be brought in for questioning.”

Slade understood the rationale. Seventy-two hours for the processing of evidence. A short span of time. “I understand. Guess I’d better call in a tow for my car.”

Oliver shook his head. “No, I’ll handle that. If these men are looking for something, they’ll try again, and I want them caught. Whoever brought Asia here had a specific reason.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do not let her out of your sight. If she’s guilty, we’ll have to deal with it by the book. But if she’s not, she’ll need all the help we can provide. She’s still blue family.”

Asia needed them, even if she was too stubborn to admit it. If he were honest with himself, there was a part of Slade that needed her too. This was his chance to make up for destroying her life by turning in Zander. He didn’t want to arrest her, but if it came down to that, he’d do so, while protecting her within guidelines. Then he’d prove her innocence because there was no way she was guilty.

He’d almost guarantee it... Almost.

An unmarked navy blue truck approached and parked on the other side of Trey’s K9 pickup, blocking Slade’s view of the driver.

“Trooper, we need to go,” Hereford called.

Slade sprinted to the ambulance, where Asia sat propped up and unrestrained on the stretcher. An IV line trailed from her wrist. “I’m fine,” she groused. “This is unnecessary.”

The EMT grinned and stepped aside, giving Slade and Asia privacy. Slade leaned in and whispered, “It’s this or riding in the special visitor seat of a patrol car.”

She pressed her lips into a flat line. “Point taken.”

Slade walked toward Hereford. “I need to wrap a few things up with my sergeant. Can you give me two minutes? Will she be okay?”

He nodded. “She’s lost a lot of blood but she’s stable. One minute.”

“Thanks.” Slade returned to where Detective Kent Beardly now joined Oliver.

Of all people, why had Oliver chosen him? Slade couldn’t work the crime scene, which was reasonable, but the last thing they needed was another hand in the mix. Beardly’s cop skills were decent, but he had all the finesse of a longhorn bull. Slade stood undecided between leaving Beardly to assume the investigation and accompanying Asia to the hospital.

Beardly faced Slade with a clenched jaw, as if he’d interrupted an important meeting. “Mrs. Stratton’s claiming amnesia? A little cliché, don’t you think?”

Had the man’s voice always been that gravelly? Agitation and defensiveness sent Slade’s hackles up. “It’s possible, but after the shoot-out we endured, it’s more than probable she’s telling the truth. Says she’s lost the past two days.” Slade kept Asia in view.

Beardly tsked, shaking his head. “Haven’t seen her since the funeral. Heard she’d pretty much disappeared afterward. Not inconceivable she’s using like Zander.”

Slade gritted his teeth, not wanting to participate in Beardly’s attempt at gossip.

Thankfully, Oliver regained command of the conversation. “We haven’t assessed the scene yet. Asia’s obviously got enemies. She’s innocent until proven guilty. Jackson, provide her protective detail at the hospital.”

“Sarge, with all due respect, Jackson’s too close to this.” Beardly slapped a palm on Slade’s shoulder. “No offense.”

None taken, and no one asked you. Slade restrained the urge to swat Beardly’s hand away.

The detective continued, “It’d be better to have an impartial party do the detail.”

No way. If he had to do it incognito, Slade wasn’t letting Asia out of his sight. If she recovered her memory with the wrong people, she’d be dead for sure.

“With all due respect,” he mimicked, “I’m without a car. Asia is claustrophobic, and I promised to ride with her. She trusts me.” Liar. “I’d like the detail.” Did he sound too eager?

“Trooper, we need to get Mrs. Stratton to the hospital,” the taller paramedic said.

“When she’s released, we’ll determine continued custody at that time. Jackson, go with Asia. Beardly, lead the investigation here,” Oliver asserted.

Beardly squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “You can count on me, sir. No two-bit criminal goes after one of our blue family and gets away with it.”

All the overexuberant detective needed now was to don a cape and leggings. Slade spun on his heel and sprinted for the ambulance.

“If Mrs. Stratton remembers anything that might help us, contact me immediately,” Beardly called.

Slade rolled his eyes, climbed into the rig and dropped onto the metal bench. Hereford sat across from them charting Asia’s vitals, while the other EMT took the driver’s seat. Within seconds, they rumbled off the property.

They passed Oliver. He stood several feet away, gesturing with wide, emphatic movements to a new set of responding officers from multiple surrounding agencies. A call for an officer-involved shooting brought out everyone. Even with a tight perimeter and law enforcement presence, Slade doubted they’d catch the criminals. If only the team had arrived a few minutes sooner.

Was Asia faking her selective amnesia? She’d been an angry, defensive woman, but she’d never been a liar. However, desperation motivated people to make foolish choices.

“How’re you doing?” Slade broke the silence.

Asia bit her lip. “Do you think any of this has to do with Zander?”

Sure, now she wants to divulge in front of a stranger. Slade glanced at Hereford, who busied himself with paperwork. “I can’t help but consider the possibility of a connection.” He’d prefer not to have this conversation in the man’s company. Still, letting her talk might work better than interrogating her.

Asia twirled the white sheet around her fingers, and the childlike motion reminded him of his two-year-old niece. “I haven’t asked for updates on his investigation since the funeral. I couldn’t deal with it, but I can’t hide from it anymore. Especially with this happening. I need to understand what’s going on. Have there been any leads in Zander’s case?” she asked.

Slade leaned closer. She didn’t move away, and the momentary acceptance touched him. Maybe she’d forgive him someday—though he didn’t deserve it, and he’d never ask. He shifted under the weight of discussing the investigation. Memories of Zander’s crime scene and broken body sent an involuntary shiver up his spine. How much should he share? Struggling to find the right words, he determined to be honest while revealing only what was necessary. “There’s been no progress—”

“Oh.” Asia fell back against the stretcher and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m so nauseous.”

“You may have a concussion,” Hereford advised.

“We’ll talk later. Just rest.” Slade reached for Asia’s arm, then retracted his hand. By the book and professional was the only way he could truly help her. Even if she never forgave him for Zander’s death.

The swaying and bumping of the ambulance across the gravel roads worsened Asia’s nausea, swirling her stomach into knots. She leaned against the cool sheet covering the stretcher and closed her eyes while fisting the metal frame. Nothing relieved the dizziness. She swallowed hard and inhaled deeply to calm herself.

A shiver crept up her spine at the recollection of Nevil Quenten’s lifeless black eyes. Lord, I need Your help. How do I prove I’m innocent when all they see is my guilt?

And who could blame them? If she were on the outside looking in, she’d feel the same way. Except she was on the inside looking out, and she was no killer. Asia pressed her fingers against her forehead. The drumming in her brain intensified, and she squeezed her eyes tighter, concentrating on her prayers rather than the discomfort.

The plethora of self-condemning questions continued to ravage her mind. Why hadn’t she run away when she’d come to? What possessed her to grab the gun? How stupid was she? Her train wreck of a life had spiraled out of control, and now her only hope of proving her innocence was to find Nevil Quenten’s real murderer. Would that also prove who had murdered Zander? They were obviously connected. But why drag her into it?

Guilt hit her. Why had she asked about Zander’s case? The familiar juxtaposition of love and sorrow swirled in her memories of her deceased husband. In a short time, she’d gone through a full range of emotions from terror to humiliation. Was there any way off this crazy train?

“Are you feeling better?”

Asia opened her eyes and faced Slade. “I doubt that’ll happen unless this is all a horrible nightmare, and I wake up.”

“Did you want to call someone?”

Like who? The rock in her throat threatened to cut off her air supply, and the only faces she pictured were her parents’. Asia concentrated on the sheet until it blurred as she tried to silence the condemning mantra. If only I hadn’t been so selfish, they wouldn’t be dead.

Zander’s outward charismatic personality and intimate neediness had compelled her to follow him to the University of Nebraska in Lincoln. Mom’s and Daddy’s quiet natures and gentle understanding provided all the approval Asia needed. They promised to visit often and had kept that promise, even when blizzard warnings covered every news channel that lethal night. Daddy had assured Asia the storm wouldn’t be an issue, but they’d never anticipated the wrecked semi jackknifed across the highway. Invisible arrows penetrated her heart with each agonizing image.

“I wasn’t sure if you had a friend or someone you’d like to notify,” Slade clarified, invading her misery.

She turned away. “There’s no one.” The bitter words stung her throat. “Not that you’d ever understand being alone.” Asia didn’t meet Slade’s eyes. Couldn’t. His family—a raucous, close-knit group where love and laughter enveloped everyone in a ten-mile radius—had been her second home. A family she’d betrayed for Zander.

The memories increased the burn in her chest and hollow ache in her heart. She and Zander had always been a volatile combination. Her nurturing instincts combined with his lack of family—thanks to his mother’s drug overdose—entangled them in an isolating solace of false peace. Zander’s eventual emotional and physical abandonment left Asia more alone than she’d ever thought possible. Only superficial work relationships existed for her.

Work. One more consideration. Asia studied her fingernails. “I returned to the salon two weeks ago, and I have no vacation time. They’ll fire me.” She turned to Slade. “Unless...”

“Unless?”

“Do you think I’ll be able to go home by tomorrow morning?” It was stupid to even hope for such a thing, and the doubt in Slade’s eyes spoke his answer. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter,” she mumbled.

“Don’t want you losing your job.”

“Yeah, well, one missed paycheck won’t change my meager lifestyle,” she said, miffed that she’d revealed too much. A prison sentence would eliminate the need for employment, anyway.

Slade appeared taken aback. “Are you having financial troubles? I assumed Zander’s insurance—”

“Not that it’s any of your business.” Asia drilled him with her best you-asked-for-it scowl. “But I never received any money. Turns out, they withhold life-insurance benefits when there’s an ongoing investigation.” Slade’s invasive comment meant he was digging. The department mandated every trooper carry life insurance of at least two times their salary.

He grimaced and swallowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize...but you had the house? Equity after the sale?”

She shook her head. “The bank foreclosed on our house when I failed to pay the second mortgage Zander forged in my name. Of course, that was right after he’d cleaned out our savings.” Why was she confessing her financial woes to him? It was none of Slade’s concern, and the EMT looked like he wanted to crawl under her stretcher and hide.

“Zander’s path of destruction had no boundaries,” Slade murmured.

Asia started to defend her deceased husband but lost the energy to follow through. She reached up and gently touched the tender spot on her head, allowing her fingers to graze the hard, crusty sections of her hair where blood had coagulated. Another unknown, though surely in her favor. She couldn’t have inflicted the injury to herself.

Slade leaned closer. “I wasn’t aware things were so difficult. Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve helped you.”

She crossed her arms, blinked and tilted her head. “Why would I run to you?”

The words were harsh, but Slade’s nonchalant manner surprised her. “To be honest, my thoughts exactly. You’ve never asked for my help. Which made your text tonight even more baffling.”

So we’re back to quizzing me. “Someone else sent that message. Find my phone and I’ll prove it.” Her voice sounded far more confident than the fear swarming her heart. The more disturbing question was, how had the killer connected her and Slade? They hadn’t talked since the funeral, and even that had been strained.

She considered him. After all they’d been through this evening, he’d maintained his perfectly put-together self. Examining her blouse and pants, she grimaced. I, on the other hand, resemble a demolition-derby car.

Slade pulled out his notepad and wrote something down.

“What did the message say?”

“Hmm?” He glanced up from his note taking.

“The text you’re accusing me of sending. What did it say?” she repeated.

Slade withdrew his cell phone, scrolled through his messages and passed the device to her. Asia’s name and number appeared in the contact area along with her picture. A print screen showed a map and one word—Help.

She studied the words and image, using her fingers to zoom in closer. “Is this where we were?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Yes.”

She handed him the phone. “I never sent the message, and I don’t recognize the address.”

He dismissed her by slipping the device into his belt clip. “For the record, you could’ve asked for my help.”

An unladylike snort escaped, and she shifted her gaze.

“I didn’t want to report Zander. It was—”

Asia jerked to face him, and the headache gained new rhythm behind her eyeballs. “What, Slade?” She cut him off. “The right thing to do?”

Tension covered his expression, and his posture stiffened. Satisfaction at silencing him reminded her of their disconnected relationship. He wasn’t her friend. He’d lost that privilege a long time ago, and she’d never give him the chance to hurt her again.

Slade palmed the notepad. “I realize you weren’t able to see them from your vantage point, but did you recognize either of those men? Their voices?”

Without hesitation, Asia responded with an emphatic head shake. “Not at all.”

“What do you know about the deceased?” Slade refrained from using Quenten’s name. Did he not trust the EMT? Or was he testing her?

“Limited comments from Zander, but nothing of significance.” Her mind raced, and questions tumbled out fast, crashing over one another. “Why would a guy like him come after me? Why are those men looking for me? What do they want?”

Slade worked his jaw and gave a slight shake of his head. This wasn’t the place to discuss Nevil Quenten or Zander. Not to mention, something about his mannerisms suggested he didn’t believe her. The darkened expression on his rugged face sent a tremor of worry through Asia. Was she becoming paranoid in her efforts to prove her innocence?

“We’ll figure this out.”

His calm manner should have been comforting. Instead, it irked her. Did he not comprehend the problem? The danger she faced? Or did he not care?

“If they’re searching for me, they’ll find me. Why was I there with that—that—criminal?” Asia spit the last word, then continued, “How did they know I was there? Where have I been? How did I get there?” Frustration made her ramble, leaving no opening for Slade to respond. “What is going on?”

The walls of the ambulance closed in, reminding Asia she was a prisoner with the ever-watchful Slade. He’d never let her out of his sight, yet the sudden urge to jump up and thrust open the doors tempted her. Common sense revealed the impossibility of the option—it was something out of an action movie, not real-life drama.

Her heart rate quickened, and the EMT shifted his gaze to the monitor. “Ma’am, please calm down.”

Asia worried her lip. I have done nothing wrong. True enough, but the truth had paled when the other officers arrived, and the terror of her reality hit again. And of course, Sergeant Oliver and Slade’s brother Trey would be the responding troopers. It would’ve been easier to deal with two strangers than a reunion of her deceased husband’s coworkers. Not that they’d hung out and been friends. An unexpected wave of sadness washed over her. She’d lost so much with Zander’s death. Even the identity of being part of the patrol family. They wouldn’t be amicable once they arrested her for murder.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Slade repeated, though it held no promise for her freedom. The wretched ringing of his cell phone interrupted the conversation.

Asia watched his expression as he answered the call. The crease in his forehead said the news wasn’t good. He disconnected and met her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Her pulse quickened as each silent second ticked by.

“Let’s talk later.”

Common sense said to keep quiet; this wasn’t the time or place. Asia ignored her instinct and blurted, “No. Tell me now.”

“Later.”

His brush-off bothered her. She had the right to be informed of every detail of her case. “Slade, I can take whatever you have to say.”

He sighed, and Asia jerked to look at the EMT, who avoided her gaze. Slade leaned closer and spoke in a barely audible volume. “Magnum found cocaine in your purse.”

She gripped the stretcher’s rails to keep from jumping up. “No! That’s not possible. I don’t... It wasn’t my purse, then!”

“The investigators also discovered your wallet and phone inside.”

“Whatever they think they found, it wasn’t mine.”

Slade shook his head. Disbelief? Preoccupation? “There’s more. The CSIs identified the gun at the scene.”

She swallowed, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears. “That was fast.”

“The state patrol emblem was inscribed on the side with a badge number.”

Asia held her breath, dreading the next words.

“It was Zander’s service weapon.”

No. “But the investigators took all of his equipment after...” Asia paused midargument. Why would she have his gun? Zander always kept it in his possession, and he hadn’t lived with her for over a year. The department collected all his issued items. She’d refused to go to his apartment, but they’d told her everything had been cleaned out. Why hadn’t she confirmed?

“Zander’s weapon went missing before his murder,” Slade clarified.

Asia’s shoulders tightened. “You can’t seriously believe I killed Nevil Quenten using Zander’s gun? Or that I was running drugs? Slade, come on.”

He seemed to age before her eyes. “I don’t know.”

Asia gritted her teeth. What didn’t he know? Whether I’m a murderer? Whether I’m lying now? The three words plagued her from every angle. She didn’t know how she’d gotten here, and her only ally didn’t know if he believed her. Wretched irony.

THREE

Fatigue wore through Slade’s depleting energy reserves. His phone buzzed, dragging him into consciousness, and a glance at the screen revealed it was 02:34 in the morning. He repositioned in the uncomfortable hospital chair. The night seemed to stretch on forever. Asia had endured multiple tests on machines with names resembling alphabet soup, and finally the surgery to repair her shoulder. Thankfully, the bullet had missed her vital organs and arteries.

Slade scrubbed his palm over his face, then read Oliver’s demand for an update. Based on the tone, he’d avoided the conversation with his boss for one message too long. He’d hoped to receive the lab results first, but it was time to confront the inevitable.

The phone buzzed again. “Give me a minute,” Slade groused in a whispered reply to the inanimate object.

Asia sighed and rolled over, reminding him to be quiet. She appeared to sleep peacefully, and he didn’t want to wake her. The poor woman needed rest.

He glanced down, expecting Oliver’s number, but a new text message from his friend’s wife—a manager in the hospital lab—resuscitated his hope. Asia’s tox results confirmed the presence of scopolamine. A drug Quenten’s cronies specialized in because it kept the victim conscious and compliant, but blocked memory formation.

Renewed optimism had Slade slipping from Asia’s hospital room. The scopolamine explained Asia’s temporary amnesia and added plausible deniability about her participation in Quenten’s death. Unease crept between Slade’s shoulder blades. Oliver would demand an answer as to how Slade had obtained the rapid results. The reality of him facing disciplinary action for unlawful use of authority was a serious consideration. He didn’t want to get his friend’s wife in trouble, but the evidence helped Asia’s defense. Please don’t let Oliver ask for details. The prayer escaped before Slade debated whether God would frown on such a request.

Lacey Fisher, the young female trooper Sergeant Oliver assigned to assist with Asia’s security, sat in the hallway keeping watch. She glanced up, acknowledging Slade as he palmed his phone. “Please sit with Mrs. Stratton. She’s asleep. I’ll be back in five minutes. I need to make a call, but the reception in the hospital’s terrible.”

“Affirmative.” Fisher jumped to her feet.

He waited until the trooper entered Asia’s room, then strode through the gray hallway where pictures of farming landscapes hung at two-foot intervals. The path curved and disappeared behind him toward the elevators. He poked the down arrow and exhaled, allowing the night’s events to loom in his mind.

The ride to the lobby ended too soon. Slade traipsed through the vacant area to the hospital’s electric glass entry. He shivered as the frosty air greeted him. With a tap to Oliver’s contact icon, he made the call and exited the building.

“Glad to see you found time to report in. What’s Mrs. Stratton’s status?” Oliver barked without saying hello.

His sergeant’s comments were deserved and expected, but Slade cringed anyway. Avoiding the man didn’t rank high on the smart-things-to-do list, but procrastination came easy to him. “She’s resting now. Doctor stitched up the bullet wound, but the concussion and her blood pressure have him wanting to keep her overnight for observation.”

Oliver exhaled into the receiver. “That’s a relief. No need to rush her departure. The CSIs have finished for the night. They won’t release the scene until they’ve had a chance to go over it again in the morning with better lighting.”

Slade contemplated asking his next question, then concluded they had to know everything Asia faced. “Sir, did they find anything else—”

“You mean besides a dead cartel leader, murder weapon, her purse and the drugs?” Oliver snapped.

The gun hadn’t been confirmed as the murder weapon, but correcting his boss would be unwise. “Something like that.”

“Nothing of significance. I’ve requested her phone records because her cell is password protected. Should have them within a few hours.”

Slade heard the veiled implication. Unless the killer had her password, it appeared Asia had sent the text. Would the records help her case or make it worse? Why hadn’t she dialed 9-1-1?

“The drugs in Asia’s purse require her arrest. At the very least, she must be detained for questioning and processing.”

“But you said her purse was found in one of the bedroom closets. A good attorney will refute the evidence since the purse wasn’t actively in her possession.” Slade’s weak argument was the best he could muster at the late hour.

“True, but the murder charges aren’t as avoidable. Doubtful he shot himself, Trooper.”

“Yes, sir. That part is a little harder to rebut.”

“Once the lab fingerprints the weapon...”

Slade swallowed hard. Asia’s prints were all over the gun. The realization left him reeling. Whether she was drugged or not, if the clothes he’d submitted had gunshot residue on them, it would only add to the evidence against her. Even without the ballistics report, there was little doubt in his mind that the bullet that killed Quenten came from Zander’s weapon. The same one Asia had been holding. “They’ll find Asia’s prints on the gun.”

“I see. You’d better start over and tell me exactly what happened before my arrival.” Oliver’s impatience oozed through the line.

Everything within Slade wanted to circumvent the truth, but there was no pretending or denying she’d held the gun. Until now, he hadn’t offered those specifics. With a sigh, he recounted the story again, this time including all the pertinent information, and ended with the men fleeing at the sirens.

“That’s a significant omitted detail.” Oliver’s tone, though agitated, wasn’t irate. “I suppose there’s the possibility that Quenten attacked her first.”

Perhaps his boss would give Asia the benefit of the doubt. “Then it would be self-defense.” Slade inhaled and launched into his practiced speech informing Oliver about the scopolamine.

Oliver’s pause hung between them for so long that Slade held his breath, expecting the worst. “I see. I’m not even going to ask how you obtained results that quickly.”

Whew. “Sir, Quenten should also be tested for drugs. Something that might explain immobility? How else was he shot square in the forehead? There are seasoned troopers who lack that type of accuracy. I’m sure there’s more to this than we’re seeing. It would be easy to book her and call it a done deal, but my gut says Asia’s innocent. What if the murderer’s intention was to lure me there and take out both of us?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Listen, I’m not heartless. I feel for her. Asia’s had a full plate longer than anyone should have to. I’ll request the tox screen on Quenten. In the meantime, ensure she’s safe and keep me posted.” Oliver disconnected.

Relief and a second wind had Slade rushing through the hospital doors. He paced in front of the elevator while his brain raced out of control. He had hope again, and that was huge. Dad always said hope was like blinders on a horse—it focused a man’s attention and eliminated his peripheral vision. Of course, he’d been talking about falling in love, not battling murder charges. If only they had a clue in her favor.

All of this was connected to Zander. Even in death the guy hurt Asia, and he’d never deserved her. Although Slade had ample opportunities to tattle about Zander’s extramarital activities, he refused to break Asia’s heart. He’d also feared losing her friendship, or worse, having her hate him. Oh wait, I’ve accomplished that. Score one for overachievers.

Slade punched the elevator button again, rehashing Oliver’s instructions.

Asia deserved justice. That was his sole objective, and if they found her guilty, he would do what was required of him. But only if and/or when he was certain, beyond any reasonable doubt. He wanted facts and evidence—neither had anything to do with personal feelings. Slade had buried those long ago.

The elevator dinged like a timer on his thoughts, and the doors opened. Slade’s heart was convinced of Asia’s innocence, and maybe—just maybe—proving it would ease the guilt that had haunted him since Zander’s death.

He’d failed once to save a life. Never again.

“Hello, Mrs. Stratton,” a man’s voice hissed in greeting.

Asia jerked upright in the hospital bed, stopped short by the bindings encircling her wrists and ankles. Pain radiated up her shoulder, and something covered her mouth, muting her cry. Terror gripped her chest, a tightening vise that restricted each breath. Against common sense, she tugged harder. The burning sensation confirmed her escape efforts had torn through her skin while the restraints remained unrelenting.

“It is useless to fight.” The baritone voice sent a shiver down Asia’s spine.

Streetlamps outside cast dim light through the partially closed slats of the white plastic blinds. Asia blinked, willing her eyes to focus in the dark. She scanned the room in search of the intruder. How had he gotten in? Where was Slade?

Her perusal stopped short on the form in the corner chair. The same place where Slade had perched all evening. Now a woman sat slumped there. Recognition came to Asia—the female trooper assigned outside her door. Frazer? No, Fisher.

Asia froze, and her muffled gasp caught in the sticky substance covering her mouth. She inhaled the stench of glue, and sharp edges pulled the tender skin near her nostrils. Tape. Relieved the person wasn’t Slade, she prayed Fisher was unconscious and not dead.

“Cooperate and this will go well for you. I do not want to hurt you.”

Asia turned and startled at the black gorilla mask inches from her face.

“Your husband was a stupid man. He could’ve survived if he’d given us the card. Make a smarter choice and I’ll let you live. Tell me where it is.” The man crept around the foot of her bed, sliding his fingers along the white blanket.

Card? What was he talking about? She blinked several times. Had she heard him correctly? Asia’s mind raced. Since the intruder had disguised himself, that must mean he had no intention of killing her since she couldn’t identify him. But what card did he want?

He stepped toward the trooper and pressed a hand against the woman’s shoulder. “It’s too bad the cops are incapable of protecting you. But that’s the kind of danger you’re up against.”

Asia’s breaths came faster, caught in the tape. The threats sent fear oozing through her veins. She shoved against the bed with her heels, digging the plastic restraints harder into her skin. What would he do to her to get the information he wanted? Terrifying images passed through her mind. Please, God, help me!

Fight! The word bounced to the forefront of Asia’s brain, giving her the snap-out-of-it kick she needed. Think. The creep would have to remove the tape in order for her to speak, and when he did, she’d scream with everything in her.

Asia forced herself to inhale through her nose and commanded her racing heart to obey. A sliver of light shone beneath the closed door. Would anyone hear her? Where are you, Slade? She sensed impending doom, but annoyance pricked at the corners of her mind, providing momentary relief from her fear. He’d let her down again and proved, once more, Slade Jackson could not be counted upon.

The gorilla-masked man returned to Asia’s side. “Are you ready to talk?”

He ran a finger along her cheek, jolting her back to the present. The quick movement perpetuated the agony in her shoulder, coordinating a throbbing rhythm with her heartbeat. She groaned.

The man tsked. “Careful. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Darkness disguised the intruder, and only his heavy breathing reverberated beside her. Sweat beaded on her forehead, trickling down her face.

The man leaned closer, his dark eyes unblinking behind the gorilla mask’s eye holes. “I’m making a good-faith effort by keeping my identity hidden. Once I remove the tape, you’ll have one chance to return the favor.” His voice was muffled by the mask. “If you scream, I’ll kill you. I only want the card, Mrs. Stratton. Do we understand each other?”

Fury and fear warred within Asia, and she stubbornly refused to break away from his gaze. She’d call his bluff because the man wanted something more than he wanted her dead; otherwise he’d have killed her while she slept. That was her assurance. At least she prayed that was true. Her gaze drifted to the trooper slumped in the chair as confirmation. Please let her be alive.

Asia returned her eyes to the masked man. She had no clue about this card he referred to, but he seemed convinced she possessed it. She nodded and her cooperative gesture had the assailant patting her head like a dog. “Good girl.”

He moved to the right, remaining in the shadows.

She flattened her hand under the blanket, ignoring the burn in her injured shoulder and allowing her fingers to roam.

She grazed an object. He hadn’t taken the bed’s remote control! Asia slid her palm over the box, keeping her body as still as possible. There were several buttons. Which would call the nurse? If she pressed the wrong switch, it would send her bed’s foot or head into motion and eliminate any chance for help. Two toggles. Those must move the bed. Fingering the device, she searched for a single button and paused.

“Remember, I will give you only one opportunity to tell me where the card is.” He returned to her side and flipped open a switchblade, then pressed the cold steel along her neck.

Asia sucked in a breath and pressed the button on the remote. Lord, please let this be the right one. There was a ding, followed by a red light illuminated on the power pad above her bed.

The man jerked then met her gaze with a venomous glare. “You’ll pay for that.”

Asia squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for the worst.

He launched into a myriad of curses before bolting from the room.

Slade exited the elevator to the sound of a woman’s scream. He sprinted down the hallway, and the nurse ran to meet him. “A man wearing a gorilla mask just ran through those doors.” She gestured to the stairwell.

Slade quickened his pace and shoved open the door. His boots thudded against the thick plastic floor as he took two and three steps at a time, gripping the rail for support. The rapid staccato rhythm of footsteps echoed as Slade hurried after the intruder.

The man was at least a level ahead of him and gaining speed.

A slam below indicated he’d exited the stairwell.

Slade jumped over the railing onto the main floor and burst through the door into the garage.

The squealing of tires reverberated throughout the cement walls. A dark SUV skidded out of the building, its red taillights mocking the chase.

He’d been so close! Slade slammed his hand on the wall, then spun on his heel and pressed the button on his shoulder mic. “Intruder escaped. Put out an APB on a black SUV, newer model, no plates, headed southbound from the hospital garage.”

The dispatcher responded but her words were inconsequential. Once again, the criminal had evaded arrest.

Yanking the door open, Slade nearly collided with the female security guard on the other side.

She stepped back, eyes wide in question.

“He got away. I’ll need to see your security footage.”

“Yes, sir.”

He passed her and jogged up the steps with the guard trailing behind.

“We can view the video in my office,” she called.

“Negative. Bring it to room 422. I’m staying with my witness.” Since I nearly got her killed by leaving her.

Slade didn’t wait for the guard’s response or for her to catch up. He threw open the door to the fourth floor and ran down the hall.

Trooper Lacey Fisher lay on a stretcher, and an orderly pushed her from Asia’s room into the hallway.

Slade increased his pace. “Excuse me.”

The man paused.

“Is she okay?”

“Unconscious but breathing,” the orderly answered, then resumed his mission, moving past Slade.

Thank God. Fisher was alive.

Torn between following the orderly and checking on Asia, Slade chose to receive Asia’s well-deserved rebuke. She could’ve been killed thanks to his lackadaisical approach to her security, and he’d learned a valuable lesson. Whatever it took, he needed to remain at her side, because whoever had their target locked on Asia Stratton would stop at nothing to get to her.

Asia focused on the nurse’s name tag, which read Ramona, as she snipped through the plastic ties. In her peripheral, she saw Slade enter the room and halt by the door.

The pounding pulse beating in her ears muted the woman’s soft words, and she captured only, “You’re safe now.”

“I’ll never be safe.” Speaking the words aloud solidified their truth for Asia.

“You’ll be fine,” Nurse Ramona assured her. “They’ll catch the man.” She gathered the remnants of the restraints and turned to leave.

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