Flashback. Justine Davis

left the original with her grandfather, who was going to keep it safe just in case. She’d thought it wise not to carry a copy of the letter around with her, so she’d made a list of the high points in an encrypted file on her PDA.

      She slowed her speed after she completed the right turn. Building was going on here at a mad pace, as it seemed it was everywhere in the greater Phoenix area, and she wasn’t sure she’d spot the driveway she needed in time to make the turn.

      Sure enough, the vacant lot next to the police station, that area of scrub and mesquite that had always been her landmark, was no longer empty. The big marquee for the new convenience store nearly obscured the small sign for the department, and she almost missed it.

      A quick glance in the mirror told her she had enough room between her car and the blue sedan behind her to make the quick turn. She heard some hard braking farther behind her, and silently apologized to the driver of the gardening truck, who was now pulling over to the curb, probably to resecure something that had come loose because of her quick move.

      She found a parking spot in front and was quickly out and heading for the front steps when she remembered she’d left her PDA in the car. Since it had all her notes in it, including those on Marion’s letter, she turned to go back for it.

      And stopped dead, staring.

      She blinked, but she knew she wasn’t mistaken. The blue car that had been behind her was stopped in the convenience-store parking lot. The vehicle was still running, dark-tinted windows closed. Angled so the driver could see the police department building, and the spot in which she’d parked her rental.

      She recognized it now as the car that had pulled out from behind the gardening truck at the same time she had. As if the driver had seen her spot him, the car suddenly reversed out of the drive, tires squealing. The car rocked as the driver hit the brakes. She heard the bark of tires biting as the car accelerated hard and fast, cutting back into the traffic lane, nearly clipping an SUV that was driving decorously along in the slow lane.

      In moments the blue car was out of sight.

      Coincidence?

      She couldn’t be sure, but she didn’t think so.

      What she did think was that she had the answer to that chill she’d felt before. On some level she’d been aware of the car’s presence.

      On some level she’d known she was being followed.

      Chapter 4

      “Just what I need, a fed.”

      Alex caught the muttered imprecation, although she doubted she’d been meant to. Detective Eric Hunt—Kayla had introduced them and then sneakily decamped—looked up quickly, as if he suspected he’d spoken too loudly.

      He’d be nice looking, she thought, if he ever smiled. There was something appealing about his boy-next-door looks, sandy hair and golden-brown eyes. He seemed…trustworthy, she thought. A good quality in a cop.

      “Look,” he said, “I know you’re a friend of the lieutenant’s—”

      “Don’t let that influence you.”

      He gave her a look that told her what he thought of that piece of impossibility.

      “Just,” she said lightly, “think of me as a P.I.”

      She smiled. He frowned.

      “A P.I.? With an FBI badge?”

      “This has nothing to do with the FBI. I’m investigating an old case of yours, yes, but as a private citizen.”

      She supposed she couldn’t blame him for the suspicions that showed in his expression. In his place, she’d be hard-pressed not to wonder herself.

      In his place, she thought, I’d get some sleep.

      He looked beyond tired. Beyond even exhausted. He looked, she realized, burned out. She’d become familiar with the look, that world-weary, heard-too-much, seen-too-much expression that could quickly collapse into don’t-give-a-damn. Once somebody hit that wall, coming back was a long, hard road many chose not to even attempt.

      He leaned back in his chair. It creaked, the way just about every government chair she’d ever seen did. His cubicle was typical, small but not cramped, plastered with notices and suspect photographs, official memos and reminders.

      But not, she noticed, much in the way of personal items. A postcard with a photograph of a snowcapped mountain, a snapshot of what appeared to be that same mountain and, looped over a pushpin, a long chain with a set of dog tags. She couldn’t read the name from where she stood.

      “How long have you been a cop?” she asked.

      His frown deepened. She guessed if she’d been anybody else the answer would have been “What’s it to you?” Instead it was a grudging, “Eighteen years.”

      Long enough to burn out. And then some. “First job?” she guessed. He didn’t look over forty, even with the tired eyes.

      “Yeah. Straight into the academy from college.” He shrugged. “All I ever wanted to be.”

      He still sounded a bit on edge, so she tried another tack.

      “Just so we’re clear, I don’t expect anything from you. I’m not asking that you reactivate the case or get involved at all. I’m just letting you know I’m here, and what I’ll be doing.”

      “What do you want, then?”

      “Your thoughts about the case, mainly. And a look at the original file. I’ve seen ours but not yours. Although, if you have any personal notes or recollections, copies of those would help, too. Beyond that, I’ll stay out of your hair.”

      He leaned back slightly, puzzlement replacing the frown on his face. “Why?”

      She lifted one shoulder. “Because, this is personal, not official.”

      “Oh? You guys took over the case in the first place, the vic being a senator and all, so why don’t you check with your own investigators?”

      “I have. But you were first investigator on the scene. Your impressions are the most important.”

      “So I’m supposed to believe an FBI agent—”

      “Scientist.”

      “Whatever. I’m supposed to believe the FBI shows up in tiny little Athens asking about the unsolved ten-year-old murder of a former U.S. senator, and it’s only personal, I’m not going to get sucked up into the federal wood chipper?”

      Her mouth twitched. She fought the grin. “It is a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?”

      She finally got the smile she’d been thinking about earlier. And it did, as she’d suspected it would, transform his face. He went from guarded and world-weary to open and approachable—and charming—in the space of a few seconds.

      “It really is personal,” she assured him. “Marion Gracelyn was a longtime family friend. She was like an aunt to me, and my family would really like to know the full truth of what happened that night.”

      “Wouldn’t we all,” Hunt said wryly.

      “It means even more to me, because of where it happened.”

      He lifted one sandy brow. “The women’s academy? You go there?”

      “I did.”

      He looked curious then. “I hear it’s quite a place. Lieutenant Ryan went there didn’t she?”

      Alex nodded. “She did. We were best friends.”

      “And she’s one of the best cops I’ve ever worked with.”

      “I’ll tell her you said so,” Alex said with a smile.

      “Oh.” He looked chagrinned. “I guess you