Dead End. Lisa Phillips

       ONE

      Nina Holmes squeezed her hands into fists and resisted the urge to slam them down on the counter. “Ma’am, with all due respect. I’m not leaving until you tell me what I want to know.”

      Probably not proper decorum for the federal courthouse, but what else was she supposed to do? This woman was her last option. Nina had to get this information.

      The name tag read “SONDRA,” and it jiggled as she huffed. “Be that as it may, I am only a federal employee. I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

      Nina pushed the creased and worn paper closer to Sondra. “I just need you to contact this person at the other federal courthouse, the one in Baltimore, where these records are kept. They can have the file transferred here. It’s so old it’s paper, but only an employee of the courthouse can request the file.”

      Now that Nina was a retired CIA agent, she had zero clout.

      Sondra looked at the paper with one penciled eyebrow raised. Nina took a deep breath and launched in. “You see, I’m looking into an old case. It was an FBI investigation into the murder of a congresswoman that took place nearly thirty years ago—my mother. I need this file, Sondra.”

      It was the one thing she’d never been able to let go of, even in all her years at the CIA running covert missions. Her best friend had been there for her since third grade all the way through their time with the CIA. But now Sienna had gotten married, and they were no longer secret agents for the US government.

      Sienna had a new life, and Nina had...nothing but the will to find the truth. That was why she had to look into her mom’s death, and maybe even discover the real killer once and for all, so her father—wrongly convicted of the crime—could finally have peace. So that she could have peace. Otherwise she was never going to be able to move on with her life.

      Sondra fingered the paper.

      Nina sighed. “Please, help me.”

      The woman took the name and phone number of the person Nina had been in contact with in Baltimore—where the murder and trial had taken place. But she didn’t pick up the phone. She moved her fingers over the keyboard. The clicking of keys took on a rapid pace, and soon Sondra sat back.

      “This person, whoever it is, doesn’t show up in my system as working for that particular courthouse.” She pointed to the paper. “And that phone number is for the Baltimore public library.”

      Nina flinched. “What? How is that possible? I called the federal courthouse. I was transferred to that person. He knew about my mother’s case. He said he remembered it from the news reports, since the husband killed his congresswoman-wife.” Nina swallowed against the bad taste of those words. Her father had been innocent. “He said he would process my request.”

      “I must be too young to remember it.” Sondra’s eyes narrowed. “That is what the computer says. I’m sorry I can’t help you more.” She glanced over Nina’s shoulder and raised her voice. “I can help the next in line!”

      Nina staggered back. What was going on? She’d thought for sure today would be the day she would finally see the file.

      The public library. How could she have been given that number by mistake? None of this made any sense. The process should have been...not easy, but at least possible. She might have worked for the CIA, but it wasn’t as though she could just call up one of her old coworkers and ask them for information on a domestic murder that happened years ago.

      Nina stumbled down the hall, the injury in her left hand aching beneath the brace she wore to cover the scars. She didn’t need the questions, usually innocent enough, but she had no interest in being reminded how she’d gotten the nasty cut. She had more important things to worry about. Her teaching job at the local college would start with the fall semester in a few weeks. Until then the clock was ticking.

      It was time to find the killer and put the past to rest once and for all.

      She’d walked from the apartment she rented close to the federal courthouse. She lived downtown simply so she didn’t burn extra money on a car, insurance payments and gas. The college where she had been hired to teach economics was nearby. A new chapter for her new life.

      But so far she was getting nowhere.

      Nina blew out a breath and pushed open the heavy door. The Oregon fall weather was breezy with a pleasant temperature, much different from the biting East Coast air she was used to. Nina hitched her purse higher on her shoulder and tried to push down the frustration while she figured out a new plan of attack. Regroup. That was all she had to do, and the CIA had taught her how. She just needed to come at this from a different angle.

      The concrete steps were smooth under her canvas flats. Traffic whizzed past, and two men in bulletproof vests walked a man in an orange jumpsuit up toward her. She stepped aside, too preoccupied to really look at them. They were just doing their jobs. It wasn’t their fault she was having a bad day.

      But they slowed.

      Whether she knew them because Sienna was now married to a marshal or not, Nina didn’t want to make small talk. She trotted down the steps onto the sidewalk and turned in the direction of home. Two steps after she had set off, someone yelled her name.

      Wyatt? She turned back to tell him she couldn’t talk, or wasn’t in the mood for it, or some variation of that.

      A silver car jumped the curb as it barreled toward her.

      Nina didn’t have time to scream. She jumped aside and prayed she wouldn’t die before she found her mother’s real killer, a man who had been having an affair with her mother. A man who called himself Mr. Thomas and who’d told her stories of spies, pirates and fair maidens.

      A man no one had ever believed existed when she’d told them he killed her mother.

      Nina hit the ground and rolled.

      * * *

      Deputy US Marshal Wyatt Ames ensured his partner had hold of the prisoner and sprinted down the steps. The silver car raced away, but he ran to Nina with his gun ready. It was a reflex to draw his weapon, but he wasn’t going to shoot at a car fleeing the scene. Too easy to hit an innocent person on a busy downtown street.

      Behind him Parker called in the make and model, no plates. Request for EMTs, possible injuries.

      “Nina.” He crouched beside her and holstered his weapon. “Nina, are you okay?”

      She groaned. “No.” She sounded mad, which almost made Wyatt smile.

      He helped her roll over, which made her groan again. The road rash on her right arm and her temple made him wince.

      She eyed him. “That bad, huh?”

      He didn’t return her smile—there was too much fear in her blue eyes. He did lift her left hand so he could survey the scar from the injury she’d had the day he’d met her. She had a wrist brace on, and he couldn’t see the injury on her fingers. Was it under the brace material? That would mean the injury was down by her thumb. Why hadn’t he known that?

      Wyatt had been there the day they rescued her from the house where she’d been held, months ago now. Caught up in Sienna’s amnesia, and the hunt for a flash drive of sensitive information Sienna had hidden before she lost her memory, Nina had been kidnapped in order to draw Sienna out. The man who had held her was dead now, but Nina had been injured.

      When they’d found her, Nina’s left hand had been bandaged, the wrappings soaked in blood. Yet she’d still been strong enough to push through and help Wyatt’s partner—Parker—find Sienna, who was now his wife. That danger had passed, and Parker and Sienna were finally free to be happy.

      Wyatt had been impressed by Nina that day, and it hadn’t let up since. Clearly her inner character was as beautiful as she was on the outside, even with