the businesses not yet open. It was so different from the bustle of urban life. She was still adjusting to the slow pace of Tuckerville, and Desert Valley was even smaller. Growing up with a father who loved cities, the bigger the better, they’d lived everywhere from San Francisco to Austin until they’d settled in Arizona. It was in sun-bleached Phoenix that her Uncle Ray, a reporter who’d spent fourteen years looking for them, finally tracked them down, delivering the truth in a scorching revelation. Her father was a murderer and a child abductor.
The ever-present tension in her stomach kicked up a notch. Madison Coles had no one now, except Kate. The thought of her sister and the tender closeness they no longer shared cut at her.
Why couldn’t Kate understand that the truth had set them free? But Kate had never accepted the loss of their father. His incarceration was the beginning of a very long, troubled path that saw her sister bounce from one disastrous relationship to another until finally she’d hit rock bottom two months ago and called Madison. Two months of ups and downs, but Madison was filled with hope that they might finally be rebuilding some small hope of a relationship. One positive sign? The note from her sister on the kitchen table that morning next to the neatly remade sofa bed where Kate had slept.
Got a waitressing job in DV! Tell you more later.
A job was a start—a great start—and though she wouldn’t admit it, she’d kept the scrawled message because of the little heart her sister had drawn there. Thank you, God, Madison breathed.
As she cruised downtown Desert Valley, Madison was not sure which restaurant had hired Kate. Not that there were many choices. There was the Cactus Café, a sandwich outfit and a new hot-dog shop that promised to open soon. No sushi place or Korean barbecue, unfortunately.
Stepping from the car, she decided to do some research for the story she’d been assigned while she tried to locate her sister. It was time to start interviewing the local business owners. At the other end of the street, she saw a police car pull to the curb. James Harrison stepped out, long, lean legs, powerful shoulders, a serious expression on his face and Hawk by his side. She might have assumed James always looked serious, but she’d seen his smile and the sparkle in those incredible eyes before he heard what her profession was. Don’t bother dreaming about those eyes, she chided herself.
He obviously had some megachip on his shoulder about reporters. Fine. When she was occupied in her extracurricular snooping, she’d go around him, find sources other than the handsome Harrison and his sarcastic colleague Ken Bucks. She about-faced and headed in the other direction to keep her distance.
Her stroll took her past the Brides and Belles bridal salon. All that white lace and beadwork on the display dresses made her queasy. Marriage was packaged up in pretty bows and baubles, but her parents’ marriage had been a living torment that ended in murder.
He beat her, Uncle Ray had told them. Your father terrorized your mother until it escalated to murder. The death of his sister left Ray with a burning need to deliver justice and save his nieces from growing up with a killer.
A killer. The gentle, smiling father who smelled of aftershave and was devoted to his girls. Daddy to them, murderer of their mother. The incongruity made her dizzy, and ten years of trying to understand it hadn’t made it any more comprehensible.
It was a half hour before opening time, but she spotted two cars in the lot behind the store: a battered pickup and a new black sedan.
Madison swallowed and tapped on the glass front door of the shop. Inside, a small lady with blond hair pulled into a tight bun jerked her head up from a display case to look at Madison. The blonde shook her head. “Not open,” she mouthed.
“I just want to talk to you for a minute,” Madison tried.
The lady shook her head firmly. “Not open. Come back later.”
“But...”
The woman turned away and disappeared into the back of the shop.
“Could this place be any less welcoming?” she grumbled. “Maybe the Cactus Café will have one kindly soul who will talk to me.” Her route took her by the side door of the bridal salon, which was ajar. Angry words floated out.
“No excuses,” a low voice rumbled.
She could not hear the reply, but the tone was tense, high-pitched. Madison inched up, poised to knock on the door and offer help if necessary.
“...tell you again.” She did not hear the rest except for the name Tony. Careful to step quietly, she edged closer, hand on her phone, ready to call the police.
“Please...” came a woman’s voice.
Fear echoed in her tone and rolled through Madison. Fear. How Madison hated the emotion. Hearing it made her wonder what her mother had felt just before she’d been strangled, with the hideous knowledge that she was helpless at the hands of someone she’d trusted, loved.
Madison heard the sound of ripping cloth. It was too much. She could not stand there one more second and allow the woman inside to be harmed.
She darted through the door, emerging into the back room of the salon. Racks of plastic-covered dresses blocked her view. The floor creaked loudly under her feet. Should she call the police? But they already thought she was a trouble-maker, and no one had exactly invited her into the salon. Nonetheless, she kept her hand on her phone keypad.
Heart hammering, she pushed past the dresses, the plastic crinkling under her touch.
The shop owner’s eyes were round with fear, hands clasped to her mouth.
“Are you okay?” Madison asked, stepping through the dresses.
The woman didn’t answer. Her gaze shifted slightly. Madison saw the shadow of movement in her peripheral vision. She turned and got a glimpse of a man, an impression only of a bald scalp, the swing of an arm, a rush of air.
Then something exploded against the side of her head. Sparks of pain charged through her body. Her vision blurred, narrowed, and she crumpled to the floor.
She heard the woman scream as she slid into darkness.
* * *
James was getting into his car to head back to the station. His radio crackled, something about a break-in at the bridal salon. He was about to respond when a black sedan shot past him at a speed approaching fifty miles an hour. Had the car come from the salon parking lot?
James turned on the siren and gunned the engine, taking off in pursuit and praying no pedestrians were in the path of the crazed driver. Hawk sat up, rigid, and bayed so loud James’s ears rang.
“Quiet,” he called. They took the bend out of town, the sedan shimmying and bucking as if the driver was not fully in control. James tried to catch the license-plate number, but it was covered in mud. As he turned a corner, he rolled past a tiny grocery store. Out in front was a truck half in the road, the deliveryman loading a dolly full of vegetable crates.
With a last-minute correction, the sedan jerked past, barely missing the deliveryman, who fell over, heads of lettuce tumbling everywhere. The sedan plowed into the side of the truck, sending bits of metal and glass flying. James leaped out and drew his revolver.
“Put your hands where I can see them,” he shouted.
There
