been working for months. Richard wanted to nab Le Grande as much as, or more than, Trent did.
Trent respected Richard’s ability to sift clues out of a mass of information, and he always came up with gold. Richard’s analytical skills were the very reason Trent and the Indian Lake PD had been brought into the investigation. Richard and his superiors at CBOC strategized with Trent and Stan Williams, Indian Lake’s chief of police, about the plan for this sting. They’d all been so certain that this time they would lure Le Grande into their trap.
But Trent had bungled it. He felt guilty. And angry with himself. He was better than this. It had been that split second. That tiny falter where his mind had tripped there. To Afghanistan.
The military said he had PTSD. He hadn’t believed them at first. He’d thought it was just an adjustment to civilian life, but it had been over five years now. He’d tried counseling until he felt he was counseling the counselor. He’d meditated. He took medications guaranteed to stop the flashbacks. He’d been to the mountain of Zen and back. Nothing worked.
Finally, he faced the fact that like the memories, the flashbacks would never go away.
They just were.
And that could get him killed. He couldn’t and wouldn’t tell a soul about his flashback today. It had been a blip. Two seconds. Maybe less. But that’s all it had taken. If Le Grande had been firing his gun, Trent or someone else could have been killed.
Trent had to find a way to push through his demons. He’d learned to focus more on the moment, and that had helped. But it wasn’t perfect yet. He wasn’t perfect.
The email pinged again.
Trent shook off his dour thoughts and read Richard’s note.
Trent—
I can’t believe we’ve been on this guy’s case so long and missed this one. Get this. He’s been married before. Even has a kid. And yes, you guessed it, she’s right there in Indian Lake. My team is all over the news. No wonder the creep is in your backyard.
Keep this on the down low. Except for your COP, I’d play it close to the vest for now. We don’t need anyone alerting her to our knowledge about Le Grande. She could be in on his gang activity. We’re checking that out.
Trent, I have a man on the inside. Undercover cop. Not just an informant, which I don’t trust completely. He’s feeding me intel.
There’s not much on her. We tracked down a divorce decree. No particulars other than that. And there was no mention of a kid in the decree. It was six years ago. So maybe he didn’t know about the kid.
Le Grande chose Indian Lake initially as a transfer station for drug trafficking. This new intel is a game changer. Because of the ex-wife, we believe he’s not lost to you.
Was it possible that he was getting a second chance? Maybe his luck had turned. He and his men had rounded up every man in the building. They’d only missed Le Grande.
So, Le Grande had a family.
Now that was an anchor for any man.
Trent had never had a family of his own and didn’t think he ever would. Not with his PTSD. But even his two undercover agents had wives and kids. Lives. They didn’t seem to have any problems after Iraq. At least none they talked about.
Trent finished reading Richard’s note.
The woman’s name is Susan Kramer. We believe Raoul Le Grande is actually Brad Kramer. They lived on Chicago’s South Side.
She’s living in Indian Lake under an alias. You’ll find her as Cate Sullivan.
Trent slammed back against his chair. “Cate Sullivan? The real-estate agent?”
Cate Sullivan had her photograph plastered on huge agency billboards at the main entrances to town. She was that pretty brunette he’d seen at the Indian Lake Deli from time to time with one of the deli owners, Olivia Melton, who’d just got engaged to Rafe Barzonni. Trent knew the four Barzonni brothers—Gabe, Rafe, Mica and Nate—as well as their mother, Gina, a recent widow, because they donated heavily to the policemen’s widows and orphans fund as well as the City Playground Fund, which Trent spearheaded. He’d even seen Cate with Sarah Bosworth, the wife of his workout buddy, Luke.
Luke was a former navy SEAL and, along with Scott Abbott, a journalist for the local newspaper and owner of the Book Stop and Coffee Shop; they all tested their skills at the shooting range south of town twice a month. Just yesterday morning, Trent had bumped into Cate at Cupcakes and Cappuccino, Maddie Barzonni’s café.
Trent swiped his face. So while he didn’t know Cate Sullivan personally, he definitely knew of her.
This was ludicrous. She seemed like a nice person. A sweet woman, always smiling and polite.
She was mixed up with one of the biggest drug dealers in the Midwest?
Trent stared at the email. The longer he was a cop, the more humanity shocked him. He’d thought he’d seen it all in Afghanistan.
But the thought that Cate Sullivan was part of Le Grande’s heroin trafficking gang—Trent’s heart grew weary with the idea. God help them all.
CATE WALKED INTO the living room during the baby shower for Liz and Gabe Barzonni in time to see her six-year-old son, Danny, holding Liz’s baby, Angelo Ezekiel. Sarah and Luke Bosworth’s children, Timmy and Annie, sat on either side of him. On the floor surrounding the kids was a sea of tissue, boxes and glittery gift bags that Liz and Gabe had clearly opened earlier. The children were oblivious to the mess or the pile of presents to the side of the sofa.
“Danny, be careful,” Cate said as she deposited a silver tray of petits fours on the linen-covered dining-room table. She’d never been to a couple’s shower like this. Nearly every light in Sarah’s house had been turned on, not to mention dozens of taper candles and votives flickering on the tables, mantel and along the windowsills. The house was so illuminated it could probably be seen from outer space, Cate thought. And everywhere laughter suffused the air with joy.
“I’m doing good, Mom!” Danny assured her, tilting the baby into the crook of his arm. He looked so grown-up and sure of himself at that moment, her little man. It seemed only a blink ago that Danny was a baby, and here he was already in kindergarten and making new friends.
Cate looked around. The entire Barzonni family was present, and not one of Cate’s girlfriends was missing. Mrs. Beabots, an elegant eighty-year-old wearing a black vintage Chanel suit with a half dozen ropes of pearls, gold links and colored gems, held court with the newly engaged Olivia Melton and Rafe Barzonni.
Luke walked through the room with an open bottle of sparkling wine. “Gabe’s vineyard is very proud of their first sparkling crop.” He smiled at Cate.
“Oh, Luke, wine isn’t a crop,” Cate joked.
“Why not?” He foisted a wounded look onto the bottle with its gold foil label.
“It’s a batch,” handsome, black-haired Gabe said, breezing through
