An image surfaced—spinning and blurry—of it landing in the dirt in front of her. She didn't remember touching it. She'd been too focused on...
The woman on the ground. The faceless man snapping his fingers.
"Your prints are all over it."
"Because it's mine. We went over this." She still remembered the way her mom had smiled at her the day she'd tied it around Haley's neck. Probably the last civil moment there'd been in her family. The task had been arduous for Katherine Billings and the tie had slipped between her fingers several times, but she refused help.
You have so much potential, don't waste it.
"I lost it. Is that a crime?"
"Why don't we take a ride." He moved to the passenger's side of his car. Not the back, but the front.
And still Haley couldn't take a full breath. "I'm going to respectfully decline."
He shook his head, a smile on his face. In another world it might have been reassuring. Alluring. "It's not optional. You can either come peacefully with me to the station and answer some questions or I'll cuff you. Front or backseat. Your choice."
"I haven't done anything. A medallion with my prints is a pretty far cry from a crime."
"Then getting in the car—answering some questions—shouldn't be hard."
No. It wouldn't be, because she wasn't getting in his car. She wasn't going anywhere with anyone. Wasn't sitting too close to Simon while he asked questions she couldn't answer... His suspicions—whatever they currently were—would grow. Nope.
She was going to—
The whoosh of automatic doors caught her attention. Ryan exited, a scowl on his face as he stared at his phone. But if he looked up, he'd see her car. He'd see her. He'd know...
Part of her wanted to confront him. Wanted to ask if he'd taken her research. If...
But the sane part, what little there was left, was a giant pool of dread cased in a solid block of terror. Once upon a time that would've driven her toward the story. The more danger, the more glory.
But this was different. Because Claudia was alive and she couldn't remember why that would shake her, but it did. And Theo...
"Haley." Simon's voice reached her ears.
"Yeah. Okay. Fine." She ducked around Simon and got into the front seat. He paused and watched her a second. She didn't dare look in Ryan's direction. The less fuss there was, the quicker they got out of here.
Simon closed the door. She slumped down enough to be out of sight—kept her posture in what she hoped portrayed a sulky teenager versus scared-spitless adult.
She sucked in a slow breath. Hoped it quelled her roiling stomach.
Ryan walked in their direction, toward his car—a black Mercedes Haley had ridden in one time. Back before he'd realized she didn't part with sensitive information.
Not on any story she wrote.
He'd banked on the opposite. Had assumed her questionable lifestyle—the only experience he'd ever had with her—bled into everything she did.
He'd been wrong.
And it had pissed him off. So much so, he'd put his hands around her neck and squeezed until the lights around her had dimmed. And the only reason he hadn't completed the job was because she'd absorbed to...
There were fingers snapping. She was on her hands and knees. Trying to draw in air. Her heart had been stuttering out of control, her ability to swallow nonexistent. There was somebody—a man—telling her to breathe. She'd cursed him. Cursed him through the pain of a thousand knives in her esophagus.
At least you know you're alive.
Haley sucked in a breath. Watched Simon round the hood of his unmarked cruiser at a pace that communicated that he had all day.
And Ryan was headed in their direction now. Anxiety climbed her insides, a number of horrific scenes going through her head.
She closed her eyes. Tried to eradicate the image of Ryan dragging her from Simon's car, shooting her in broad daylight. Maybe shooting Simon too.
There was nothing stopping him.
As a well-respected doctor he could spin whatever story he wanted. Pin it all on her with very little effort.
The sound of male voices reached her ears. "That woman...a gun...six months ago...Claudia Morris...Alive."
The words made her eyes spring open. Ryan stood near the driver's side door in front of Simon, who had his hand on the hood of his car. Listening. Intent on what he probably figured was another innocent civilian caught in Haley's crosshairs.
Caught in all the bad decisions she could never outrun. Her gaze caught the building. The space between where they stood and possible freedom.
She moved into the driver's seat. Simon's gaze flicked toward her briefly. Froze her for a millisecond before she checked for keys and found none.
He didn't move toward her, his gaze refocusing on Ryan.
She wasn't staying here. But he probably thought she would. That she had no choice.
She put both feet onto the door. Gripped the handle and shoved with all her might. The metal slammed into Ryan's torso and knees, buckling him forward in an instant. A string of curses escaped his mouth as he hit the pavement.
She took off in a sprint.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Six months ago
THE NIGHT SKY was a dark blue, the last bit of sunlight dipping into the horizon. Little twinkling lights peeked out from the darkness like specks of shiny dirt. The glitter of a party gown. The sparkle of diamonds.
Right now, the slap of the waves reverberated in her head like an airplane crashing into concrete. The lap of frigid water trickled over her toes which had only begun to feel attached once again.
Another wave came in, this time to her ankle. It drenched material that seemed already waterlogged and heavy as a lead anchor. Rooted her body right here. To soft sand. Eased all the pain for a moment.
Maybe death was a beach where nobody bothered you. Or bothered to look for you. Where stars twinkled and reminded you of happier times and pushed away the madness that normally crept in the space where a brain should reside.
Instead of thoughts, there was the sound of waves. The call of critters in the night. The feel of cool water. The tangle of beach drift grasping for a way to stay ashore.
There were memories. A family. Death. Tragedy.
Those were the things this place could make a mind forget. All of it. Even the good. The truth of it was all right there.
"Listen..." The voice was masculine but younger, the speaker out of sight. The rattle of glass hitting glass was as loud as the waves. Conjured the image of a bar. Seedy nightlife. A woman begging for help, mascara dripping down her face. The urge to tell this woman that help would never arrive.
Or if it did, it would be far too late.
There was no way to change it.
Hands gripped Haley's shoulders. Hands that spanned the entire length on either side. Not that of a child's.
"Wait." The younger voice had Haley's eyelids peeling open to a spinning world. Her world had been spinning for so long this was almost normal. "She could have a head injury."
"She doesn't have a head injury, kid." The words were terse. Came from the man with the hands on her shoulders. From a face that came in triplicate features that wouldn't stay still. Wouldn't come into focus. "Come on, Haley. We had a deal." A snapping sound reverberated in her ears. "It didn't include you hitting the bottle. Where's the reporter after a story? You're better than this."
"I'm telling you she hit her head. There's a lump. She fell and hit it or someone hit her."
Incoherent grumbling flitted around her before fingers grazed over her skull. Pinpointed the area in question. Brought a flash of pain to life in every nerve of her body.
A sharp inhale of breath filled the night—her own.
Yeah. Someone had hit her. She could see it—almost see it in her mind. But the person had been behind her. Ready to kill her. Ready to kill... "Claudia."
"All right, kid. You win. It's not busted open, but she's probably got
a concussion."
Haley tried to sit up. Didn't even make it an inch off the ground before the world collapsed in a giant black hole. Before her stomach threatened total annihilation.
Those hands hadn't left her body. She had to get to Claudia Morris. Had to get to...Anne.
"Sit tight. We'll get you to a hospital."
No. She wasn't going to a hospital. Wasn't going to have cops questioning if she could remember whatever she was supposed to remember. Wasn't going to watch the distrust and disbelief roll over their faces ever again.
The hands left her. "I'm going in."
In where?
"Kid, can you handle this?"
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Present Day
"DO YOU WANT me to track Haley down?" Lieutenant Jeff Hastings had been the bearer of bad news. Had burst through Captain Simon Riley's office door as if he held the winning lotto ticket.
Of course he would.
Apprehending suspects and taking them off the streets was the goal. And after their morning he likely felt he had something to prove. A giant I-can't-be-detoured in the form of evidence that pointed in a direction that should've been a no-brainer to accept.
Simon had wished it was a lottery ticket—if even a losing one.
Instead Jeff had held incriminating evidence. Handed it over to Simon.
Did he want Jeff to track down Haley?
Haley, who'd had no qualms about assaulting Ryan Henderson with a car door earlier. Haley who'd sported so much defiance seconds prior to getting into his car that he didn't trust one moment of the encounter. Haley who'd run so fast, there hadn't been a way to catch up. Not without leaving Ryan on the ground—blood pouring from where his head had hit the concrete.
Claudia Morris is alive and Haley Billings knows why.
"Captain..."
Simon wanted three seconds to think. To put all the information he had together and see it for what it was. Not for what everyone thought it should be, but the truth.
He'd been searching for it for years.
"We've got her fingerprints all over that medallion and ballistics matched the casings at the scene to a Glock which she owns."
That should be it. They'd get a search warrant. Have the lab test her Glock. But there was something in his gut not settling right. Same as when Harper Valencourt had come into the station. "A gun we do not have in our possession."
"A matter of a search warrant."
Where were they going to search?
Haley had no current place of residence, a job that was relatively new—and if the verification call he'd placed earlier was any indication, on its way out—a car that was paid for, a burner cell phone, and a small storage unit. A unit likely filled with notebooks full of interviews she'd conducted. There would be nothing of value—if there had been, she would've sold it to keep up her habit.
Even though she had a large trust fund.
Simon had noted small amounts of money pulled from it every month and transferred into Haley's personal savings account, with a few large sums taken out a few years ago. Likely when Haley had moved back to town.
The money was untouched, minus a purchase made at a local ammunitions store.
"You'd have to get a warrant for half of California then too. Don't you own a Glock, Jeff? Heck, even Sam and Elliot have Glocks."
Jeff shook his head. "With all due respect, my prints aren't at the scene."
The chief wouldn't hold out on an arrest for a gut feeling. It was only a matter of time and more evidence before an arrest warrant was drawn up. There would be no way for Simon to stop it. No way for him to give Haley the benefit of the doubt.
He shouldn't even have the urge to do so.
We were out here on an op.
Would Haley attempt to shoot her own sister? And if she had, why?
Haley was probably somewhere outside of California by now, maybe with a stolen car or any other number of crimes that were her signature calling card.
"I heard she gave you the slip."
Simon was still awaiting having his rear end chewed over the rookie mistake. "I'm sure you did."
What he had in front of him was outside the norm. He should be celebrating an easy victory. A quick arrest could solve a simple, casualty-free case.
And maybe if it weren't for Claudia Morris he could enjoy the thought. Walk away and say Haley Billings deserved whatever came her way.
But Claudia was alive and Harper Valencourt was still dead, the bullet in his brain his own doing. And if they hadn't found and buried Claudia five months ago, then who had it been and why had Valencourt taken his life over it?
Those questions had been on repeat in his mind. Drudged up by a phone call from Claudia Morris' husband. As he sat in the hospital next to his wife and prayed that his young daughter might make it back.
Simon had taken that simple victory after weeks of legwork. He'd taken it. He'd closed the case. And no one had wondered about the suicide. Why Harper Valencourt had come to the station and blew his brains out right in front of Simon.
There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't see the last image in the man's eyes. An emotion that haunted him endlessly.
Afterward, the focus had been burying Claudia. Finding Anne.
And maybe...
"I know all the places she usually hangs out. The Colonel—he's hoping she'll snap out of it. She'll join Hope Alive. Maybe if I talk to her..."
The Colonel ever ask you to check up on either Sam or Haley?
No. But maybe he should have on his own. "Haley is not going to talk to you, Jeff." She wasn't going to talk to anyone. Not until she was good and ready. And even then it would be half-truths and spitfire.
Simon stood. "I'll take care of the warrant. I've already talked to the chief about reassigning you."
Jeff's posture straightened. "This is because Haley and I went to college together. Used to be friends." He paused. "Because of Sam."
"It's not a death sentence. This case is relatively small. There are no casualties..." Not yet. Not ever if he could help it. "With the information we've got, we'll wrap it up quickly." But not without further assessment. "And if Haley is involved—"
"She is, sir. I'm not going to watch Sam get hurt or killed. The evidence doesn't lie."
The evidence didn't lie. Haley's actions didn't lie. Her life told the story that agreed with all of it in a way that should've had him eager to slap on cuffs. "We've got one chance at this. If Haley is still in town, she's not anywhere she normally would be."
Not if she were smart. Then again, maybe that's exactly what she would do. She was either the woman who would shoot at her own family. Or she was a woman caught in something much worse.
You took an oath...
And when Simon found her—because he would—he wasn't bringing her to the station for a talk. He wasn't going to repeat the mistakes he'd made with Valencourt.
Wasn't going to ignore his gut ever again.
Because that look in Valencourt's eyes—sadness, anger, distrust—was what he saw in Haley's brown eyes.
If she deserved cuffs and a sentence, Simon would deliver it. But not until he was one hundred percent positive.
CHAPTER TWENTY
SAM HAD LEFT the hospital and gone back to work. Attempted to piece together Haley's notes. Lucinda had interrupted several times—had the Colonel talked to her? Had she eaten lunch?—before Sam had opted for heading home. Nearly tripped on a colorful skateboard the moment she'd walked into her front door. She knew by the colors it was Ricky's, but the house was empty and quiet.
So she'd propped the board near the front door and spread out Haley's papers at the kitchen table. Poured herself a glass of wine. Popped in the flash drive. There were several documents and a video.
Haley had recorded places Theo Trenton had been sighted. Witnesses she'd spoken to. Several attempts to make contact with the family early on. There was a gap in the details that spanned Haley's recovery following her assault. An increase
of data two months before they'd found Theo in the warehouse. And then nothing until a month ago, a name circled several times.
Harper Valencourt.
The man who'd committed suicide shortly after being arrested for Claudia Morris' murder. There was a hand-drawn picture of Shaver Lake in the margin of a short interview on the final page. A star marked a place along the shore. The ink was a bubble gum pink versus the black used everywhere else.
As if the diagram had been drawn at a different time.
Sam fingered the medallion the little girl had given her. If Ricky had come across it, why hadn't he given it to Sam this morning? Why had he given it to a little girl not guaranteed to run into Sam?
She opened the video on the flash drive to find a grainy shot of four men dragging a nearly unresponsive woman into an alley. Her dark hair and lithe frame was recognizable in an instant that made Sam's heart pound.
This was not just any woman, but her sister, positioned with her lower half off screen.
And those were the men—
Haley had never talked about the assault. Never said if she remembered the event. The faces. The horror. There'd been no witnesses. No camera feed the police could recover.
And none of them had ever been caught. They continued to walk the streets—the same streets her sister did.
A flash of anger surged through Sam's system. Where had this flash drive come from? And why wasn't it being used to track these guys down?
She reached for it. Knew how the rest of this played out. Jeff had told her in the barest of details.
He'd come upon her in that alley. Called 9-1-1.
A tall man appeared on the far left side of the feed with a military haircut—shovel in hand. Sam froze.
He moved toward the men and hit two of them directly over the head. Sent the other two running. Then he pulled his shirt from his torso and threw it over the part of Haley's body that was off camera. Picked her up.
Jeff was nowhere in sight of the camera. Jeff, who'd made it seem as if he were the first one on scene. The first one to come to Haley's rescue.
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