The gray walls of the interrogation room closed in on Jazz, and she struggled to maintain control. The godawful paint color and the confining walls reminded her too much of the closet her mother used to lock her in when customers came calling.

Jane had been trapped then.

Jazz felt trapped now.

Tower was dead. Their only solid lead.

Jazz’s head thudded with pain. She prayed Tower’s murder was just a coincidence, some cosmic bad luck, but she knew better. His body found near her apartment, her apartment burning to the ground, their confrontations. If she’d been assigned Tower’s murder, she’d arrest herself.

She hadn’t done it, but all the events of the last few days aligned to one possibility…a setup, but who was framing her? The woman? The mob that appeared to have infiltrated the sheriff’s office? Had she seen something she shouldn’t have and not realized it or terminated someone and triggered a vendetta? Was she paranoid?

She rose from the chair, catching sight of her haggard reflection in the two-way mirror. Well, she was only delusional if they weren’t out to get her, and someone sure as hell seemed to be.

Circles shadowed her eyes, her fatigue evident. They were watching her, hoping she’d break. She closed her eyes and focused, pushing back the tide of despair that surged through her. She wouldn’t crack in front of them. She’d survived Truth or Consequences, she’d survived the streets. She refused to cave now.

Jazz turned away from the mirror. She was more concerned about Joy and Luke. He was in one of these rooms being interrogated. He should be with his daughter, protecting her. Jazz should be finding the woman who’d threatened Joy.

Jane’s name had been on that ball. Why? Were her past and Luke’s investigation connected? Too many questions. She needed answers, and instead she was in nearly the same situation she’d been in twelve years earlier. Sitting in jail.

Except this was worse. She had more to lose. This time she wasn’t a juvie, and she wasn’t here for solicitation or petty larceny for the scam she’d run. This time the rap would be for murder of a cop, and there’d be no friendly sheriff stepping in to save her.

Unlike the last time around, however, she was innocent.

Wexler strode in and sat across from her. “I’d get an appointment with your rep, Parker. And soon.”

She flipped her chair around and straddled the seat. “I didn’t do anything. Can’t you see what’s going on? I’m being framed.”

“A few hours ago you believed Tower was the one setting you up.” Skepticism dripped from his voice. “He’s dead now. What’s your new theory?”

“Tower’s death doesn’t mean he wasn’t responsible. Talk to Luke. Tower was involved in something dirty. Maybe he pissed off an accomplice. Maybe he just got mugged.”

“Montgomery is answering some tough questions of his own. Worry about yourself.” Wexler pulled out a photo and laid it in front of Jazz.

She gasped at what was left of Brian Tower’s body. He’d been brutalized.

“This was not a mugging gone bad, Parker. He was beaten to a pulp. His wallet was still in his pocket, his service revolver still on him. This was a crime of passion. By someone who hated him. Someone like you.”

“I didn’t do this. I couldn’t,” she whispered.

“You’re a sniper. You kill people for a living.”

She winced. She only did what was necessary to protect the innocent. She didn’t pull the trigger for revenge. She’d never do that. “Why would I murder Tower? Or vandalize my apartment and torch the building? None of it makes sense. You think I used my own blood to write myself a message?”

“We know it wasn’t yours.” He slammed another file on the table. “This is a preliminary report. The blood on the wall was feline.”

“A cat?”

“Reported missing by a couple who lived on the second floor of your apartment building.”

Jazz could barely think through the disbelief. The cops she’d trained with and battled beside had abandoned her without any resistance as far as she could tell. “Do you honestly believe I’d do this? Wreck my apartment, butcher a helpless animal, kill a cop?”

“We’re receiving reports from all over town that a woman matching your description was looking for Tower tonight, and she seemed mighty determined to find him. Several witnesses placed you in the park near the time of death.”

“I wasn’t at Apex Park. I’ll admit I was searching for him, but I never found him.”

“You had the means, motive, and a questionable alibi. How about this theory? Tower discovered corruption in the department and pegged you. You lied about your past, so maybe you were blackmailed, but he had the goods on you. You killed him. Then you and Luke cooked up this little scenario to get you off. Hell, maybe you hired the redheaded woman in the first place.”

“I’d never put a child at risk, Wexler. Never.” Jazz slammed her hands on the table. “I didn’t kill Tower. I didn’t do any of this.”

“Listen carefully, Jazz,” Wexler said. He leaned forward, focused and intense. “As far as Sheriff Tower is concerned, he’s figured the whole thing out. You’re guilty. You understand what I’m saying? According to Brian Tower’s IA investigation notes, you have a juvie record. We’re checking into it to see if there’s anything relevant. Any more scandalous facts and the sheriff will use it to bring you down.”

His words and tone sank in as she stared at his unwavering expression. He didn’t like what he had to do, but he didn’t have a choice. She’d been a fool to believe she could escape where she’d come from. Her whole life was unraveling, and she couldn’t stop it.

“Those records were expunged,” she said, her voice weak.

“Murder changes things. Call. Your. Rep.”

“Someone’s framing me to take a fall, and there’s only one person who might be able to tell us what’s going on. The redheaded woman. She’s the only connection to Tower. Have you investigated her?”

“I know how to do my job, Parker. We have the sketch from the girl’s description. Your ex-teammates have confirmed the woman who threatened Montgomery’s daughter was Tower’s lover, though they know her only as ‘Red.’ Thanks to their input, we’ve refined the drawing and sent it over the wires. She’s a smart cookie, though. She obscured her face from all the cameras in the sheriff’s office, which makes me wonder exactly what she’s up to. We’ll find her.”

“Maybe she’s working for the crime syndicate. Maybe she killed him.”

“We’ll bring her in for the Montgomery case and check her alibi for tonight. That’s all I’ll promise. In the meantime, worry about yourself. You’re at the top of the suspect list. And I don’t think that’ll change unless some damned impressive information falls in our lap.”

Stunned, Jazz sank back into her chair. He couldn’t do a thing for her. She was on her own unless she could prove she was being framed, and how would she do that from a cell? She’d be locked up within hours if the pattern of the last few days continued.

Tower had wanted to bring her down. She’d bet he hadn’t planned to do it from the grave, but he could get his wish. Whoever killed him was smart and vicious.

She might not be able to save herself or her career. Too much had happened, but Jazz didn’t care about herself. She didn’t matter. Joy was in danger, and Jazz had to protect Joy and Luke. She refused to let that little girl lose her father. She’d promised them, promised herself. She wouldn’t fail.

The noose was tightening. One more deadly blow to destroy Jazz Parker, and Jane Sanford would finally pay.

Fools. They had no clue who they were dealing with. They would.

She scanned the rundown neighborhood, waiting. The street had probably been quaint, once. Fifty years ago. Now she’d bet every other house had either a fresh supply of crack or meth. The hovel she stood in front of had fared little better. She watched from below a broken street lamp as a rusty red Pinto pulled into a dirt driveway.

The house’s gray paint was peeling. Missing boards left gaps in the sagging porch, and the screen hinges were askew. She knew he didn’t live here. This was his cousin’s safe house. She’d made it her business to know everything about this man with a few too many secrets.

She took a step forward as his muscular body unfolded from the car. Not bad. At least he had the physique to be of some use. “Deputy?”

The man jerked and went for his weapon.

“Calm down, sugar. I just want to talk.”

He clutched the Bowie he’d pulled from its sheath. “I saw you. You vandalized Jazz’s truck.”

“And I saw you. You took a shot at them. You’ve been a very bad boy. Oh, by the way, did I mention I like to take pictures, Deputy? Pictures that I put in safe places and get paid money so bosses and newspapers don’t see them?”

He clenched the knife tighter. “I could turn you in.”

“And wouldn’t your colleagues love to know about your double life? It didn’t take me long to learn who your father is. It wouldn’t take them long to realize you never left the family business.”

“What do you want?”

“A little cooperation. I need a partner. To bring Jazz Parker down. You seem to want the same. If she’s dead, your little side business at the sheriff’s office gets blamed on her. You get off free and clear, right? That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

He couldn’t hide the surprise, and she just laughed. “You guys aren’t as smart as you think you are. Tower talks a bit too much in the sack, but I would’ve figured it out anyway. Why didn’t you just kill her? You had the shot that day at her apartment.”

“I wasn’t after her.”

Lisa chuckled. “Men. You can’t think on your feet. You were there to warn off Montgomery, and you didn’t see the opportunity to just take out the perfect patsy for the investigation. Fool.”

“You seem pretty sure of yourself. So why do you need me?”

“Even I can’t be in two places at once. So, Deputy, you help me finish your job my way, and I’ll give you the location of those pictures I took at her apartment. No one ever needs to know your dirty little secret. You kill me or you don’t help me, they end up at the FBI and the newspaper.”

He re-sheathed the knife and sent her a calculating look. “My assignment hasn’t gone as planned,” he said. “I’m interested.”

She pulled out a small GPS tracking device from her bag. “Do I need to tell you how to use this? I need some people followed…for starters.”

Alone in the stark interrogation room, Jazz rubbed her eyes with her hands. She was free to go? She’d been here for hours. Wexler had pushed at her until it became obvious there would be no resolution—yet. He hadn’t served an arrest warrant, but it was only a matter of time. He’d warned her not to leave town and then walked out of the room.

Only Luke’s statements had saved her from jail. Wexler and his cohorts couldn’t explain the attacks against her and the threat on Joy. He was her alibi to all three events, though they were skeptical of his story. The missed shot was her fault—a mistake by a woman on the edge. They still wouldn’t accept sabotage.

She laid her head against the table, trying to figure out where her world had gone wrong. Only days ago she’d been up for a promotion and now she was fighting a murder rap.

A brisk knock sounded at the door and Sarge strode in, his face stern, his eyes pained. She’d never seen him so uncomfortable, so ill at ease in his skin.

“I’m sorry, Jazz. I need your gun and your badge. You’re suspended pending a full investigation and disposition of this…ah…situation.”

“I didn’t kill him, Sarge.”

“Until that’s proven, I don’t have a choice…and neither do you.”

The words slammed her harder than the recoil of a .458 Winchester. She gritted her teeth until her jaw hurt, rose, and retrieved her coat from the back of an empty chair. Forcing her hands steady, she unzipped her pocket, reached in, and pulled out the badge. She’d worked her tail off for that star. It defined her identity as Jazz Parker. Without it, she’d become invisible again. Just a kid from the wrong side of the tracks. The daughter of a murdered whore.

The bronze star glinted in her hand. “Receiving this was the proudest day of my life until I got my SWAT pin.” She handed her badge to Sarge. “I swear I haven’t dishonored it.

“Your gun too.”

This time Jazz couldn’t stop the slight trembling.

“Wexler took it.”

“I’ll get it from him.” Regret clouded Sarge’s face. “I guess that’s it then.”

A numb fog floated around her. The room, Sarge, it all seemed like a very bad dream, one from which she couldn’t wake.

Sarge started toward the door then turned. “Maybe things will work out.”

Jazz nodded, ignoring the pain as he left. His voice told her he didn’t hold much hope. Right about now, neither did she. Stiff, aching, and heartsick, Jazz struggled to maintain her composure when a rookie, who had obviously drawn the short straw, escorted her through the bullpen like a newly released felon. Probing glances tracked her progress and angry whispers followed her out of the door of the station, into the darkness beyond.

Cop Killer.

Dear God, some of them obviously believed that of her. A lump formed in her throat. No one offered her support. She was on her own. As always. Determination tightened her jaw. She would track down the real murderer.

Jazz paused on the sidewalk in front of the stone building and peered into the moonlit night. It would be dawn soon. A new day for the real killer, and Jazz didn’t know where to start looking.

“Jasmine?”

At the sound of Luke’s voice her heart skipped a beat. He opened the door of his SUV, its interior light shining like a beacon, but she couldn’t move toward him.

“Go away, Luke. Keep your family safe. You heard the threat when that maniac called about Joy. I’m poison to you.”

The slam of the SUV’s heavy door echoed like a gunshot. Within a few strides he was there, looming over her. “Get in the car, Jasmine. We don’t need to put on a show for the boys in blue who are doing their utmost to string you up for a murder you didn’t commit. If I hadn’t been able to prove I was packing up Joy at the time of the murder, we’d be in the same position. Wexler still wonders if we’re co-conspirators. Like it or not, we’re in this together.”

Shaking with anger, hurt, and despair, she held her ground for a minute, then cursed and strode to the vehicle. A moment later, they were both enclosed in the SUV, the air crackling like heat lightning between them.

“Did you just plan on walking out on me?” Luke said. “Again?”

“I’m tracking down a killer. Alone.”

“Not while I’m still breathing.”

She turned in the seat to meet his fury, wanting so badly to fall into his arms and let him hold her. She couldn’t let herself. With all the strength she could muster she steadied her voice. “The sheriff is using Wexler and the IA investigation to pin his son’s murder on me. I don’t know how the redhead is involved, but I do know I have to find her. First to protect Joy and second because that woman’s my only hope to clear my name. This may have started out as your investigation, Luke, but it’s mine now.”

She laid her hand against his cheek. “I need to stay away from the people I care about before I get them killed. Go to your daughter. I’ll find out who’s doing this and bring them down.”

“And how are you going to do that? You have nothing to work with. You’re wearing the same clothes you’ve been wearing for twenty-four hours. You have nowhere to go. No home. No money. No resources. Nothing.”

“I didn’t have much more than this when I landed in Denver with Clarkson, and I made it.”

“With help from friends. Just like I’m offering now. You can’t run me off, Jasmine. You need me and my contacts now more than ever, and you’re going to have to accept it.”

Cracks splintered through the ice she’d molded around her heart. “Luke, you have to stay safe. I can’t take it if anything else happens to you because of me.”

“And I’m supposed to just stand by and not care what happens to you?

“Yes,” she snapped. “Just let me do my—”

“Job? Is that what you were going to say? Wexler told me you’ve been suspended. You had to turn in your gun and badge.”

She pulled away. “He had no right to tell you.”

“What? You wouldn’t have said anything? Or would you have lied? Let me think you were still on the force? That you had backup and a gun to protect yourself?” At her silence he slammed his fist against the steering wheel. “Christ, Jasmine. Are you ever going to trust me to help you?”

She turned to the door and yanked it open. “I don’t need you, Luke.”

“No, you don’t need me. You’ve made that clear. You’re friggin’ Wonder Woman. But the world doesn’t revolve around you. I need to get this woman. For Joy. So face it, ‘Jazz’, I’m investigating, whether you’re with me or not. I’d just feel a lot better if we were watching each other’s back. Joy doesn’t need to be a three-year-old orphan.”

Jazz gasped, her insides clenching at the thought of Luke being killed, of Joy without her father. “Anyone ever tell you that you fight dirty, Montgomery?”

“Only when I need to. So are you in?”

She stared at him, but fear took root. Could she really protect Luke and his family from a killer with no conscience? Or would everyone she loved be taken from her…again? “You die on me, Luke, and I’m going to be extremely irritated.”

“Back at ya, babe.” He started the SUV then shifted into gear. “We’d better not go to my house. Nick suspected someone was watching it earlier. We’ll get a room and hook up my computer. I’ve got some serious hacking to do.”

Jazz barely held herself together for the remainder of the ride to a Victorian bed and breakfast Luke knew. They didn’t speak; he didn’t turn on the radio. Odd how she could be so comfortable in silence. Either Luke understood she needed the quiet or he was doing the same thing she was. Trying to make sense of everything that had happened.

She’d gone over and over the details with one inescapable conclusion. The person who’d called Luke and written on the ball in the park had called her Jane. Not Jazz. Jane. Tower knew her first as Jazz. She didn’t believe he’d made that call. She could only deduce he’d hooked up with someone from her past who hated her enough to involve a three-year-old girl. She didn’t know who, but she could think of only one reason why.

When they reached the bed and breakfast, she burned with humiliation as the proprietor checked them in, frowning at their filthy clothes and more so when they told her they had no bags. She remembered too well those disgusted, judgmental looks from her childhood.

God, she couldn’t break the sensation that she was hurtling back into that oppressive place again. Every option closing off—one by one—until she was reduced to the streets. Starving. Desperate. Relying on primal instincts, like an animal, to survive.

Heartsick, she followed Luke and surveyed the pristine bedroom. The white comforter gleamed bright on a four-poster cherry bed. A small sitting area with large, overstuffed chairs invited a body to sink into oblivion. She didn’t belong here. She was unclean, unworthy, inside and out. She glanced at Luke, saw his closed-off expression. He’d recognized the truth too. That she didn’t belong here or with him.

“I need a shower,” she choked.

The look in his eyes held too much sympathy as he nodded. “Take as long as you want. I’ll set up the computer and see what I can find.”

He’d backed off from challenging her. He was walking on eggshells, and she didn’t blame him. She was so ready to crack. She staggered to the bathroom and closed the door. The antique lock didn’t work. Great.

She stripped off the smoky, filthy clothes and dropped them on the white tile floor. The whole place was white, making her feel even dirtier. She turned the water on in the tiny shower enclosure and shuddered at the thought of going in there and closing the curtain, blocking off most of the light. It was barely the size of a closet, and she was struggling enough to fight off nightmares of the past.

Bracing herself, she stepped inside. Water beat down on her in the tiny space, and she fought to contain a growing panic. She grabbed the soap, desperate to finish and get out, only to drop the bar. Crouching down, she watched the dirty water swirl around the floor drain and suddenly the tears and horrible memories started to flow.

The years disappeared. She huddled in the dark. Locked in a closet. Waiting for the bad man to come. That last time, he didn’t come for her mother.

He came for her.

Luke’s laptop lay open on the rolltop desk, the screen black. The quiet room should’ve been the perfect place to concentrate on the investigation, but he’d gotten nowhere. He kept glancing at the closed mahogany door. Jazz had disappeared behind it too long ago. She’d held it together, barely, but he’d recognized the symptoms of someone on the edge.

Only putting the pieces together—and quickly—would save her. But the puzzle didn’t fit. He needed more information. His investigator hadn’t had any luck at the Sentinel’s archives. Jane was a ghost, but obviously not to everyone. There had to be something more. Something Jazz hadn’t told him. An expunged arrest record didn’t engender this kind of stalking. And how was Tower connected?

Desperate for a break in the case, Luke snagged his cell and placed a restricted call to Grace.

“You’ve reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service—” He slammed the phone next to his computer. He just prayed it was Grace who’d cut the phone off and not her husband.

Which meant he’d have to push Jazz. He needed to know everything, and they had no more time. His nerves raw, he paced the floor and finally paused near the bathroom door again. An unfamiliar sound mixed with the drum of the pounding spray.

Crying?

Every instinct screamed at him to break down the door. He laid his hand flat against the dark wood, as if he could touch her through the barrier, and closed his eyes. Should he pretend he didn’t hear, back away and give her space?

Another muffled sob decided him. He rapped once before turning the knob. He eased open the door and his heart twisted in agony. Through a break between the curtains, he saw her crouched in the corner of the shower, huddled against the white tile, her head buried in her arms. Her body shuddered as she gulped in air.

He didn’t hesitate or take time to strip. She needed him. He wrenched open the curtain and stepped under the streaming water into the cramped space. His clothes soaking, he hunkered down beside her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Jasmine.”

Her body jerked away from him. “Don’t hurt me! Don’t—” Her eyes flew open, her expression wild. Then, to his relief, the panic cleared, and she recognized him. “Oh, God. I thought you were…”

Nausea burned the back of his throat. He’d seen that look before. In Afghanistan. On women and children who’d been assaulted and raped by the insurgents ravaging their towns. He’d never thought to see it on the face of someone he cared about.

He reached out to her, but then clenched his fist and dropped his hand. “Who did this to you?”

She shook her head and turned away from him, curling into a tight ball of misery, hiding as much of her body as she could from him.

Luke shut off the shower and slowly, calmly, backed away from her, giving her some room. He could hardly bear to watch her sink into herself, and he didn’t know how to comfort her. This wasn’t a skinned knee. This was a deep secret that had devastated her soul and that she’d kept hidden for a lifetime. Blindly he reached for a towel then gently covered her.

“Please go,” she whispered, letting her hair fall across her face, shielding her expression from him. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

He dropped his hands, knowing he couldn’t alleviate this kind of pain. “I…I’ll wait for you outside,” he said and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.