ONE

      Social worker Sabrina Mayfield pressed the phone to her ear as she pushed away from her desk. “Jordan? What is it?”

      “I need your help,” he whispered. “I think I’m in trouble.”

      “What kind of trouble?”

      Jordan Zellis, one of her kids who’d been in the system but was trying to make something of himself, would call only if he truly needed help.

      “I...I need a ride. Will you come get me?”

      Sabrina tightened her grip on the phone. “Have you been drinking?”

      “No, j-just hanging out with friends. I...ah...started taking some pictures of...you know...the trees and birds and stuff and they...ah...left me here.”

      “Where?”

      He gave her the address. She heard shuffling and a whisper. Then silence. “Jordan?”

      “I’m here.”

      Her worry spiked at the new tone in his voice. “What is it?”

      “Never mind. I can get home. I’m fine. Don’t come here. Just...just don’t come here, okay?”

      “Jordan Zellis, what’s going on? You tell me right now.” Sabrina hoped the maternal-sounding order would get him to talk.

      Silence. Sabrina wondered if she’d pushed too hard. Then she heard him suck in a deep breath. “Oh, boy. I think I may be in some deep trouble. I just now found something. I didn’t know...” His voice shook.

      “Found what, Jordan?”

      An audible gulp. “I think I might know who killed Steven Starke.”

      Her throat tightened. Steven Starke, her friend and book buddy. And a Wrangler’s Corner deputy who’d been found dead almost four weeks ago. “What? Who? Who killed him?”

      “Don’t come here,” Jordan whispered. “It’s dangerous.”

      “Which is why you shouldn’t be there. Get out now.”

      “I can’t leave. I’ve got to get— Uh-oh—”

      “Jordan?”

      But he was gone, the line disconnected.

      Sabrina punched in the number for the police department and raced to her car, calling over her shoulder to her boss that she’d be back soon. “Jordan’s in trouble. I’m going to find out what’s going on.”

      Rachel came to her door. “You be careful.”

      Sabrina waved and pushed through the glass doors, her heart pounding. She gave the information to Tara, the dispatcher, who promised she’d have someone on the way. “Sabrina, don’t do anything stupid.”

      “When have I ever done anything stupid?”

      Tara paused. “Well, true, I can’t think of anything, but there’s always a first time.”

      Sabrina silently agreed. She knew she’d beat the police there. She was only a little over two miles from the address Jordan had given her, but he’d sounded so scared on the phone. He needed her.

      Within minutes, she pulled into the gravel drive and stopped to stare at the rusted, dilapidated trailer.

      Mondays never brought anything good, and today didn’t look as if it was going to be the exception.

      She couldn’t help wondering if she went in, would she come out in one piece.

      Wrangler’s Corner, Tennessee, population 1,037, had its share of beauty—and problems, depending on which side of the mountain one lived on. The most prevalent issues in the small town were unemployment and abject poverty.

      Dark blankets covered the windows on the inside of the trailer, and trash littered the outside. Someone had strung a sad little strand of Christmas lights around the door of the trailer as though to attempt to offer a small ray of hope.

      It didn’t work.

      Swallowing her nerves, Sabrina opened the car door, stepped out and tugged her fleece pullover down around her hips. She ignored the late-November wind that whipped her hair across her eyes and sent a chill up her spine.

      She approached the ragged wood meant to pass as the front porch. At the bottom of the steps, she assessed it. Would it hold her? She placed one foot on the first step, then the second. It trembled but held.

      She reached the top and banged on the door. “Jordan? Are you in there?” Nothing but the sound of the dog barking next door. “Come on, Jordan, you called me!”

      The teen had been on her radar for a while. She’d done everything she could to help the kid, even trying to foster his interest in photography and meeting him at the office to tutor him after school. It seemed as if he’d been trying so hard lately, going to school and not causing any trouble. Until now.

      Although she had to admit, he’d sounded truly scared on the phone. She banged on the door again. “Jordan!”

      A thump sounded from inside. She jerked and stepped back. What was she doing? She shivered. He’d warned her not to come, that it was dangerous. When she’d put the address in her GPS and realized where she was going, she’d almost backed out and let the police handle it.

      But Jordan had sounded so scared. And Steven had been her friend. If there was a chance she could find out who killed him, she wasn’t going to pass it up.

      However, getting killed wouldn’t help anyone. She didn’t normally worry about that, but in her line of work, she never kidded herself that it couldn’t happen. People got real testy when you took their kids away from them. And sometimes she had to go into areas it was best she didn’t go.

      At least not without backup.

      She glanced back at her car, then at her watch. Where was the officer? Scanning the area, she spotted a neighbor directly across from her. The woman caught her eye, then stepped back to close the door.

      People around here minded their own business. It was safer that way.

      She took another step up and held on to the rickety railing. Her nose twitched. The smell of ammonia hung in the air. A hose ran the length of the trailer to disappear into a cracked window.

      She knocked again. “Jordan? Come on.”

      A clanging sounded to her left. She jerked and turned, slow and easy. Had one of the neighbors dropped something? Kicked a metal can?

      Nothing. No, wait.... A shadow? Was someone around the corner of the trailer?

      Her gaze flitted from one trailer to the next, looking for any sign of life. Deserted was the word that came to mind. Or everyone was in hiding.

      A bad feeling gathered in her midsection, and her pulse picked up speed as her adrenaline surged.

      She glanced back toward the end of the trailer where she thought she’d seen the shadow. Was someone watching her?

      Ever since Steven had been murdered four weeks ago, she’d felt watched. Spied on. And right now she definitely didn’t feel safe. She glanced back at her car, then swiveled to look at the trailer. But what if Jordan was in there and he needed her? What if he was hurt?

      She called the Wrangler’s Corner dispatch. Tara