“You’ve just got to get a bigger car.”

      The words were grunted out as Troy Cavanaugh, the last of Brian Cavanaugh’s sons to make detective, folded his six-foot-three frame into the vehicle he swore was a subcompact. It wasn’t the first time he’d made the complaint to Kara Ward, the homicide detective the department had paired him with almost immediately after awarding him his gold shield.

      As before, Kara sniffed at his words. The vehicle was a perfect fit for her, but then, she was only five-one in her bare feet. As far as he was concerned, that wasn’t even people-sized. She could have just as easily ridden around in a toy car. But he needed something with space, and Kara’s car was cutting off the circulation to the lower half of his body.

      Kara gave him a look that said beggars had no right to be choosers—or complainers.

      “Either that or a partner who can’t pass as a float in the Thanksgiving Day parade,” the woman quipped. She watched as he struggled to buckle up. “Not my fault you didn’t have the good sense to know when you should stop growing.”

      Troy shook his head. Or attempted to. The car wasn’t much on head room, either. The one he normally rode in—the one he drove—was currently in the shop after a rather damaging encounter with a fire hydrant. Said encounter was the result of the tail end of a high-speed chase with a man suspected of killing his pregnant girlfriend to keep her from talking to his wife. The chase had ended in the man’s apprehension as well as the wrecked car and a substantial repair bill—both for the car and the fire hydrant.

      All this had happened yesterday and Troy hadn’t gotten a chance to get a replacement. When the call had come in this morning, taking him away from a rather pleasant dream, he’d had no choice but to agree to have Kara come pick him up. Something he’d regretted the moment he’d hung up the phone.

      Finally he managed to get the metal end of the seat belt into the slot. There was a stitch in his side.

      “I’m going to the car rental agency after work,” he announced, trying to sit straight. It was a futile attempt. “Get a real vehicle instead of a clown car.”

      Kara glanced toward him. “Keep this up and I won’t let you have the can opener you’ll need to get out of this one when we get to the motel.”

      Taking a corner sharply, she laughed at the stifled curse coming from the passenger side. A minute later, they were pulling up into the parking lot of the motel. Kara smoothly parked her pride and joy next to a large white van with blue and green lettering across the side. The sign proclaimed it to be a crime scene investigation vehicle for the city of Aurora.

      Bracing one hand on the dashboard and one on the roof of the compact, Troy managed to extract himself from the torturous vehicle, although it wasn’t easy. His partner hadn’t left all that much space for him on his side. Straightening, he fixed his jacket.

      “Looks like the CSI people got here ahead of us,” he noted.

      Kara laughed shortly as she closed her door. “Easy to see how you earned your shield.”

      One of four siblings with seven cousins, most of whom were older, Troy had learned early on to roll with the punches and take things lightly. It was the key to survival. He grinned at Kara as they made their way to the motel room.

      “What’s up, Kara? Your hot-and-heavy date decide to hog the covers?”

      She frowned as she gave him a dirty look. “None of your business what my hot-and-heavy date did with the covers.” The next moment she offered a somewhat lukewarm apology. “Sorry, Cavanaugh. Didn’t mean to snap at you.”

      “Yeah, you did.” As he spoke, he looked around at the area. Light was uncharitable to the motel, exposing all its dingy, dirty little secrets. “But that’s okay. I’ve got a sister who’s pretty much as even-tempered as you are. Rolls right off my back.”

      Kara snorted. “Remind me to send condolences to your sister.”

      “Funny—” Troy opened the door to the motel room and moved back to let Kara enter first “—I was thinking the same thing about your hot-and-heavy date.”

      The room was like every other run-down motel room that littered not only this state, but every other one, as well. In its own way, the space bore the mark of the countless people who had passed through over the years, leaving not only the stench of hopelessness in their wake, but a coat of grime that went down too many layers to clean.

      Ordinarily, the first thing Troy took in when he entered a crime scene was the reason for his presence: the victim. But this time, his attention was momentarily drawn to the three people who were standing off to the side, conferring with one of the crime scene investigators. There were two men and a woman, identically dressed in the uniform provided by the county’s probation department. They couldn’t have been more different. One man was tall and thin, the other shorter and far more heavyset.

      But it was the woman who captured his attention. Not because she was the only female in the trio, but because her delicate features seemed so out of place, so alien to the drab uniform she wore. The clothing belonged to someone who was hardened, someone accustomed to dealing with the dregs of society.

      She, on the other hand, looked like someone who might have inspired a Renaissance artist to go run for his paints and his brush in an effort to somehow capture this vision of an angel walking the earth.

      “Hey, Cavanaugh,” Kara whispered, “you’re staring. Get your tongue back in your head before you wind up embarrassing me.”

      “Too late for that, Kara,” Troy heard himself whispering back, only half-aware that he was even answering her. “They’ve already seen you.”

      Kara muttered something cryptic and sarcastic in response, but her words just formed a slight buzz in the background.

      He and the woman in the probation officer’s uniform had just made eye contact and he had to remind himself to breathe.

      The only problem was he’d forgotten how.

      Chapter 2

      He was staring at her.

      Did the man who’d just walked into room know her? Recognize her from somewhere? Delene thought he looked familiar, but she couldn’t be sure.

      Long, thin, spidery fingers of panic skittered through her as she struggled to place the tall, dark man in the black slacks and equally black turtleneck sweater he wore beneath a blue windbreaker.

      This was stupid.

      Annoyed with herself, Delene banked down the growing fear. She was overreacting again. It was obvious by his manner, by the way he took over a room, that he was a police detective. And since she was an agent with the County Probation Department, more than likely their paths had crossed once, if not several times. So he was probably just trying to place her. There, a logical explanation. No big deal.

      Delene did her best to stifle an impatient sigh. The impatience was directed at herself. How long was it going to take before she felt safe? Before a look was just a look and not the outward sign of pending exposure? Of a reason to run? She wished she could say soon, but she knew better.

      Squaring her shoulders, she ran her fingers through her short hair, pushing it away from her face as she donned her “go-to-hell” attitude, the one that had kept her secure up to now. She looked straight at the tall, dark-haired man with the penetrating blue eyes, wicked smile and cleft chin.

      “Something