Chapter 2

      “He wasn’t just a vendor with an umbrella, I’m certain.” Zora spoke in the privacy of her car as she drove home, her mission to draw out the killer over. For today.

      “I’m not doubting what you saw, Zora, but it doesn’t fit this criminal’s profile.” Claudia Michaels, retired US Marine Corps general and CEO of the Trail Hikers, sighed audibly over the secure cellular connection. “This is supposed to be one of our easier missions. I wouldn’t have risked you blowing your cover otherwise. Not this close to where you live.”

      “We’ll get him. It’s not over.” The same foreboding that had struck her on the football field made her grip the steering wheel tighter. “But I may have blown my cover all by myself.”

      “Go ahead.” Claudia’s voice remained level but Zora knew her boss was gritting her teeth—the secrecy of the Trail Hikers was paramount to its success.

      “The detective assigned to the case—Bryce Campbell—was my neighbor growing up. He may have recognized me. If he didn’t, he’ll figure it out. He’s a smart man.”

      “That’s not a problem. Detective Campbell has a stellar reputation and he’ll follow Superintendent Todd’s orders. I’ll double-check to make sure.”

      Bryce must be one hell of a detective if Claudia was aware of him—he was SVPD, not fed or ex-military, as far as Zora knew.

      “Are you going to tell me he’s a Trail Hiker, too?”

      Claudia sighed.

      “You know I can’t tell you who’s on our team until you need to work with them.”

      “I do.” The Trail Hikers worked on a strict need-to-know basis. Zora had come to recognize familiar faces at the agency’s headquarters in Silver Valley but never pursued finding out who they were. There’d been no need to.

      She’d know if she’d seen Bryce, however.

      “I’m sorry I wasn’t more careful with my disguise.”

      “Go back to your civilian job, Zora, and we’ll be in touch soon.”

      “Roger.”

      Claudia ended the connection and Zora shut off her Bluetooth. The ugly brunette wig itched and she wanted a hot shower, a chilled glass of chardonnay and a couple hours with her favorite author’s latest novel before bed. Maybe she’d spend the whole weekend reading. She had a full day of clients on Monday in what she considered her real job—family counseling. Claudia referred to it as her “civilian job” because it allowed Zora to live a normal life while taking on missions as needed for the Trail Hikers.

      Counseling was her vocation now. But when the client she’d been seeing since she’d started her practice had been murdered two weeks ago, simply because she was a woman and a Protestant minister, Zora had known she had to take the mission. Louise had been seeing her for over a year and had been the kind of woman Zora hoped to become. Wise. Compassionate. Generous.

      Her killer could not go unpunished.

      Forcing herself to ease her grip on the wheel, Zora looked out over the dark and quiet farm fields that surrounded the property she’d chosen to make home two years ago. The area had promised safety, a place to stop running. The farmhouse had fit her desire for a slower pace of life, a respite from the grind that a military career demanded.

      Bryce’s presence, his stare, had unnerved her earlier. Of course she’d recognized him immediately—he’d been the only boy she’d ever let get close to her when she’d moved to Silver Valley as a twelve-year-old. Make that the only person, save her adoptive parents.

      Her real parents.

      And then she’d let Bryce down, broken their childhood friendship in the worst way. She’d left Silver Valley and never spoke to him again. Complete silence, no explanations. It’d been too risky to let him into her life completely. She’d believed she was protecting him from the worst parts of herself. She’d entered the naval academy without a backward glance at Silver Valley or Bryce.

      Until tonight. He’d matured, grown handsome as she’d known he would. Seeing him again made her wonder why she’d been so awful to him, why she hadn’t at least written to him over the years and apologized for her behavior. It always came back to the fact that she’d never explained why she’d left the way she had. Revealing her reasons would mean revealing her past. And that would be too painful, too complicated.

      By his reaction tonight she knew he still remembered her on some level. He might not have figured out it was her under the wig and bulky bulletproof vest, but she had no doubt that he would, eventually.

      He’d remember.

      Bryce had always figured out what was bothering her, how to make her laugh on an otherwise dreary winter day during high school exam week. He’d been the best friend a girl like her could have hoped for—funny, kind and respectful. He’d never made her feel he wanted to be any more than friends even when the sexual pressures of their teenage years had confronted them on a daily basis.

      The headlights swept her long driveway as she drove up to her old, small farmhouse. She noted that her front porch light was out. She hadn’t had to change a bulb since she’d moved here, and seeing the darkness of the porch gave her the creeps. She parked and opted to walk around the well-lit right side of her house to use the back entrance. She had no close neighbors so she didn’t have to worry about explaining her wig. It was one of the many advantages of buying a home outside of a conventional development.

      The back of the house was dark, too, and she waved her arm high to activate the motion detector light.

      Nothing happened. No light.

      Butternut’s sharp bark from within the house made her stop in her tracks. The German shepherd never barked when she came home. And those weren’t playful barks—Butternut was trying to warn her.

      A twig snapped in the inky night in front of her an instant before something slammed into her chest, throwing her backward into darkness.

      * * *

      Bryce ran the rest of the way up the dirt driveway to the farmhouse. His gut had told him tonight wasn’t going to go smoothly, and it wasn’t only because he suspected Colleen Hammermill wasn’t who she said she was.

      He’d heard gunshots while he was on duty exactly four times in his ten years with the SVPD. Two were when hunters had been in an off-limits area and one was when he’d fired his own weapon to take out a convenience store robber who’d shot a cashier and then pointed his gun at Bryce.

      The fourth was ten seconds ago, in the dark fields surrounding the farmhouse he’d followed Colleen Hammermill to. Superintendent Todd had given him her address when he’d texted him after the ceremony.

      “Need backup, Cherry Creek and Skyline Drive. The old Shropesbury farm.”

      He shoved his phone back into his chest pocket and kept running, weapon drawn. He’d explain