CHAPTER ONE

      RUNNING ON FUMES, Amy Finley coasted into the driveway of her temporary home shortly before midnight. Even after ten years away from Heartache, Tennessee, she’d remembered how to get to her father’s old hunting cabin. It was one of the only places in her hometown where she’d actually made a few happy memories.

      Now, shoving out of the passenger side of her car—the driver’s door was broken—Amy stepped onto the pine-needle-covered ground in the woodsy hills east of where she’d grown up.

      Her sisters figured no one had been in the cabin in the last six years. Their father had died four years ago, but even before then he’d abandoned his old habit of coming up here in the fall as he’d gotten more involved in his career as mayor of Heartache.

      Erin, the older of Amy’s two sisters, had promised Amy the electricity and water would be turned on this week, so the property would be slightly more livable for Amy’s return.

      She found the key to the front door by sliding a hand beneath a windowsill around the side of the building. Same place it had always been, inside a hollowed-out knot in the pinewood. It was a miracle no rodents had made off with the key in all these years, although she hadn’t been worried. She would find her way inside the rustic cabin one way or another. Security wasn’t tight around here.

      Something she planned to address as soon as possible if she wanted to feel safe.

      At the thought, a shiver tripped over her skin despite the mild fall weather. Tucking deeper into her pale blue hoodie, she refused to think about The Incident. The night that had driven her from Heartache for an entire decade, making her miss her father’s funeral. Her sister’s wedding. Her mother’s alleged recovery from severe bipolar disorder.

      She’d believe that when she saw it. If she ever worked up the nerve to face her mom again, anyway.

      For now she told herself to take her return one step at a time. Her first step was moving into the cabin and starting renovations. She would need the distraction of a project to get her through the other tasks she’d set for herself. She was here to make amends with her family—her siblings if not her mother. And, perhaps more important, she’d come home to support her sister as Heather prepared to testify against a local criminal awaiting his trial.

      Amy had her own reasons for needing to see the man behind bars, but no one in her family knew about those, and she planned to keep it that way.

      One step at a time.

      Turning the rusted, thin key in the lock, she used her shoulder to nudge open the door. Instead of smelling the must and mildew she expected, however, the clean scent of lemon polish drifted past her nose. What on earth?

      The door creaked open on stiff hinges and a floorboard groaned under her tread-worn tennis shoes as she stepped inside. Flicking on the lights in the small space, she saw the pine-plank floors had been swept clean. One of the single-pane windows had also been opened, and a set of calico curtains hung on the wrought iron rods above the windows.

      Her sisters co-owned a consignment shop in the small downtown area. They must have brought some finds from their business up here to give Amy a warm welcome. An antique glass milk jug held a vase of wildflowers on the tiny counter next to the white porcelain kitchen sink. A green plaid place mat held a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, one clean glass and a pan of brownies visible through a layer of plastic wrap.

      She dropped the duffel bag from her shoulder and closed the front door behind her, drawn to the brownie pan despite the chilly breeze blowing through the whole house from the open window. A crisp yellow notecard sat atop the treats.

      Welcome home, Sis. Can’t wait to see you when you’re ready. Love, Heather and Erin

      It was the kind of thoughtful gesture a normal sister should love.

      Except that it had taken her ten long years to face her siblings after that hellish week when she’d been seventeen and her world had fallen apart.

      This hunting cabin was still fifteen miles from the home where she’d grown up, but it was the closest she could bring herself to seeing any of the Finleys even now.

      She didn’t know if she’d ever really be ready to face any of them again.

      Setting the card back on the brownie pan, she moved around the small cabin, closing the window so she could warm up the place.

      Not much had changed besides the curtains. A common area with a fireplace made of river stones dominated the cabin. Off to the side of the living space was the tiny kitchen, including a few cupboards and a refrigerator, but no stove or oven. Back when she’d come here with her father, they’d used an outdoor grill or a campfire for all the cooking. Two small bedrooms held built-in bunk beds that were little more than plywood planks anchored to the rough log walls. There was no furniture besides a small table in the kitchen with two ladder-back chairs. Thankfully, her sisters had left a box labeled “memory foam mattress topper” on one of the plywood bunks.

      Amy had brought a bedroll, but considering the cabin’s level of rustic simplicity, the memory foam was a bonus she wouldn’t refuse. With no central heat or air, she’d have to build a fire, but she’d brought her own supplies to do just that.

      She wasn’t sure how she felt about her sisters coming up here to prep the place for her. She’d been adamant when she agreed to come home that she’d only see them on her own terms. When she felt ready for that.

      For tonight, just being back in Tennessee, back in this tiny town, was enough for her to handle. After digging a flashlight out of her duffel, she flicked it on and stalked out to the car to retrieve her boxes.

      It would be hours before she prepped the place enough for it to be comfortable, even with the freshly hung calico curtains and sleeping bag. Or maybe because of them.

      Her chest tightened, and it wasn’t from the strain of carrying in the heavy load of firewood. She’d become a loner. Practically a recluse. When she’d left here, she’d moved to Atlanta and become a waitress, eventually putting herself through college since she refused to take a nickel from her family. Even her father.

      Funny to think how a person could become so isolated even in a big city, but it was easy. Amy was an expert at being by herself. What she wasn’t good at was family.

      Community.

      Trust of any kind.

      She hadn’t gotten where she was today because of those things. She now had an accounting degree and a potential start-up business in spite of all of them. Maybe that was why, after she got a fire going in the big hearth, she ignored her sisters’ gifts and unrolled a sleeping bag in the living area. Just like she used to do with her father when they would tell stories late into the night.

      Disregarding the growl of her empty stomach, Amy hoped tomorrow she’d be stronger. Because tonight, all she wanted to do was to get in her car again and drive to Atlanta. Back to a place where she didn’t have to work so hard to fix relationships that had failed her.

      * * *

      THREE CUPS OF coffee into his day, Sheriff Samuel Reyes struggled to keep his tired eyes focused on the map in front of him. He hated this kind of research even on a good day—the boring-as-snot part of police work that kept him behind a desk. Today he was trying to make pieces of a resistant puzzle fall into some kind of meaningful order. He’d been over and over the map of Heartache’s quarry, trying to find a pattern or a clue in the pins that marked places where the sheriff’s department had discovered evidence in his current case.

      The