Chapter 3

"Get me the file on the Du Maurier case and chase the lab for the report on the fibers found at the Dutton apartment. They promised it for last Friday," Assistant District Attorney Hope Harper instructed her legal intern, Colin Leighton, as she packed up her leather briefcase with her laptop and a thick file she'd read tonight after she grabbed something to eat.

"You want the Du Maurier file emailed to you?"

"No, leave it on my desk. I'll read it in the morning."

This routine generally worked for them. Colin was a night owl, and she was an early riser. Not that she slept much.

"Don't forget we have court at ten," she reminded him.

"I haven't forgotten. You have dinner plans tonight?" he asked.

"No. Why?" Hope looked at the young man who was medium height and fit-looking with wiry brown hair that always seemed a little out of control. She'd heard some of the other interns saying he was hot, but to Hope he looked like a teenager. Considering that she felt as ancient as the Appalachians, everyone did.

"Just wondered." He shifted his feet as if suddenly uncertain.

The guy had graduated early, completing a three-year law degree in two and a half years. He'd worked for her for a couple of months, having interned for the DA's office the previous summer. She knew almost nothing about him beside the fact he was competent, efficient, and slightly cocky. But she'd also been cocky and, as he knew how to take orders without screwing up, she cut him a break.

"You have plans outside studying for the bar exam?"

He gave her a rueful smile. "I'm going for a quick drink with some friends."

Friends. What a concept. She'd pushed everyone away in the aftermath of Danny's and Paige's murders. Didn't particularly miss any of them.

She raised a brow. "Are you that confident?"

"It's only for an hour, and I've studied my ass off the last few years." He shrugged. "Plus, there's always next time."

As he was a great intern, she didn't care if he passed or failed the bar this time around. Failing might ground his ego. Plus, she hated training new people.

"Well, have fun." Had she really said that? "See you tomorrow."

It was 7 p.m. She slipped her arms into her thick wool coat. If she hurried, she could catch the 7:13 p.m. bus and be home by 7:30. She hurried downstairs and out the big glass doors onto Sudbury Street. The February wind coming off the bay hit her like shards of broken glass. Holy crap. She took a few steps and then pulled up short when a car crawled up beside her. She tensed.

Someone rolled down the window of a red Ford Thunderbird and leaned across the seat. "Get in."

Brendan.

She let out a relieved breath, opened the door, and slid into the warm interior. She wrinkled her nose at the slight scent of cigarette smoke that lingered in the air. He'd told her he'd given them up at Christmas.

"New ride?"

"Confiscated from a drug dealer."

Maybe it wasn't cigarettes she was smelling. "Figures."

"Headed home?" he asked.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

"Drop me at the transit stop on Congress or give me a ride back to Charlestown? I don't want to miss my bus." It was getting late, and dealing with Danny's brother always brought on a headache.

"I'll give you a ride home."

"Were you waiting for me, or was that a lucky coincidence?"

Brendan gave her a grin. He was a good-looking guy. She was grateful for the lack of close resemblance to the man she'd loved. Brendan was heavier. He and Danny shared the same blue eyes, but Brendan's hair was thinning, and gray threaded the brown. Danny had taken after his Irish mother with thick, almost jet-black hair.

Even after all these years, thoughts of Danny's smiling face brought a stab of sorrow.

"Ma was asking after you."

Hope huddled into her coat as the guilt piled up. "Tell Mary I'll come over when this case is finished."

Brendan shot her a look that held both understanding and censure. "There's always another case, Hope."

She looked away.

Her father-in-law had died three years ago, leaving Mary Harper alone in the small row house in South Boston where she'd raised her boys. Brendan lived in an apartment in East Boston with cheap rent and a million-dollar view.

"I'm going over for Sunday lunch. I can pick you up if you want. Two hours max. You gotta eat, right?"

It was Paige's birthday on Wednesday, and every year that passed without her child corroded Hope until her bones felt like nothing more than rusted strands of barbed wire.

Paige would have been twelve this year.

Every anniversary was religiously observed by Danny's family. Sometimes it helped. Sometimes the constant reminders hurt. Her own family were easier to deal with. Just her grandparents nowadays down in Florida, and they respected the loss without zeal. A phone call or a card with a brief message. It was all she needed. All she wanted.

Hope stared out the window at the Charles River as they crossed the North Washington Street Bridge. She was known as a fearless, relentless bulldog in the courtroom and at work, but when it came to Danny's mom, she was defenseless. Maybe if she hadn't cost the woman her youngest son and only grandchild it would be easier to loosen the bonds. Pull back enough so she could breathe.

But she couldn't.

So, she'd choke for two hours on roasted chicken and self-recrimination. Anything else would have disappointed her late husband and even after seven years without him, she couldn't do that.

"Fine," she relented, "but I'll meet you there. One o'clock?"

Brendan scratched his head. "I'll pick you up at twelve-thirty."

Hope pinched her lips together and breathed out via her nose. Fine. "How's Loretta?"

Brendan stared straight ahead. "We broke up."

"I'm sorry." Brendan had struggled with relationships since his brother's murder.

Hope had no desire to even try to find anyone else. What was the point?

"Working on anything interesting?" she asked. Work was the one area they never ran out of things to talk about and didn't have to pretend they weren't inherently broken.

"Nasty homicide in the Back Bay area. Looks like a hate crime."

"Any suspects?"

"Not yet but we have CCTV footage of someone leaving the apartment complex that might lead somewhere."

"DNA?"

"Still waiting on results."

Hope nodded. The labs were backed up and results took time. As long as the techs got it right, she didn't mind a few days wait but when the weeks dragged on, she got snippy. "You still working with Janelli?"

"Yeah." He shot her a look.

"How's he doing?"

Brendan shrugged. Grinned. "Good. Still bitching about the DA's office."

About her.

Lewis Janelli hated her guts, as did a few other Boston PD officers. Not that she cared, but she liked to keep up with whatever was happening in the police department.

Maybe that's why Brendan was still a constant part of her life.

Sure.

It was a lie but made her feel better about the lack of control she had over her and her brother-in-law's relationship. She'd managed to kick everyone else to the curb, but not Brendan or his mother.

Brendan gunned the engine and jumped a yellow light. He hooked a right and turned down Monument Avenue, speeding around the park that housed the Bunker Hill Monument, to the opposite side where Hope shared a large row house with a couple who lived on the bottom floor. She had the upper three levels and a rooftop garden. It was a little excessive for a single woman, but she liked the space. Needed the space.

And she had the money.

Not only had there been life insurance and a settlement from her old law firm when she'd left the partnership, but Danny's books had taken off after his death. The fact she'd taken over writing his series—which had been released under a pseudonym—was not something the rest of the world needed to know.

Brendan jerked the car to a stop.

She went to get out.

"Hope." Brendan grabbed her arm then quickly released her.

He wanted to come in for a drink and to talk. He did that a lot, but she didn't have time tonight. She didn't have the energy. She didn't want to hear him reminisce about his and his brother's often death-defying childhood antics. She didn't want to listen to Brendan pouring out his grief that, after a few beers, was as fresh today as it had been seven years ago.

She had her own sorrow to deal with. She wasn't into public displays of emotion, not even in front of the only person who really understood how she felt. Nowadays she kept everything locked into a tight ball, deep inside her. She didn't know what would happen if she let it escape.

Nothing good.

"I'd invite you in, but I have court in the morning and want to go over the case one more time and finish notes on my opening statement in case we progress faster than expected."

"I bet you know the facts inside out and back to front."

"Any good prosecutor would." She climbed out of the car and pulled her bag out of the footwell. She also wanted to plot her next novel.

"DA's office is lucky to have you, Hope."

She held his blue eyes in a direct stare that had him turning away.

They both knew the reason she worked for the DA. Luck had nothing to do with it.

She was hellbent on putting away as many killers as possible because that was all she had left. It was purely selfish. The fact she was as hard on the cops as the criminals didn't win her any friends in the Boston Police Department either.

He revved his engine loudly as she walked up the stone steps she shared with her neighbors, who were currently on a Caribbean cruise. She raised her hand in farewell as she unlocked the door and went inside.

She was disarming the alarm when the doorbell rang. She let out a heavy sigh and dumped her bag on the side table in the hallway.

Brendan was a senior detective and sometimes he didn't take no for an answer. Subtlety didn't always work. Not that she'd been particularly subtle.

She gritted her teeth and prepared to be blunt. She really didn't have the time or mental energy to deal with him tonight.

She opened the door only to jerk back in surprise. A group of black-clad, heavily armed men with "FBI" stenciled on their front stood on her doorstep.

"Hope Harper."

It wasn't a question.

"How can I help you?" She blocked the doorway. Over their shoulders she noticed two black Suburbans pulling away.

The man flashed his credentials. "FBI HRT Operator Aaron Nash, ma'am. May we come in?"

Hostage Rescue Team?

"Why?"

"Why?" His tone was questioning. As if he couldn't imagine why she'd deny them entry and keep them on the doorstep unless she was guilty of something or had something to hide. He was tall with a short beard and inky black hair that reminded her a little of Danny's, but rather than blue, this man's eyes were a deep, rich brown, almost black. Pretty eyes. Too pretty for someone bristling with so many weapons.

Another man with blond hair and arctic blue eyes pushed past the tactical operators. He wore a suit and a cynical expression.

Lincoln Frazer.

She exhaled.

She'd met him originally during Leech's first trial when they'd been on opposite sides of the courtroom. She always listened to what Lincoln Frazer had to say. Of course, it helped that they were on the same side nowadays.

"Hope." He nodded in acknowledgement. "We need to talk, and you'd probably rather the media didn't see us all crowded on your doorstep like this."

Hope raised a brow as the FBI agents piled past her without waiting for any more permission than that.

Fine.

She closed the door after them, and they stood in loose formation along the elegant hallway. Nine agents, plus Frazer.

Something major was going on.

"We'd like to conduct a search of the premises." Agent Nash towered over her even though she was five foot ten in her boots. "Can I have your keys, or shall we use ours?" He indicated the breacher one of the men raised in salute.

"Funny."

The dark-haired man, Aaron Nash, seemed to be in charge.

"Are you going to tell me why, or do I have to guess?"

"We believe your life might be in danger."

"What's new?" Hope got death threats on a regular basis, but no one usually rushed to her defense. She was careful and had decent security. She even had a gun locked in her bedroom safe. "I'll need details—a lot more details than that, I'm afraid, before I let you into my home."

Those dark liquid eyes said he thought that should be enough for anyone. They questioned her intelligence, which immediately put her back up.

"Why don't you let me explain while HRT conducts a sweep?" Lincoln Frazer touched her arm in an unexpected gesture of comfort. "Make sure there are no unwelcome surprises waiting for you inside."

It took her a moment to mask the horror his words evoked. She knew what unwelcome surprises looked like in graphic detail, and no one could hurt her that much ever again, not even if they ripped her limb from limb.

"Apologies." Frazer pulled a face. "I didn't think."

That surprised her more than anything. Frazer wasn't the apologizing type.

Agent Nash held out his hand, palm up for her keys.

Telling herself that the sooner they did what they needed to do, the sooner they'd leave her alone, she dug into her pocket and reluctantly handed them over. He tossed the keys to another action-man wannabe, and four of them headed up the stairs—remarkedly quietly for such over-sized, heavily armed human beings.

"Watch out for my cat!" Hope shouted after them.

One of the other agents knocked on the downstairs door.

"Who lives in the ground floor apartment?" Nash's voice was deep and resonant.

"My neighbors, Enrique Hernandez and Larry Langton." She knew her expression must be somewhere between belligerent and bitchy, but what the hell? "They are certainly no threat to me."

"I'm more concerned that their proximity to you may be a threat to their safety."

"What?" She blinked.

From the look in his eyes, Aaron Nash didn't like her very much, but that was nothing she wasn't used to. She put her hand on her hip. "How am I putting them in danger?"

"Not purposefully." Nash gave her another assessing stare. "Are they usually in at this time of day?"

"Yes, they are, but currently they're away on a cruise in the Caribbean."

Nash's lips curved slightly. "That's good. Do you have a key to their apartment? We'd like to check their place for intruders also."

So polite. But Hope could see determined glitter in those black depths. That was an order, not a request.

"Is this really necessary?"

Those eyes held hers. "Yes, ma'am."

She slumped tiredly against the wall. "The spare key to their place is on the fob I gave you. It has a little rainbow tag."

Nash jerked his chin to one of his colleagues, who ran up the stairs to retrieve her keys.

Hope forced herself upright and faced Frazer. "You better tell me what's going on. I want these people out of my home as quickly as humanly possible."

"I'm afraid we're not going anywhere, ma'am." Nash spoke over her left shoulder.

She ignored him and concentrated on Frazer. "Well?"

"I'm afraid Operator Nash is correct, Hope. You're to have twenty-four seven security, or you will be taken into protective custody. Orders from the Attorney General herself."

She narrowed her eyes. "You can't do that."

"You know we can," Nash stated patiently from behind her. She was beginning to hate that silky voice.

"Why? What's happened?" But she had the sudden horrible feeling she knew. "That sonofabitch did not get out of prison."

Frazer's lips pinched, and he suddenly looked tired. "A vehicle transporting Leech and three other convicts, plus two guards, was found submerged in a river late this afternoon. Police divers were able to access the vehicle, but only one man was found inside. He was dead. At this point, we don't know if the other prisoners and guards are dead or alive. Most likely they drowned, but if they didn't drown…"

"If he didn't drown," said Hope, "if Julius Leech somehow survived and escaped that vehicle, he'll be on his way to Boston to make good on his promises from the last trial."

To rape her. To kill her.

Heat coursed through her veins and sharpened her senses. She bared her teeth in a silent snarl. "Let that motherfucker try."