Chapter 1

ONE

THE SEPTEMBER SUN had barely risen over the mountain town of Lake City, North Carolina, casting a warm, golden glow that filtered through Stephanie Cross’s kitchen window. She sipped her morning coffee, scanning the headlines of the Lake City News like she did most every day. Yes, she could read it online and sometimes did, but she liked the feel of an actual paper when she had the chance to do so. Her morning routine comforted her, anchored her for the day, and offered a moment of quiet before she headed to the office.

She flipped the page. “Local Woman Killed in Tragic Early Morning Car Accident.”

CPA Brenda Hudson, her good friend and coworker at Blackston and Cosworth, had been confirmed dead at the scene. “What? No!” Steph jumped to her feet and scrambled for her phone. “No, it can’t be.” She dialed her friend’s number and it went straight to voicemail. She hung up and called her boss, Stan Gilchrest.

Four rings, then voicemail.

“No, no, no.”

She grabbed her purse and keys and darted out the door. Once in the car, she tried Stan again.

This time he answered just before the call slipped to voicemail. “Hello? Steph, that you?” His usually warm and confident voice sounded shaken. Wobbly.

“Yes. I just saw the newspaper. Brenda was killed in a car wreck? Tell me it’s not so.”

“I’m so sorry. Yes. I just got the news about an hour ago. Her husband called me at home to tell me.”

“And it’s already in the paper?”

“Yes, it is. As soon as the call came in to 911, that reporter, Cynthia Green, was right there. Probably heard it on the police scanner. Wrote her piece and sent it in on the side of the road.”

“Unbelievable. But why?”

“It happened on Youngstown. You know how people are complaining about that road. Sharp curve, no guardrail. Claiming it’s not safe and trying to get the city to do something about it. Cynthia is leading the way on that, and this is fodder to help push the agenda.”

“Youngstown Road. Oh no.”

“Yes.”

“B-but I just talked to her yesterday. We were going to have lunch today.”

“I know. I know.” His voice caught and Steph swiped at the tears sliding down her cheeks.

She blinked, keeping the road in focus. “What happened?”

“Her husband said they suspect she was going too fast and lost control. Just like everyone else who’s ever wrecked in that area.”

“I just ... I can’t believe it.” But what was Brenda doing on that road? She lived on the opposite side of town.

“I’ve got to go, Steph. I’ll see you at the office.”

Work. Right. “Yes. I’m on my way now.” She hung up only to have her phone buzz with an incoming call from her brother James. She activated the Bluetooth once more. “Hey.”

“I just heard about Brenda. Steph, I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

She was going to have to pull over if she kept crying. “I’m in shock. I don’t even know what to do.”

“Are you driving?”

“Yes.” She sniffed and swiped her eyes.

“Then pull over.”

Right. She turned into a grocery store lot, parked, and rested her forehead on the steering wheel. Sobs ripped from her while James’s soothing voice came through the speakers. Finally, she got herself together and pulled in a deep breath.

“You still there?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She swallowed. “Okay. I’m going to work and trying to brace myself. It will be horrible. Everyone loved Brenda.”

“Call me if you need me, Squirt. I’m here for you.”

“I know. Thanks, James.” She hung up and aimed her Subaru toward the office, dreading the coming hours, because while her heart pounded out a rhythm of grief, her mind whirled with questions. What had Brenda been doing on Youngstown Road? She, like everyone else in the city, hated it and avoided that route whenever possible. Parents forbade their teens to drive it—and the new drivers had often lost enough friends to obey. So what had compelled Brenda to be on it? And at that time of morning? Or rather night? She couldn’t imagine.

She pulled into the parking lot of her office and parked.

And sat there.

Please, God, get me— us —through this day.

DETECTIVE TATE COOPER STOOD at the edge of the scene of the car accident, the flashing lights of police cars casting an eerie blue glow on the area around him. The air was thick with tension as his fellow officers worked to make sure they didn’t miss anything that might help them understand exactly what happened. The tow truck had finally arrived and pulled the mangled vehicle up onto the bed. Tate was ready to head home and get some sleep. Except sleep was going to have to wait.

He glanced at his watch. In just a few short hours, he was supposed to meet Detective Cole Garrison at the station and begin his first day as a newly appointed detective. He should have scheduled some downtime between his last day as a patrol officer and his first day as a detective, but he’d been eager to get started. Who could have known he’d draw the night shift and have to work an accident with a fatality for his last day?

Tate walked up the slanted embankment and looked at the road. It hadn’t rained in a few days, so the asphalt was dry. The curve was sharp, but Brenda had been a native to Lake City, knew the dangers of the curve, so it hadn’t caught her by surprise. And yet she’d gone around it at a high rate of speed. One of her tires was blown and could have contributed to the accident, but—

“What are you thinking?”

He glanced at Jeff Goode, his partner of six years. “I’m thinking there aren’t any skid marks.”

“Suicide?”

“Maybe.” No matter how many times he worked an accident scene, he always had the same sick feeling in his gut. “But I guess this case will stay with you while I move on. Keep me updated. I want to know why.”

“Of course.” Jeff planted his hands on his hips. “You ready for your big day?”

Tate gave a soft huff that was half sigh, half chuckle. “If I can make it through the shift without having to take a nap, then I’ll call it a success.”

“Yeah, you didn’t plan that very well.”

“No kidding.”

“Hey, Cooper!”

Tate looked up to see one of the officers waving him over. Bobby Knight. He walked to the edge of the drop-off and looked down the path of destruction the runaway vehicle had left behind. “Yeah?”

“Come down here. Wanna show you something.”

Tate turned and raised a brow at Jeff. “You want this one?”

“No thanks. I’m not into rock climbing.”

Tate snorted. “This is a bit different. Just hold the rope and walk down.”

“Pass. He asked for you.”

Tate shook his head, grabbed the rope tied to the back of a fire truck, and belayed his way down. He landed on flat ground next to where the car had been stopped by a copse of trees. “What is it?”

Bobby pointed to one of the larger trees involved in bringing Brenda’s car to a hard halt. Next to it were shards of glass and a hubcap. “That hubcap didn’t come off her car.”

Tate looked closer. “Could it have been here before she drove off the mountain?”

“Naw. Look at it.”

He did and noted it was pretty clean. If it had been there before the wreck, it hadn’t been long. “You think this is more than a one-car accident? That someone ran her off the road?”

“I’m speculating.”

“Anything on the victim’s car that might suggest that?”

“Yeah. Paint that wasn’t there when it came from the factory. It’s an olive-green color. Victim’s car is white. But here’s the deal. It’s been bumped twice.”

“Like someone hit it and then came back for another swipe?”

“Yep.”

Tate snapped a picture of the hubcap with his phone. “Anything else?”

“Well, just one thing. There’s a bullet hole in this tree right here.”

Tate blinked. “Okay. Fresh?”

“As a newborn. Now, I’m not saying they were shooting at the victim, but I can’t rule it out either.”

“Right. So they were chasing her, bumped her—twice—then shot at her?”

“That’s about how I’d put it together, but again, I can’t say for sure. The victim didn’t have any bullet wounds. Looks like she died from head trauma.”

“Okay, thank you.” Tate rubbed his hand over his bearded chin. “You bringing that hubcap up?”

“I am.”

“Good.” He sighed. “Best-case scenario in this tragedy is it really was an accident and someone got scared and ran. Maybe they’d been drinking or whatever. Knew they’d be in a world of trouble if they called it in. Worst case...”

“It was on purpose. The two hits kind of indicate this was intentional. And then there’s the bullet hole in the tree.”

“Right.” Tate radioed Jeff. “Don’t let the tow truck leave yet. I want a couple pictures of the car.”

“Ten-four.”

“Could have been a hunter or something,” he said to Bobby.

“Could have been. It’s archery season right now. Guns don’t start till October. Of course, that doesn’t mean someone forgot to read the calendar and didn’t realize it.”

True. Or just plain ignored the date. Some hunters thought risking getting caught and fined was worth it.

Tate finished examining the area and shook Bobby’s hand. “Thanks. I’ll pass this on to Jeff, and he can share with whoever’s going to be taking over the case.” Tate made his way back up the incline, got the pictures of the paint on the white car and all four hubcaps still attached, then walked over to his partner to fill him in. He slapped him on the shoulder. “All right, buddy, stay in touch. I’m out of here.” He’d already gone through all the personnel stuff, getting his badge, gun, and everything else he needed for his first day on the job as a detective.

Jeff eyed him with an Eeyore expression. “I’m going to miss you. You always let me get away with not doing the hard stuff.”

Like walk down the side of a mountain. Most stuff Jeff thought was hard ... wasn’t. “Because I knew you’d always have my back while I did it. Maybe your next partner will too.”

“Take care.”

“You too.”

Tate went to his personal vehicle he’d driven up hours earlier and climbed behind the wheel. With a heaviness in his heart for the victim of the accident, he aimed his Nissan Armada toward the precinct and refused to feel nervous. He’d been working toward this moment his whole life. Since he was fifteen he’d been focused, one goal in mind. To be a detective and to put the bad guys away. To stop as many crimes as he possibly could before they were committed.

He drew in a deep breath. He’d done it. He was a detective. Now it was time to make his mark.

If he could just stay awake.