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Monday, July 22

Memphis Police Department

Public Safety Building

Main Street, Memphis, Tennessee, 9:05 a.m.

It wasn t the end of the world.

Vera Mae Boyett grabbed her coffee mug from her desk and tucked it, coffee stains and all, into the gym bag she d brought from home. No one paid the slightest bit of attention to gym bags-they were as common as briefcases around here. She could be carrying any manner of nonmetal contraband in this seemingly harmless blue nylon bag, and not a soul would notice or even wonder.

But Vera hadn t gone to the gym this morning. The bag was a just-in-case decision. She had seen the writing on the wall, and if this thing ended up going where she suspected it would, she had no desire to return to the office at a later date for her personal belongings. With that in mind, she d come prepared to pack up and walk away.

She squared her shoulders and forced back the emotions crowding into her throat. No, this situation was not the end of the world-just the probable end of fifteen years of service to a job she loved.

The stapler she d bought after the department-issued one broke went into the gym bag next. She wasn t leaving one damned thing that belonged to her. Not for someone to come along one day and pick up, saying, Oh, this belonged to Deputy Chief Boyett. You remember her, the one who allowed a cutting-edge unit to go to hell in a handbasket?

She blinked. Lifted her chin in defiance of the damned emotions that now burned behind her eyes. The past couple of days she had told herself repeatedly there was a slim chance this might not be the end. After all, the investigation had barely begun . . .

Who are you kidding, Vee?

It was over, and she knew it.

This was the outcome she had expected from the beginning-no point pretending. The horrific events of last week were bad. The kind of bad where no one involved walked away unscathed-not even those guilty by association only. Public opinion would not see the difference.

Bottom line, the buck stopped with her. She was responsible.

Vera closed her eyes and struggled to exile the surge of images that had played over and over on the news and social media cycles for the past seven days.

The whole team was going down. The move would be necessary to mitigate the discontent in the community-particularly among the powers that be. No one understood that reality more than her.

Vera s fingers found their way to the paperweight she d had since she was a kid. The round, flat rock, polished to a smooth sheen by eons in a river, had been a gift from her mother. She d painted a V surrounded by flowers and given it to Vera for her fifteenth birthday. A reminder that sometimes things and people need a reason to stay. A little something to hold them in place. Her mother had said those words to her. She already knew she was dying. Vera and her sister Eve did not learn this sad fact until later. Evelyn Boyett understood that when she was gone, her older daughter would want to run as far away as possible. Vera always had big dreams of going places-anywhere but small-town Tennessee.

Two months after her fifteenth birthday, the last truly happy family event Vera could recall, their father explained that their mother hadn t wanted to ruin Vera s special day. Good mothers wanted to protect their children.

Too bad their father didn t follow through with being good. Fathers were supposed to be good, and dependable, too-even after the worst possible thing that could happen to a family did so.

Vera buried the thought, as she had for more than two decades now, and placed the stone in the bag. Looking back to her childhood, all the way up until just after that birthday, Vera could honestly say hers had been pretty perfect. A mother who d been fully engaged with raising her children. One who loved life deeply and treasured the smallest of things-like butterflies and flowers and the perfect stone for creating artistic beauty. A father who worked hard and somehow found endless patience no matter how tired he was when he came home from work each evening. A little sister who adored Vera and believed she could do anything.

But within the year that followed that final genuinely happy birthday, their lives fell apart. For Vera, losing her mother felt like the end of everything. If possible, the loss was even more difficult for her little sister-her only sibling at the time. Eve was only eleven.

The untimely loss had been the beginning of the end.

People who talked about their lives falling apart could generally pinpoint the moment the foundation started to crumble. For the Boyett sisters, that moment had started the day after their mother was buried, when they found their father in the barn. Poor Eve thought he was dead, too, but he was only sleeping off the alcohol in which he d drowned himself the night before. Sadly, the heavy drinking didn t end with that unfortunate episode.

Vernon Ray Boyett had been the perfect husband and an amazing father . . . until he just couldn t be perfect or even good anymore.

Vera closed her eyes and shook her head. Why was she thinking about that now? Her career with the Memphis Police Department had just gone down in flames because of someone else s decision. And there was not one damned thing she could do about it but grieve with the rest of the city.

And go. She had to go. She surveyed the office that had been her home twelve to fourteen hours a day. Rising to the position of deputy chief had been her crowning achievement-the epitome of all she d worked to accomplish. What would she do now? Where would she go? Staying in Memphis wouldn t be an option.

A hum of vibration snapped her attention to her desk. Wouldn t be hers much longer. She struggled to clear the haze of disbelief from her brain and looked for the source of the sound. Face down on her desk blotter, her cell phone vibrated again. Vera took a deep breath and reached for it. If it was another reporter who had somehow managed to obtain her private number, she was going to be . . .

Luna. A frown tugged Vera s eyebrows together. The possible reasons for a sudden call during work hours from her half sister-not that Vera had ever seen her as anything other than a full sister in every sense of the word-set her nerves on edge. This couldn t be good.

Didn t bad things come in threes?

Her shoulders sagged. Damn. Just what she needed.

Vera braced herself and accepted the call. Hey, Luna. Everything okay? That she managed to sound normal under current circumstances startled her. When had she become such a good actress?

More importantly, what did that say about her?

Not going there.

Vee, you have to come home.

Vera stilled at her sister s words. No, not her words-the sound of her voice. Strained with shock or disbelief. So, this was it. Deep breath. She moistened her lips and said the necessary words. Is it Daddy?

Their father was only seventy-five, but his health had taken a turn for the worse just over two years ago. The dementia had made it impossible for him to live at home any longer. Not that Vera got home that much anymore. But Luna kept her informed about their father. Even made the occasional video call-which never seemed to come at a good time-from his room at the memory care facility. It wasn t that she didn t love her father-she did. It was just that in light of what happened after her mother s death, Vera had been forced to adjust her thinking toward him. It was the only way to pretend life was even remotely normal.

Right. What was normal?

A fist clenched in Vera s chest. Though she had been expecting this call for a while now, it still felt like the undoing of some invisible tether to which her life had been bound since the beginning. They-she, Eve, and Luna-were officially orphans now. It was the most unexpected, oddest feeling. She should cry, right? Or, at least, feel tears welling in her eyes. She blinked once, twice. Nothing.

Certainly that was not normal .

No, Luna said, sounding strangely startled. Daddy s fine.

Oh. Good. So . . . Vera started to ask what exactly the trouble was, but her sister began speaking again first.

I mean . . . Luna sighed. You know, he s doing as well as can be expected. But that s not why I m calling. This is about . . . it s Mama, Vee. Her voice grew shrill with something like excitement. They found her.

Suddenly thirty-nine-year-old Vera Mae Boyett was seventeen again, soaking wet and cradling her baby sister to her chest. With the burn of fear rushing through her veins and the wail of the nine-month-old echoing in her ears, she had mentally scrambled for how to fix the unfixable.

Vera blinked away the jarring memory. I don t understand. It was all she could think to say. The fist that had been pressing against the vital organs in her chest now pushed into her throat. Shock, disbelief . . . apprehension rushed through her.

How could this be?

No. No. No. This was not supposed to happen. Two years after her stepmother s disappearance, the consensus among all who knew her had been that Sheree Corbin Boyett either was dead or no longer wanted to be a part of their lives. When her body was never found, they assumed the latter. In spite of the rumors and conclusions, their father never remarried. Vera had wondered if deep down he hoped Sheree would come back one day. Or perhaps he realized that his hasty wedding to another woman after his first wife died had been a mistake that didn t bear repeating.

Please. Like he deserved that much credit.

They found her, Luna repeated, as if Vera hadn t gotten that part.

Oh, she got it. The ability to breathe had escaped her as that unexpected reality pulsed its way to her brain. Her equilibrium wobbled. Dear God, how had this happened? She squeezed her eyes shut. No. No. No.

She didn t leave us, Vee. Luna s voice broke in, shaking with raw emotion now. Someone took her from us. Mama s dead. She s been dead all this time.

Luna continued to speak, but two words boomed over and over in Vera s head, drowning out all else. Mama s dead. Mama s dead.

Somehow, before the ability to think deserted her completely, Vera managed to promise she would be home as soon as possible. As the call ended, she stared at the screen. Attempted to gather her wits about her, but the sour taste of regret and panic surged into her throat too quickly. Vera dropped her phone onto her desk and rushed from her office.

Forcing herself to move more slowly so as not to draw attention, she concentrated on holding back the bile. Her eyes stung. Her stomach spasmed. She made it through the door of the restroom and as far as the sink before the bitterness spewed forth, leaving a burn from the very bottom of her gut to her nose.

When she stopped gagging, she twisted the faucet s handle and cupped her hand beneath the flow of water to rinse her mouth. She did the same to flush the sink, then braced her hands on the cold porcelain and stared at herself in the mirror.

This couldn t be. Could. Not. Be.

Her career was falling apart . . . spiraling out of control, and now her personal life was tipping over the edge . . . and it was all happening at once.

Breathe. Pull it together.

Barely restraining the surging emotions, she straightened and steadied herself. Ran her fingers through her hair, adjusted her jacket, and then walked out of the restroom. With her gaze locked onto the entrance of her office, she moved in that direction, hoping to God she didn t run into anyone who wanted to offer their regrets regarding her team s crash and burn.

She passed one . . . two colleagues, but both were focused on the files they carried. All she had to do was make it a few more steps, and she would be in the clear.

Deep breath. Keep moving.

As she reached her desk, she sagged with relief. Hand shaking, she picked up her phone and tucked it into her shoulder bag. Another deep breath.

Hold it together a little while longer.

One last survey of her office, and her gaze landed on the framed photo that sat on the corner of her desk, angled so she could see it whenever she looked up from her work. The photograph was of the three of them: her, Eve, and their much younger sister, Luna. They were all smiling. Standing under that big old oak tree in the front yard back home. Seemingly of its own accord, Vera s hand reached for the framed memory and placed it in the gym bag.

Okay. Breathe. That was the last of her personal effects. She was done. She could leave now.

Laughter abruptly bubbled into her throat, sputtered past her lips. This was insane.

Two people were dead. The team she had helped create from the ground up would likely be abolished-every single person related to it in any way had been suspended, pending further investigation. The whole thing continued to play out in the media like a bad movie, amplifying the already tragic situation.

Her disillusioned laughter dissolved as the hot sting of tears surged onto her lashes.

Here she d thought the worst that could happen had done so already . . . then her sister called.