Chapter 1

1

J enna Simon let out a long, shaky sigh and gripped the edge of the white porcelain sink in the kitchen. As an emergency room doctor, she'd seen her fair share of tough situations. But nothing could prepare her for the travesties of the battered women and children she tended when volunteering at Safe Haven Women's Shelter.

Each bruise, each swollen lip, each trembling child was like a punch in the gut. But she'd take the blows anytime Mrs. Collins or Laura called, asking her to do an evaluation on another new guest.

The guest she'd just left alone and scared in her room hit a little harder than most. The young woman had traveled a long, tough road recovering from drug use only to find herself with a dangerous man.

The scars on her arms had taken Jenna back in time. Back to a time of fighting tooth and nail to keep her baby sister away from the drugs her body craved. Back to moments of struggling to save Stella from herself, even at the cost of her own relationship.

Blinking back tears, Jenna pulled herself together and quickly washed her hands. Her past was filled with heartbreak and loss, but she could never regret any of it because it had brought Oliver into her life. Her almost two-year-old son was worth every second of pain she had experienced.

With thoughts of Oliver's dark curls and big blue eyes, she wiped her hands on a dish towel she found on the counter. Time to head home and relieve the sitter who'd been there all day. Normally she'd bring Oliver with her to the shelter, but there hadn't been time to stop and grab him after leaving her shift at the hospital. Her arms ached with a need to hold her baby.

"Lord almighty, I'm going to fall right over." Elsie Sweet, the owner of the local thrift shop in Pine Valley, Tennessee bustled into the kitchen and heaved a bundle of garment bags on the marble island. She blew out an exasperated breath, pushing her long strawberry blond bangs off her smooth forehead.

"Are these all donations?" Jenna asked, eyes wide.

"Yep. Ever since I set out a donation box at the shop, I've been up to my pretty little neck in clothes I need to mend, hem, and patch. The back room Mrs. Collins set aside for clothing is going to run out of space. I'm going to ask if I can bring in more racks to organize things."

"Mrs. Collins will happily jump on anything that's going to make her life easier," Jenna said.

Mrs. Collins had lived in the old Victorian house for years, generously using part of the home as a food pantry for the community. After Laura Metcalf had suggested transforming the home into a women's shelter, the two women had worked tirelessly to provide a place for women and children in need, as well as welcoming countless volunteers to share their talents and time in whatever way possible.

Jenna had signed on right away as a medical professional, helping to care for the individuals she met at Safe Haven Women's Shelter however she could. Making friends with the other selfless volunteers was icing on the very rewarding, and often difficult, cake.

"Hello?" A faint greeting flitted into the kitchen from the front of the house.

Elsie cocked her head to the side and her hair spilled over one slender shoulder. "Is someone here?"

A few beats of silence passed. Jenna stilled, waiting to hear the voice again.

"Hello? Is anyone here?"

"Should we go out to the foyer?" Elsie asked. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say. I only talk to the women when looking for something to wear. I don't want to do the wrong thing."

Jenna squeezed Elsie's shoulder. "I'll go. You stay here and figure out where to put these clothes. Mrs. Collins is a sweetheart, but she hates a messy kitchen."

She left Elsie and her snorted laugh behind as she pushed open the swinging door to the foyer. She wasn't usually the one to greet women who ventured into the shelter, but she had plenty of experience on how to handle people who were scared and desperate.

A woman with shoulder-length hair stood with her back to Jenna, arms wrapped around her waist.

"Hi," Jenna said. "Can I help you?"

The woman spun around, and Jenna's heart crashed at her feet.

"Stella?"

Her younger sister stared back at her with a tiny smirk on her full lips. Staring at her dark hair and eyes was like staring into a mirror—like staring at Oliver. Ice froze Jenna's blood as excitement at seeing her sister after so long collided with fear of what had brought her to the shelter.

Stella dropped her arms to her sides. "You don't look happy to see me, sis."

Jenna fought to keep her composure, to keep any hint of emotion from slipping into her facial expressions. "Just surprised. It's been a long time. Are you okay? You look good." She was surprised at the truth of her last statement. Gone was the too-skinny girl with stringy hair and blood-shot eyes. She looked strong and healthy and clean.

Three things she'd wanted for her sister since they'd been teenagers over a decade ago.

"I'm great, actually. Better than I've ever been. I moved to Pine Valley a few months ago, stayed sober, and even started my own business."

Jenna's smile tightened as dread settled in the pit of her stomach. "That's amazing. So happy to hear you're doing well."

Stella's brows raised almost to her hairline. "Somehow I doubt that."

Jenna bit back a groan of frustration. Arguing with Stella never got her anywhere. Besides, even though she was glad to hear Stella was doing well, it didn't stop the nagging disbelief that her sobriety would last. It never did. And now there was way too much at stake to just let Stella waltz back into her life.

Taking a tentative step forward, she debated how to respond. "All I've ever wanted was for you to be happy. To be healthy and find whatever it was that you were looking for. I love you, Stella."

Stella fisted her hands on her hips and lifted her chin a fraction. "If that's true, then you'll give me back what's mine. You'll give me back my baby."

Terror took hold of Jenna's throat, making it almost impossible to push out her words. "Oliver is my child. You signed the papers. The adoption is legal. I'm his mother."

"No, you're not." Stella stomped her foot on the wide-planked wooden floor. "I'm his mom. I gave birth to him, and you took him from me. My life is on track, and I want him where he belongs."

Jenna struggled not to lose her temper, not to launch into logic and facts that her sister wouldn't consider. Wouldn't hear. "Stella, you left Oliver in the NICU the second you were discharged and never looked back. You signed the papers that made me his mother, and I'm the only mother he's ever known. Maybe we can sit down and talk about the best way to handle this. To discuss what's best for him."

"I'm what's best for him." Stella's voice grew louder with each word, and red climbed into her cheeks.

Quick footsteps padded down the stairs. Mrs. Collins appeared, worry etched on the fine lines of her weathered face. "Jenna? What's going on? Is there a problem?"

"Sorry, Mrs. Collins. We'll take this outside. We don't want to upset anyone."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Stella said. "I just came to tell you I'll be taking back my son. One way or the other."

Jenna watched in horror as Stella stormed out of the house, leaving jagged shards of the bomb she'd dropped behind her.

The steady drip drip drip of coffee into the empty pot held Jenna's full attention as she struggled to keep her eyes open. After she'd gotten home the previous night and put Oliver to bed, she'd attempted to play catch-up on all her missed sleep, but she'd lain in bed for hours, unable to drift into oblivion.

Not wanting to relive the moments with her sister, she retrieved a mug from the cabinet then grabbed the black handle of the coffee pot. Her hands shook. Stella wanted to take away Oliver—Jenna's baby boy who she loved more than anything in the world.

She tightened her grip on the hard plastic. Anger surged through her, making her reconsider adding caffeine to her now boiling blood. How could her sister charge back into her life and mess everything up again? Stella hadn't even considered what her new-found interest in the child she'd birthed could do to Oliver. A list of things she should do to cover her bases flipped through her mind as she filled her cup. Exhaustion weighed down her shoulders as the doorbell chimed from the front of the house.

Taking a quick sip of coffee, she burned her tongue then crossed through the connected living room to get to the door. She opened it wide and squinted against the harsh sunlight that poured inside along with the cool autumn breeze.

The sight of a uniformed police officer spiked her blood pressure. "Good morning. Everything okay?"

The scruffy-faced officer gave a brief nod. "Morning. I'm Officer Sawyer. I'm sorry to bother you so early."

A boulder sat low in her gut, and an uneasy feeling washed over her. Something wasn't right, and whatever bad news this man carried, she wanted it as far away from Oliver as possible. "That's all right, Officer. Is there a problem?"

Officer Sawyer's frown deepened. "I'm here to inform you that your sister, Stella Simon, was murdered last night."

The matter-of-fact statement slammed against her like a physical blow. She'd expected this news for so long, always wondering when she'd get the call that Stella had overdosed or gotten her hands on a bad batch of whatever she'd shot into her veins.

But not after just seeing Stella with fire in her eyes and a healthy glow to her skin.

Officer Sawyer narrowed his gaze. "Where were you around midnight, Dr. Simon?"

She blinked, long and slow, trying to keep up with everything being thrown her way. "Home. Why?"

"I've been informed you spoke with your sister last night."

Jenna set her mug on a side table pressed against the wall and willed her heart not to beat out of her chest. "Yes, we spoke briefly."

"That you two had an argument about your child."

Fear squeezed her heart. "Yes."

"Do you have an alibi for the time in question?" The officer raised his brows high over blue eyes.

"No. I was home alone all night with my son. He's not even two yet." Sweat gathered on the back of her neck, but she refused to wipe it off. She didn't have to be a seasoned criminal to understand what was happening. Stella was dead, and the police thought she might be involved.

And she had no way to prove she wasn't.

"What happened to Stella?" Her voice cracked as memories of her childhood with Stella flooded over her. They'd been close once, best friends. She didn't deserve to die.

Officer Sawyer frowned but regret flickered across his face. "I'm unable to release that information. But don't leave town. I'll have more questions for you soon."

Jenna closed the door, bracing her palm against the solid wood to keep her shaking legs from giving out. She was suspected of murdering her sister, and the police were tight-lipped about the details. She needed to know what happened to Stella. Then she needed to prove she had no part in her death.

Straightening, she swiped her mug from the table and hurried into her bedroom. If the police had her in their sights, she had to find someone who knew how to get answers. If the police weren't on her side, there was only one person she trusted to handle this.

The one person who despised her the most in the world.

Unplugging her phone from the charger by her bed, she searched for the number to Calvin Spradling's Private Investigator business and pressed call.

Her nerves danced as she waited to hear his voice for the first time in four years. A voice she'd missed every day since she'd broken his heart.

The screech of the alarm on Calvin Spradling's phone pulsed into the room and roused him from a light sleep. He swatted the nightstand and grabbed his cell phone. He shut off the obnoxious beeping, tossed the phone on top of the thick down comforter, and buried himself under the blanket for a while longer.

Ring, ring, ring.

A groan rumbled deep in his chest. Talking to anyone before he had his first cup of coffee was never a good idea, but he didn't have the luxury of missing a conversation with a potential client. Nothing annoyed him more than people who refused to leave a voicemail, making him wonder if he'd nearly escaped an annoying telemarketer or lost a paying customer. He slid his arm out of the comfortable heat of the blanket and grabbed his phone, answering before looking at the number flashing across the screen.

"Calvin Spradling. How can I help you?" He hoped the husky quality of his normally smooth voice didn't read lazy private investigator who lounged in bed. He coughed quietly to clear the rest of the fatigue from his throat.

"Calvin, it's Jenna. I need your help." Desperation leaked into Jenna's normally calm tone.

At least that's how he always remembered her. A steady rock when the world went crazy—until the pressure of family obligation became too much.

He bolted up straight and tightened his grip on the device, pushing away all the horrible memories Jenna Simon conjured. "Why in the world do you think I'd help you?"

He flexed his fingers, his brain commanding him to hang up. But he couldn't break the connection. A tiny part of his heart fluttered at the sound of her voice.

"Please. The police showed up at my house this morning. My sister was murdered. They think I'm involved."

Shock rooted him to the spot. Their relationship might have ended badly, but the woman didn't have a violent bone in her body. She'd never hurt anyone, let alone kill someone. Especially Stella. Jenna had made it her life's mission to help her sister out of trouble—even when that trouble had cost Calvin his position in the police academy. "Do they have any evidence?"

"They didn't say much. Please, can we get together and talk about this? You're the only one I trust. I don't know what else to do."

Calvin pinched the bridge of his nose. Bitterness and anger shouted for him to hang up and let Jenna deal with the mess she wound up in, but he could hear the tears in her voice.

He ran a palm over his forehead. Meeting her to talk over everything might not be the best idea, but the least he could do was find out what kind of shitstorm waited for her. "I can't promise I'll help but stop by and we can talk about what happened."

"Can I come by in twenty minutes?"

Wincing, he shoved his hand through his tangled mop of hair. He'd never forgive Jenna for hurting him, but this was nothing more than meeting a potential client. "Make it forty-five."