Chapter 1

ONE

Sweat dampened the nape of Detective Josie Quinn’s neck. Lifting her black locks with one hand, she used the other to fan her skin. Even at nine in the morning, the July air felt heavy and cloying. She stood on the sidewalk outside a residence in Central Denton, wishing this particular section of the street was shaded. This neighborhood was one of the oldest in the city, featuring large Victorian homes, most of which had at least one tree out front. Not this one. The prospect of air conditioning called to her like a siren song from her SUV, parked nearby.

“Here.” A paper coffee cup appeared in front of her face.

Josie took it and smiled up at FBI Agent Drake Nally. He was off duty, dressed casually in a fitted blue T-shirt and tan cargo shorts. Sunglasses shielded his brown eyes.

“Blonde latte?” she asked him.

“That’s what you asked for.”

“Thanks.” She took a long sip, ignoring the burn across her tongue.

Drake looked from her to her SUV. “Why aren’t you sitting in your car? In the AC?”

A smile curved Josie’s lips and she used her cup to motion toward the house. “Wait for it…”

Drake studied the property. Behind a wrought-iron fence, a Jack Russell terrier lay on its back, sunbathing on the front lawn. Folding his arms across his chest, Drake said, “Looks like a hotbed of crime.”

Anticipatory glee stirred in Josie’s heart. “Just wait.”

“Shouldn’t you be in there? Did you get a call?”

She sipped her latte, not even caring that the hot drink was going to make her sweat more. “We did. Margaret Bonitz. She’s an elderly widow. Last year she called 911 a half-dozen times saying that someone was breaking into her house and stealing things—but nothing valuable. Dishes and flatware. The remote control. Weird stuff. Responding officers couldn’t find any evidence of a break-in. They started to think she was senile.”

Drake turned away from the house and dipped his chin, watching Josie carefully. “She wasn’t senile, was she?”

“Nope. Neighborhood kids were messing with her. Gretchen had Mrs. Bonitz order a cheap camera, set it up for her, and caught them. Anyway, now when she calls, we come. Gretchen told her to call the investigative team, not 911.”

Drake pursed his lips, looking impatient. He wasn’t in Denton in his official capacity as an FBI agent. He only ever came to Denton with his girlfriend, Trinity Payne, who was also Josie’s twin sister. Trinity was an accomplished journalist who had moved from anchoring a national network news broadcast to having her own show, Unsolved Crimes with Trinity Payne . In fact, she was still in New York City finishing up an episode. It was very unusual for Drake to travel without her, much less for him to request a few minutes of Josie’s time in private. Something was up, but right now, Josie was solely focused on Margaret Bonitz’s front door.

Realizing this, Drake sighed. He pushed a hand through his dark hair, somehow making his already perfectly tousled mane look even more dashing. He couldn’t be a more perfect fit for Josie’s sister. She hoped he wasn’t in Denton early to tell her that he was about to dump Trinity.

“If you got a call, why are you out here?” he asked.

“I’m waiting for my colleague. The new guy.”

He tipped his head back, letting out a long breath. “Oh. Douchebag.”

“I’m not supposed to call him that anymore. Out loud. But yeah, that’s the one.” He was still saved in her phone contacts as Douchebag, though.

Detective Kyle Turner had been hired about a year ago to replace their fallen colleague, Detective Finn Mettner. Denton was a small city in central Pennsylvania. Its central district—where Josie and Drake now stood—straddled the banks of a branch of the Susquehanna River but the city limits extended far beyond that, its rural roads threading through the mountains that surrounded it. Its population was enough to support a decent-sized police department as well as a four-member investigative team which included Josie, her husband, Lieutenant Noah Fraley, Detective Gretchen Palmer, and the newest and most loathsome member of the team, Turner.

“He hasn’t gotten any better then?” Drake asked.

Josie took another sip of her latte. “Well, I’m more inclined to throat punch him now than knee him in his balls, if that tells you anything.”

Drake snickered. “I’m not sure what that says about him—or you.”

“He’s still late filing his shitty reports. Half the time we have no idea where he is. One of these days his phone will need to be surgically removed from his hand—if Gretchen doesn’t shove it up his ass before then—but we’re still working on his inability to call us by our actual names.”

The front door of Mrs. Bonitz’s house opened and Turner emerged, phone in hand, looking as annoyed as ever. Margaret followed him onto the porch, chattering away, pointing an arthritic finger up at his face. Apparently, he made as good a first impression on her as he did on everyone else. Without looking away from his phone screen, Turner said something to her that made her shake her head in disgust.

Finally noticing the presence of his owner and Turner, the dog flipped onto its feet.

“What are we waiting for?” asked Drake.

“You’ll see.”

Turner waved Mrs. Bonitz away and started down the walk, head bent to his phone, thumb scrolling. The dog let out a growl. Turner didn’t notice. The dog followed him to the gate. Turner fumbled to unlatch it. Mrs. Bonitz’s dog took that opportunity to lift his leg and make his displeasure with the large unwelcome human known.

Josie hid her giggle behind her coffee cup.

A stream of expletives burst from Turner’s mouth as he watched the dog dart away, back to the safety of the porch. Mrs. Bonitz still stood there, now wearing a satisfied smile. Turner looked down at his soaked pantleg and let out a groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Finally, he got the gate unlatched and stalked over to Josie, not sparing Drake a glance. Turner towered over her, his deep-set blue eyes flashing with fury as he speared a finger at her face. “You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?”

Josie didn’t back away. “I know that when you come here, if you don’t leave fast enough, Mrs. Bonitz’s dog will piss on your leg. I did not know you would take so long getting the gate open.”

Turner looked down at his pantleg again, growling. He wore a suit to work every day, even in the middle of the summer. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

Drake watched, an amused smile on his face.

“What did Mrs. Bonitz say?” Josie asked innocently.

“You don’t give two shits what Mrs. Bonitz said.”

“Now that’s not true?—”

Turner thrust a finger in her face again. “Listen, sweetheart?—”

A slow grin spread across Josie’s face when he froze. She reached up and pushed his arm down. Then she held out a palm. “Come on, Turner.”

From her periphery she saw Drake arch a brow.

Shaking his head, Turner jammed his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket. “This is bullshit.”

“You agreed to this so hand it over. It’s only Monday. At this rate, by the end of the week I’ll have enough money to buy the entire department a round of drinks.”

Mumbling even more curses, Turner started searching his pants pockets instead. Finally, he came up with a crumpled dollar bill and deposited it into Josie’s hand.

“You could make an effort to look a little less smug,” he told her.

“Fuck that.” She did make an effort not to wrinkle her nose when she closed her fist around the dollar to find that it was damp. Stuffing it into the pocket of her khakis, she slugged down the rest of her latte.

Turner’s head swiveled toward Drake, giving him a slow appraisal. Both men were over six feet. Seeing them face to face, Josie would venture to guess they were exactly the same height. Turner said, “Who the hell is this? He looks like a Fed.”

Drake stroked his goatee and glanced over at Josie. “Does he always talk about people like they’re not standing right in front of him?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

Turner rolled his eyes and extended his hand to Drake. “Detective Kyle Turner.”

Drake accepted the offering. “Special Agent Drake Nally.”

“You are a Fed. I knew it. What are you doing here? Don’t tell me Mrs. Bonitz has a direct line to you, too. I don’t think we need the FBI to figure out which neighbor keeps putting their garbage in her cans.”

“He’s here for me,” Josie said.

One of Turner’s brows quirked. “Really? Does your husband know?”

Drake sidled over to Josie and slid an arm around her shoulders. Deadpan, he said, “I just told him. We’re going to fight to the death later to see who gets to stay.”

Josie could see the momentary confusion flash through Turner’s eyes. Then he returned Drake’s deadpan tone. “May the best man win.”

Josie sniffed the air. “You smell like piss.”

“Thanks to you, sweet—” He broke off and quickly corrected himself. “Quinn.”

“That still counts,” Josie said. “Half a ‘sweetheart’ is fifty cents.”

“I’ll put it in the jar at the stationhouse later,” he grumbled. “I gotta go home and change my pants. Let me know if any other old ladies need help with their chores.”

Drake released Josie as they watched Turner walk away, phone back in his hand. “Wow. He’s a ray of sunshine, isn’t he?”

Josie turned to face him, surprised at just how nervous she felt. A bead of sweat rolled down her spine. “Never mind him. What’s going on? Why all the secrecy?”

Drake took off his glasses and grinned. “Relax. It’s good news. I’m going to ask Trinity to marry me.”

Josie’s worry quickly transformed into excitement. She rocked up onto her toes and threw an arm around his neck, squeezing him in a half-hug. “Drake! That’s amazing!”

He patted her back. There was an edge of apprehension when he said, “She’ll say yes, won’t she?”

Releasing him, Josie laughed. “Considering that she thinks you’ve taken way too long to do it already, yes. I hope you’ve got something dramatic planned for the proposal because it’s ‘go big or go home’ with Trinity.”

Drake ran his hands through his hair again. “Uh, yeah, I’ve met her. It’s going to be hard to beat jumping off a cliff though.”

“My husband didn’t jump off a cliff. That wasn’t part of the proposal. I hope you got Trinity a ring you can see from space.”

Drake rolled his eyes. “Why do you think it’s taken me so long to propose? Government employees don’t make that much. I had to save up.”

Josie laughed again. “You have my blessing. I won’t tell anyone besides Noah. What is your plan?”

He told her.

Josie raised a brow. “Oh, you’re doing it this week? Here?”

He nodded and let out a shaky breath. He was nervous, which was kind of sweet. “So, will you guys help me?”

“Of course.”

Her ringtone sounded. She took her phone from her pocket and answered dispatch with a curt, “Quinn.” As she listened, her pulse fluttered. “On my way,” she said, hanging up.

Drake frowned. “Catch a bad one?”

Josie walked around to the driver’s side door of her SUV. “I’m not sure. Dispatch said there’s a baby sitting in a stroller in the city park with no parent to be found.”