Chapter 1

Chapter One

Rafferty

I t was the week before Christmas, and I held my breath as the jury foreperson stood. The defendant, Jesse Travis, rubbed his mouth with a heavily inked hand, waiting for her to read the verdict. His hair was in a neat quiff and he wore a tailored navy-blue suit that showcased his lean form. The upstanding citizen cosplay was pretty good, but the tattoos peeking out at the cuffs and neckline made him look like a mafia don in that suit.

Personally, I preferred him with the loose halo of waves and high-end urban style I’d become familiar with in my months’ long surveillance. When I first started investigating him, I thought his casual clothes and heavy chains were the mask and that he had the soul of cold-blooded killer.

Over time, however, there were a million things that never fully added up. The way he always brought a coffee to the panhandler on his street. The groceries he bought for his elderly neighbor. The way the neighborhood kids joked around with him.

I started to realize that, had he been raised by different people, he would have chosen any other life than this.

According to my boss, that was my biggest weakness—I saw too much of the humanity in the folks that we investigated. It was just...I knew some of the people caught in our net would’ve made different choices if they could’ve. Still, I’d been doing this long enough to know that someone like Jesse Travis didn’t give a shit about my empathy because my testimony was going to put him away for a very, very long time.

This case had started off with a supposedly easy mission: find out who killed a small-time dealer nicknamed Jimmy Shoes. It didn’t take me long to realize that Jimmy was no small-time dealer and that this case had implications regarding Austin’s major drug distribution networks.

The investigation took place over the summer, and we took our time with the details, ensuring that the District Attorney’s office had what they needed to not only prosecute Jesse Travis, but also to eventually go after the entire Travis family empire.

The last part was harder because whoever managed the Travis family funds had done an excellent job of setting up an impenetrable combination of shell companies and offshore accounts to hide the cash.

Even so, I finally got the opportunity to testify a couple weeks before Christmas. While Jesse Travis’s lawyer was top-notch, my findings had been unassailable. Jesse had been the one to pull the trigger that night.

My heart pounded in my chest as the jury foreperson straightened out the document with trembling fingers and read, “On the charge of second-degree murder, we, the jury, find the defendant, Jesse Travis, guilty.”

I turned to watch Jesse as the foreperson carefully droned through the rest of the charges. Each new guilty verdict set his jaw on edge, and a warning sounded deep in my gut. Some crooks did okay in prison, but I’d studied this man for months and knew that he was not made for the inside.

I was already in motion when he pivoted away from the defendant’ s table. He smoothly cleared the rail that divided the court room, and I stepped into his path, clocking the cold fury in his eyes.

He launched himself at me.

Operating on instinct, I dropped low, then punched up into his ribs, forcing all of that forward momentum up into his lungs as the bones cracked around my fist. He flew back and landed in a lump against the rail.

The entire sequence took mere seconds, but only when the sheriff’s deputies rushed the scene did time seem to catch up. Despite the wheezing and obvious pain, Jesse never broke eye contact with me.

The judge gaveled everyone to order. “Officers, make sure that Mr. Travis gets the medical attention he needs.” She turned her focus on me. “Detective Rafferty? Are you okay?”

I checked my reddened knuckles, then straightened my uniform and quipped, “Yes, Your Honor. All in a day’s work.”

The shocked gallery laughed at the mild joke while the silently enraged Mr. Travis was led out of the courtroom. Just before the door closed, his dark eyes found mine one more time.

I guess I should be thankful that he was going to jail for a very long time.

A sheriff’s deputy approached me, and I groaned thinking of the upcoming paperwork.

It was surreal, then, after hours of filling out forms in triplicate, to get in my truck and drive to my north Austin suburb with its tasteful Christmas decorations. I pulled into the driveway and my husband was waiting for me at the door with his arms crossed.

I’d choose a literal mountain of paperwork over dealing with whatever’d pissed him off this time.

“Heard you were a big hero down at the courthouse today.”

Marcus was a high-powered attorney who’d fallen in love with the way I looked in my dress blues. Six months into our marriage, however, and we were discovering that he wasn’t a fan of the life that came with it .

“Not a big deal. And I’m pretty sure that stunt added a few more years to his sentence.”

“Good. But no more of these dangerous cases.”

I sighed. Now was not the time to tell him that the head of the GSU—Austin’s Gang Suppression Unit—had stopped by my desk this afternoon and offered me a job on her team. Not only did they work on gang-related violence, but they focused on prevention with younger gang members. Maybe this would give me an opportunity to help out these young guys before they became someone like Jesse Travis.

Given Marcus’s current frustration with my job, I decided to leave it until after Christmas.

One Year Later

“Hey, Raff. Judge Espiritu said that the divorce was finalized yesterday. Sorry to hear about that.” Ronnie Strait, head of the GSU, patted my shoulder. “Divorce at Christmastime is the worst.”

Law enforcement was basically one big high school cafeteria, and bad news made the rounds at lightning speed.

“I’m okay, Ronnie. Been a long time coming.”

That said, I was definitely looking forward to seeing this year in my rearview.

It’d been what my grandma used to call a change year , and she’d always insisted that, once you’d survived a change year, you’d look back on it with a sense of nostalgia. I wondered if she’d still say that knowing this was also the year I lost both her and Grandpa.

They’d raised me, so between their deaths and my divorce, I’d never felt quite so alone.

All I had at the moment was the cabin they’d left for me and my job. I was grateful for the cabin, but when I reflected on the hopes I’d had for this job, I either wanted to laugh hysterically at my naivete or sob uncontrollably for the state of humanity.

Unsurprisingly, I’d been avoiding the department psychologist like the plague.

“Not to add salt to the wound,” Ronnie said, “but did you hear about Jesse Travis?”

Fucking hell. What now with that guy?

“Did he get jumped again?”

I’d made headlines with that punch, which had put a spotlight on him. Last I heard, he’d been moved to a different unit after he nearly killed another inmate in self-defense.

“Actually, his sentence was commuted.”

How the fuck — Ah. Yes.

“Did he flip?”

“Like a fucking gymnast.”

“But he attacked me in front of a judge. And seven sheriff’s deputies.”

It’s possible I’d finally lost a little of that empathy that always found a way to kick my ass.

Ronnie grimaced. “He never made any direct threats to you.”

“He came right at me, Ro.”

“I know. But you know how this works. They wouldn’t have made this deal for some small-time bullshit.”

“The only fish big enough for that would be his dad.”

She tapped the side of her nose. “I don’t have all the details, but that was my guess as well.”

I was proud of the work I’d done to ensure that the Travis family could no longer flood Austin’s streets with dangerous drugs, but the process had been frustratingly slow. I wasn’t a fan of Jesse going free but understood that it was a good trade-off.

“What are the odds that Jesse lives to testify?”

“The Texas Rangers have him, so pretty good.” She gave me a crooked smile. “As long as he doesn’t do anything stupid like tell someone where he’s staying. ”

“He’s way too smart for that.”

“Anyway. You still heading out to Lake Buchanan for Christmas?” she asked, changing the subject. “You don’t have to do the holiday alone, you know.”

Ronnie could be a bit of a hard ass, but she was also the kind of person who held a “widows and orphans” Christmas dinner every year for those who didn’t have family. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I wouldn’t be some sad sack on Christmas, mourning my failed marriage. Instead, I was gonna get drunk as fuck and decide whether this was the life I still wanted for myself.

“Yep. I’ve already got my bag in the car.”

“Did you hear it might actually snow over the weekend?”

We looked at each other and cracked up. We had a good long laugh at that one because, well, Texas snow was laughable.

Ronnie had moved here from Boston, and it baffled her how any hint of a flurry precipitated an apocalyptic run on the grocery stores down here. Lord help us if a whisper of ice hit the road. Sure, we had the occasional snowpocalypse, but we weren’t due another one of those for fifteen years, at least.

The real joke was the fact that the current weather was sixty-five and sunny.

“I’ll pack my snow tires,” I cracked.

“Tell you what, if you’ve already got all your paperwork done, then go ahead and take off now before the traffic makes everything miserable.”

I sent her a salute. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Two minutes later, my sleeves were rolled up and I was pulling out of the department parking lot, headed northwest toward the Highland Lakes. I still hit some traffic, but Ronnie had done me a solid, and soon enough I was hitting rural highway.

I made this drive about once a month and loved to let my mind wander. Today I thought about the fact that Grandma had passed just as her mountain laurel were blooming, and Grandpa had loved her so much that he went just a few weeks later, right in time for the bluebonnets.

As I made my regular stop for supplies, I wondered if I’d ever find someone to love as much as they’d loved each other.

Done with that, I cranked up my favorite playlist and wound my way through the sun-bleached two lanes and over the dammed reservoirs to my grandpa’s handmade blink-and-you-miss-it driveway marker. I bumped down the old caliche path to the wooden cabin I’d grown up in.

I got out of my truck and took a moment to enjoy this little slice of land. The house shared a small inlet cove off Lake Buchanan with three other families, and those homes were rarely occupied outside of summer. It was lonely out here, but picturesque as hell.

A gust of wind interrupted my reverie, and I shivered in my cotton button-down and thin slacks. Checking my phone, I realized that in the time it took me to get out here, the temperature had gone from sixty-five to forty-five and was still falling. Hell, maybe the weatherman was right. We might get a dusting after all.

The sharp wind gave me goose bumps and got me moving. I quickly grabbed my duffel and the grocery bags, plus the handle of vodka I’d purchased at the liquor store on the way in. I was fully committed to my drunken weekend and, since it was fucking Russia out here with that wind chill, I congratulated myself for my sound decision-making.

I walked in and smiled. The familiar cedar-paneled cabin had two bedrooms, one tiny living room, a kitchenette, and a large back porch and pier. My old room had long ago been turned into Grandma’s craft room, and the main bedroom was where my grandparents had slept for fifty years.

After tossing my duffel onto the bed, I cranked up the ancient central heating, dripped the faucets, and put away the groceries. I then dug out my grandma’s old bucket of cleaning supplies and gave the place a once-over. Pleased with my productivity, I grabbed one of Grandpa’s vintage Guinness pint glasses. Having decided that ice was a bad idea in this chilly weather, I poured the vodka till my wrist ached, then finished it off with a whiff of orange juice and called it a Christmas Screw.

Drink in hand, I finally made my way out to the porch-slash-pier in the back that stood over the water. After a few minutes, the wind cut through my summer-weight clothes like a knife, so I went to my duffel and pulled out a pair of sweats, a long tee, and the lined plaid overshirt I’d thrown in at the last minute. I was lucky I’d thought to bring it—it was the closest thing to a jacket I had out here.

I changed, topped off my festive drink, and was back out in time to see the sun do battle with the incoming clouds, producing a heady mix of magentas, oranges, and ominous grays. Everything went a little fuzzy around the edges as I looked out over the opaque water, listening to my grandfather’s old outboard bump against the pier.

As the last sliver of daylight winked out, something cold landed on my nose. I held out my hand, and damned if a flurry didn’t land on my palm. I snuggled into my too-light jacket and let the vodka warm me as the flurries danced around in the cold, dry air.

Within a few minutes, the flurries increased and, rather than melting, fell to the ground.

Huh. That was real snow.

Fuckin’ Texas weather.

I spun in place, then decided I’d rather enjoy it from the warmth of my living room.

Damn, did I already need another top off?

Why not.

Satisfied with my choices, I plopped down on the ancient brown sofa with my drink, scrolling social media as road closure notifications lit up my phone. I was watching a compilation of babies crying on Santa’s lap when the Wi-Fi went out. After the cellular service didn’t pick up the slack, I double-checked and that was down, too.

Fuck it. Who needed technology anyway? I set my phone face down on the coffee table and watched in drunken wonder as actual snow fell over the lake, slowly at first, and then all at once, turning the familiar landscape white.

We were going to have a white Christmas, and I probably should’ve packed warmer clothes.

Eh. That was tomorrow’s problem.

I sat for a long time, letting the anger and sadness and general fucking disappointment of my marriage and the disillusionment of my job wash over me. Even though my brain cells were soaked in vodka, the idea of a reboot had taken hold.

Hell. I had some kickin’ around money from my grandparents’ retirement funds. Maybe I didn’t have to stare down the worst parts of human existence every damned day. Maybe I could live out here and start over. Whatever I decided, something about this rare Texas snowstorm felt like a line in the sand. A distinct before and after.

With that thought in mind, I began to drift off.

Just as my eyes grew heavy, however, a loud banging at the front door jarred me awake. It went quiet and I blinked, not sure what I’d heard. The banging started up again, and I realized that somebody was yelling to be let in.

Jesus, who would be outside in this weather?

Shaking off my stupor, I lurched to my feet and yanked the door open to a swirl of snow. Then staggered back.

There stood Jesse Travis, covered in ice and shivering violently, with blood dripping from his face like something out of a horror movie.

“They’re after me,” he said, then collapsed into my arms.