Chapter One

Margo Angelhart

Arizona State Trooper Peter Carillo had left for work thirty minutes ago. I waited down the street, making sure he didn't double back to check on his wife. Carillo's job had a lot of flexibility, so he could come home anytime during his shift, but according to Annie, he rarely returned before lunch. Still, no counting on it. The plan: in and out in thirty minutes—forty, tops.

The cookie-cutter two-story house in north Phoenix, in a community called Norterra, had been built up over the last twenty-some years with near-identical homes distinguished only by slightly different facings. The Carillos lived on a large corner lot. I lightly tapped my horn as I turned into the driveway. The garage door rose and I pulled in. As I'd instructed Annie, she quickly closed the door behind me.

The front entrance was off-limits because Carillo had installed a video doorbell system that would alert him every time someone approached their front porch. The one time Annie had "accidentally" turned it off she'd paid with a gut punch. I feared if we tried that today, he might immediately return home, so decided on the stealthy approach.

I set my watch timer for thirty minutes; it was now 7:32 a.m. I hoped it didn't take longer to get Annie and her two kids out of the house.

Annie stood in the doorway. Too-pale skin framed by thick black hair, dark circles under her eyes, but the firm set of her jaw and tilt of her head confirmed that she was committed.

I couldn't afford to be wrong about Annie.

Last time I thought the woman I was helping escape a similar situation had been strong enough to walk, I'd been mistaken. Mistaken? What a joke. I'd miscalculated and misunderstood the people and emotions involved, and Christy ended up dead.

You can't force them to leave, Margo. You can't drag them out by their hair, kicking and screaming, insisting that their asshole husband will change, that it's their fault, that if only they hadn't done X, Y, or Z he wouldn't have gotten mad.

Pushing Christy and failure aside—failure was not an option this time—I opened the back of my Jeep and pulled out a new luggage set, rolled it over to where Annie stood, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt.

"Are you sure?" I searched Annie's brown eyes for any hesitation, any doubt.

"Yes." She nodded her head once as if to emphasize her affirmation. "I did everything you said, Margo—didn't pack, didn't do anything to draw suspicion."

"We're on the clock. Everything is in place. Where are the kids?"

"PJ is watching cartoons. Marie is stirring in her crib."

"Leave her for now. We'll start in your room."

Annie led the way upstairs.

As in many of the tract homes built at the turn of the century, the master suite was spacious. Annie had taste—everything attractive and homey—but this room didn't feel like her. While the living areas were filled with feminine touches—dried flower arrangements, tasteful and delicate antiques, and comfortable furniture suitable for toddlers, the master was completely different. Large black contemporary furniture, a black satin comforter with gold and white pillows on the king-size bed, and a wide leather love seat in front of the mounted television. The entire room was dark and overly masculine, as if Peter Carillo wanted to exert dominance over his wife in the bedroom.

I hefted the suitcase onto the bed, unzipped it. Inside was a smaller case and a duffel bag.

"Just bring what you need," I reminded her, pulling on gloves before touching anything.

When Annie looked at my hands and frowned, I explained, "If he has the place printed, mine might pop. I've never been arrested, but I'm a licensed PI so my prints are on file." Carillo would have to break the law to search in noncriminal databases. I wasn't certain he would go that far because it could come back to bite him in the ass, but no way was I taking chances.

I tossed her the duffel. "Bathroom. Grab only essentials."

Annie took the bag into her bathroom while I grabbed items from the dresser. A week's worth of socks and underwear from the top drawer. Next drawer held sexy lingerie, the lacy kind that was super uncomfortable and usually bought by a man. Skip it.

Third drawer: perfectly folded pants, jeans. I selected four, put them in the largest suitcase. Bottom drawer held running shorts, sweats, tank tops. After picking out three of each, I turned to the closet.

Annie came out of the bathroom. She put the half-filled duffel down on the bed. I called from the closet, "Pick two pairs of shoes, comfortable."

Annie came in, grabbed a pair of sneakers that matched what she currently wore, and a pair of black loafers that would go with anything. Then flip-flops. "Okay?" she asked.

I nodded as I pulled a couple T-shirts, nice blouses, and a blazer and skirt set that would be good for a job interview and rolled everything tightly for packing. Then, I added one complete change of clothes—sweats and a T-shirt—into the duffel bag. "To make traveling easier, so you can leave your big suitcase in the car." A quick glance at the countdown: nineteen more minutes. "Anything else in here that you really want?" I waved my arm around the room.

Annie stared. "It doesn't matter, does it?"

"These are just things, but some things are more important than others. Maybe something with sentimental value."

Annie walked over to a small vanity and opened her jewelry box. Like the rest of the room, the box was organized. She took off her wedding ring, put it on the table, and pulled out a black velvet pouch. "This was my mother's ring. It's the only thing I really care about."

The pain in Annie's voice hit me. She had no living family, no close friends, no one she trusted with the truth—except me, a virtual stranger she'd met only three months ago. She was leaving her abusive husband and there was no turning back. I knew it, she knew it.

"Bring the kids' things in here and I'll pack. I know they'll want toys—only take things they really, really need. A favorite stuffed animal. A few games or books for the road."

"PJ has an iPad. I know he's young, but..."

"No iPad. No phones. No electronics of any kind. Nothing he can use to track you."

Annie's lip quivered. "I—I didn't think about that."

"I did. Just get the clothes, any important papers you might need."

Now tears fell. "He keeps everything locked in his safe. I don't have the combination."

Of course he did. Damn bastard. "That's okay. I have good forgeries of what you need with your new names, but the originals might come in handy. Don't worry about that now. Go. Clock's ticking."

While Annie went to the kids' rooms, I searched her bedroom, looking for anything that I could use against Peter Carillo. Important items were likely in the safe in the closet. Bet his guns were in there as well.

Annie came back with a laundry basket filled with boys' clothes and a worn blue blanket. "PJ can't sleep without it. And his pillow."

"Good. I'll pack everything. Go get Marie and her things."

Eleven minutes left. PJ's things filled most of the smaller suitcase once I'd stuffed in the pillow and blanket. That was okay. Again, I selected a change of clothes and rolled them into the duffel, then added the blanket, which freed up room for Marie's clothes in the suitcase. When my nephew was little, he couldn't sleep without his T. rex stuffed animal. We used to tease my younger sister about her attachment to a small beanbag dog named Rosie, until she lost the dog when we were camping at the Grand Canyon and cried for a week.

Annie came in with another laundry basket of baby clothes for Marie. "Grab everything else I put on the list—diapers, medicines, ointments, whatever. Go."

Annie obeyed without question. She was strong. At least now she was; I hoped she stayed strong over time—when she was alone, scared, with only two young children as company.

Babies were messy, so I put three clothing changes into the duffel plus a handful of diapers. The rest went into the smaller suitcase, and by the time Annie came in with Marie and a diaper bag, I had everything zipped up.

I carefully searched the diaper bag for any sort of hidden tracker. Annie watched me, but didn't speak.

"Anything else? Anything important? You can't come back."

"You said no electronics, but what about a portable DVD player? For the car—it's a long drive. There's no internet or anything. PJ loves his shows, and...well... I don't know what to tell him. I don't know how he's going to handle this."

"He'll handle it if you handle it. He's almost four. He looks to you for everything." My timer went off. Dammit. I set it for five more minutes. "We have to go. Grab the smaller suitcase." I took the large suitcase and duffel off the bed and went downstairs.

PJ was standing on the other side of the child safety gate. He looked at me with curious eyes as I hauled the dark purple luggage over the railing. "Who are you?"

"A friend of your mommy's." While I'd been working with Annie for nearly three months, we never met around PJ, fearing he might say something to his dad. No matter how innocuous, even an innocent comment could put the plan in danger. Put Annie in danger.

Behind me, Annie said, "PJ, go put on your shoes, okay?"

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

"Okay!" He ran to the laundry room where his shoes were lined up in cubby holes.

"Do you have food for the drive?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't take any money out of your account?"

She shook her head. Peter Carillo tracked all household expenses, but for the last fifteen months—since she found out she was pregnant with Marie—Annie had been planning to leave. So she'd been taking cash back at the grocery store—twenty dollars here and there, not every trip. Keeping change. On her own, she'd saved up just over three thousand dollars. Hid it in Marie's room under the diaper pail lining. Brave, and a sign that I was right about Annie: she wouldn't fail me.

I inspected the portable DVD player and deemed it okay to bring. Annie pulled several DVDs from the shelf, stuffed them into the bulging diaper bag. Together we jammed everything in the back of my Jeep.

I'd wanted to be in and out in thirty minutes; it took thirty-six. I could live with that.

"This is really happening," Annie said. She was shaking.

"Don't fall apart on me now," I said.

Annie shook her head. "I'm okay."

"You're doing the right thing."

"I know."

Annie transferred the car seats into my Jeep, buckled in her kids, and we left.

PJ had a million questions. Annie responded vaguely, but he seemed to be satisfied with her nonanswers. Marie was drinking a bottle. She was eight months old with big brown eyes that looked at everything. She didn't talk. Much easier to work with a baby than a preschooler.

I'd had my associate Theo leave the car we'd procured for Annie in Tempe, near the ASU campus. Far enough from Annie's house in case we were followed. We weren't. There wasn't much traffic on a Sunday morning, so I would have noticed a tail.

I loaded the bags into the trunk of an old but reliable Toyota 4Runner that had been donated for this effort. The registration was Arizona, but the tags were in Annie's new name—April Carra. Because PJ was nearly four, he knew his name, so I needed to create identities close enough to make it easier for him to learn and adapt.

While I handled the luggage, Annie secured the car seats into the back of the 4Runner.

"Mommy, are we going on a vacation?" PJ asked. "Is this a new car? Where are we going?"

"Hold on a minute, honey," Annie said. She looked lost. "I—what if he asks?"

"He will," I said, "and you'll tell him what we discussed. It's up to you how much you think he can handle and when. But you're his mom. He trusts you. He'll adjust. He's a good kid."

"He is. I—"

"Stop second-guessing yourself."

"I'm not. I'm not," she emphasized. "I know this is the only way I live to see thirty. The only way my babies don't grow up with that monster."

Good. That was the right way to think. Still, I knew the next few weeks would be the hardest.

I handed Annie a thick manila envelope. "New IDs. They're false names, but these IDs are real, not counterfeit." It helped that I knew a few people in key government positions, people who didn't mind bending (or breaking) the law for a good reason—and because they trusted me. "New last name. The kids have the same first names, but yours is now April. The address where you're going, your contact there. There's a job lined up, temporary housing, and only one person who knows what's going on. She'll keep the secret, help watch for any threats. There's also a prepaid phone. Keep it charged. Only call me if you have a real emergency. No social media, no emails, and don't ever access your joint bank accounts, credit cards, nothing. I know this is going to be hard."

"You warned me. I'm ready for this."

"I know you are."

I hugged her. Annie needed it; so did I. The last twelve weeks had been stressful for both of us.

"One more thing." I reached into my glove compartment and handed her a thick bank envelope.

She shook her head. "No. I told you, I have enough."

"Three thousand isn't going to last long. You'll need to find permanent housing, buy food, clothes, diapers—you name it. Take it. Really, I have a new client who will pay me twice this to prove her husband is cheating on her." I hated adultery cases, but they paid well. I shoved the money into her hands. "Go."

Annie wiped away tears. "Thank you, Margo. Thank you for everything."

I watched Annie drive off. Scanned the parking lot, made sure no one else was watching, following. All clear.

Hopefully Annie could build a real life for herself in San Antonio. I'd tried to find a place farther away from Phoenix, but had to make due with limited options.

She was safe—for now. I wanted Annie and her kids safe forever, which meant putting Peter Carillo, abusive husband, out of commission.

But how? That was the million-dollar question, and one that I'd been losing sleep over since I first met Annie. Carillo was a cop, he was vindictive, and he had emotionally and physically abused his wife. Taking him down was going to be next to impossible.

But nothing—nothing—was impossible. The improbable just took time. And I had all the time in the world to destroy the man.

First things first: earning back the five thousand I'd given to Annie real quick. My mortgage was due in two weeks, and no way in hell would I ask my mother for a loan.

I'd walked away from the family business three years ago, and asking for help now would be admitting that I had failed and needed them.

I would get out of this hole the only way I knew how: working my ass off.