***Special thanks to Althea Thompson for sending me a review copy.***

Chapter 1

July 1870, Kansas Plains

What did I get myself into? Rowe Winford carried his three large valises from the passenger train to the station wait area. He had arrived in Claywalk, Kansas, sooner than he expected. Then again, he had been daydreaming the entire trip, from the carriage ride in Richmond, Virginia, all the way west on the tracks of the Missouri-Kansas-Texas Railroad.

So this was to be his new home, away from the war reformations, away from the bittersweet memories of his late wife, Josephine, and their stillborn son. The land seemed to engulf every living thing in its wide-ranging vastness. He felt like a tiny speck upon the face of the green, rolling earth.

“Over here, sir.” A tall, lean man in rugged canvas trousers, work shirt, and Stetson hat waved him over to the other side of the wait area. A small schooner and horse awaited him.

“Welcome to Kansas, Rev’ren.” The man’s white teeth flashed in his tanned face as he grinned. “We wouldn’t have expected you this early if you hadn’t sent that letter. I’m Dustin Sterling.” He stuck out his hand. “My friends call me Dusty. David Charlton sent me to come get you and take you to our lil’ town of Assurance down the road.”

Rowe shook his hand. It was rough with calluses. He guessed him to be a horseman or rancher of sorts. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dusty. My name is Rowe Winford, but how did you know I was the new minister?”

He pointed to Rowe’s overcoat and gray trousers. “Clothes don’t get that fancy in these parts. I knew you must be one of them city preachers back East.”

“Richmond.”

“Yep, I was right.” He picked up Rowe’s valises and hoisted them into the schooner. “Well, you’ll get used to this place soon enough, if you have the mind to.”

Dusty drove him away from the train station. The trip toward the “lil’ town of Assurance down the road” turned out to be more along the lines of sixty minutes. Rowe passed the time taking in the nearly treeless plains and the endless open sky. To his left and right he found himself surrounded in a sea of green grass.

“We just got rain last night, after a dry spell.” Dusty chatted amiably along the way about the land. “You have to watch out for the July wind.”

“Wind? There’s barely a breeze out.” As the words escaped Rowe’s lips, a sudden gust blew in his face. He grabbed hold of his hat before it flew from his head. “Where did that come from?” He coughed as the wind forced air down his throat.

Dusty chuckled. “Some say the devil’s in the wind. That’s how come it knocks you off your feet.”

“Well, as long as we can keep him in the wind and out of town, things should be alright.”

The wiry man cast him a wry glance. “’Fraid you might be getting here too late then, Rev’ren’. The devil’s come and set up shop in Assurance. And, sadly, business is sure boomin’.”

“What do you mean?”

Dusty shook his head. “There’s a saloon run by a businessman named Jason Garth. He can get a man to part with his wallet faster than a rattler strikes your heel. His girls help, with their short skirts and paid services.”

“You mean prostitution.”

Dusty shrugged. “I went to the dance hall before it got bad the last year or so. I haven’t been lately, but you’ll hear things. You’ll get your fill of gossip in Assurance.”

Rowe thought about the people who hired him. “What about the church? Haven’t they tried to put a stop to what the saloon is doing?”

“They grumble mostly. Folks here believe they shouldn’t sully their hands with the things of the world. Much easier to judge from a distance, I suspect, but I’m just a hired worker.”

“Aren’t you also a town citizen?”

He shook his head. “I’m all the way from San Antone. David Charlton hired me to tend his cattle, but I used to drive longhorns up here to the railroad.”

“Well, it sounds like the people of the church don’t want to confront corruption.”

The cowboy gave him another look. “Maybe that’s why they hired you.”

Rowe chewed on the inside of his jaw. His first position as head of a church. An apathetic one, from what Dusty implied. He could prove himself by going after the saloon and its seedy practices, but what would be harder, doing that or convincing the church to get their hands dirty along with him?

“Get thee clothed, heathen woman!” A man yelled down at her from the raised dais of the town square. “Thou art the scourge of this fine land, with your harlot’s garments!” He shook his fists.

“I’m not a harlot. I’m just a saloon and dance hall girl.” Words she had repeated all too often.

Marissa Pierce recognized the man as a traveling speaker, clutching his worn Bible to his chest. She hurried along the edge of the main road toward the bank, doing her best to hide her face from the disapproving looks from several of Assurance’s finest and upstanding populace.

They would be right to judge me if I was an evening lady, she thought. I wish they knew the truth.

She walked faster, adjusting her headpiece in a self-conscious attempt to push down the high feathers. Jason Garth, proprietor of the town’s only saloon, sent her out on a last-minute errand while she was getting dressed for the weekly Wednesday Night Revue. The money had to be deposited in the bank before it closed today, he stressed. Well, he could have let her know that earlier, before she changed into the tawdry costume!

More than a few men eyed her in her knee-length ruffled skirt and soft-soled dance boots peeking out from her coat. She knew a number of them as patrons. Those walking with wives, mothers, or another respectable woman had the presence of mind to avert their gazes.

“Have you no shame, lady of the night?” The orator cried in the profession’s flowery prose.

“More than you’ll ever know,” she muttered.

Marissa kept her back straight and face forward, tightly gripping the leather money satchel that held the saloon’s illbegotten earnings. Would that she could put a stop to the corruption and leave the shady establishment today, but soon she would be away from it all. Her saloon contract with Jason was about to end, and she had some money saved for room and board.

She considered her investment in a small share of the general goods store in Claywalk that was up for sale. If she received all the money due her, it would be enough to live off of until she found employment in the nearby town.

A rush of excitement surged through her as she contemplated a new life elsewhere. She would be free, in a respectable position where no one knew of her horrible past.

Marissa slowed her steps as a schooner rolled down the street. A dark-suited man seated atop peered about curiously, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun.

“That must be our new preacher.” Linda Walsh, the town’s young seamstress, walked up beside Marissa. Always eager for conversation, Linda would speak to anyone who stopped to listen, as Marissa had learned since coming back to Assurance a couple years ago. “We weren’t expecting him for another two weeks. I wonder what made him take off from home so fast.”

Marissa groaned at the thought of meeting another preacher. Every preacher she came across had turned her away once they discovered her profession.

She watched the small schooner pull up to the local inn. She recognized the driver Dusty Sterling seated beside the other man. Dusty hopped down and tethered the horses. The man in black stepped onto the dusty curb. His recently polished boots gleamed.

“Fancy one, he is,” Linda continued. “I hear he comes from a city somewhere in Virginia.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“It was in the paper a month ago. Our advertisement for a new preacher was answered from a man back East.”

Marissa focused again on what was in front of her. The traveler indeed looked foreign to the prairie. Not a hint of travel dust stuck to his long, black frock coat and four-in-hand necktie, probably changed into just before departing the train. His gray pants were new and expertly tailored. He removed his hat briefly to wipe his brow, and Marissa saw the dark, wavy hair cropped close to his head.

“He doesn’t have a wife or children with him. Such a shame.” Linda clucked her tongue. “He’s a handsome fellow, for certain.”

Marissa agreed with her on that. He must have stood over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a powerful build. The man’s profile was strong and rigid, his square jaw and straight nose a true delight for the eyes. Assurance’s former preacher, Reverend Thomas, did not look like this.

“Would having a wife and children make him a better preacher?”

Linda tossed her a look. “That’s got nothing to do with it. One ought to be settled down at a certain age, wouldn’t you say so? Instead of running wild with the barmen?”

Marissa absorbed the sting of emotional pain. Anything she said in response would not sway Linda or anyone else’s notion that she was just a beer-serving streetwalker. She put on a polite stoic face. “I’m sure the ladies of this town will clamor for his attention. Will you excuse me, Miss Linda? I should be going.”

She left the seamstress just as Dusty carried the new preacher’s valises inside the inn. The preacher moved to follow then stopped short, pausing for Marissa to walk past. Marissa saw his blue eyes widen and take in her entire form, from the feathered hat on her head to the dainty-heeled boots on her feet. By his expression she didn’t know whether he admired or disapproved.

His lips settled into a firm line of what looked to be distaste, and she got her answer.

The preacher hadn’t been there for an hour and already she drew out his scorn. Marissa returned the stare until her image of him blurred with beckoning tears.

He jolted from his perusal. His low, straight brows flicked. “Good day to you, ma’am.” He amiably tipped his hat to her.

She paused, not used to being addressed in that fashion. Kindness was in his greeting, not the sarcasm she normally heard from others. Marissa tilted her head to get a clear look at him. His eyes were friendly, calm deep pools. The rest of his face, with its strong, angular lines, remained cordial.

“Good day,” she replied, hoarse. Awkwardness seized her person. Marissa hastily continued on her way to the bank.

Rowe stared after the brightly costumed woman, not noticing Dusty come from the inn until he stood in front of him, blocking the view.

“Your cabin by the lake is still bein’ cleared. The Charltons will pay for your stay here since they don’t have room at the farmhouse.”

“That’s kind of them, Dusty. Who is that saloon woman? I hoped she didn’t think me impertinent for stepping in her path.”

Dusty squinted in the distance. “Oh, Arrow Missy? She’s a dancer down at Jason’s.”

Dancer. That explained the light-stepping gait. “Why do you call her that?”

“She’s got a sharp tongue and even sharper aim with the drinks. That is, before I stopped going there.” Dusty scratched his chin.

“I think I upset her. She looked sad.” Rowe studied her shrinking form as she went inside the bank. She was a lovely young woman, tall and raven-haired. Her features carried an exotic lilt. He guessed her to be in her early twenties.

If he wasn’t the one who caused her to be upset, then what made the tears brim in her eyes?

“You carrying that last bag in, or you want me to do it?”

Rowe picked up his valise. “I’ve got it, Dusty.” He went inside the inn, glancing one more time in the direction of the bank, his mind still on the melancholy woman with the dancing boots.

***Special thanks to Dora Hiers for sending me a review copy.***

The mystery man with haunted eyes was back.Chelsea Hammond placed the lawn chairs next to the cooler in the trunk, but kept her eyes on the man. He stood alone, farther up the hill, tucked under some towering maple trees. Far enough away that she couldn’t make out all his features, but close enough for Chelsea to glimpse his pain. The slight slumping of his expansive shoulders; the hands clenched at his sides; the haunted eyes that stared out into the distance when he removed his sunglasses; the lips set in a straight, hard line.And the words “Deputy U.S. Marshal” that blazed from the front of his polo shirt. It had taken her three years, but this year she determined to talk to him, to rid her dreams of those haunted eyes. To hear his story. To offer closure if his version somehow connected to hers.

Chelsea closed the trunk of the old Cadillac and turned to her in-laws. “There you go, Henry. You’re all set.”

“Thank you, dear. We appreciate you lugging those lawn chairs for us.” Henry opened the door for his wife while she wrestled to get into the car, sweat beading on her upper lip. Henry and Stella always made a day of it when they visited their two sons.

“You’re welcome. You take it easy going home.” Chelsea peered overhead at the steely gray clouds, swirling into angry puffs. “Looks like a storm is brewing.”

Henry followed her gaze, then turned to look at her. “Oh, we will, dear. We don’t have far to go. Will we see you next year?”

Her stomach lurched. She couldn’t let Doug’s elderly parents face this day alone. Besides, where else would she be on the anniversary of her husband’s death? “Same time, same place, Henry.” Chelsea smiled and leaned into the car to give Stella a peck on her moist cheek. “Bye, Stella.”

Chelsea straightened and Henry wrapped his frail arms around her for a hug. “Glad to see you with a smile on your face this year.”

She slipped away from his embrace, blinking, until Henry started the engine. The giant sedan glided away, their hands flapping through the open windows. She lifted her hand in return, the smile still firmly planted across her lips. Henry was right. This was the first year she hadn’t cried on his shoulder.

Thunder rumbled across the sky, and she jumped, feeling the echo vibrate against the ground. Fat raindrops splashed against her bare legs.

She glanced up the hill. The mystery man was gone.

Disappointment sliced through her chest. Maybe next year.

Chelsea hurried toward her truck and dived in through the open door. Now she wished she’d taken the time to change from her sundress into jeans after the graduation ceremony this morning.

She exited the memorial gardens and headed south on the interstate toward Charlotte. Dark gray clouds dumped rain from the sky, but even the stormy skies couldn’t dampen her spirits. Her sunglasses and an unopened tissue box sat on the seat next to her. She dared a glance in the rear-view mirror. Nope. Not bloodshot. Wonder blossomed in her chest.

Life was turning around. Finally.

She hunched forward and strained to see, the windshield wipers swishing at their maximum speed, her white knuckles gripping the steering wheel. She slowed down to exit the interstate and released a pent-up breath.

She pulled to a stop in front of the barn and cut the engine. Two streaks of lightning pierced the sky, snapping into electrical balls a few feet away. She sucked in a deep breath and pulled the keys from the ignition, chuckling at her shaky hands.

Thunder couldn’t be too far behind.

One-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, one-thousand-three. A long crack of thunder boomed through the silence, the ground trembling in its wake.

Whew. That was close.

Chelsea waited, peering through the rain pelting the windshield, feeling the truck sway with the heavy winds. She didn’t want to go out in this, but she had to check on Molly. Kalyn, her live-in housekeeper, had fed the fawn earlier but Chelsea wanted to settle her in for the night. Besides, this rain didn’t appear to be lessening. She couldn’t stay in the truck all night.

She glanced to the passenger seat, deciding to leave her purse in the truck for now. She reached under the seat for the umbrella. She couldn’t use it now, but maybe the rain would dwindle enough where she could use it from the barn to the house. She slipped her sandals off. No need to ruin them.

Jerking the door open, she bolted for the barn, gripping her sundress, the wind all but whipping it over her head. Good thing it was just her and Kalyn out here.

She reached the barn and screeched to a halt, digging toes in the wet grass. The door stood slightly ajar. Alarm snaked up and down Chelsea’s spine. Hadn’t she closed it when she left this morning? She knew she had. She’d been worried about Molly roaming around, so she’d locked her up in a stall. A baby deer without a mama was easy prey.

Chelsea shook her head. Enough. Wondering wasn’t keeping her dry. She slid the barn door open the rest of the way and stepped inside. Mustiness and humidity slammed her in the face, along with the comfortable smells of leather and hay. Chelsea flipped on the light switch, but nothing happened.

She squeezed back the apprehension that rippled through her chest. The storm had clearly knocked out the power; she’d seen the fireballs.

Water rolled down the middle of her back. She shook her head, bouncing wet curls to get some of the water off, then gathered long hair in her hands and squeezed. That would have to do until she got inside where she had access to a dry towel. She shivered and rubbed her upper arms to generate some warmth.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. OK, so the barn smelled normal, but something didn’t feel right. Chelsea scanned the cool interior. The riding lawn mower and a few garden tools. Some extra straw for Molly’s stall. Looked about the same as it did every other day.

She was acting like a baby. She needed to get over it. Kalyn had probably come out to feed Molly, then left the door open. End of story.

Chelsea gritted her teeth and pushed shoulders back. She wasn’t scared. She couldn’t be. When Journey’s End opened next week, a bunch of teenagers would look to her as a role model for strength and courage. Teenagers could sense cowardice. They wouldn’t see it in her. No way.

Rain pummeled the barn roof. The wind howled, screaming through the open door of the barn and hurling straw pieces from one wall to the other. Another deafening crack of thunder boomed outside. She jumped, a nervous giggle escaping from her throat.

So, maybe she was just a little scared. She’d feel better if she were inside the house sipping a cup of coffee. Something to warm up her insides.

She would check on Molly. Get inside and dry off. Then whip up the latest recipe for apple pie that she’d been dying to try. Oh yeah. She grinned. Sounded good.

With quick steps, she headed toward Molly’s stall and pulled the latch to open the gate.

A streak of lightning flashed from the open door, lighting up the inside of the barn, and she turned to look outside. Blinded, Chelsea blinked and waited for her eyes to readjust, expecting to see Molly cowering in the corner.

But she didn’t. Molly snuggled comfortably next to something.

Someone?

Chelsea gasped, hearing the wild pounding of her pulse over the rain hammering on the roof.

A pencil-thin teenager scrambled to his knees, grabbing something from the straw next to him. Drool oozed from his open mouth, and straw poked out of his black hair. With sleepy brown eyes, he crouched on one knee and brandished a pitch fork at her like it was a rifle. “Don’t co-come any cl-closer.”

Chelsea did what any rational female would have done under the circumstances.

She screamed and threw hands in the air, the umbrella banging against her forearm.

He frowned and shook his head. “I…I’m not go-going to hurt you, lady.” Squeaky Voice said. He brushed the lone tear sliding down one cheek with his shirt sleeve. “I wouldn’t.”

“I believe you.” Chelsea took a step closer. The umbrella zinged open. Whoosh.

Chelsea rolled her eyes to the open umbrella, then back to the teenager.

Surprise distorted Squeaky Voice’s face until he dropped the pitchfork to the straw and doubled over, laughing. He laughed like he couldn’t imagine a tomorrow, like he couldn’t bear to look at yesterday, like he didn’t want to face today. Tears streamed down his face.

She knew that laugh. Recognized the tears.

Shock.

She needed to get him inside and assess the situation. She lowered her hands, slow and easy, and tossed the umbrella into the corner of the stall. She held out a hand with more confidence than she felt. “I’m Chelsea Hammond. Welcome to Journey’s End.”

He waited a few beats before standing up to his full six foot plus height. In what seemed like slow motion, his hand slid into hers. “I’m Jacob Carpocelli.”

Her stomach threatened to give up the hamburger she had devoured on the drive home. The stall started to spin. She reached out with a hand to steady herself against the door. Maybe she was the one who would need medical attention. “Did you say Jacob Carpocelli?”

He nodded while his face blanched, almost like he didn’t want to be known by his last name. She could understand that. Jacob tugged his hand away from her wet, slimy one and stepped back. “Jacob’s my real name, but I just go by Jake.”

“Jake?” Was that harsh whisper her voice?

Tony Carpocelli’s son?

God, why would you do this to me?

OK. Maybe she wasn’t so ready for closure after all.

****

It wasn’t too late to turn around.

Yeah, well, maybe it wasn’t too late to turn around, but he wouldn’t have a job to turn around to. His boss had made that clear.

Trey Colten spotted the end of the snaking road and blew out a long breath. “Looks like we’re here. I don’t see any signs for the shelter, but this is the right address.”

Renner Crossman, his partner, glanced up from studying the case file and looked at him, sympathy oozing from his face. “Sorry about what happened with the chief, buddy.”

“Yeah.” Trey’s hands clenched the steering wheel. He turned into the clearing used for parking, pulling the Suburban to a stop in front of a house tucked deep in the middle of a forest. Hundreds of chirping birds drowned out any noise that might otherwise have filtered through the trees, like the neighbor’s dog from two miles back that ran back and forth barking at their car. Good ol’ Nowhere, USA.

The chugging of a lawn mower sounded nearby although they couldn’t see it.

Hammond’s widow?

Trey’s gut churned, and he reached in the center console for his roll of antacids, popping one into his mouth with a loud sigh. “Tell me again how Carpocelli’s kid found this place.”

“Chelsea Hammond’s brother.”

“Her brother?”

“Yeah, indirectly. It says here that”—Renner flipped the page in the folder to read the notes—“Chelsea’s brother is the resource officer at Jake’s school.”

“Chelsea’s brother sent him here?” Trey frowned. What kind of brother would send trouble to his sister in the form of Jake Carpocelli? Trey might go looking for her brother when he got back to Raleigh. Sit down and have a friendly little chat with him. Instruct him on the do’s and don’ts of brotherhood. Do not send a kid related to the mob to your sister’s house.

“No. Her brother didn’t send him here.”

Trey rolled his eyes and opened his door, his legs not cooperating. “So if Chelsea’s brother didn’t send Jake…”

“Jake was chatting with the resource officer in his office. The officer was called out for a fight.”

“Let me guess. He left Jake sitting in his office while he took care of business?”

“Yep. Chelsea’s advertising fliers were on his desk.”

“Ah. Pretty slick kid.” Trey still wanted that chat with the brother. It was due to his negligence that Carpocelli’s kid had landed here. That burned his gut. He popped another antacid in his mouth before stuffing the roll in his pocket.

Renner grinned and opened his door wide. “Let’s go, cowboy. Home sweet home.”

Trey glared at his partner. Renner’s joking manner only set him further on edge. Didn’t he know who they were up against? Tony Carpocelli? He wouldn’t put anything past that scum. His drug money would buy anything. Or anybody. Trey knew not to trust Carpocelli, even if Carpocelli was locked up, but nobody else seemed inclined to take Trey seriously.

“Maybe it’s time for a new partner.”

Renner scoffed. “Yeah, right. Nobody else will put up with you like I do.”

“I think it’s the other way around.”

Renner threw his head back and laughed. “Could be. But after your conversation with the chief this morning, I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon.”

Trey gritted his teeth and forced his legs out of the car. “Don’t remind me. I should have tendered my resignation. While I still had a job.”

Renner walked around the car to join him, his dark eyebrows raised. “Meaning you won’t have one after this is over?”

“You never know.” Trey mumbled, looking away from the troubled eyes of his partner to scan the yard.

Two other agents were staged at vantage points around the perimeter, but this area was his worry. He wanted to make sure he knew what he was up against before trouble came knocking. And he was fairly sure it would. It was just a matter of time.

His eyes settled on the wrap-around front porch. Water gurgled softly down the side of a ceramic pot. Giant green ferns swayed gently in the breeze. Rocking chairs, Adirondacks and a swinging bench beckoned visitors to step onto the porch, to relax and embrace the solitude, the serenity.

He took a deep breath, appreciating the scent of freshly mowed grass.

This place whispered peace, quiet, and tranquility. He could see how it would be a beacon to a troubled soul. His lips twisted in a grimace. Too bad it had to attract the likes of Carpocelli’s son.

Most of the time Trey liked kids. But this was Carpocelli’s son. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that the chief had given him responsibility for the widow.

Trey licked his dry lips.

“Nervous, buddy?” Renner said.

Trey shot him another annoyed glance. “Shove it, Renner.”

His gaze jerked back to the front door. Their trip from Raleigh had taken a little over two hours, but now it didn’t seem nearly long enough. With his eyes focused on the front door, he took the first step and willed his mind to cooperate. His boots felt weighted down with mud. Renner’s movement from behind forced him forward.

He licked his lips again. The widow Hammond would be standing in front of him in about four minutes.

Three years and he still wasn’t ready for this. How could he explain the knot in his stomach that grew tighter every time he heard the name Hammond? Like a sucker punch to the belly that produced more pain with every blow.

He had considered quitting after the chief refused to take him off this assignment, even up until he got in the car today. Days like this, he didn’t like his job. Where was the justice in all this?

He blinked and shook his head, hoping to clear his thoughts, to shake off this pathetic attitude. An attitude that could get him killed if he wasn’t careful.

He slowed his steps further, glanced back at Renner. How could he explain to his partner the sudden, urgent desire to…uh, take an extended vacation? Trey reached the end of the sidewalk and started up the steps. It wasn’t too late. They could be in the Suburban and out of here before anybody knew different. But where would they—?

“Looking for Journey’s End, gentlemen?”

That wasn’t good. She already caught him off guard, and he hadn’t even rung the doorbell. How was he ever going to focus on this assignment? He took a deep breath before turning around, hands fisted at his sides.

Renner pushed his back and propelled him forward, but Trey dug his heels in the ground a few feet away from the widow. He’d never seen her this close.

Chelsea Hammond’s simple beauty knocked the breath out of his lungs. Curly auburn locks cascaded gently onto a cream-colored shirt, and faded jeans graced gentle curves. Her lips formed a slight smile, and freckles peeked out from under a hint of makeup. A fawn nestled at her side, enhancing her sweetness and gentle aura.

Panic rippled through his chest at the war going on between guilt and attraction. His memories—and he hated to admit—his dreams hadn’t captured her essence. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it definitely wasn’t the beauty standing in front of him.

Trey tipped his head forward in a slight nod. “Ma’am.”

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. I’m Chelsea Hammond. Welcome to Journey’s End.” She extended her hand, graceful, poised.

And him? He needed to get his act together before he lost his job. Reaching out to shake her hand required all of Trey’s willpower. “Trey Colten. Deputy U.S. Marshal.” Trey flashed his badge briefly, as he always did.

She tugged her hand from his grasp. Heart racing, he studied her through hooded lids, not wanting his eyes to mirror his own thoughts but wanting, no, needing, to know hers.

Trey tilted his head sideways to introduce Renner, never taking his eyes off Chelsea’s face. “And this is my partner, Renner Crossman.”

Renner shook hands with Chelsea and flashed his badge.

“Please forgive me, but may I take a closer look at your badges?”

“Sure.” Trey reached for Renner’s badge and handed both to Chelsea for closer identification. “We appreciate your caution. You’re tucked out here in the wilderness pretty far.” An understatement for sure. Two miles from her nearest neighbor? The chief had mentioned Chelsea installed a security system specifically designed for the shelter. He made a mental note to ask her about that later.

“Not so far out that Jake couldn’t find me, I guess.”

She had a point there. He caught her biting her lower lip while she studied the badges, and his stomach clenched. Did she recognize him from her husband’s graveside? He visited Hammond’s grave every year, around the same time as her, but he always stayed far enough away where she couldn’t recognize him.

Or maybe she recognized his name from the newspaper? He’d scoured the newspaper for weeks after Hammond’s death, relieved that the Marshal’s office hadn’t coughed up his name to the press.

She couldn’t possibly know him, could she?

Trey stuffed an antacid in his mouth, almost swallowed it whole.

She handed back their badges without a word, and he released the pressure that had been building in his lungs. “I believe you spoke with Joshua Hamilton, our Deputy Supervisor from the Raleigh office who worked out the details of our visit?”

Chelsea nodded.

“Would you mind if we continued this conversation inside?” The hair on the back of Trey’s neck stood on end. Standing outside, exposed, made him feel like a sitting duck. A big, open target, screaming, “Shoot me.”

Chelsea blinked and her eyes grew wide. “Oh, sure. I’m sorry. Come on in. Do you need me to call Jake in?”

“Let me guess. Jake’s the one mowing the lawn?” Renner’s voice expressed the disbelief that threatened to clog Trey’s arteries.

Jake, their key witness, was outside mowing the lawn? In broad daylight?

“Is there anything sweeter than a teenager mowing the lawn?” Summer and sunshine sparkled in Chelsea’s smile. She scooted passed him to wave at Jake, leaving the fawn lazing in the grass. The light scent of jasmine floated around Trey’s head.

Trey had anticipated other emotions from Chelsea. Like coldness. Anger. Contempt. Even had prepared himself for hatred. Those he could deal with, would actually make his job easier. But this sweetness and sugar? It would kill him. If one of Carpocelli’s thugs didn’t get to him first.

Trey waited while their witness, the one they were supposed to be protecting, rumbled over to Chelsea and cut the motor, casting a furtive glance in their direction. Chelsea spoke quietly to Jake before he hopped off the lawn mower. Trey didn’t miss the look that passed between them or the way she placed her hand protectively on Jake’s back while she led the way indoors.

Trey caught Renner’s raised eyebrows and his cocky grin before following Chelsea inside. Once inside the reception area, he allowed his eyes to wander. In the connecting room, sofas and recliners arranged in different settings throughout the massive area beckoned them to relax, and a 52-inch flat screen television played softly over a beautiful stone fireplace. He could imagine the flames frolicking quietly in the fireplace during the winter, adding a touch of warmth to the large room. Balls were racked on a nearby pool table, set and ready, inviting them to play.

Chelsea, still with her hand against Jake’s back, propelled them around, her quiet spirit a healing balm. No wonder Jake had found his way to Journey’s End.

Maybe there were some perks to staying here after all.

Something about Jake’s profile blasted through Trey’s consciousness, reminding him of Carpocelli. Did Chelsea know who this kid was? Did she know that Jake’s last name was Carpocelli? As in Tony Carpocelli’s son? Tony Carpocelli, the murderer who killed her husband? Why hadn’t they thought of asking the chief that important detail?

OK, go with the flow. No sense in giving away Jake’s last name or trying to fabricate one at the last minute. He would never be able to keep up with the lie. All the lies.

He could hardly live with the truth.

Trey stuck out his hand. “I’m Trey Colten, and this is Renner Crossman. We’re from the U.S. Marshal’s office. You must be Jake.”

“Yeah.” The kid squawked, sliding his sweaty palm into Trey’s. Dressed in slim-fitting jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt, Jake didn’t come across as a wealthy fourteen year old. All the money in the world couldn’t help the kid now. He was scared to death. Scared of them? Or retaliation from his father?

Trey would find out eventually. “Jake, I’m sorry about your mother.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” The kid swiped at his eyes with the back of his arm.

Trey turned his head away to give Jake a chance to pull himself together. “We’ll need to sit down and talk with you for a few minutes. Ask you a few questions about what happened and discuss the schedule for the next few weeks.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Another squawk.

“You guys can make yourselves comfortable in here.” Chelsea led them to the seating area in front of the fireplace and then disappeared. Trey sank down into one of the leather recliners and closed his eyes for a moment.

He opened his eyes to see Jake settle on the couch, his white knuckles gripping the arm, while Renner plunked down in the other recliner.

Trey leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn’t want to be too comfortable. He had a job to do. “You’ll be spending most of your time with Agent Crossman.”

Renner grinned at the kid. “Just call me plain old Renner.”

“And you can call me Trey.”

“OK.”

So far so good. “Do you have any specific questions we might be able to answer right now?”

“Do you guys know when my mom’s funeral is?”

O-K. That didn’t take long to go south. Trey glanced at Renner, hoping he might want to field that question.

Renner took the bait. “It’s planned for Monday at two.”

“Will I be able to go?” Hopeful brown eyes flicked warily from him to Renner, scanning the two of them for the response he wanted.

Trey measured his answer. Let the kid think about the danger in going to the funeral. “Do you think that would be a wise thing to do?”

Jake’s eyes narrowed and filled. “I don’t care if it’s the wise thing to do. She’s my mom.”

Trey settled back in the recliner at Jake’s sudden hostility and reached for his roll of antacids. He popped one in his mouth.

Chelsea walked into the great room carrying a tray of glasses filled with ice and a full pitcher. She placed the tray on the coffee table and sat down on the couch next to Jake, glancing at the three of them as she poured. “Iced tea?”

“Sure, thanks.” Trey reached to take hold of the glass she offered, then watched Renner and Jake do the same.

Trey took a sip. Sweet, with just the right amount of sugar. Good stuff.

No one said anything. Chelsea looked up, an uncomfortable expression settling on her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on this conversation.” She started to stand.

Jake stopped her with his free hand. He coughed and seemed to fight to keep control of his emotions. He wasn’t winning. “They’re trying to tell me that I can’t go to my mom’s funeral.” His voice faltered, then exploded, sorrow making his words sound angry. “My own mother’s funeral.”

Chelsea’s censure flitted from Trey to Renner, leaving both of them aware of how she felt. Mama bear.

“How could there be a problem with Jake attending his mother’s funeral?”

A problem? Couldn’t she see that attending the funeral would create just a tiny little problem? As in ambush? “You do realize Jake’s dad doesn’t work by himself? There’s probably six or seven guys waiting for word from him, happy to do his dirty work.”

He heard her soft intake of breath. So he scared her. Good. Now if he could only scare Jake. “Have either of you considered that Jake’s mom’s funeral would be the first place one—”

“Maybe you guys would like to freshen up? Give Jake a chance to catch his breath. I believe your rooms are ready.” Chelsea interrupted. She stood, pointing toward the stairwell. “If you’ll follow me—”

“We have a lot to go over and not much time—” Renner stopped her mid-sentence.

Chelsea flashed her teeth, something between a smile and a warning. “You’re at Journey’s End now. In our little corner of the world we have all the time we need. Right, Jake?”