God, she just wanted to stand in the middle of one of those cornfields and scream at the top of her lungs, I wasn’t ready…

With the way her luck was going, some farmer would probably shoot her.

Shaking her head, she turned in at her father’s drive. As she pulled her rental car up to the two-story farmhouse, she saw little had changed.

How long had it been this time? After high school, she’d returned every few years to catch up with high school friends. Each time, she’d made a dutiful visit to her father…always hoping that one day he’d decide he wanted a daughter.

Not going to happen this lifetime, stupid.

She walked across the yard, breathing in the fragrance of growing crops yet missing the slight tang of the sea. Planting was done. The corn wasn’t up to her knees. Soybeans were in. Tall trees marked the creek banks in the south pasture. Everywhere were gently rolling hills. Iowa didn’t have take-your-breath-away mountain ranges or ocean vistas; it just felt…cozy. Pretty.

It should have been a wonderful place to grow up.

Well, here goes. The backseat was filled with flattened boxes she’d bought so she could pack whatever was still here. But where would she send her stuff? Back to Tampa?

It would be best not to return there. Christ in a cornfield, but she wanted to slap Galen—and Vance too. Yelling at her. Fighting with each other.

But seeing them meant she’d probably fall into their arms and cry. Descend into a wussy girl. No, she didn’t want to be anywhere around them. And damn them for turning me into an emotional puddle.

She lifted her chin and picked up the boxes. Time to face her father. She pulled in a breath and released it out slowly, letting calm flow over her like a second skin. Don’t show emotions. Don’t ask for things. Be obedient and quiet.

A startling flare of anger almost tripped her on the steps. Most parents wanted obedient children, but to expect them to be quiet? All the time? That is bullshit.

Settle, Sally. Settle. She knocked.

Her father opened the door.

She looked into his bitter eyes and watched his lips pull back into his cheeks, like a dog suppressing a snarl. Well, nothing has changed, has it?

She could barely remember him being different—when her mother was alive. He’d never been affectionate to his children—especially Sally—but he’d loved his wife. Absolutely doted on her. And with his wife’s death, everything inside him had twisted up.

“I’m here to remove my things from your house,” she said politely. Looking at him with new eyes—thanks to Galen and his frigging homework assignment—she suddenly wondered if her father had been jealous of Sally, jealous of the time Sally’s mother had spent with her. “I’ll have everything packed and be gone by tonight.”

“Fine.”

* * *

The mailbox read Hugh Hart. According to the records, Sally’s brother lived on the adjacent farm. When Vance spotted a rental car parked at the father’s white farmhouse, relief loosened his shoulders.

As Galen had figured, Sally used Jessica’s credit card to book her flight. But she’d had to show her own credit card to obtain a rental car. “Parked right out there in the front. She obviously doesn’t think we would come after her.”

“My fault,” Galen said. He’d been unnaturally quiet, even for him.

“Shut up.” At the dark glance, Vance elaborated. “You fucked up by yelling at her, yes. But she also knew we wouldn’t react well or she wouldn’t have hidden what she was doing. And she broke the law.” He slid out of the car and glanced back. “So get your head out of your ass.”

The flush of angry red on his partner’s face was rather rewarding, and Vance barely managed to smother his laugh. Being a peacemaker might be costing him some fun—maybe he’d start poking at his friends instead.

As Galen knocked on the door, Vance glanced around. An equipment building. A barn just past the coop. Chickens in a pen. Cornfields. No barking dogs. Maybe Hart had decided they were too much work.

The door opened to show Sally’s stocky father. Where Sally’s brown eyes were filled with sweetness or alive with mischief, Hart’s looked like frozen dirt in his weathered face. The farmer shifted to block the doorway. “What d’you want?”

Well, there was a welcome. “We’re here to see Sally,” Vance said, using his nice guy persona. “I see her car is here,” he added, forestalling any lies that she wasn’t home.

“She didn’t tell me you were coming.” Hart took a step back as Galen moved into his personal space.

Using his cane as a prop, Galen sidled past the old man and into the foyer.

“Stop, you—”

“Is she in her room?” Vance shrugged off his denim jacket before slinging it over his shoulder. Nothing like a pistol in a shoulder harness to silence bluster. Probably didn’t hurt that he and Galen looked battered enough to have been in a bar brawl.

“Upstairs.” At the ringing of an old-fashioned landline phone, the man abandoned the fight and stomped away to answer it.

As Vance followed Galen up the stairs, he heard the man saying, “She’s here.”

A pause. A protest, “Won’t work. She has men visiting her.”

Pause.

Perhaps the brother? Was he causing trouble? Vance stopped on the steps to listen.

“Bring them? Hell, boy, are you out of your mind? I don’t want to—”

Pause.

“Fine. Six o’clock. Yeah, I’ll come.”

“There’s a grudging acceptance,” Galen said under his breath. His gaze was cold as he looked back down the stairs. A second later, he resumed the climb, using his cane. The hours in the cramped flight obviously hadn’t done his knee any favors.

The hallway at the top led both directions, but thumping noises came from the end room on the right.

When his partner squared his shoulders, Vance wondered if the imp realized how much Galen cared. How easily she could damage him.

Not just Galen, either. Vance shook his head. The thought of losing her hurt deep enough to hit the marrow.

Galen tapped on the door.

It opened. “Yes, Fath—” Sally’s eyes went round. “Galen?” Her voice came out a whisper. “Vance?” But the flash of joy she showed transformed into a frozen, distant expression that was more ominous than anger. Her hair was down, no makeup, old T-shirt and jeans. Red-rimmed eyes.

They’d made her cry. Vance felt that like a stab in his chest.

Her mouth firmed into her more-stubborn-than-a-mule expression. “Go home, guys. The fun is over.”

She shoved the door shut so fast that only Galen’s cane kept it from closing. Good reflexes, pard.

And without a second of thought, he and Galen applied their shoulders to the door.

The imp staggered back into a very stark bedroom. Three boxes sat on the bed, another on the floor. No pictures, no knickknacks. Walls with peeling paint. Splintering hardwood floor. No carpet. The drapes were filthy and fraying on the edges. The room was as welcoming as her asshole of a father.

“Dammit, get out,” Sally spat. The ice was gone, and she was looking meaner than Glock on vaccination day.

Galen held up his hand. “May I have ten minutes? After that, you can kick us out, if you wish.”


TEN MINUTES. COULD she keep from crying for that long? Sally wasn’t sure. Letting Galen talk would be the quickest way to get rid of them. Undoubtedly he’d explain how hacking the Harvest Association was dangerous and threaten her with arrest if she didn’t stop. She could handle that. She’d say okay, and they’d leave. Crossing her arms over her chest, she snapped, “Fine. Go ahead.”

Galen hesitated. He looked so tired. Despite her teasing, she never really thought of him as being older—all his energy and passion made him seem her age—but the lines around his mouth and the corners of his eyes had deepened. His cheekbone was bruised and swollen. His jaw had two days of beard growth. He hadn’t shaved…since she left?

“I lost my temper with you,” he said gravely. “You don’t need to forgive me, but I want you to know why I reacted so badly.”

She opened her mouth to say something flippant and stopped. Galen always apologized if he did something wrong, and she admired that. But he’d never looked so—exposed. All she could do was nod.

“A few years ago, I was married.”

Yes, he’d mentioned he was a widower, and his expression had been so closed she hadn’t asked any questions.

“I was on a violent crimes task force, concentrating on gangs. We’d just arrested several members of a gang.” He pulled in a breath. “Threats to agents aren’t uncommon, but I never thought…”

Vance stood apart, watching silently. He’d shaved, and beneath his dark tan, a purpling bruise ran along his right jaw, making her heart ache.

Galen leaned on his cane, something he rarely did when just standing. Tough Guy never wanted to show weakness. But she could see he was hurting, and her hand trembled with the need to hold his, to comfort him.

His voice was rough as he said, “My wife was home. Decorating for a birthday party for her sister the next night.”

He stared at the wall, his eyes tormented. Filled with pain.

God, Galen. As if pulled by a chain, Sally took a step forward, hesitated, and hugged him. She heard the cane hit the floor, and his arms wrapped around her so tightly she couldn’t breathe.

He held her there, a second, another.

“Go on,” she whispered against his shoulder.

His voice was husky. “She planned to meet me at a restaurant, since I had to work late. She didn’t arrive. Didn’t answer her phone.” His cheek was against her hair. “I drove home. Too late. Far too fucking late. Some of the gang had busted down the back door. They…took their anger out on her, used her as a lesson to me. And killed her.”