Dear God, what was he going to do?

If he stayed mum, Lorraine would die. If he went to the police, his world would collapse and Kimberly would have to fend for herself.

It was an impossible choice.

But . . . maybe he wouldn’t have to choose if he pulled Lorraine’s investment out of the offshore account and returned it to her despite BK’s orders.

BK would be furious, but it could save Lorraine’s life. And despite BK’s threat, his tormentor did need him. He had the connections and credibility to sell the phony investment.

So if he bought himself a small window of time, perhaps he could come up with a plan to foil any future plans BK had to bilk seniors of both their money and their lives—without destroying his own life in the process.

This wasn’t the sort of call he’d expected to get during his Saturday evening shift. Nor were these the circumstances under which he’d next expected to see Grace.

As he pulled into her driveway and set the brake, a crack of light spilled through the slit in the blinds covering her front window.

She was watching for him.

In her shoes, he would be too.

He slid out of the patrol car, locked it, and strode toward her front door.

She opened it as he approached. “Thanks for getting here so f-fast.”

The hitch in her voice was telling, as was her pallor and the tremor in her fingers.

“All part of the job.” Even if he didn’t always race through the night at speeds that pushed the boundaries of safety for calls that weren’t life-threatening. “Is it on the back porch?”

“Yes. I didn’t touch it.”

“Good. Stay inside while I take a look.”

With a dip of her head, she retreated while he returned to the car to get an evidence bag, latex gloves, and flashlight. Then he circled the house to her back door.

The “gift” that had been left was exactly as she’d described it. A red-haired doll wearing a white lab coat, with a tiny gold charm that spelled out “Grace” pinned to the lapel—and a knife stuck through the chest.

Seeing it in person was like a punch in the gut.

If this had been an isolated incident, he might have been able to write it off as a vicious prank. But after the lily buds and car vandalism, there was a clear pattern.

Someone was targeting Grace.

Why?

That was a question he was going to have to pursue, no matter how many other questions he had to ask first to get to the answer.

After photographing the doll, he snapped on the gloves and examined it. No note, but the message it was intended to send came through loud and clear.

He put the doll in the evidence bag, sealed it, and jotted the time and date on the chain of custody form.

Once he deposited the bag in the cruiser and did a full circuit of the house, he returned to her front door.