Kate shook her head. “I’m good, thanks.” She climbed the stairs, grateful that Finn had turned on the light in the hallway. She opened the door to her bedroom. It looked cozy and serene.

She kicked off her shoes.

Her bed, pillows fluffed, invited her to lie down. She dropped her purse by the foot of the bed, and unzipped her carry-on. She knew she would regret not unpacking her suitcase, but one look at her closed closet door made her heart sink.

She wasn’t ready to re-examine Imogen’s box of belongings, not yet. The one and only time she had examined them, Kenzie had tried to kill her. There was too much trauma trapped in that document box. She was not ready to revisit it.

It took only a few minutes to brush her teeth and climb into bed. Alaska waited for her, an expression of sheer bliss in his eyes as he circled his large white frame on the fur-covered dog bed.

“Ah…” She slid between the sheets with a sigh of contentment. Alaska echoed her sigh, tucking his head on his paws. He gazed at her with such love that her throat tightened.

“I missed you, boy,” she murmured.

His tail slowly swished.

Her laptop, deep within her purse, chimed.

With a groan, she slid out the computer, and flipped it open. The inbox had an alarmingly high count.

Her gaze scanned the list of senders. Exhaustion blurred her vision.

But then she saw the name that had been on her mind since she boarded her flight home. He had responded to her email quickly. She had only sent it in the departure lounge of the Milan airport.

“Hallelujah!” she murmured.

John Hillcroft had agreed to meet with her tomorrow morning.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

11:58 p.m.

The house was suffocatingly dark.

Or maybe it was just dark.

And he felt suffocated.

Harry Owen pushed the door a little wider, hoping that the night air would disperse the dread that rushed to meet him. But the night air refused to cross the threshold of his parents’ house.

He stepped inside.

There was an odor that made his throat catch. It had grown stronger as the weeks passed.

It was the odor of a dying body.

It was the odor of his mother.

He longed to keep the door open. He longed to turn on his heel and leave.

And not have to deal with what lay in the bedroom in the back of the house.

But he couldn’t leave. In fact, he had come home a day early because he knew that time was running out.

His ears strained for any sound from the back of the house. No late-night canned laughter from the television. So, his parents were already asleep.

Sweat dampened his forehead as relief rushed through him. He was off the hook.

For tonight.