The next morning, Jack rose early and showered. He tried to get Terra out of his mind, but he couldn’t shake images of the past that collided with yesterday’s encounter. Distance and time had never completely removed her from his thoughts. Pulling on a T-shirt, he thought back to her words. She wanted to put the past behind them. Could they ever truly do that? Facing Terra and interacting with her had taken all his mental muscle. Emotional dexterity too.

Last night, he’d only been trying to make conversation to ease the pained look on her face at seeing the memorial again, nothing more, and she’d admonished him.

He forced his thoughts back to what mattered—finding Jim Raymond’s killer. Was the killer still in the area? The county or state? Had Jim sold someone insurance that hadn’t paid as promised and they had taken revenge?

Jack read a text from Deputy Sarnes—more information about Jim’s activities that might or might not be related. His head was spinning in too many directions. He thought through his next steps. Sheriff Gibson had told Jim’s wife, Pauline, the news last night and instructed Jack to hold off on talking to her until the morning. Said she was too upset to be coherent and that a doctor had given her a sedative. Jack was as compassionate as the next guy—or detective or special agent—but would have preferred to speak to her last night.

Regardless, news of a killer on the mountain would spread like a Montana wildfire through the county seat, Big Rapids, where Jim was known and loved, and eventually throughout Grayback County.

The pressure was on to find a killer.

Jack had grown up here, and had only been back in the area for about three months, working in his new capacity as a detective. While many of the same rules applied, the job was a lot different from his position as Special Agent Jack Tanner, or in his last assignment working undercover as a bodyguard to a high-profile criminal now behind bars.

He shaved his whiskers and took in the scar on his midsection where the bullet had almost killed him. At least he’d saved the journalist that night. He’d been too late for—

He gripped the edges of the sink and hung his head. Jack squeezed his eyes shut and steadied his nerves. He would be no good today if he didn’t put what happened behind him.

He finished dressing, then rushed out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where Aunt Nadine sat drinking coffee and playing with a dog he’d never seen. He chuckled to himself. Another stray.

“Morning.” He kissed her on the cheek, then plated eggs, bacon, and toast that waited on the stove.

“Morning, Jack. You busy today?”

He paused. Uh-oh. The way she asked that . . . “Why? Did you need help with something?”