‘Portland, Oregon. Mom and Dad couldn’t stay in the house after Shelley died, and since I was attending university in Seattle, they moved up there. Seven years ago, Dad had his stroke and died, and eighteen months after that, Mom lost her battle against breast cancer. Too many sad memories permeated the entire Pacific Northwest, and I wanted out.’

Something akin to guilt passed over his features. ‘I’m not proud of it, but I was the biggest asshole around and did my best to push Sara away – both after what happened to Shelley and when my parents died. But my Sara’s pretty tenacious in her own right – she was like that in high school, too, which is why I fell for her our freshman year. Anyway, she wouldn’t let me shake her. Thank God.’ A sad smile lifted one corner of his mouth. ‘Do you know, what happened to Shelley is why Sara became a nurse? She just wanted to help heal other girls who’d… who’d had that happen… to remind them they could heal.’

Alyssa had always liked and admired Cord’s wife, but a new respect filled her for the woman who seemed to have saved Cord from himself. The silence that filled the car was crushing as Alyssa allowed this glimpse into her partner’s past to swill around in her head. She knew she should say something, but what?

Cord finally turned to look at her, dark circles shadowing his red eyes. ‘Remember three years ago when I suddenly had something come up and had to leave for Washington?’

Alyssa nodded. ‘I remember.’

‘An old college buddy of mine called to let me know Morrison had been killed in the prison yard. Cliché as hell. But if rumor is true, he’d been bragging to a new guy about Shelley, trying to puff himself up to look like a badass. Turns out the guy he was spouting off to had a little sister who’d been raped and murdered. In fact, that’s why he was in prison, for taking the law into his own hands. I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say the only reason the person who’d killed his sister was able to be identified was because his face was left intact. Unlike the rest of him.’

Cord’s face hardened, turned cold. ‘Ronald Erickson didn’t have the same weapons at his disposal inside prison, but he made do with what he had. Bradley Morrison’s face didn’t fare so well.’ He turned his head to stare out the passenger window. ‘I know we’ve dealt with cases like this in the past’ – he rubbed the back of his neck – ‘but it’s the anniversary of Shelley’s suicide, and Beau Cambridge and his father brought it all rushing back, their attitudes.’ He released a huff of sound and glanced at Alyssa. ‘I let it get the better of me, and I’m sorry. I should’ve had better control.’

The grief in his eyes matched the grief in Alyssa’s heart. ‘Now I understand why we make such a good team. We’re connected by tragedies that brought us to this profession so we could try to make a change, no matter how small. And we’re making it work.’