Wouldn’t someone come along? Someone to help her? There was traffic on the street running in front of the motel. Surely someone would see that she was being attacked! Oh, please!

The gun came down again.

Hard.

Craaaack!

With a sickening crunch, she heard the bones in her cheek shatter.

Her scream was muffled as agony ripped through her.

Blackness seeped into the corners of her vision.

No!

Charity tried to hit back, flailing wildly with both her arms, fingers raking the air, striking nothing.

Again, the horrid weapon was raised.

Why? Why would this person want her dead?

That, she realized, was the ultimate goal.

Through the haze of blood and pain, she saw the butt of the pistol come down again. With a force born of fury.

Craaaack!

A burst of light flamed behind her eyes. Pain shot through her brain. Blinded, she bit down into the leather glove, clamping her jaws as hard as she could. Her attacker sucked in breath in pain.

“Owww! Jesus!”

Good.

She tasted blood, then tried to bite down hard again, but she was starting to fade, the blackness pulling her under, the world spinning away . . .

Her assailant snarled, “You’re so dead, bitch.”

And it was true.

She let go, and the darkness folded over her.

Then there was nothing.

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 28

December 8

The following day, Rivers finished the last bite of his ham-and-cheese sandwich at his desk, wadded the white takeout bag from the local deli in his fist, and lobbed it into his wastebasket. The damned thing bounced off the rim and reminded him of the final shot he’d missed in high school, right at the buzzer, with not only the game but a spot in the state championship playoffs on the line. Yeah, it had been bad.

He’d been the goat that evening, he thought, and for all the wins his team—the Hillside Hornets—had captured, that loss, to the rival Eagles, had given him teenage nightmares for weeks and still stuck in his craw two decades later.

Now, shaking off the memory, he stood and stretched, his spine popping from long hours at his desk. He rolled the kinks from his neck, checked his watch, and realized it was time to go. If they wanted to make Marysville by three, they needed to head out. He strode to the locker area, where he found Mendoza already slipping her arms through her jacket.

“Time to roll,” he said as they both checked out from the station, then stepped outside to a day that was crisp and cold, the cloudless sky a brilliant shade of blue. “I’ll drive.”

Mendoza was already heading to the passenger side of a department SUV as a cruiser with two deputies pulled into an open space. “Got the keys?” she asked.

He shot her a look over the roof of the Jeep. “Yes, Mother.”