Mysteries and Thrillers Library Audiobook Full Length | Nicest Couple

Chapter 1

The day was new, and the sun was in Amali Lincoln's eyes. She was driving eastbound on the Tulsa Cross Town Expressway, coming up on a pretzel loop of rebar and concrete, also known as the Interstate 244 and Highway 169 Junction, when her very normal day turned into chaos.

Suddenly, the car a few yards in front of her swerved, overcorrected, spun sideways, then overcorrected again and broadsided Amali's car. It sent her into a spin before hitting her again, then slamming her car into a concrete abutment. When everything finally came to a stop, the ensuing pileup had traffic at a standstill.

Amali was dazed, bleeding, and trying to unbuckle her seat belt when her car suddenly burst into flames. "No, no, no!" she cried, then began screaming for help, still trying to unbuckle her seat belt as smoke rolled up around her. She kept screaming and screaming, trying to open the door, even as the first fingers of fire were licking at the legs of her slacks, then the arm of her jacket.

When all of a sudden the door came open, she could hear voices shouting and the whoosh and hiss of fire extinguishers. And then some man's voice in her ear, telling her, "I got you, lady. I got you." And a voice whispering inside her head, "You're going to be okay." Then everything went black.

The time afterward was a blur. Amali went from an emergency room to a burn unit in Hillcrest Medical Center and ensuing days and nights of living hell. Time was measured by recurring debridement, the administration of pain meds, and wrapping and unwrapping the burns, and complete isolation.

It was a week before Dan Worthy, her across-the-hall neighbor in her apartment building, learned what had happened to her. He was an accident lawyer. He knew she had no family and called the Burn Unit, asked a nurse to deliver a message to her, and said he'd wait for the answer. The nurse listened, wrote down what Dan Worthy said, and headed for Amali's room. Gowned up, then moved to the side of Amali's bed.

"Amali, can you hear me?" Amali moaned, opened her eyes, and then nodded. "Do you know a man named Dan Worthy, neighbor?" Amal said. "He says he's an accident lawyer. Is this so?" Amali blinked. "Yes. He says he just heard about what happened to you, and if you say the word, then he's going to sue the pants off the drunk who hit you." Amali chuckled, but tears were rolling. "Tell him yes, and thank you."

"Consider it done," the nurse said. "Oh, and by the by, your next round of pain meds are on the way." Tears were still rolling when Amali closed her eyes. The nurse went back to the phone. "Mr. Worthy, are you still there?" "Yes, ma'am. What's the verdict?" "She says yes, and thank you." "Awesome," Dan said, and disconnected.

After that phone call, Dan went into action. He had the accident report. The man's blood alcohol level was off the charts when he was arrested, and it wasn't his first DUI. Dan filed a lawsuit on Amali's behalf against the man and his insurance company for all they were worth, suing for loss of wages, emotional distress, criminal intent, all medical costs, legal fees, and the list went on. He was fighting for Amali as she was fighting for her life.

The first wave of condolences from her colleagues at the CPA firm where she worked came in the midst of her worst days, and then, as she began to heal, they dwindled to no contact at all. In the months she spent healing, her job had been filled, her so-called friends had moved on, and then ones she happened to see either couldn't stop staring or looked away. She didn't look like she had before. There was a white streak in her hair that had never been there before, from shock, the doctor said. She had pink, pink healing scars and grafts on the left side of her neck, shoulder, arm, and hand, and down the left side of her lower leg. There was a healing scar on her lower jaw from being cut from broken glass. She didn't like to look at herself in the mirror, but she felt selfish for caring because so many people had worked hard to save her life.

The upside to it all was when Dan won the case on her behalf to the tune of millions. A year to the day of her accident, he knocked on her door to tell her the only good news Amali had had in months. When she opened the door, Dan was standing on her doorstep with a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. Amali smiled. "It's not Christmas. What's up?" she asked, as she let him in, then led him into the living room. He handed her the flowers and put the candy on the table between them.

"We did it, Amali. The courts awarded you everything I asked for on your behalf." Amali gasped. "That had to mean millions." "Everything," yes, ma'am. "Everything." Amali leaned back in her chair, holding the bouquet like a talisman. "You are a rare man, Dan Worthy. We've traded cookies and wine at Christmas for 4 years and barely said more than hello in passing. I don't know what prompted you to take all this on for me, but I will be grateful, grateful for the rest of my life."

Dan shrugged. "I get paid too, but I chose this job because I've witnessed the system shafting people who needed help most and seen the ones with the most money and power get away with murder. The bastard who hit you had already been let off twice for driving drunk with little more than a hand slap, and look what he did to you. They don't change, and the only options left to the victims is to literally make them pay. As we discussed, it was deposited directly into your bank account. You are good to go."

"Thank you. The trucker who pulled me out of the burning car saved my life, and now you've just saved my future. I owe both of you more than I can ever repay." "Just pay it forward, and we're even," he said. "Got to go, or I'll be late to court. Take care, neighbor. I'll let myself out."

November. One year later, Amali Lincoln had come a long way since her accident two years ago and was tired of being overlooked. No matter how many résumés she submitted after her accident, she'd never gotten past the first interview. The moment they saw the pink scars, their expressions froze in the smiles they'd been wearing, and they never looked her in the eyes again.

That's when she decided the only way to get work was to be her own boss. But she was done with Oklahoma. She needed a fresh start, and since she'd never been farther east than Arkansas and Missouri, she started looking for other options. Which was not unusual, because Amali had been looking for answers most of her life.

The day she turned 18, she sent off for a DNA test kit from Ancestry.com. By the time it arrived, she was having second thoughts about submitting it. Whoever had abandoned her didn't want her to begin with. Why was she doing this? Then, rationale went out. If for no other reason, knowing medical history of your people was valid. So she took the test and sent it.

The results came back weeks later. Like most Americans, she had ancestors in different countries, obviously on the move from one place, looking for something better in another. She saw the irony that was her to a tee, but she never got a hit from the website and was never contacted by anyone claiming to be related. Nobody wanted her when she was born, and obviously nobody wanted her now. So she forgot about it. However, Amali had dreams and a life yet to be lived. It was time to get out of Tulsa and out of this rut.

Now the holidays were upon her, and with no office parties to go to and no friends left to invite her over for Thanksgiving or Christmas, she decided to spend the time on her own and in a new place, somewhere she'd never been before. After a little research, she found a tourist attraction she'd never heard of in a place called Jubilee in the state of Kentucky. She scanned the website, admiring the shops and the little valley in the Cumberland Mountains where it was nestled, and decided this was it. She loved country music and mountains, and the draw of stepping into a place that not only held on to their past but had found a way to share it with tourists seemed delightful. She made a reservation at a hotel called The Serenity Inn for 2 weeks, arriving the week of Thanksgiving.

Once she arrived, she knew she'd made the right choice. The changing color of fall leaves, visible from her hotel window, covered the mountains like a patchwork quilt. The days were sunny but brisk, and every day she lost herself within the hustle and bustle of tourists and shops and the friendly faces of the storekeepers. She ate Thanksgiving dinner in the hotel dining room along with dozens of other diners. Every day she became the tourist, going in and out of shops, watching fudge being made and quilt makers at work. She watched the blacksmith at the forge and wandered into a store with Native American jewelry and bought a handmade ring made of silver with a turquoise setting. She walked the streets, eating funnel cake and listening to fiddlers playing bluegrass music in the Square. She went to a Reagan Bullard concert at one of the music venues and caught a matinee performance of a different musician at another.

When she learned the mountain looming above Jubilee was called Pope Mountain, she felt a connection, like being introduced to someone new. Every day afterward, as she looked toward the mountain, she felt something she'd never felt before: a connection, a longing, a sense of wanting to stay. And she began thinking about living here. It didn't take long to fall in love with the concept. At that point, she thought of work and started scoping out options. The first thing she noticed was the lack of public accountants. There was only one small CPA firm in the whole town, but she wasn't looking for a job there. She was checking out the competition.

A couple of days before she was due to leave, she rented office space in the business complex next to the bank, with a window facing the street. Hired a sign painter to mark her presence in that place, then rented a house in the residential area of the town. On the morning she left Jubilee, it was with the knowing that she was coming back to stay.

It took a while to pack up her life in Tulsa and get out of her lease, but she'd done it. It was just the first week in January when she returned to Jubilee, and when she drove into town, her eyes went straight to the mountain. The colorful leaves were gone, but there was green from the ancient growth of evergreen and pines, and the mystery of it still called to her. There was a new sign on the window next to the First National Bank in Jubilee, painted in gold lettering: A. Lincoln CPA. It was an impressive sign in big, bold letters.

Amali had been back in Jubilee for a week, knee-deep in setting up her new home, ordering furniture and technology for the office, and when she went to make a deposit at the bank next door, she asked the teller for tech support recommendations. The woman gave her a name: Shawn Pope, as in Pope Mountain. When she heard the name, a chill ran up her spine. It was as if the mountain was now aware of her presence and sending an emissary to meet her. She contacted Shawn Pope via his website, made an appointment with him to come set up the system, then woke up anxious on the day he was to arrive. She kept telling herself to get over the nerves. She'd be dealing with clients one-on-one on a daily basis, and her appearance was immaterial. He wasn't her boss. She'd hired him to do a job.

Because of the cold weather and because the office wasn't yet open, she wore jeans, a soft baby blue sweatshirt (the same color as her eyes), and her favorite pair of running shoes to work. Her hair had grown out to the length it was before the accident, still thick and straight and the color of dark chocolate, except for the addition of a white streak that had appeared just to the right of the widow's peak. She could have colored it, but she'd made peace with it, just as she had the scars. After a quick breakfast of coffee and cereal, she grabbed her coat, keys, and a tote bag and headed out the door. Amali loved cold mornings with the chill on her face and the scent of air without industry—no factories, no haze, no burning dump sites, just the sun rising above the treetops.

As she drove her red SUV to the office and parked in the lot behind the building, the back entrance into the building opened up into a long hallway accessing the other businesses on the bottom floor. The walk up the hall to where her office was located was a distance, but it was well-lit and warm, and she counted off the doors as she went. The first on her right was an insurance company, then a realtor's office. On her left, a travel agency on the left next to that, and her office, the last one on the right, but the first office for people coming in from the street. The simple act of unlocking the door was empowering. She knew building a new business would take time, but she was good at her job. As soon as she was up and running, she intended to put an ad in the local paper and hold an open house. Free food was always a draw, and curiosity.

The second she turned up the thermostat, took her coat and purse to the back room, checked the bathroom to make sure the roll of paper towels and toilet paper were in place, she put a new bottle of Fresh Linen scented hand soap on the vanity, started a pot of coffee, and then checked to make sure the small apartment-sized refrigerator was working before going back to the front. The big plate glass window gave her a clear view of morning traffic already moving at a fast clip. The mountain loomed above it all.

As time passed, she began to feel tense. It was 8:45. Shawn Pope would be arriving soon. "Please God, I don't need to see that look again on anyone's face, not this morning," she sighed, mentally chastising herself for even thinking about how he'd react to her appearance. All she needed was for him to get her up and running. What he thought about her was immaterial. So she moved on to something she could control. She turned toward the room, her hands on her hips, and began assessing the arrangement of furniture and the boxes containing her technology. She had a landline installed for business and phone jacks in three places in case she needed to move the computers around, but something was off. Maybe if she moved the long desk to the back wall, then moved the small desk to the front like a reception area. Then she made herself calm down. This was just the beginning. Eventually, she'd figure it out, and it would be fine.

Miami, Florida. Wolfgang Outon was a self-made man who'd hit billionaire status by never taking no for an answer and never giving up. He was a striking man in his mid-50s with a full head of iron-gray hair. He was fit from daily workouts, accustomed now to the finer things in life. He had loved one woman in his life, and when she died giving birth to a stillborn baby girl, he left his heart with her in the grave and her family cursing his name. He left without looking back and went out to prove to himself that he had been worthy of her love.

And over the years, he made his fortune and his bed, marrying and divorcing a second wife. Then, four years earlier, he'd taken a third wife, Fiona Rangley, a hot blonde in her late 30s. But Fiona wasn't just a pretty face. She had a degree in engineering and a successful career of her own, and as far as he was concerned, they were happy. The only thing he didn't have in his life was a child and no living kin, something he deeply regretted.

A month ago, on a whim, he'd ordered a test kit from Ancestry.com. As soon as it came, he supplied the test and mailed it back. What he never saw coming was the uproar it caused when Fiona found the remnants of the kit in the bathroom trash. "How could you do this to me? Why? Why am I not enough for you? How could you betray me like this?" And then she slapped him.

Shock rolled through Wolfgang in waves. Before he knew it, he had grabbed her by both wrists and was shouting, "What the hell's wrong with you? That wasn't a condom in the trash! I'm not [ __ ] another woman! I just want to know if I have any family left in this world!" "Why? Why am I not enough?" "You don't need anyone else. You have me!" she screamed. In that moment, he was staring at a stranger. He pulled her closer, gripping her wrists tighter, his voice barely above a whisper. "You pull a stunt like this again, and you won't have anything. You're my wife, but you do not tell me what to do. Just as I honor your career and your business and your choices, I am a grown-ass man, and if I want to look for long-lost family, then that's what I'll do. Do you understand me?"

Fiona blinked. She'd never seen this side of him before, but then he'd never seen this side of her either, and maybe he shouldn't have, but it was too late to take it back. Her eyes welled. They'd kissed and made up, and she'd said nothing about it again, but she'd given life to feelings Wolfgang knew nothing about and shown a side of herself to him that he didn't like.

A few weeks later, Wolfgang was getting ready to leave Miami for a quick trip to Jubilee, Kentucky. It was a quarterly meeting of the board of investors for Hotel Devon, of which he was one, and Fiona had just finished packing his suitcase and travel bag for his weekend trip. He'd been watching her, unobserved, for a while, still remembering there was a side to her that she kept hidden. When she caught him staring, she smiled, giving him that come-hither look. "God, Wolfgang, you are such a beautiful man." He responded in kind. "And you, my love, are a beautiful woman. If I didn't have a chopper waiting, I'd take you back to bed this second." Fiona made a sad face, as if regretting the missed opportunity, and threw her arms around his neck. "I'm always here for you. Rain check on the sex, and I'll see you in a couple of days." Then she kissed him square on the mouth, lingering just enough to leave him wanting.

Wolfgang's eyes were hooded as he swatted her backside, and then he was gone. But as soon as he slid behind the wheel, his thoughts went back to the argument they'd had weeks earlier. It was an eye-opener with regards to the woman he thought he'd married, and the urge to check up on her while he was gone was strong within him. With his usual knee-jerk reaction to conflict, he decided to attack and not retreat. And as he was driving, made a call to a private investigator he'd used countless times before. The phone rang twice before it was answered. "Good morning, Wolfgang. You're calling early." "Morning, Jack. I have a request, and it needs to be carried out with utmost secrecy." "As always. What do you want me to do?" "Follow my wife. Something happened recently that has led me to distrust her. Dig into her past. Find out if she's playing around." "I'll contact you. You don't call me," Jack said, and disconnected.

Fiona watched her husband leave, even waving from the upstairs window. But when he didn't look up to wave, as he usually did, she shrugged it off to his need for haste and went to get dressed. She was a biomed engineer and had her own career and office before she met and married Wolfgang Outon, and despite his wealth, kept working in her field. A short while later, she was on her way to her office in downtown Miami, while Wolfgang was on his way to Sutton Airfield on the outskirts of the city.

40 minutes later, Wolfgang pulled up at the Airfield office and parked. To his surprise, his personal assistant, Stuart Bienn, was waiting on him. "Stu, what's going on?" Wolfgang asked. Stu was on the verge of frantic, which for him was unheard of. "The refinery in São Paulo is on fire. At least 10 workers died in the initial explosion, and several others are in the hospital. And there is talk of some paramilitary group trying to take control of the tank farm. They need you there ASAP. I brought your passport and emergency suitcase you keep packed from your suite at the office. I've asked Xander for a chopper and a pilot to take you straight to the airport. They have your jet waiting there."

Wolfgang groaned. "What a nightmare. I was on my way to Jubilee. I need to let Marshall Devon know I can't make it." "Damn it, we're voting on a touchy issue, and some of the investors are dragging their heels. It would help so much if he had my proxy." Stu frowned. "Do you have the paperwork with you?" Wolfgang patted his jacket pocket. "Yes, the agenda and the proxy they always send in case I can't be there." "If you can talk Xander into taking me instead, I'll take your proxy and sit in on the meetings and take notes for you, if they don't mind looking at me in the same clothes for two straight days." "You're the best," Wolfgang said. "And you and I are about the same height and weight. You take my suitcase, it has a couple of days' worth of clothing and toiletries, and I'll take the suitcase you brought for me." "Perfect. Just sign the proxy, and we'll be good to go," Stu said.

Wolfgang whipped out the papers, used the hood of his car for a desk, and signed in all the necessary places before handing it over. "There's the agenda too. I'll be in touch once we get to Brazil." Stu pocketed the proxy and traded bags with Wolfgang. As Xander was coming out, Wolfgang hailed him. "Xander, the flight to Jubilee is still on. Stu's going in my place, and time is short," Wolfgang said. "No problem," Xander said. "I had everything ready and waiting for you. I'll just load him up instead. Gordon will fly you to the airport, and I'll fly Stu to Jubilee." "Thanks," Wolfgang said, and without hesitation, the switches were made. One chopper headed north to Jubilee; the other chopper headed south to Miami International, where Wolfgang's private jet and his pilot, Toby West, were waiting.

Jubilee, Kentucky. Same day. The writing was on the wall. Shawn Pope was the last of Shirley Pope's four sons still living at home, and he had no plans or reason to leave. He didn't like the idea of their mother living up on the mountain alone, and since his work was all online or traveling to locations, a home office was his best bet. Although he was an IT specialist, he had recently branched his business into tech and security installations, which kept him even busier. His older brother, Aaron, was married and working as an officer with the Jubilee Police Force and living with his wife, Dany, in Jubilee. His youngest brother, BJ, had graduated from The Culinary Institute of America in New York City and was working as a sous chef in a major restaurant. Wy, the brother just younger than him, had already moved into an apartment in town after switching jobs from a security guard at the Reagan Bullard venue in Jubilee to working alongside his brother on the police force.

Shawn had long ago accepted the limits of his personal freedom. Aaron had a wife, Wy had three girlfriends on speed dial, and at the moment, BJ was in love with his job. At 27, Shawn had already gone through the dating circus before they moved back to Kentucky. Random dating had long since lost its magic. Sometimes he still dreamed of Molly, the first girl he ever loved, but nobody had taken the relationship seriously except the 9-year-old boy and girl they had been. He lost her when they moved away, putting an end to what might have been. He would have liked to have someone special, but he wasn't good at meeting new people. Too many years of working on his own had turned him into something of a loner, and after the trauma their father had caused in their lives, also leery of commitments.

Work was taking him into Jubilee this morning to meet a woman who was opening a new office. He had no idea of her age or what she looked like, and it didn't matter. He knew she was a CPA, and she needed security and a new office system set up. She'd informed him that all of the office furniture had arrived, the technology had been delivered, and she needed it to be in working order before she could open the office. Compared to what he dealt with in tech support, this was a piece of cake. He just hoped she wasn't the hovering kind. He worked best alone, and he had dressed for work in faded Levi's, a gray long-sleeved sweatshirt, and boots. His equipment was loaded in his work van, so there was nothing left to do now but eat breakfast before he headed down the mountain.

And he followed the aroma of fresh coffee all the way to the kitchen. His mother, Shirley Pope, was taking a pan of hot biscuits from the oven when he entered the kitchen. "Morning, Mom. Something smells good," he said. "I know you're in a hurry, but everything is done," Shirley said. "I'm never in too big a hurry to miss your biscuits," he said, grabbed a plate from the cabinet, and filled his plate from the pans on the stove. Shirley poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down with him. "Oh, FYI, Aaron and Dany will be here for supper tonight. Not sure about Wy, he probably has a date, but he was invited." "Okay," Shawn said, as he buttered a couple of biscuits, then dug into the scrambled eggs and bacon on his plate.

Shirley eyed the far-away look on his face and knew there was something on his mind. Shawn was her second born and looked the most like her father, who'd been Pope to the core: black hair, a slight olive cast to his skin, eyes so dark it was hard to see the pupils, and like all of her sons, well over 6 feet tall. "Where's the job at this morning?" she asked. "A new CPA is opening an office in the business center next to the bank. I'm setting up security in her network of computers and printers. I'm supposed to meet her at 9:00 a.m." "What's she like?" Shirley asked. He shrugged. "I have no idea. Never met her. So far, my only contact with her has been by phone and online."

Shirley pushed the jar of strawberry preserves a little closer to his plate and watched as he put some on half of a biscuit and ate it in two bites. "Are you going to be okay here on your own today? I have no idea how long I'll be gone," he said. Shirley sighed. So that's what was bothering him. She laughed. "Of course, I'll be okay. I'm not old yet, buddy boy. Remember, I started having babies while I was still in my teens." He just nodded and let it slide, but he still had nightmares of finding her unconscious and bleeding on their kitchen floor, and his father nowhere in sight, then the long, frightening hours that ensued afterward, not knowing if she would live, and months of the public humiliation that came afterward when their father went to prison for murder. Leaving Arkansas and coming home to the Cumberland Mountains had been their saving grace. Shawn and his brothers were overprotective of her now, but with good reason. Her life had not been easy, but she'd kept them safe, and their allegiance to her was strong.

Shawn swallowed his last bite, washed it down with another sip of coffee, and then looked up. "Do you need me to pick up anything in town before I come home this evening?" "There's a list on the counter if you want to mess with it, but nothing urgent. I can take myself there anytime I want," she said. "I'll take the list," he said, and winked. Shirley laughed. The only times Shawn willingly agreed to a supermarket run were when he came home with a sack full of snacks. "What, is your office stash running short?" he grinned. "Something like that, and you can always call me if you think of something to add to it, since you're out of your office here all day." "What are you doing about your other clients?" she asked. "I sent a blanket email telling them to leave details about what they need and left a voicemail on my office phone, so if it rings, ignore it." Then he got up and carried his dishes to the sink. "Just leave them, son. I'll clean up after you're gone," Shirley said. "Okay, and thanks for breakfast. Be careful. Love you. And if you do go anywhere, just text me to let me know, okay?" "Absolutely," Shirley said, then watched him pocket the grocery list. She followed him to the living room, then stood in the doorway, watching as he crossed the frost-covered grass to get in the van. She shivered slightly from the chill in the air but didn't go back inside until he was out of her sight.

Chapter 2

The drive down the mountain was uneventful, and Shawn was heading toward the main drag downtown on the east side of the tourist area when he caught a glimpse of the new sign on the front window of the business center. "Ah, Lincoln CPA." When they'd spoken on the phone, she'd introduced herself as Amali. It was a beautiful name. It sounded French. He'd never heard it before. She'd sounded young, but identifying age by the sound of a voice was deceptive. He bypassed parking at the curb and headed for the parking lot behind the bank. Indeed, it was 5 minutes past 9 when he grabbed a large toolbox from his van and headed for the back entrance.

There was one person coming out of the insurance agency and another entering the door from the street. As he entered the hallway and kept walking all the way to the front until he came to an office door with the same gold lettering on the glass. The door was unlocked. He turned the knob and walked in. She was standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips, obviously eyeing the layout of desks, cabinets, tables, and computers, but the only view he had of her was from the back: a tall, slender woman wearing skinny jeans and a sweatshirt hanging just below her hips, and with dark hair that fell way below her shoulders. He cleared his throat. "Miss Lincoln?"

Amali jumped and turned. There was a fraction of a second when she felt a moment of recognition, and then she blinked, and the thought was gone. Shawn thought little of the white streak in her hair. He'd seen plenty of women with all kinds of color streaks, but he could have sworn they'd met before. "I'm Shawn Pope. I didn't mean to startle you." Slightly flustered and trying not to stare at the giant man who'd just entered her office, she began talking to offset the awkwardness she felt. "No, no, totally my fault. I-I've moved that desk three times in the last 20 minutes, and I still don't know if it's where it needs to be. It's as lost and out of order as I am," she said. Her simple admission of trying to fit what was into what is resonated.

Shawn put his toolbox aside. "Tell me what you want moved. Really." "Thank you. I can help," she said. "No, ma'am. I have long arms and a strong back. What needs to be moved first?" "I want a reception area, but right now I'll be on my own. As my business grows, I'll hire staff as the need arises," she said. "I was thinking this small desk could..." Shawn was already in organizational mode and began talking aloud, almost to himself. "You won't want your back to the window, but if you put the little reception desk there, toward the middle of the window and facing the door to your office, it gives the appearance of foyer space." "Yes, perfect!" Amali said.

Shawn nodded. "Then you'll want to be at the back of the room, like the boss you are, seeing everything before you, but with a wall at your back." Amali blinked, and for the first time, looked him square in the face. "Like Wild Bill Hickock, who always played cards with his back to the wall." "Lord, her eyes are as blue as the shirt she's wearing," he grinned. Except for the one time he didn't. "Now, which desk do you want for reception?" Amali pointed, and Shawn picked it up like he was carrying a box of groceries and set it where she'd directed. And then they moved the long table to a side wall and put the ornate desk at the back of the room. "Now for the computers." "Are they all the same?" "Or the same, but this one has more memory. Put that one on my desk, and set up the printer on the long table. It's also a fax machine. I don't often have need of one anymore, but it depends on the clients I have and how they communicate, you know."

Shawn nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I do know. I get all kinds of tech problems dumped in my lap, and sometimes regarding communication devices that are almost as old as I am. So, if this setup suits you, I'll get to work." "It suits. And stop calling me ma'am, Amali, please," she said. Shawn nodded, but as she turned to walk away, her hair shifted away from her face just enough that he saw a scar on her jaw and what looked like burn scars on her neck. He'd already seen the burn scars on the top of her hand, and all of a sudden, he was viewing her in a new light. She was a survivor, and in his eyes, about as close to beautiful as a woman could get. But this was business, and so he got down to it.

Amali pulled one of the padded office chairs into a corner by the window and settled in to watch him work. Every so often, he would pause to ask her a question about the layout, but as soon as she answered, he went quiet again. She grabbed her Kindle and began pretending to read, but when he wasn't looking, she watched, trying to figure out why he looked so familiar. He was down on the floor, halfway under a desk, when his cell phone rang. She looked up as he rocked back on his heels, checked caller ID before he answered, then watched the smile spread across his face as he said, "Hello." She knew it was someone special from the sound of his voice and was suddenly lonely that she had no one like that in her life.

When Shawn saw it was his mother calling, he guessed something was about to be added to the grocery list. "Hey, what's up?" "Oh, not much. How's it going on the job?" Shawn glanced up at Amali. "It's going great. I won't be late coming home, if that's what's bothering you." Shirley sighed. "Wy's bringing a guest." Shawn chuckled. "Which one?" "I didn't ask," Shirley said, and sighed again. "Just as well, then. It'll be a surprise. Do you need extra stuff for the meal?" Shawn asked. "Maybe another bunch of Roma lettuce." "Consider it done," Shawn said. "Love you. See you later." "Love you too, honey," Shirley said.

Shawn laid his phone back on the desk. "Sorry, that was my mom. A couple of my brothers are coming to eat supper with us tonight, and I need to pick up extra for an unexpected guest." "You still live at home?" Shawn gave her a look. "My mother is divorced. I have three brothers. We all moved back to the old home place with her after our grandmother died. It's up on the mountain. Best move we ever made. I work out of the office at home. Aaron and Wy are both officers of the Jubilee Police Force. Aaron is married to a school teacher here. Wy has a girlfriend or three, and the baby brother is a sous chef in New York City. Mom's had a hard life. Everyone else is gone now. I chose to stay with her. I'm the only man of the family left, so to speak."

She nodded. "I didn't mean my comment to sound like it did. I was just thinking how fortunate you are to have family." Shawn frowned. "You don't?" "Nope. I grew up in foster care, but the high school I went to with my last foster family was in a disadvantaged area, and some rich dudes set up a program in my high school for every student entering their freshman year. If the kids stayed in school, kept up their grades, and graduated without being arrested, they had a free ride to a college degree. I chose to major in business with a minor in math. I like numbers, and that's how I became a CPA."

Shawn kept staring at her even after she stopped talking. He couldn't get over how familiar it felt to be with her like this. Finally, Amali frowned. "What are you debating about? Mentioning all my scars or no?" "I keep thinking we've met before. The moment I saw your face, I thought I knew you. The whole time I've been here, I've been racking my brain trying to remember." Amali's heart skipped a beat. "That's weird, because the moment I turned and saw you, I had the same reaction. And since you didn't ask, the scars are from a wreck a little over two years ago. I was sideswiped on an expressway in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I spun out into a concrete embankment. Between the shattering glass and the ensuing fire, I'm lucky to be alive."

"Oh my God," Shawn muttered. "How did you get out?" She shrugged. "A trucker pulled me out. It took so long to recover from the burns that the firm I was working for filled my position. I completely understood and thought I'd just get the same job elsewhere, but it soon became apparent that getting rehired and looking like a slasher victim wasn't going to happen. People are shits." Shawn muttered, thinking of how he'd lost his job at the IT firm in Conway. "That's why I chose to be my own boss, too. So, besides that weird 'thought I knew you' vibe, we've both been judged by members of the [ __ ] society." Amali hadn't expected his anger on her behalf or the body humor, but it delighted her, and before she knew it, she was grinning. "Been a member long?" she asked. Shawn managed a grimace, hoping it passed for a smile. "Long enough," he said, and then he crawled back under the desk and went to work.

Only five of the tiny cabins at Bullard's campgrounds were occupied this week, and of the five, only one renter was still on site. His name was Ellis Townly, Roy to his friends, but he hadn't come to Jubilee as a tourist. He'd come to do a job, a job he was being well paid to do. All he had to do was watch for an inbound chopper that would be arriving around noon, coming in from the south, and when he saw it, he was to make a call to a certain number and when the call went through, say the words, "It's done," then pack up and leave. Roy knew there was likely something fishy about it, but a phone call was a phone call. He demanded the money up front. It came in cash, which he immediately deposited. A seemingly easy job for a nice chunk of change.

Due to the time of year, he had his pick of cabins, so he'd made sure to choose one with an open view to the south. He'd been outside watching all morning, and it was already past noon. He lifted the binoculars again, scanning the sky. "Wherever the hell that chopper is, I wish it would hurry. It was freaking cold." He had the number he was meant to call pulled up on his phone. All he would have to do was press the call button and wait for someone to pick up, deliver the message, and his job was over.

Nearly 20 more minutes passed before he saw something high in the sky on the horizon. He lifted the binoculars to check, but it was still too far away to determine if it was a plane or a helicopter, so he hesitated, waiting for a better view. Then, as it came closer, the sighting was confirmed. "Finally," he muttered, and hit the call button, but nothing happened. He glanced down at the phone, realized the signal was weak, and cursed. "[ __ ] mountains," he muttered, walking a little farther out into the field. The signal was strong. He pulled up the number again, he hit call, then watched in horror as the chopper suddenly exploded in midair. Roy jumped back like he'd been jabbed, then watched in growing horror as the craft began spiraling down, down, down. "Oh hell. Oh no. What the [ __ ] have I done?" He couldn't think. He couldn't move. He just kept watching it fall until it disappeared below the tree line. It was the second explosion that sent him running for his cabin. He grabbed the bag he'd already packed, tossed it in his car, and headed for the office to check out.

Roy made it to the office and came in stumbling, trying not to puke, ready to check out. "Is everything okay?" the clerk said. Roy blinked. It took him a second to realize the dude had asked him a question. "What? Oh, yeah, it was fine," Roy said, still thinking about what he'd done outside. The sounds of distant sirens could be heard, and then the clerk's phone rang. The clerk glanced down and then frowned. "Sorry, I need to take this," he told Roy, then answered. "Hello?" Roy was watching the man's face, and when he saw him turn pale, his panic increased. The clerk looked up. "Something happened at the school," they said. "Something blew up." "Do you want to leave your bill on the credit card you gave me?" he asked. Roy nodded. The clerk hurriedly printed out a receipt, handed it to Roy, and then grabbed the keys to the office. "See yourself out, sir. I got kids at that school. I got to go." "Yeah, right," Roy said, and took off like the devil was at his heels. This kept getting worse. He left the campgrounds heading east, away from Jubilee, away from the sight of the crash, as if his life depended on it. He didn't know why this was happening, but he knew he'd been set up. All he wanted to do was get back to Miami, pack up his [ __ ] and leave. It was time to hit the road again.

Dany Pope's first-grade class had just finished lunch and were on their way through the school building to the playground behind it, with Dany leading the way. The day was cold, but the weather was clear, and the children were bouncing with glee as they exited. Kit Arnold and her kindergarten class were already on the playground when Dany's class came out, racing toward their favorite play areas. Some headed for swings, some for the big slide, and some began playing tag. It was a typical day. Dany walked up to where Kit was standing, looked at her red nose and chapped lips, and grinned. "At least it's not snowing." Kit rolled her eyes. "No kidding. I swear, the older I get, the colder winter feels." Dany laughed. "Girl, you're 35. You're not old enough to complain about age." Kit grinned, pulled a lip balm out of her pocket and swiped it across her lips, then pulled the collar of her coat up around her neck. "It's Friday. What are you and Aaron doing tonight?" "Going out?" Kit asked. "Shirley is cooking for us tonight. I have the best mother-in-law ever," Dany said. "Thank God mine lives in Virginia," Kit said. Dany just shook her head, listening absently as Kit rambled on, because she was watching the children.

As she glanced up, she saw a helicopter coming in from the east, but thought nothing of it. Choppers came and went with some regularity here, usually dropping off guests at the hotels, and occasionally a medivac coming for a patient at the hospital or bringing one home. Then she heard a screech and turned just in time to see two little boys rolling on the ground, fighting. "I swear to my time," Dany muttered. "It's the twins again. I have never seen brothers so at odds with each other as those two are." She took off running, leaving Kit behind. She got to the boys, separated them, made each of them hold her hand as she began marching them back to the building. They were halfway across the playground when she heard a boom like someone had just shot off a cannon. She looked around and then looked up. The chopper she'd seen a few moments earlier was ablaze and spiraling and spinning downward, leaving a trail of black smoke behind it. Her heart stopped. From the falling trajectory of the burning chopper, the likelihood of it crashing into the school or playground was huge. "To likely!" she shouted at Kit and pointed upward, then shouted at the twins, "Run, boys, run inside now!" and grabbed her walkie-talkie and keyed up the school secretary. "Justine, ring the bell!"

Ring the bell to get the kids off the playground. Now start evacuating the school and call the police. A chopper exploded in the air. It looks like it's going to crash on top of us.

Seconds later, the bell began to ring, and Kit and Dany were outside grabbing kids off of swings and slides and screaming at them to run into the school. At that point, it became a madhouse. Children were running and falling and stopping to help their friends, and some were frozen in fear and couldn't move. Dany was frantic, trying to get them all inside when she saw Lily glass curled up in a little ball on the ground, covering her head with her arms. Dany swooped down and grabbed her on the run. As Kit was herding the last of the children inside the building, "Hold tight to me, baby," Dany said, and felt Lily's arms tighten around her neck.

Just as they reached the door, Dany glanced back. The chopper was coming down faster than they could run. She slammed the door shut behind her and shot up the hall. She couldn't see her children. She couldn't see Kit, but she thought she could hear the principal over the loudspeaker shouting something about exiting at the front of the building. She was still running and had just turned a corner into an empty hall when the chopper hit the ground. The explosion was earth-shattering. Ceiling tiles were falling down around them, and glass was flying. Maisy Edgart, a teacher's aid, was just coming up the hall with a small group of children running for the exit when it blew.

Dany ducked into the first classroom she came to as debris from the crash flew through the southern windows, through the open classroom doors, and out into the hall, catching Maisy and the children in the middle of the blast. Dany heard the horrifying screams. "I have to help. Lily, honey, get under the teacher's desk. I'm going to help Miss Maisy get the children in here, okay?" Lily nodded, dropped where she was, and crawled under the desk, ghost white and frozen in fear, her eyes welling with tears. Dany ran out into the smoke-filled hall, shouting, "Maisy! Maisy! In here!" and began herding the crying, bleeding children into the classroom with Lily.

As soon as they were all inside, Maisy began tending to the children while Dany pulled Lily out from under the desk and into her arms. Lily buried her face against Dany's neck and wrapped her arms tightly around her neck. "You're okay, baby girl. You're okay. Aunt Dany won't let anything hurt you now. Sit here beside me while I help Miss Maisy, okay?" Then she grabbed her walkie-talkie and keyed it up to the office. "Is anybody there? This is Danny Pope. We need help. We need help. Do you read me? Maisy and I are in a third-grade room on the north side of the building with some children. Is it safe to get them out the front door? Are there any blocked hallways?"

The silence was frightening, and Dany knew they needed to get out now because the smoke in the hall was acrid and blinding. She couldn't lead children into a death trap. She needed to know the safest way out. Then, suddenly, they heard Justine's voice. "Danny, is that you?" "Yes, Maisy and I are here with 13 children. They got caught in the blast. We have injuries." "Take a right as you go out of the classroom. Proceed to the four-way junction in the main hall and turn right. You can't go out any of the side doors because all of the other halls are compromised. Your exit will have some fallen ceiling tiles, but they've cut the power to the school to prevent electrical fires, and there are no fires in the building. Proceed at a safe pace."

"Got it," Dany said and glanced at the aid. "Maisy, honey, are you okay?" Maisy Edgart was pale and shaken, bleeding from cuts on her face and neck, but it was the children they were most concerned about. Nearly all of them had been cut, and a few were bleeding profusely. Some were too traumatized to talk; others were in hysterics. "It was to be expected. Yes, I'm okay," Maisy said. "So it's safe to leave the room now?" Dany nodded. "That's what she said." And then looked at the other children. "Okay, boys and girls, we need to exit the building now, but we only have one way out. Is anybody too injured to walk?" "We can walk," Maisy said. "Then everybody, please stand up. I know you have cuts that are bleeding, but doctors will be outside waiting for you. Grab hands with a partner and follow me out the door in a line. Miss Maisy will be right behind you. Understood?"

One little girl was bleeding from a cut on her neck and sobbing quietly. "I want my mama," she whispered. "I know, darling, but we have to get outside first, okay?" Then another little girl slipped up beside her. "Don't cry, Pammy. I'll walk with you," and took her by the hand. "Good job, all of you," Dany said and then opened the door. The constant shriek of approaching sirens was all they could hear as they moved out of the classroom, but the moment they stepped out into the hall, the visibility level went to zero. "My eyes are burning," Lily whispered. "Then close them and lay your head on my shoulder," Dany said, shifted her hold on Lily, and then grabbed the hands of the two children behind her and started up the hall with Maisy Edgart bringing up the rear.

Aaron Pope and his partner, Bob Yancy, were on patrol when they heard the explosion, but when they saw the flames and rising smoke, Aaron's heart nearly stopped. "Is that the school?" Yancy asked. Before Aaron could think, their police radio lit up with traffic. "Chopper crash outside Jubilee Elementary. Proceed immediately to location for emergency evacuation." Aaron hit the lights and siren and floored it. Wy was just coming out of booking when he heard the dispatch and raced to the patrol car where his partner, Doug Ladyi, was waiting. "Floret," Wy said. Aaron's wife teaches there. "[Expletive deleted]," Doug said and sped out of the parking lot, running hot all the way.

Shawn had just finished the security system installation in Amal's office and was running a check on it to make sure it was live when the chopper crashed. The explosion was so startling that Amal screamed. "What was that?" she cried. "I-I don't know," Shawn said and ran out of the building. Within seconds, he began hearing police and ambulance sirens, but when he saw two fire trucks flying out of town, he knew it was bad. And then he saw the location of the smoke. "Oh [expletive deleted] oh no, the school," he said and ran back inside. "I think something happened at the elementary school," Shawn said. "My brother's wife teaches there. I need to make sure they're okay." "Go, go, do what you need to do. Your things will be safe here," Amal said. Shawn grabbed his coat, dropped his phone in the pocket, and pulled out his keys. He took one look at Emily and then ran.

Amal's heart was pounding. She couldn't think about children and fire without remembering her own horror of being trapped in a burning car. Her knees were buckling as she dropped into her chair. "Please God, please, please don't let that school be on fire," she prayed, then covered her face and cried.

There were already officers on the scene and in the act of putting up roadblocks when Aaron and Bob Yancy arrived. Seeing the school building still in one piece was a blessing, but the fire behind the building was obviously close, and the first thing he thought was, "What the hell happened? And how many windows blew out? Were there injuries? Was Dany safe? Were her students safe?" Aaron had to check on her first. "Yancy, there will be parents swarming here within minutes. Looks like the principal has evacuated children to the football field across the street. The roadblocks are up. I'll join you at the field as soon as I know if Dany is out of the building." "Got it," Yancy said. "Go make sure Danny's okay. We've got this."

It wasn't what he'd been ordered to do, but there was no way in hell Aaron was going to stand outside this building wondering if his wife was still alive and in one piece. He called her phone, but she didn't answer. Then he saw the principal coming back across the street on the run. "Mrs. Lowry, is everybody out of the building?" She immediately recognized Danny Pope's husband. "Your Danny and Maisy Edgard are still inside with 13 children." "I'll find them," Aaron said and turned and ran.

The secretary was just coming out of the building when Aaron reached the front entrance. "Where's Danny? Where are the other children?" She was shaking so hard she could barely speak. "I just spoke with her. They took shelter in a classroom on the north side. All of the windows on the south side blew out. There's glass everywhere, and some ceiling tiles came down. They're trying to make their way to the main hallway that leads to the this entrance, but the building is full of black smoke." "Which way do I go once I reach the place where the halls intersect?" "Left. Go left and watch where you walk," she said.

Aaron started inside when he heard someone shouting and turned to look. It was Wy and his partner, with Shawn not far behind. "Follow me!" Aaron shouted and headed into the building, then stopped. The thick black smoke and the scent of burning chemicals were funneling into the building from the wreck. He turned around and ran back to the front entrance and propped both doors wide open. Now that it had a place to go, the smoke came billowing out. "[Expletive deleted], Aaron, I can barely see where we're going," Wy said as he entered the lobby. "I've been in the building enough with Dany to be familiar with the layout. Stay with me," Aaron said and began walking and shouting Dany's name. "Danny! Danny! It's me, Aaron. Can you hear me?"

Dany was choking and coughing and scared to death. She was going to lose track of the children in the smoke. She stopped and turned around. "Is everybody still with me? Maisy, are you there?" "Yes, we're here," Maisy said. "Okay, change of plans. We're going to form a chain. You'll hold hands with the person in front of you and the person behind you, and whatever you do, don't turn loose. If you fall, shout out immediately. Do you understand?" "Yes, Mrs. Pope." She waited, hearing their little feet shuffling as they moved into another formation. "Is everybody ready? Is somebody holding Miss Maisy's hand?" "Yes, we're good," Maisy said. "I have a flashlight on my phone. I can see the backs of their heads." "Then here we go. Go again," Dany said as she grabbed the hand of the little boy behind her. "Okay, Sammy, we're walking now. We're walking," and started up the hall again, all but blind to where they were going. Her biggest fear was that she'd reach the junction and miss her turn, or that one of the children would succumb to the smoke and pass out. And then, all of a sudden, she heard someone shouting her name and nearly broke down in tears. It was Aaron. "Here! We're here! We're here!" she cried. She heard footsteps, multiple footsteps. He'd brought help. They were going to be okay. The relief was huge. Then he appeared within the smoke like an angel coming into hell to lead them out, and it wasn't until he wrapped his arms around them that she gave way to tears. "Thank God you're okay. Give her to me, love," Aaron said and took Lily out of her arms, then picked up the little boy behind her. "I've got these," Shawn said and swooped in, swung one boy up on his back. "Hold on tight, son, we're getting out of here," then he gathered two more up in his arms. Wy and his partner were right behind them and began picking up children. Dany turned and grabbed the hands of two more children, and Maisy picked up the last one in her arms. "Do we have all 13?" Aaron asked. "Yes," Dany said. "I've been counting. Get us out of this smoke." Aaron took off walking, and the rest followed. Within moments, they'd reached the hall junction. The doors Aaron had left open were acting like a stovepipe, funneling the smoke out into the yard and upping the visibility enough for them to finally see their way.

Principal Lowry met them at the door and began touching little heads and hugging Dany and Maisy. "We thought everyone was out. Oh my God, you're all bleeding." Maisy quickly began to explain. "I don't think any of the cuts are serious, but I can't be sure. They're hurt, and that's not okay." "What happened? How did you get trapped?" Mrs. Lowry asked. "I was bringing children back from music class when we heard the warning over the loudspeaker," Maisy said. "We were running as fast as we could up the hall to get out of the building, but the classroom doors on the south side were open, I guess from the evacuation, and when the helicopter crashed and exploded, we got caught up in flying glass and burning debris. The children were hysterical, and I was trying to get them back together, but the smoke was already pouring in, and I was afraid I'd lose one trying to get out on my own with them. Then Dany came out of a classroom where she and Lily had taken cover. She still had her walkie-talkie and was trying to reach someone to find the safest way out. Justine heard the call and told us where to go, but the smoke in the hall was so dark and thick we couldn't see where we were going. If the officers hadn't found us, I don't know what would have happened." Stephanie was struggling to maintain her emotions. "You and Dany have both been amazing, and this is definitely a situation we would never have thought to practice for. The ambulances are across the street in the football field. Is everybody okay to walk over there?" Aaron shook his head. "No need, ma'am. We'll carry them." Lily raised her head. "Uncle Aaron, is my mama there?" "I don't know, sugar, but Aunt Dany and I will be with you until she comes, okay?" Lily took a firmer grip around his neck, but the tears were still rolling, and the black smoke was still pouring out the front doors like dragon's breath.

The arrival of the rescuers with the injured children set off a fresh wave of examinations. Doctors from the hospital were on scene now, and they soon had the children in need of further care in ambulances and on their way to the ER.

Chapter 3

Lou Glass was on the job at Trapper's Bar and Grill when the chopper crashed and exploded. It sent a shock wave across town, rattling windows and frightening everyone, including the locals and the tourists. Louie was behind the bar when someone shouted, "I think something happened at the school!" His heart stopped. "Lily!" he cried and raced outside. The dark, billowing smoke was already rising in the air. He ran back inside, yelling at his boss, "I have to leave! I have to find Lily!" Then he grabbed his coat and his car keys and left through the back door, calling his wife, Rachel, as he went.

Rachel was putting her last load of wet clothes into the dryer when her phone rang. She hit start on the dryer, then answered. "Hey, honey. Are you on your lunch break?" "Something happened at the school. There was a big explosion, and now a huge cloud of black smoke and fire. I'm on my way there." Rachel staggered, then caught herself. "No! Oh my God, no!" she moaned. "I'm leaving now, but call me the minute you know anything more." "I will, honey, but drive safe. We need you to get here in one piece, understand?" "Yes, Lewis, I promise."

Similar phone calls were spreading up the mountain. Parents in a panic to get down to the school, not knowing the status of their children. The line of cars coming down from the mountain was telling. There was so much panic at the school that the helicopter crashing had taken a back seat. There was no plan for recovery. It was obvious from the start there would be no survivors from the plane. The immediate concern was containing the spread of flames to keep the school and a nearby neighborhood from catching fire from the burning debris. For the time being, no one knew who'd been inbound or how many were on board or why the chopper had exploded in midair. That would be for the authorities to figure out.

All of the chaos was happening in the football field across the street because of the roadblocks to leave the streets open for emergency vehicles. Parents began arriving on foot, some running, most all of them in hysterics. Mrs. Lowry had sent out a blanket text from the school that every parent was now receiving, letting them know every teacher and student was accounted for but needed to be picked up. The students were huddled together on the bleachers, separated into their home room classes with teachers and aids at their sides. All of them were in shock; most of them were still crying. The injured children were being transported to the ER, and the teachers were releasing each child to their parents as they arrived.

Both Aaron and Wy caught up with Shawn before he left. "Thanks for showing up. You made the difference carrying three children out," Aaron said. Shawn nodded. "I heard the explosion. I thought the school was on fire. Never been so scared." "Do you know anything about the crash?" "Was it a chopper?" "Yes, Dany was on playground duty. She saw it coming inbound from a distance, and then she said it exploded in midair. If she hadn't sounded an early warning, we would have had kids dead all over the place. There were two classes of children outside on the playground and students in all the rooms on the south." Shawn ped. "Good luck, Lord. Another 50 yards to the north and the chopper would have hit the building," Wy muttered, then tapped Aaron's arm. "We've been ordered to stand guard at the roadblocks until someone gets here from the NTSB." Aaron glanced at Shawn. "Tell Mom we need a rain check on supper. Lord only knows when we'll get home tonight." "We'll do," Shawn said. "I'd better get back to the job site. I was working in an office in the business center when I heard the explosion." "Get the medics to check your breathing before you leave," Aaron said, and that's an order. "We sucked in a lot of bad [expletive deleted] in there." "Yeah, okay," Shawn said and headed for the makeshift triage area, calling Shirley as he went. She answered on the second ring. "Hello, Mom." "Aaron and Wy have to take a pass on supper tonight. A chopper went down right behind the school, caused a lot of damage and some minor injuries to a few kids. I'll fill you in on the details after I get home." "Okay." Shirley gasped. "Oh my God, is Danny okay? Were any of the injured from our family?" "Dany and Lily were suffering from smoke inhalation, as were a few others, but they're getting checked out. Like I said, details to follow." "Yes, okay, honey, thanks for letting me know." "Sure," Shawn said and then disconnected.

After a quick exam by one of the doctors on site, he headed for his van. He didn't know what he looked like until he got in the vehicle and realized his skin and clothes were covered in a thin layer of soot and ashes. He sighed. There was no place to clean up and nothing clean to put on, but as soon as he gathered up his equipment at Amal Lincoln's office, he could go home. Amal was sick to her stomach from the worry of not knowing what was going on, and then Shawn Pope walked in. One look, and she was afraid to ask. Thankfully, Shawn started talking. "It was a chopper crash just behind the school playground. The children are all mostly okay. A few have cuts from flying glass and some smoke inhalation. Your sister-in-law, she and a teacher's aid wound up taking shelter in a classroom on the other side of the building. We found them as they were making their way out. They'll be okay." Amali shuttered. "And the people in the chopper?" Shawn shook his head. "The chopper blew up in the air. They probably never knew what hit them." She reeled like he just slapped her. "Oh my God." When Shawn saw her expression go blank and her eyes fill with tears, he realized she was likely remembering being trapped in a burning car. "Uh, I'll just get my things and leave you to..." Amal jerked and then swiped at the tears on her cheeks. "No, wait. I have your check written, and everything is working beautifully. I have my programs loading, and you've already shown me how to set the security system. When I leave, I'm so grateful for your help." "Can I email you a receipt?" Shawn asked. "Yes, of course," Amal said and went to get the check from her desk. She hurried back, still wiping tears, and then looked up as she handed it to him. "One of these days, I'm going to figure out why I thought I knew you." "I'm sure our paths will cross again," he said, "but I promise to be a lot more presentable. I don't think I've been this dirty since I was a kid back in Conway." The hair stood up on the back of Amal's neck. "Conway, Arkansas?" "Yes, we were born, born and raised there. We didn't come home to the mountain until after Grandma died. Mom inherited the family home, and we all moved here with her." Amal's voice was trembling. "What was the name of your elementary school?" "Uh, Ellen Smith Elementary." Emily just kept staring. "There was a boy in my class that you remind me of, but you have different last names, so it couldn't have been you." Now Shawn was the one having chills. "Was his name Shawn Wallace?" Amal blinked. "Yes, but how would you..." Shawn sighed. "That was my name before we changed it to my mother's maiden name. Why would you...?" "My father was a habitual abuser all of our lives. Nearly four years ago, he beat my mother so badly we thought she would die. Then he left the house in a drug-filled high and murdered two people he didn't even know. Mom divorced him, but it didn't matter. We were still the killer's family and suffered the consequences. We changed our last name to Mom's maiden name and came back to Jubilee, where she was born. We live in the house she grew up in. Our ancestor founded this town. Pope Mountain is named for him." Amal was in shock. The only person who'd ever stood up for her, and 18 years later, their paths crossed again. "Do you remember some mean boys catching a little girl and putting gum in her hair out on a school playground?" Shawn frowned, thinking back, remembering how long he'd been trying to catch her eye and how shy she'd been. "Yes, I remember, but that was me," she said. Shawn was in shock, and then he frowned. "But they called you Molly." "That was my foster mother's fault. She thought Amal was too fancy for a kid nobody wanted." Shawn was beaming. "Oh my God, I would hug you, hello, but I'm so filthy I can barely stand myself." Amal sighed. "You were my knight in shining armor. You gave two boys a black eye and the third one a bloody nose before the teacher stopped you." Shaun's breath caught. "Her eyes..." They were drowning in unshed tears. "I got suspended from school for the rest of the week, and when I came back, you were gone. I was devastated," he said. Amal's expression went blank. "My foster family cut off most of my hair to get rid of the gum and then turned me back to the state, said I was causing trouble for them. The next foster family I wound up with lived in Eureka Springs, and the one after that was in Bentonville. My last foster family was in Little Rock. I graduated high school there." Shawn was a little bit in shock. "Fate is a trip. We rarely see what's coming, and it's almost always something we didn't expect. Today has been a day of shock and of surprises, and you might be the biggest one of all." Then he looked down at himself. "I'm something of a mess, but I would love to see you again when we have time to catch up. If you don't, then I totally understand, but I-I would love that." "Call me," Emily said. Shawn smiled. "Yes, ma'am. It will be my pleasure. I always thought you were pretty, but you grew up beautiful, and I'm sorry I missed that." He grabbed his toolbox and walked out the door. Amal didn't know whether to laugh from the joy of this unexpected reunion or cry because he just called her beautiful, but she went home with a bounce in her step and joy in her heart, something she hadn't had in a long, long time.

Shirley nearly fainted when she saw Shawn walk into the house. "Shawn, son, what on earth?" "I'm not hurt, Mom. It's just smoke, soot, and ashes from the crash site. It funneled into the school through the broken windows. It was nearly impossible to see where to get out, which is how Dany and Maisy and some of the children got trapped. We went in to help lead them out." "We who?" Shirley asked. "Me, Aaron, Wy, and his partner. The rest of the officers were dealing with traffic, emergency vehicles, and roadblocks. Everybody got out okay. A few kids were cut by flying glass from the explosion that happened when the chopper hit the ground, and all of them had some degree of smoke inhalation. Lily was one of the kids taken to the hospital, but she wasn't injured, just suffering from smoke inhalation and scared to death, as were they all. But can we save the rest of the questions until after I clean up?" "Yes, yes, sorry, darling, go do what you need to do," she said. "I'm going to undress in the utility room and stuff everything I'm wearing into the washer and set my boots on the back porch to air out so I'm coming back through the house commando." "Close your eyes," Shirley laughed. "I'll bring you a big bath towel to preserve your dignity, how's that?" Shawn grinned. "Probably the better plan. Thanks." He went one direction while Shirley went another. He was still taking off his clothes when she laid the bath towel on the washer and left him to it.

While Shawn's homecoming was fairly calm, the same could not be said for the parents bringing their children home from the school. Even the ones who had not been injured in any way were traumatized and shaken. Some couldn't stop crying; many didn't want to go to school again, and the ones who'd been taken to the hospital for oxygen treatments were sent home with their cuts stitched and bandaged, afraid to close their eyes. It was understood that the elementary school would be shut down for a considerable period of time to repair and replace that which had been damaged or broken, and the crash site cleared of all debris, but the horror of the day slowly morphed into gratitude and relief.

Michael Devon, the co-owner and manager of Hotel Devon, was on his way down the hall to the conference room to meet his dad, Marshall, when the crash occurred. He was on the fourth floor with a bird's-eye view of Jubilee when he happened to glance out the wall of windows and saw a burning chopper falling from the sky. It fell out of sight, and then seconds later, a ball of fire and smoke shot up into the air, and he knew the helicopter had hit the ground. He knew Wolfgang Outon was due in for the meeting and had yet to arrive. Horrified, he immediately called the police chief, Sunny Warren, on his cell phone to alert him to possible identities. Sunny saw the caller ID and answered, even as he was running out the door. "Hello, Chief. I know this is a hell of a time for a phone call, but I was on the fourth floor of the hotel when I saw a chopper falling. It was on fire before it crashed, and I might know who was on board. Wolfgang Outon is one of the hotel's investors. There's a board meeting scheduled for 1:00 today, and he's not here." "Thanks, Michael. I'm sorry for whoever it is, but you've given us a head start on possible identification." Sunny disconnected, and then so did Michael, but he was sick to his stomach, and after Outon failed to show, he delivered the ugly news to the waiting board members.

A tentative identification of both victims came late in the day when a pilot and chopper were reported missing after losing contact. The chopper belonged to Isander Sutton, a commercial pilot out of Miami. He'd filed a flight plan early that morning, bound for Jubilee, Kentucky, with one other soul on board, a man named Wolfgang Outon. Their identities were assumed, but authorities would have to wait for DNA results for definitive confirmation. However, coupled with the flight plan and Michael Devon's report of a missing man, it was evidence enough to notify the next of kin.

Fiona Outon left the office a little early to avoid the Friday nightmare of weekend traffic and was already home having a cocktail by the pool when the housekeeper came out of the home, flanked by two men in dark suits. "Mrs. Outon, these gentlemen asked to speak to you." Fiona set her drink aside and stood. "Thank you, gentlemen. How can I help you?" "Mrs. Outon, we're from the NTSB. We're sorry to tell you, but there was a chopper crash just outside of Jubilee, Kentucky, a short distance from an elementary school. Your husband and the pilot were listed as the sole passengers, and there were no survivors." Fiona staggered in disbelief. "No, no, please, no! This can't be happening!" she cried and then burst into tears. "Maybe it's best if you come inside," they said and led her back into the house, sobbing and stumbling as she went. They got her settled in the living room, and after a few minutes of hysteria, she finally pulled herself together enough to hear them out. "I don't know what to ask. What happened? Oh my God, I can't believe this is real," she wailed and set off a fresh set of tears. One of the men began to speak. "We don't have details, but there were reports from witnesses on the ground that the plane exploded in midair. It was already burning before it hit the ground." Fiona gasped. "You said it crashed near a school? Please tell me the children weren't hurt." "The explosion damaged the building. Some of the children didn't get evacuated in time, but their injuries seemed to be minor." Fiona covered her face and leaned forward, rocking where she sat. "Thank God." Then she looked up at them with tear-filled eyes. "Would he have suffered? Would he have been alive when it was on fire? I can't bear to think that he suffered." "We'll have more answers after the autopsies. We're so sorry for your loss. Is there anyone we can call to come be with you at this time?" Fiona shuddered. "I'll make the calls, and I have Miss D." Then another thought occurred. "How will I claim his body? I don't know what to do." "You will be contacted in due course." Fiona nodded and then frowned. "Wait, you said the plane exploded in the air. Does that mean mechanical failure, or..." "There is a team from NTSB on site. They'll begin their investigation tomorrow. We'll know more later. Here's my card. If you have further questions, feel free to call this number." Fiona's hand was shaking as she reached for the card, then summoned the housekeeper. "D, would you show the men out? I need to make some calls." "Yes, ma'am," D said and walked the men back through the house and saw them out, then came hurrying back. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. I'm so sorry. Can I get you anything? Should I call your doctor? What can I do to help?" "Bring me a whiskey on ice, and make it a double. This is a nightmare, a [expletive deleted] nightmare. I can't believe he's gone." As soon as D brought her drink, Fiona took it up to her room, downed it with a sleeping pill, then called Wolf's office as well as Arie Walters, the company lawyer, then took herself to bed.

The crash site investigators from the NTSB arrived in Jubilee just before dark, notified the local authorities they would be at the crash site by daybreak, and checked in at Hotel Devon. Chief Warren, in turn, notified the officers he had assigned to guard duty that the investigators would be on scene early and to keep the school and crash site cordoned off.

As far as Emily Lincoln was concerned, today had been a day of progress and revelations. Her office and security systems were in place. Life had brought her full circle to a childhood friend she thought she'd never see again, and he'd promised her dinner. But by the time she locked up the office and headed to her car, she was exhausted from the emotional turmoil. She'd been neglecting her own comforts to get the office in shape, and now there weren't enough groceries in her house to have breakfast tomorrow. Instead of going straight home, she headed for the supermarket. She pulled into the parking lot with a mental note of things she needed and went inside. It was crowded, but it quickly became apparent that the chopper crash and the damage and trauma at the elementary school were the topics of conversation. People were huddled in little groups down on every aisle she went, talking about the disaster. Some were parents reassuring their friends that their children were okay; others were friends or families of teachers and firemen or the police. And that's when Amal realized that beneath this huge tourist attraction, there was a small town vibe of the people who lived here. One day, she hoped to be one of those people, looked upon as a resident of Jubilee. She maneuvered her way up and down the aisle, ignoring curious glances and the double takes when they saw the ghost streak in her hair and then the scars. All she wanted tonight was food in the house.

Cameron and Rusty Pope were unusually quiet at the supper table. Their 2-year-old toddler, Eric Michael AKA Mikey, was making enough noise for all of them. He was at the "I do it myself" stage and was banging his spoon on the tray of his high chair, rhythmically beating his green beans to a pulp. Ghost, their white, oversized German Shepherd, was wearing the flying pulp that hadn't fallen on the floor and giving Cameron pitiful, imploring looks. Ghost was Mikey's sidekick in all things, and food slinging was the cross the dog stoically bore. Cameron sighed. He knew what was bothering Rusty: the same thing that had given him a kick in the gut when he heard, "But for the grace of God, that chopper would have crashed into the school." Lily Glass was his niece. Rachel was his sister. She had called them from the ER to tell them what had happened and how Dany had sounded the warning that saved them all. And then the officers who went in to help lead out the ones who'd been trapped were his friends and his people. But for them, Lily might have died today. One day, their son would be going to school, and they would have to trust other people to keep him safe. Safe. Rusty's years of undercover service in the FBI made her immediately suspicious when she heard the news. "Planes don't just blow up in midair. Neither do helicopters. They can catch on fire, and the engines can fail, and the plane can begin to lose altitude, but in midair, when something explodes, the first thing they look for is a bomb." She leaned over to wipe green beans off Mikey's fingers before he shoved them in his hair and then looked up at Cameron. "I'm going to be curious as to who was on board that chopper," she said. "You think it's a bomb, don't you?" "Short of a missile shooting it down in midair, you know it was somebody in that chopper was the target. If there was something on board they wanted, they wouldn't have blown it up. That was an annihilation, and it almost took the whole damn school with it." Then Mikey wailed when the spoons slipped out of his grubby little fingers and flew across the room. Ghost crawled beneath the dining table. Rusty sighed. Cameron laughed. "I'll clean up the dog and the floor. You get the kid in the highchair." Rusty sighed. "Thank you." Cameron cued the sight of her face. "We made him together. We'll raise him together." Surely Pope's plans for a festive family evening had been sidelined, but the food wasn't going to waste. She just made less of it and did without the list of groceries Shawn didn't get to fill. She also talked non-stop all the way through the meal, quizzing Shawn about the events of his day. He'd already been through the school rescue twice and decided to shift the subject in spite of the unexpected delay. "I finished up on the job in town, and in the process, ran into an old school friend." Shirley paused and glanced up. "Really? Here in Jubilee? Who in the world was it?" Shawn got up to refill their iced tea glasses, talking as he worked. "Mom, do you remember that elementary school we went to back in Conway?" "You mean Ellen Smith Elementary? Yes, of course, I remember it. All four of you went there. Remember that time I got a week of suspension for fighting?" Shirley frowned. "Yes, something about them bullying a little girl in your class, wasn't it?" Shawn nodded. "Yes, well, the woman I did the work for today turned out to be that same little girl, all grown up. Her name is Amal Lincoln." "Good grief, what a small world," Shirley said. "Did she recognize you, or did you recognize her?" "We both kind of recognized each other," he paused, forked another bite of cake, and popped it in his mouth. Shirley waited, and when he kept eating cake, she sighed. Shawn pushed his plate aside and rocked back in his chair. "Did you know anything about her at the time?" he asked. "Nothing I can remember now. You tell me," Shirley said. "I found out today that she was a foster kid. She told me her foster parents were angry about the incident, cut off all her hair, then told DHHS they couldn't keep her anymore because she was causing trouble and gave her back to the state. I never saw her again and found out today it's because they took her away. She lived her whole childhood in foster homes." Shirley's eyes welled. "Bless her heart. So she's a CPA now?" He went on to explain where Amal had been living, and then the accident and the scars, and that moving here was her way of starting over and being her own boss. "Are the scars that bad?" Shirley asked. "I think they look worse to her than they do to other people. By the time the day was over, I didn't even see them anymore. I just saw her. She's pretty and really smart, and I asked her if I could take her to dinner some evening." Shirley smiled. "That's about the best news I've heard all day. Just don't drag your feet and wait too long to ask. That kind of stuff weighs heavy on a woman's heart." "Being asked out and then getting getting spooked is that the right word?" Shawn grinned. "Ghosted. The word is, and don't worry. After all the slap downs our family had back in Conway, I wouldn't do that to anyone." "Okay, then," Shirley said. "Have you finished eating?" "Yes, ma'am. I'll clear the table and put up the leftovers. You can load the dishwasher, then I'm going to bring up some more firewood in case it snows tonight. Hard to get a fire to catch when the wood is wet." Shirley glanced out the window. "You go do the firewood now. I'll do dishes. It's going to be dark before you know it." "Okay, and thanks for supper. I won't be long," he said and went to get his work coat and gloves.

Principal Lowry didn't leave the hospital that evening until the last child had been released, and then she went home. Her husband met her at the door. Stephanie fell into his arms, sobbing, finally free to let go of her emotions and weep for the shock and horror she'd gone through, feeling responsible for everything when, in fact, nothing had been her fault.

Chapter 4

Maisy Edgart had been treated for smoke inhalation and cuts on her face and neck and kept thinking how blessed they'd been to come out of this alive. If it hadn't been for Danny Pope seeing the chopper explosion and realizing the trajectory of the crash, children would have died. Her husband, Dwayne, was a pipe fitter and was laying pipeline two states away. She hadn't seen him in over a month. He knew nothing of what had been happening, but she was cold and couldn't quit shaking, and she needed to hear his voice. She sat down on the sofa and called him, but the moment he answered, she came undone and started sobbing. The utter devastation in her voice scared Dwayne senseless, and then she began talking, telling him everything from the frantic message over the intercom to trying to get the kids from the music class out of the building and getting caught in the blast from the debris when the chopper finally crashed. "Oh my God, honey, are you okay? Were you injured?" he asked. "A few cuts and too much smoke. I'm going to be fine." "You said it was already on fire before it hit the ground?" Dwayne asked. "Yes, Dany had seen the chopper coming in a few minutes before, then heard an explosion and looked up. The chopper blew up in the air. It was on fire before it crashed." "Jesus, honey, that sounds suspicious. I know the NTSB will be investigating. The police have guards on the site, that's all I know," she said. "Did you go to the ER?" "Yes, along with Danny Pope and 13 students. They gave me oxygen for the smoke inhalation and picked the glass particles out of my face and neck. I'll sleep in and take it easy for a few days. School won't reopen until repairs have been made, and they're pretty extensive to the south side of the building and hallways. I called because I needed to hear your voice." Dwayne Edgart swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I can't get over it. I was sitting in a trailer eating lunch when you nearly died. Do you need me to come home? I'll do it in a heartbeat." "No, no, I'm good. I just needed to tell you that's all. I love you." "Maisie, forever in a day, sugar. I'll be home in about a week. Stay warm, stay safe." "Love you too. Be safe. I'll see you soon," Maisie said and ended her call. She sat staring at the darkened TV screen at the thin layer of dust on the tables, and then made herself get up and find something to eat. Maybe she'd heat up a can of soup, something she didn't have to cook. She needed something warm in her belly to stop the shaking.

Aaron went off duty the moment Dany was taken to the hospital. He sat beside her in the ER while they gave her oxygen for smoke inhalation, then loaded her up in his car and took her home. And then, the second the door closed behind them, Dany burst into tears. Aaron reached for her, hugging her over and over as he kept praising her until she was able to pull herself together. "You are a real hero. Both you and Maisie faced hell today and held it together for those kids. I'm proud of you, baby, so proud." "But I've never been so scared. We all heard the explosion and saw the smoke at the same time. We began getting info from the PD. I couldn't think of anything but needing you to be safe," Dany kept sobbing. "I thought the chopper was going to hit the school. I thought we wouldn't get the kids off the playground in time. Then Lily just curled herself up into a ball on the ground and wouldn't move. I grabbed her and ran. I didn't think we'd get into the building before the chopper crash, and then Maisie and her kids got caught in the blast, and they were screaming and screaming." Her voice broke, and she buried her face against the front of Aaron's coat. "But you did it, baby. You, your quick reactions saved them, saved every kid that would have been in those rooms. I have never been so scared in my life." "Seeing that smoke and thinking it was the school that had exploded. If the four of you had not come to our rescue, I don't think we would have made it out. We were choking, we couldn't breathe, and we couldn't tell where we were." Aaron hugged her again. "Wherever you are, whatever trouble you're in, always know I will find you. I will always find you." Dany went limp in his arms. "I'm so tired. I look like hell. I stink to high heavens, and I want this smell off of me." Aaron stepped back and cupped her face. "At this moment, you are most beautiful in my eyes, and I don't smell any better. Strip, honey. I'll get you in the shower and tend to our clothes." "I don't think washing them is going to work," Dany muttered. "I know. I'll bag them and put them in the garage and drop them off at the cleaners on the way to work tomorrow, okay?" She nodded, unzipped and unbuttoned, and shed everything she was wearing, then headed to their bedroom. Aaron was right behind her. He closed the lid on the toilet.

Then sat her on it while he started the shower. As soon as the water was warm, he helped her into the stall. "Are you going to be okay until I get back?" she nodded.

Then walked under the spray and dropped her head, letting the water sloo over her entire body. Aaron ran to bag up her clothes, added his to it, and then left the bag in the garage. When he got back to the bathroom, Danny hadn't moved. He grabbed a washcloth and slipped into the shower with her, poured a doll of shampoo into his hand, and then began washing her hair. Her shoulders were shaking. She was crying again. "It's okay, honey. Me and you, all the way," he said.

Shawn had carried a half rick of wood up to the back porch and then brought an arm load into the house and left it by the fireplace. He could hear the water running in his mother's bedroom and guessed she was settling in for one of her long soaks in the tub. He kicked off his boots and left them in the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, and went into the living room and turned on the TV. He was still thinking about the crash and the teachers and the kids as he took a quick sip, then hit mute on the TV because he didn't want the noise. They'd all been through hell today. There would be children crying in the night, unable to sleep, or Waking Up from nightmares. And there would be parents holding each other tight in their beds, grateful for the grace that had been shown on their families.

Then Emily's face slid through his mind. He couldn't get over the randomness of seeing her again and knowing she was living here now. Her story was heartbreaking, and yet somehow she'd pulled herself up and out of it all on her own. He and his mother and brothers had gone through hell too, but he and his brothers had always known their mother loved them and had their backs. Amali was something special, and this full circle moment they'd had today felt right, like he'd been given something he shouldn't ignore. He promised her dinner. He was calling her tomorrow. He sent Aaron and Wy a text, hoping they were both okay, and then put the phone aside. Went to the kitchen to get a bag of pretzels and came back eating them as he went. He just sat back down when his phone rang. He saw caller ID and was smiling as he answered. "Hey, little brother. How goes it?" Shawn asked. "I'm homesick," BJ said. "I just wanted to hear your voice. Is everyone okay? I sent Mom a text, but she didn't answer." "She's in the tub," Shawn said. BJ chuckled. "Oh, right. That explains it. Are you okay? How do you like being a pastry chef?" "I'm a Sue Chef. It's, it's a far cry from being head chef, but I'm absorbing everything and loving it. One thing I know I'm never going to be is an [ __ ] Chef. So far, most of them are. I don't know why, but I do not respond well to shouting." Shawn laughed. "Just don't hit him. You'll hurt him," he said, then heard BJ's chuckle in his ear. "You have no idea. When I left, I guess I wasn't through growing. As of last week, when I went to the gym, I am a officially taller than all of you." Shawn gasped. "Are you kidding me? Are you taller than Cameron?" "I don't know how tall Cameron is, but at the moment, I am 6'7. I think my size is part of the reason the [ __ ] Chef never yells at me directly, just at the whole Kitchen in general." Shawn grinned. "Mom is going to be over the moon." "Don't tell her," BJ said. "I want to surprise Riser. Are you coming home anytime soon?" "Easter. I've already put in the request for a week off. I haven't been home since Aaron and Dany got married, and I haven't missed one day of work since I started. They couldn't deny me the time off because they knew I'd just quit. Finding Sue chef jobs is easy up here." "Oh man, that's awesome, little brother. I can't wait to see you. It's just me and Mom here now. Wy moved into Jubilee after he quit the security guard job and went to work for the PD with Aaron." "Yeah, I knew that much. We text now and then. Oh, one of the reasons I was calling tonight. I caught the tail end of a story on national news about a chopper crash in Jubilee. What happened?" "Oh hell, little brother. It was pure chaos." And then Shawn began to tell him the whole story. The only thing he didn't mention was meeting Amaly. "Damn, Sean. What a nightmare. The news anchor said there were reports that one of the men on board was Wolf Gang Outon," BJ said. "I don't know who he is," Shawn said. "He attended a big dinner at our restaurant about a year ago. Big, imposing guy. Oh, and a billionaire to boot." "Really? So you're rubbing shoulders with the upper class now?" Shawn said. "Hardly. I'm one of the nobody's in the kitchen." "So, what's happening at the school?" BJ asked. "Nothing yet. They were waiting for the NTSB investigators when I left the scene." BJ's voice deepened, a sign of his concern. "A bad situation all around. Keep me updated. And remember, the Jolly Green Giant news is a secret. Love you, brother. See you in a few months." "Can't wait. And my lips are sealed," Shawn said. The call ended. Shawn unmuted the sound on the TV, took another sip of his beer, and grabbed a pretzel.

The chopper crash and the probability of Wolf Gang aon's demise was stirring up the past in New Orleans as well. Carter bulock was in the living room with his wife Lee, waiting for the late night newscast. And when it finally came on, the leading story shocked them. The last thing they expected to hear was the name Wulf gang outon. And when they did, they immediately stared at each other. Carter rolled his eyes and grinned. "It couldn't have happened to a better man." Lee glanced at him and then looked away. "At least we can sleep soundly again." "I haven't suffered any sleep," Carter snapped. Lee gave her lap robe a little tuck. "Don't play cute with me," the old woman said. "You know exactly what I mean." They were silent again as the show shifted to weather. "Do you believe he and Cassandra will be reunited now?" Lee asked. Carter frowned and got up and poured himself a shot of whiskey. "Not if there's a God in heaven, they won't," he snapped, then tossed it back, swallowing it like medicine. "She'll tell him what we did," Lee said. Carter threw the whiskey glass against the wall. "So what? What are they going to do? Haunt us?" Lee sniffed. "Don't be ridiculous. Some days you can be so crude. I'm going to bed."

Morning brought a gray sky and snowflakes so tiny they didn't have enough weight to fall. They just kept swirling in the air, drifting from place to place like clouds of little white gnats. It was a hell of a day to investigate a crash site, but the team from the NTSB had seen worse. At least they weren't up on the side of a mountain. And within minutes, they began their setup. They had permission from the school district for the use of the gymnasium. They tarped the floor to keep from damaging it, set up banquet length tables in orderly rows, and then began the methodical process of sorting through the crash site and bagging evidence. A piece of the Pilot's body was found still strapped into the Pilot's seat. So, as far as they knew, Wolf Gang aon's body had either blown up in the air, or what was left of the bits had turned to Ash upon impact. All they could do was bag up ashes and debris in the hopes of finding enough DNA to confirm an ID. So they put in a call for more people to search the surrounding area because there were bound to be body parts and pieces of the chopper scattered farther away. What was already a nightmare was turning into a scene of true horror.

Shawn woke early. He could only imagine the log of emails he had waited and downed a bowl of cereal and two cups of coffee before carrying his third cup to the office with a saucer of buttered toast on the side. He closed the door to make sure the clicking of his keyboard didn't disturb his mother's sleep in the room across the hall and set to work with one eye on the clock. As soon as it was a decent hour for phone calls, Amal Lincoln was at the top of his list.

It was nearing 8:00 a.m. when Shirley meandered into her kitchen. She saw the dirty Bowl in the think there was still coffee in the caraffe. Good enough to start her morning on. She poured a cup and then took it to the window overlooking the land behind their house and realized it was spitting snowing, which was her mother's description of minimal snowfall on a bitterly cold day. But her house was warm. Shawn had already upped the thermostat and built a fire in the fireplace. She thought about making breakfast, but didn't have enough appetite to bother. So so she settled for buttered toast with jelly and coffee, then sat down to Text Aaron and Wy and noticed BJ had texted her last night. She sighed. "Darn it, son. I missed it," she said, and quickly texted him back, then hit send. He was already at work. She didn't expect him to answer, but at least he'd know she saw it. What she did need was to know how the rest of her family was. She sent a text to SMY, making sure he'd suffered no lingering effects of the smoke, and then did the same to Aaron, asking about him and Dany.

Moments later, Aaron called her. "Mom, I saw your text. We're okay. Dany is a little beat up, but physically okay, but what happened shook her to the core. They came so close to dying. I had nightmares all night, and I can't imagine what hers were like, but she was Restless. I'm glad you called. Is there anything I can do? I'm assuming the school is closed indefinitely and nobody will be at work for a while, right?" "The NTSB is on scene at the crash site, and until they bag up evidence and haul off the remains of the chopper, the school administration can't address the repairs that need to be done." "Are you going to work today?" Shirley asked. "Yes. Would it be okay if I visit Dany today? I'm not asking her first because she'd just say yes to be polite, even if she wasn't up to it. You be the judge for me." "Yes, it would be great, probably even helpful. Dany loves you dearly, and you know that." "Okay, then let her know I'll be there around noon and bring lunch for the both of us. I could do with a girl chat myself." "Awesome, Mom, and thanks. I may or may not be able to stop by and check in on her at noon, so I'll be happy to know you're there. Drive safe. Coming down the roads aren't slick, but if the snow gets heavy, don't chance it." "Oh, I won't, I promise. I'll just call and talk to her instead. Be careful today. Love you." "Love you too. Mom, is Shawn all right?" "Oh yes, you know your brother. He keeps things to himself, but he was up before me. Being out of the office all day yesterday probably put him a bit behind, right?" "Okay, then. I got to go." Shirley heard the call disconnect, then put down her phone and bit into a piece of cold toast and jelly while trying to decide what goodies she would bake to take down the mountain. She was going to take something for Wy too and leave it at their house. She thought of BJ and smiled. He hadn't just inherited her people's looks through DNA. She was really proud of his chosen career, being a chef. He loved to cook as much as she did. At least he hadn't gone into law enforcement. Having two sons on the force was worry enough.

It was past noon of the next day before roie arrived in Miami. He hadn't cried since he was 12, but he cried off and on most of the way. It began with just a simple text from a person he already knew asking if he wanted to make a cool $10,000 to make a phone call, to which he had immediately agreed. Then it began to sound fishy when he found out he had to go to some hick tourist attraction in Kentucky and stay at a cabin on a campground for a few days before making the call. But $10,000 just to make a phone call. It was completely worth it until the [ __ ] phone call blew up a chopper and it crashed into a school. He'd never thought of himself as one of the good guys, but he damn well wasn't a baby killer. Yet he'd taken the money and done the deed, and now he had to live with it. But through all of the hours driving back to Miami, he finally convinced himself he was also a victim. It wasn't the first time he'd been conned, and it was something he was going to have to live with. He wasn't about to accept the guilt. He just needed to disappear. As soon as he reached his apartment, he left his phone and bag in the car and headed inside on the run. His apartment was a fully furnished dump. The only things he had to pack were the rest of his clothes, his TV, and coffee maker, and he'd be gone. He didn't think there was any way to tie him to the phone call that had detonated the bomb, but he wasn't certain enough to chance it. He'd get his things, buy a burner phone on the way out of the city, and toss his phone in the first River he came to. This wasn't his first rodeo. Roie knew how to disappear and was about to make that move.

He took the elevator to the third floor, then headed down the hall and hurried inside his apartment without bothering to lock the door behind him. He was trying to remember where he'd stashed his other suitcase when someone grabbed him from behind and gave his head a quick twist. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Vincent Romo was a hitman. He'd been waiting in townley's apartment since noon yesterday, eating his food, [ __ ] in his toilet, and watching his TV. He woke up this morning still on the job, but with a headache and what felt like fever, and had been sneezing and coughing ever since. He spent the morning wiping up every surface he'd touched, even threw the bed sheets in the laundry and set them to wash, removing his DNA from the scene. And then gloved up and set to waiting for townley's arrival. Vince was a killer who used his Brawn far more often than he used his brain. Silent killings were his thing, and now that his Target was dead, he had one thing left to do: to get the last half of his pay, retrieve townley's cell phone, then toss the place to make it look like a burglary. But it wasn't working out as planned. He'd gone through all of Ro's Pockets looking for that phone, but without success. He must have left it in the car. Vince stood looking around for the car keys he'd heard drop and finally found them beneath Ro's body. He sneezed as he was reaching for them, then heard a knock at the door. He froze, holding his breath, listening and waiting, hoping they'd just go away. But it sounded like kids, and they kept pounding and calling Ro's name. Then, to his horror, he saw the doorknob turn. At that point, he forgot the keys and bolted to the bedroom, pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt as he ran and climbed out a window and down the fire escape before disappearing up the intersecting alley.

Paul and douge deal had been sent to borrow Ro's car and were pounding on his door without success. Roie was friends with their dad, who was in jail for assault and battery, and their mom needed groceries. Roie always let the teenagers borrow his car or took them to the store himself, but he had been gone for days, and they were hurting for food. They had their EBT card from their snap membership, but no means of transportation. But when wona deal looked looked out her kitchen window and saw Ro's car in the parking lot again, she was overjoyed. It was Saturday, no school today, and the timing was perfect. She made them put on their jackets, gave them the grocery list and her EBT card, and told them to go beg roie for the car. Now the boys were at the door, but weren't getting any response. They kept knocking and knocking. "Hey, roie, it's me, douge." Nothing. Douge frowned at his brother Paul. "His car is in the parking lot, right?" Paul nodded. "Yeah, Mama looked before she sent us over." Douge shoved his hand through his Shaggy blonde hair and knocked again, then turned the door knob. To his shock, the door swung inward. He stepped Across the Threshold and shouted again. "Rie! Hey, roie, are you home?" "Maybe he's sick. Maybe he fell and hurt himself," Paul said. "We should at least check, right?" dougy said. But they didn't get far. One glance into the living room, and they saw him crumpled on the floor. "Oh [ __ ]! Oh no!" Paul started to run toward him when douge held him back. "Don't touch him. Look at his head. It's turned wrong. He's dead. Call 9111." They ran out into the Hall crying as they made the 911 call, then called their mother to tell her what they'd found and sat down on the floor to wait for the cops.

By the time the police arrived, wiona was outside the apartment with her boys. Her three-year-old daughter was sitting in douge lap, and her 18-month-old toddler on Winona's hip. She didn't trust cops, and she wasn't having This Disaster pinned on the first two teenagers on the scene. Once the detectives arrived, it didn't take long to realize that the boys had scared the killer off before he could take anything, because the bedroom window was open to the fire escape, and the apartment didn't look like it had been touched. When the coroner showed up, he confirmed roie had died within the hour, apparently from a broken neck, but would confirm further details after the autopsy. He also made mention of the fact that Ro was over 6 feet tall. Neither of the boys were over 5' 10, and Ro's neck had been broken with one twist. They couldn't have done that without roie putting up one hell of a fight, and there wasn't a mark on him. His wallet was there, his car keys on the floor beside his body. The only thing missing was his phone, and the boys had been searched. All they had on them was their mother's EBT card. After the coroner's departure with the body, the crime scene text began dusting for Prince and bagging evidence both inside the apartment and inside Ro's car. That's where they found the phone and a checkout receipt from bullard's campgrounds in Jubilee, Kentucky, with yesterday's date. This corresponded with Winona's statement about roie having been gone for the past 5 days. For the moment, Detective Joe Muny, the lead detective, had all the info he needed. "Mrs. deal, you and your boys are free to go, but we may need to speak to you again." "Fine. You just do that," wiona said, and while you're at it, if you come back, bring food. We don't have a car. I don't have money for an Uber. We always borrow Ries to go to the store. He'd been gone 5 days now. He's dead, for which I'm sorry, but I'm pretty near out of everything, and sorer that my babies are hungry." Joe thought of his three little ones at home, then looked at the woman and her four kids and side. "I'll take the boys to the supermarket for you, and I'll bring them home." Win's Defiance crumpled. "You do that." "Yes, ma'am." Wiona took a shaky breath. "Then I thank you," she said, and turned to her boys. "Douglas Edward, Paul Allen, I expect nothing but your best behavior and for you to thank the ground this officer walks on for helping us today. Do you understand me?" Mama had called them by their whole names, which was the signal that she meant business, and they were as hungry as mama and the babies. "Yes, ma'am," douie said. "We won't act like Daddy." Winona rolled her eyes, glanced at the detective, and then grabbed her little ones and went back down the hall to their apartment. Kenny Bruner, mun's partner, glanced at him and then at the boys. "I'll go with you to help carry Sachs," he offered. "Thanks," Joe said. "You guys ready to go?" "Yes, sir," they echoed.

Vincent Romo was on the run. His contact had been texting him for hours, but he wasn't answering because he didn't know what to say, and he wasn't going to admit he'd failed his mission. His only option was to give up the last half of his pay and disappear. The only person who knew he'd been there was the one who'd sent him, and they weren't likely to file a complaint with the cops since he wasn't making a claim on the balance of the money owed him. Maybe they'd think that he was dead. Detectives Muny and Bruner had been at their desks most of the morning, following up on leads, slim though they were. Bruner was on the phone with the lab, checking to see if they'd found any DNA on townley's clothing other than his own, and Muny had called the number on the receipt from bullard's campgrounds in Jubilee, Kentucky, and was waiting for the call to pick up. It rang and rang to the point that he thought it was going to voicemail when a man finally answered, and from the gasp in his voice, he was obviously out of breath. "Bullard's campgrounds, this is Jordan." "Jordan, this is Detective Joe Muny, Miami homicide. We found a receipt on a murder victim that is from your Campground. The checkout date was yesterday. I'm trying to confirm his whereabouts to set up a timeline. Do you have a minute?" Jordan was startled. "Yes, yes, sir." "Thanks," Muny said. The man's name was Ellis Townley. "Can you confirm the checkin and checkout dates and times for me?" "Sure," Jordan said. "Give me a second to pull it up on reservations." Muny could hear Keys clacking as he waited, and then Jordan was back with answers. "Okay, I have Mr. Townley checking in this past Monday around noon. He booked a cabin for 5 days. He checked out at 5: to 1 p.m. on Friday." "Was anyone with him during his stay?" Muny asked. "No, sir. He came and went alone and stopped by The Canteen at least once a day while he was here to get snacks and drinks." "Did you see him on his last day prior to the time he checked out?" Jordan thought back. "Um, yes, actually, I did. It's pretty cold here, and yet he was outside for hours, standing in the field between his cabin and the office. He kept scanning the sky with binoculars, which was weird because the song birds migrated months ago. Nothing much left in the skies but the predators, hawks, eagles, that kind of thing." "Did he exhibit any other Behavior you thought odd?" Muny asked. "Um, he was on the phone, looking up at the sky when I heard an explosion. He arrived shortly thereafter to check out all in a rush and sweating. I tried to hurry him along because I had just learned a chopper had crashed outside of town and just missed our elementary school. I have two children in school there, and I nearly broke my neck getting there, only to find them safe on the bleachers across the street. One of the teachers out on playground Duty saw the chopper explode in midair and gave the warning that got the building evacuated in time." Muny blinked. "Townley was watching the skies. He made a phone call in the middle of a field. A chopper exploded in midair. Townley hoofs it within minutes of the event, and then is murdered the next day within minutes of returning to his apartment. What the hell have we stumbled into?" Muny cleared his throat. "Thank you for the info, Jordan, and I'm glad to know your children weren't harmed. Out of curiosity, have you cleaned the cabin he was in yet?" "No, sir. The cleaning crew will be here today to." "I'd like to ask you to lock it up and don't let anyone else inside. Someone from the Jubilee police department will be checking it out for us. Please notify your cleaning crew to skip it." "Yeah, sure," Jordan said. "So you're from homicide? So are you saying Mr. Townley is dead?" "Yes, under suspicious circumstances. If we have other questions, we'll be in touch." He disconnected, glanced up at Bruner, who was still on the phone, and then called the lab. "This is Detective Muny, homicide. Have you looked at the phone we found in Ellis Townley's car yet?" "Just a moment, sir," the tech said, and began going through lab reports before coming back to the phone. "I have the log pulled off the phone, but nothing further at the moment that I can see." "Could you send that to me?" Muny asked. "Yes, sir. Sending now," the tech said. "Done. Is there anything else I can help you with?" "Have you had a chance to check townley's clothing for DNA yet?" "It's on the to-do list, but I'm not working on that aspect. I'll check and let you know." "This case is turning into something more than a random murder. Put some wheels on those tests, will you?" "Yeah, sure," the tech said. "Thanks," Muny said, and then heard his computer signaling incoming email and disconnected. He opened the email, printed copies of the log for both himself and Bruner, then looked for the last number Townley had called. Finding out it was a burner phone was disappointing, but he needed to confirm something else before he jumped the gun. Between townley's presence in Jubilee and a chopper crash, so he looked up the number for the Jubilee police department and the name of the police chief, and then made the call.

Chapter 5

Sunny Warren was hustling. A number of his officers were still on duty at the crash site, leaving him short on Manpower this morning at roll call. He'd been forced to send officers out on patrol alone, and that made him antsy. And he'd just gotten word that the midair explosion was likely caused by a bomb, which would indicate murder, and the FEDS were on the way. He was on his way down the hall to his office when he heard his desk phone ringing and ran the last few yards to answer. "Chief Warren." "Chief, I'm Detective Joe Muny, Miami homicide. Do you have a minute?" Sunny sat, remembering Wolf Gang Outon was from Miami and thinking the other shoe was about to fall. "Yes, how can I help you?" Muny began explaining his case, mentioning the deceased's name, the details of what happened, and why he was calling. "Here's the deal. We understand you had a helicopter crash yesterday around midday. Is that true?" "Yes, it is," Sunny said, and I was given to understand that a teacher witnessed the chopper explode in midair before it came down." "Yes, that's true as well. Have you taken her statement? Do you have an exact timeline from when she saw the exp expion to when it crashed?" "We have one on file. Give me a sec to pull it up," Sunny said, and swiveled his chair to the computer on his right and found the statement. "Yes, I have it here. Why? What did she say about the times?" Muny asked. Sunny scanned the report. "Went out on the playground with class right after lunch, which would have been around 12:30. They'd been out there about 15 minutes when a couple of boys started fussing. She was out in the middle of the playground dealing with that when she saw a chopper in the air, but thought nothing of it because they come and go here frequently. She was on her way back into the building with the boys when she heard an explosion. She looked up and saw the tail of the chopper was missing, and the cockpit was on fire and spiraling. So that would have been between 12:45 and 1. But the school secretary took her warning. She might have an exact time. They have evacuated the school immediately afterward because the teacher feared the chopper was going to fall on the school or the school ground." "Do you have the secretary's name and contact information?" Muny asked. Sunny frowned. "Give me a second to make a call," he said, then grabbed his cell phone and called principal Lowry. Stephanie Lowry answered on the first ring. "Hello, good morning. Stephanie, this is Chief Warren. I have a weird question. By any chance, do you know the exact time that Danny Pope's warning about the chopper exploding came into the office?" Stephanie frowned. "Actually, I do. I just glanced up at the clock because I had a dental appointment after school and I'd lost track of time. It was exactly 12:47 p.m." "Thanks," Sunny said. "That's all I need. Talk to you later." Sunny got back on the landline call with Muny. "I just spoke to the school principal. She said it was 12:47 p.m. when Danny pope called the office to tell them to evacuate the school that a chopper had exploded in midair and she feared it was going to hit the school." "Perfect," Muny said. Sunny frowned. "Now what the hell's going on? My murder victim was seen in a clearing at the campgrounds looking through binoculars with a phone in his hand. The clerk went on to say that Townley seemed distracted and in a panic when he came in minutes later to check out, and I needed to know if that phone call on the phone we have in any way matches up with the time the chopper exploded. We made this connection from the campground receipt, but at this time, it's still just a theory." Sunny was stunned. "What I know is that the NTSB is here investigating the crash, and the FEDS are on the way, which means to me that they already suspect foul play. If you discover that timeline fits, I suggest you contact the feds and let them know your murder victim might be the trigger man, because all of this will be way out of our league." "Can you tell me the name of the people who were on the chopper?" Muny asked. "I can tell you the names of the people who were registered on the Manifest, but until DNA confirms The Remains, no announcements are being made." "Fair enough. Who do they think they are?" Muny asked. "Xander Sutton would be the pilot. He owns a charter service out of Miami and apparently flies people in and out of here on a regular basis, particularly a man named Wolf Gang Outon, who was due to attend a board meeting at hotel Devon here in Jubilee. Apparently, he is an investor in the hotel, and they meet here quarterly." The hair crawled on the back of mun's neck. "Wolf Gang Outon? Are you serious?" "That's the report," Sunny said. "What about him?" "Mid-50s, Midas rich. I actually own stock in one of his companies," Muny said. "This takes things to a whole other level, and I have a favor to ask. I've already spoken to the clerk at Bullard campgrounds. They haven't cleaned the cabin townly rented yet, and I've asked him to lock it and keep everyone out until it's been searched. Do you have a team from your crime lab who could go out to the camp grounds and do a sweep for me? It would be highly appreciated." "Yes, sure," Sunny said. "Was it a man named Jordan who you spoke to at the campground?" "Yes." "Then I'll let him know my people are on the way and have them send their findings to you. I'll need an email address." Myy gave him the info, and then they disconnected. Sunny made a quick call to the lab, issued the orders, and then called the campgrounds to let them know his team was on the way.

Back in Miami, Muny was comparing the timeline of the phone call on townley's phone to the timeline of the explosion when he realized that the call on townley's phone went through within the same minute as Danny's warning to the school. His gut nodded. He'd been a detective too long to believe in coincidences. There would be no questioning townly, but his possessions and clothing would have to talk for him.

Wolf gang's plan landed in sa Paulo, Brazil, over 8 hours after it took off from Miami. The moment he was on the ground, he called stew, but there was no answer. He frowned. Even if Stu was in the board meeting, he would have taken the call. He took a cab to the hotel, registered for the room Stu had already reserved, then sat down and called Julio Ruiz, the manager of the refinery. He wasn't going to drive out to that location until he knew what the Threat Level was at at the moment, and if Foul Play had indeed been the cause of the fire. Ruiz hadn't been home since the explosion. He was in a panic, tired to the Bone, at a loss as to what to do until the fire was extinguished, and at the moment, they did not even have the fire contained. He had workers who were dead, workers who'd been injured in the explosion, and workers who'd walked off the job site. And while he was waiting for help to arrive, they'd received word this morning that Wolf Gang Outon had died in a chopper crash. He'd tried all morning to call aon's personal assistant, but even he wasn't answering. And then his phone rang, and when he saw the call was from Wolf's company, he sighed with relief and answered in English. "This is Ruiz." "Ruiz, it's me, Wolf. I just landed." And all of a sudden, Ruiz was screaming in his ear and speaking Portuguese so fast Wolf couldn't follow. Finally, he shouted, "Stop, stop! I can't understand a damn word you're saying. Please start over." Ruiz shuddered. "Sangor, this is really you?" Wolf frowned. "Who the hell else did you expect it to be? We got a call this morning. They said you died in a chopper crash. They said your chopper blew up in midair. They said you were dead." The skin crawled on the back of wolf gang's neck. "Who said this?" he asked. Ruiz took a deep breath. "I don't know. The call came in from your office yesterday. I tried to call you about what's happening here, but Stu took the message and said he'd let you know. Then Stu no longer answers me either." Wolf's head was spinning. "The chopper exploded in midair? That's sabotage. The refinery was targeted? That's sabotage. Oh God, Stu, I sent St to his death." And then it hit him. If a bomb took down the chopper, then they were after him. And when they find out he didn't die, they'll come after him again. "Listen, Ruiz, don't tell anyone you've talked to me. Don't tell anyone I'm still alive. I think someone meant to kill me, but Stew was the one on the chopper. He was carrying my proxy to a board meeting, and obviously, there aren't enough remains to identify who died, or they'd already know. Will you do that for me?" "Yes, boss, of course. But what do I do about the refinery?" "Do you believe it was sabotage?" Ruiz took a deep breath. "Yes, boss, I do." "Are you in danger?" Wolf asked. Tears quickened when Ruiz heard true concern in the boss's voice. "Probably." "Then here's what I want you to do. Go home. Make sure the families of those who died know that Outon Industries will pay for the burials and full compensation for their losses, and pay for the ones still in the hospital. Give every employee four months wages to tide them over while the refinery is shut down, and the same to the families of the deceased. And then leave it to the authorities to put out the fire. If there's anything left, we'll deal with it then. But I'm not putting any of you In Harm's Way for a damn barrel of oil." Ruiz was so relieved he couldn't focus. "How will I tell them this is so if you are supposed to be dead? They'll think it is me making promises I can't keep." Outon frowned. "Tell them it's company policy. And in the meantime, I hope to have the mess cleared up here soon, but I'll need time. And if they think I'm dead, then I'll be safer to investigate for myself." "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. But you can't be seen here. Where will you go?" "Don't worry about me. I'll be in touch when I can." "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Ruiz said. The call disconnected, but for the first time since it all began to burn, Ruiz had a plan. Wolf had nothing but questions. And the moment he ended his call to Ruiz, he called his Pilot Toby. "It's me. Don't talk to anybody back home about where we are. I know you must be exhausted, but this is an emergency. Just get the jet serviced and be ready to get us out of here." Toby West was used to aon's Crazy Life and didn't blink an eye. "Yes, sir. Consider it done. I'll have to file a flight plan. Do we have a destination?" "Right now, back to Miami, but just list you coming in with no passengers on board. Nobody's going to question where I am. They already think I'm dead." Toby frowned. "Sir, my Chopper to Jubilee blew up in midair. St's dead. Someone mistook him for me." "Say nothing." "Jesus," Toby muttered, then take a taxi to this address. It's a private airport for bigwigs in sa Paulo. I know the owner. I can land there without raising an eyebrow." Wolf took down the address. "I owe you big time, Toby." And then, as soon as he hung up, he took off the clothes he'd been wearing and put on a clean outfit from his suitcase, made sure to transfer his passport and wallet into the clean suit, and then sighed with relief when he saw the amount of cash stew had packed. He quit counting at 10,000, put some in his wallet and the rest back in the suitcase, and headed downstairs. He gave the desk clerk the room key, said he'd been called away on an emergency, and hailed a taxi as he exited the hotel. Within minutes, he was gone.

Amali was up early, already in her office checking emails, making online orders for lamps and copy paper, but she kept glancing up from her desk, watching the snow coming down from the office window. She loved snow and had never gotten over the childhood Joy of snow days. As soon as she finished answering emails, most of which were from prior clients she'd contacted about her move, she decided to hit the tourist shops to pick up some artwork and maybe a figurine or two to decorate the tables in the waiting area of her office. Even though she was going to do business in that place, she wanted it to be comfortable for her and look inviting from the street. After the decor was complete, she could schedule her open house and put an ad in the local paper. Amali didn't doubt her ability to gain clients. All she needed was one, and Word of Mouth would follow. She was good at what she did, damn good, and she wanted to be open for business soon. Some people waited for hunting season; amal's season was taxes, and the time was already upon her. And if she was lucky, Shawn Pope would make good on his invitation to take her to dinner. With all that in mind, she grabbed her coat and purse, locked up, and then headed for the parking lot. She could have waited for a better weather day to hit the shops, but shopping in the snow felt like something from a Hallmark movie, and she was setting the stage for her new Venture. She also knew fate waited for no one, and she was ready to make something of it. She remembered all of the shops from her first visit here, so she already knew where she wanted to go. She jumped in the car, turned on the wipers to keep the windshield clear of snow, and headed to the arts and craft area on the other side of town. Her phone rang just as she was parking, so she killed the engine and answered. "Hello?" "Amily, it's me, Shawn." Just hearing his voice made her smile. "Hi. Are you loving this snow? It's beautiful, isn't it?" "Every tense muscle in Shaun's body melted. It was the Delight in her voice that did it. "It sure is. What are you doing today?" "I'm down in the arts and craft area about to shop for office Decor. Are you okay? I mean, no after effects from inhaling all that smoke?" "Yes, I'm fine. Thanks for asking. Now, I have a question for you. How do you feel about dinner tonight?" Amali sighed. He done it. He kept his word. "I would love it." "Awesome," Shawn said. "Is 6:00 too early for you?" "No, it's perfect. Do you have food preferences?" he asked. "No, I'm not a bit picky." Shawn had a silly grin on his face, and he knew it, but he couldn't help feeling like a great big door had just opened, and he was standing on the threshold looking in. All he had to do was take the first step. "I need your address. Are you in an apartment or a house?" "A house." "Got a pen and paper?" she asked. "Yes, ma'am." Amali gave him the address. "Got it," sha said. "I'll see you at 6 then." "See you then," Amal said, and shivered as she dropped her phone in her handbag. "Oh my God, I have a date with my 9-year-old knight in shining armor. Now I get to know him as the man he became. Best day ever." She put on her gloves and pulled up the hood of her coat as she got out and locked the car. As she was walking away, the Cumberland Art Gallery was going to be her first stop.

Vincent Romo was on his way to Mexico. He'd picked up a burner phone before he left Miami, removed the SIM card from his phone, and tossed the shell. He knew he'd [ __ ] up someone's plans, but [ __ ] happened. Those damn kids appearing at townley's door unannounced had [ __ ] up his. He coughed, then sneezed into his sleeve and kept driving, confident that he was in the clear and about to disappear.

Snow was impeding the recovery of evidence from the crash site. One team was working frantically, taking photos of everything from every angle and bagging everything in sight to get it out of the weather, while the other team was on foot in the woods looking for the sight of the midair explosion. They found their first piece of wreckage nearly a mile east of the crash site, remnants of one of the seats in the chopper, covered in blood and bits of human remains. Then they found part of the smaller rotor from the tail of the chopper, partially embedded in the ground, along with scattered pieces of the fuselage. Recovering all this was crucial because what they had left at the crash site was mostly ashes. But it was the bomb fragment connected to part of a cell phone they found embedded beneath that seat cushion that clinched the search for proof that the explosion had been intentional. It was the confirmation they needed to rule this murder, and they radioed their lead investigator to let him know a team from the FBI was already headed to the site on foot. But with firm evidence now, the investigation went into overdrive. Wolf Gang Outon was a billionaire with his fingers in businesses all over the world. Some would grieve his death; others would celebrate it. It was the ones with the most to gain that they were looking at first.

Surely Pope was on her way down the mountain with a pot of vegetable beef soup and two peacon pies. One pie was for Aaron and Dany, and one for Wy. She'd already called Dany to let her know she was on the way, and could tell by the rasp in dany's voice that she was still suffering from the smoke. She would know when she got there if Dany was up for company or not, but surely just needed to hug her for the blessing of still being alive. Then, to her surprise, as she pulled up into the driveway, Dany came out of the house to meet her. "Mom, I'm so glad to see you. Give me something to carry," she said as Shirley got out. Shirley handed her the tote with both pies and picked up the pot of soup. "This is it," Shirley said. "Lead the way. It's freezing." The house was warm and inviting, and Dany kicked the front door shut behind her as they headed for the kitchen. "What wonderful things have you brought to spoil me this time?" Dany asked as she set down the pies. Shirley put the Soup pot beside them, dropped her purse, and took off her coat, and then gave Dany a hug. "My darling daughter, you are a wonder. I don't quite know how you found the strength to do what you did, but I'm so grateful you are okay." It was the gentle tone in Shirley voice and the warmth of her Embrace that shattered dany's composure. One moment she'd been smiling, and the next she was sobbing on Shirley's shoulder. "I thought we would all die. I didn't think we could get the children out in time. I didn't think I would see Aaron again. It was terrible, worse than hiding."

In the closet waiting to be murdered. Worse than being stalked. Those times I knew my enemy, but I never saw this coming.

"I know, honey, I know." Shirley kept hugging her and rocking her where they stood until Dany had cried herself out. And then Shirley took her by the hand and settled them down by the fireplace. The flames from the gas logs were hypnotizing as the silence wrapped around them.

Finally, Dany sighed. "Thank you for that. I cried last night, but I couldn't seem to find a way to let go. I was still in fight mode, I guess. And Aaron was so worried about me this morning, leaving me on my own, that I pretended I was fine. I didn't want him to think I was coming undone because they needed him at the precinct. They're short-handed because of guarding the crash site."

Shirley nodded, just letting her talk, but there was no hiding the dark circles beneath her eyes. When she finally stopped talking, Shirley reached for her hand. "You're cold, honey."

Dany nodded. "I know. I feel cold all the way to my bones."

"How about a bowl of my beef vegetable soup and a piece of pecan pie? Is that what you brought?"

"Yes! One of the pies is for Wy. I texted him to let him know I was dropping it off here."

"Will you eat with me?" Danny asked.

"If you want the company, I'd love to," Shirley said.

"Please, I always want your company," Danny said. They went back into the kitchen arm in arm, and minutes later were eating soup and drinking hot tea.

Amali was freezing. She'd been in and out of shops all day, stopping only long enough to have a cup of soup at one of the shops. But the trip was successful. Everything she'd purchased was being delivered to her office in a couple of days, and there was a little box of homemade fudge in the seat beside her. All she wanted to do was go home, take a long hot bath, and get ready for her date with Shawn.

The sky was clearing. The snow had stopped falling, and the streets were clear as she headed back to her neighborhood. Normally, there would be children playing out in the yards, but today the residential area of Jubilee was quiet. Nobody was outside. And as she passed the street parallel to the elementary school, she couldn't help but notice the number of people and vehicles still behind the school and the black, burned-out hull of what was left of the chopper. It explained the lull in the neighborhood yesterday. A whole building full of children nearly died. Families were holding their babies close today, and most likely the children were still dealing with the shock and injuries they'd suffered. After her wreck, it had taken her months to be able to close her eyes without seeing the car go out of control in front of her, then slamming into her again and again. Sometimes she could still feel the car spinning and spinning until it hit the abutment and burst into flames. Poor babies. Poor Emily. Life shouldn't be this hard.

She began to slow down after she turned down her street. Her house was the third one on the left, the one with a wrap-around porch and green shutters. She used the remote to open the garage door and then drove in and killed the engine. The door was already going down as she grabbed the box of fudge, slung her purse over her shoulder, and went into the house.

Through the utility room, the warmth inside was welcome. She left the fudge on the kitchen island, hung her coat up in the closet in the hall, and began turning on lights as she headed to her bedroom. Within minutes, she had water running in the tub and a liberal sprinkling of lavender bath salts dissolving in the water. She stripped down to her skin, piled her hair up on her head to keep it dry, then eased in and slid down into its depths, sighing in delight.

Only then did she remember she hadn't checked the mailbox on the porch, and she hadn't checked her email since she'd left the office earlier this morning. Then she shrugged off the thought and sank a little deeper into the water. The once smooth surface of her upper body was now taut and shiny from skin grafts, or slightly puckered with web-like scarring from the fire. She didn't think about them much now, but tonight was different. She had a date with a seriously handsome man, but she didn't know what to expect, and it was just the tiniest bit scary. Still, he'd fought a battle for her once. She wanted to believe that tenderhearted child was still in there somewhere, still willing to be the hero.

Shawn shut down his office at 4:00 p.m. and began going through the house, stoking the fire, carrying in more wood, and emptying the garbage. Then he gathered up an armload of wood for the fire and was coming in the back door, bringing a blast of cold air with him, when his mother entered the kitchen.

"Ah, you're home," Shawn said. "Thought I'd bring in some more wood for the fire."

Shirley followed him into the living room, talking. "Danny's okay healthwise, but emotionally she's struggling. It was a terrible thing to experience. I'm glad I went. Wy came by to pick up his pie as I was leaving. He sends his love."

Shawn nodded. "Are you going to be okay here on your own for a while tonight?"

Shirley frowned. "For heaven's sake, Sean, of course I will. I'm not tired so much as cold, and you've already taken care of that. The house is nice and warm. I'm going to watch a gushy love story on TV, drink Mountain Dew and eat popcorn, and probably fall asleep before it's over."

He gave her a look. "You need to quit watching love stories and watch one of those kick-ass movies I like. You wouldn't fall asleep watching them."

She snorted. "And most likely not fall asleep after it's over, either. No thanks. I like my movies like I like desserts: soft and sweet."

Shawn burst out laughing and hugged her. She grinned. "Okay, okay, that's enough. Go get all pretty for your date and have a good time," Shirley said.

"Yes, ma'am," Shawn said, and hustled down the hall to shave and shower.

Chapter 6

It was 15 minutes to six when Shawn drove into Jubilee. Tourists were less prevalent this time of year, but they were always present. The upside of it for locals was not having to wait for tables at their favorite restaurants and finding available parking without walking too far. Shawn was nervous but excited. He hadn't dated anyone since before his father went to prison, but he kept reminding himself that this wasn't like meeting a stranger. He and Amal had a past of sorts, a history from childhood. What better place to renew an acquaintance than from the beginning? He drove straight to her house. Porch lights were on, as well as all through the house, and he wondered what she did when she went home, what she liked to do for fun, if she had any hobbies, what music she liked. Then he headed up the steps, knowing it was all to be revealed before the night was over.

The moment he rang the doorbell, he began to smile. It sounded like church chimes, and then the door swung inward, and Amal was standing before him.

"The church bells threw me for a second. I thought I'd taken a wrong turn," she laughed.

"They were here before me. Daunting, aren't they? Maybe a prior owner chose them to make sure all their callers were in the right frame of mind before they entered this house."

"I think I'm good," Shawn said.

"Then you better come in out of the cold," she said, and stepped aside.

"Church bells aside, you look beautiful," Shawn said.

Amal beamed. "Is this where I'm supposed to be coy and say, 'Oh, this old thing'?"

Shawn eyed her gray slacks and her cable-knit sweater, the same color as her eyes. "You don't have to say anything. You've already made your statement without saying a word."

"Then thank you," she said, and gestured around the room. "So, this is home. Still a couple of boxes to empty here and there, but mostly because they're full of books."

"You like to read?" Shawn asked.

"I love to read. First choice is always fiction, but in a bind, I'd read the backside of a cereal box."

"So, where are we going?" she asked.

"The back porch, just off the main square."

"Have you been there?"

"Yes, and I love it. I spent two weeks in Jubilee last year between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I don't think I missed a shop, an eating establishment, or a music venue. I've been the tourist, but I'm looking forward to becoming a local."

He frowned. "I can't believe we never saw each other."

Then Amal shrugged. "Maybe we did and just didn't know it."

"Then I am sorely disappointed in myself."

"Is this your coat?" he asked, pointing to the one on the back of the sofa.

"Yes."

"Allow me," he said, helped her into it, then waited while she grabbed her purse and keys and escorted her out of the house.

Amal glanced at his profile as they were driving away. The little boy she'd known was definitely long gone, but the adult version of him was spectacular. When he caught her staring, she blushed, thankful he couldn't see it in the dark.

"Sorry, didn't mean to stare, but I can't get over how tall you are."

Shawn nodded. "I get a lot of that. But wait until you see the rest of the Popes on the mountain. I'm just middling in size compared to some of them."

Her mouth dropped. "The rest of the Popes? You mean there are more than just your mom and your brothers?"

He nodded. "It's a long story, and I won't bore you with the details, but our ancestor had a Trading Post in the area. He was a big Scotsman named Brendan Pope. He married a little Chickasaw woman named Cries-a-Lot, but he called her Meg. The mountain is full of their descendants: big men with long legs and broad shoulders like Brendan, and black hair like his Meg. I'm just one of them."

Amali was entranced. When they pulled up at a stoplight, she turned sideways in the seat to talk. "All my life, I've wondered who I am, who my people were. I don't even know for sure if my birth mother named me, or if the name I have was just pulled out of a hat when I was 18. I did the Ancestry.com thing. It told me nothing except that my ancestors were from all over."

"And nobody ever contacted you thinking you might be a part of their family tree?" Shawn asked.

"Nope, and that was the end of that," Amal said. "Ooh, look, it's starting to snow again. I love this place. I love this weather. I fell in love with the mountain. It's why I came back."

A wave of emotion swept through Shawn as he pulled into the parking lot. "You fell in love with the mountain?"

She nodded. "It felt like I was being called to it. I drove up it one day and then back down again. Didn't see anything or anyone but a couple of deer, one possum, and something hiding in the shadows as I drove back to Jubilee. It gave me peace just looking at it."

"Then I have Pope Mountain to thank for your presence in Jubilee," she smiled.

"I guess. Or the fact that you lived there, and it wasn't the mountain who was calling. Maybe it was you."

All of a sudden, the smile slid off his face. "Are you psychic?"

Amali frowned. "Not to my knowledge. Why do you ask?"

"Because we have one in the family. Ella Pope is the oldest living family member on the mountain, and the whole family claims she's got the sight. It was the way you said that. 'It wasn't the mountain that drew you, it was me.'"

He grinned. "It's something she would say."

"What a gift she must be to all of you," Amal said.

Shawn gave her a look. "Gifts come in many different ways. And I'm starving. Let's get inside where it's warm. But give me a sec. The pavement might be slick." He exited the car, took her hand as she got out, then tucked her arm beneath his elbow as they headed inside.

Shawn could see Amali was nervous, but the moment they walked in, the hustle and bustle of the waitresses and diners and the engaging aromas coming from the kitchen took precedence over how she feared people would perceive her. Then he saw the hostess coming toward them.

"Hey, Shan, great to see you again," she said.

"Hi, Bets. Looks like a busy night. How's your dad?"

"Mom said he had a fall, still limping and griping, but he's on the mend. Two for dinner?" she asked, smiling at Emily.

"Yes, Bets. This is my friend Amily Lincoln. She's the new CPA in town. Amal, this is Bet's Glass, short for Bethany. She's one of the many cousins. Her grandmother was a Pope."

"Nice to meet you, Betts. Shawn's been filling me in on the size of the family. I'm impressed," Emily said.

Betts laughed. "You either sink or swim in our bunch. There are three interconnected families: Pope, Glass, and Collie, all original settlers, and too many of us to count. Would you like a table or a booth?"

"A table in a corner would be awesome," Shawn said. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

"You've got it," she said. "This way, please."

By the time they'd shed their coats and taken their seats, they had put in their order for drinks and an appetizer, then began scanning the menu for entrées.

"What are you hungry for tonight?" Shawn asked.

"Pretty much anything I don't have to cook," Amal said. "I spent all day either at the office or in the shops. When you called, it made a good day even better." But the moment Amal said that, she felt like she'd said too much and returned to reading the menu.

A few minutes later, the waiter brought out the appetizer. "Are you ready to order?" he asked.

"I am," Emily said. "I want something warm and soupy, so I think I'll have a bowl of gumbo and rice with a side of jalapeño hush puppies."

"Sounds perfect. Make that two," Shawn said.

"Then I guess we're on the same wavelength," she said.

Shawn was watching the play of light off her hair and in her eyes and almost forgot to comment. "Uh, I guess we are."

The waiter went to turn in their order, leaving them with the hot baked artichoke cheese dip and a basket of bite-sized bread chunks in different flavors.

"Dig in, but be careful. This stuff comes hot out of the oven," Shawn said.

"One of my foster mothers used to say, 'Hot enough to burn the hair off your tongue.' She was full of adages, but not much else."

Before Shawn could answer, he heard someone say his name and looked up, then groaned. "Oh, Lord."

"What?" Amaly said, and then saw a man in a police uniform heading toward them with a big grin on his face.

"Whoa, he looks like you with good reason," Shawn said. "Hey, bro, I came to pick up a Togo order and saw you and a pretty girl I do not know. Introduce me, please."

The minute he called Shawn "bro," Amaly leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "I already know who you are. You're Wy, third brother down, and the one who swallowed a tooth with a spoonful of mashed potatoes in the lunchroom at Ellen Smith Elementary and then tried to throw it up so you could take it home for the Tooth Fairy."

The smile fell off Wy's face. He looked at Shawn and then at the girl, and then threw up his hands. "How can you possibly know that?"

"Because I witnessed the event. I'm Amily Lincoln. I was in Shawn's grade."

Wy kept staring, and then a light suddenly dawned. "The bullies? The gum in your hair? Wow, talk about a full circle moment. He got suspended after that fight. As his brothers, we were so impressed."

Shawn could see where this was going and changed the subject. "Amal is the CPA in the new office next door to the bank. I just set up her tech stuff and a security system for her. We sort of recognized that we knew each other, but we couldn't remember how. It was the name change that threw her," Shawn said.

Wy blinked. "Right. Anyway, sorry to interrupt your evening, and sorry my big brother saw you first, but it's really good to see you again." Then Wy winked at Shawn. "Mom made me a pecan pie. You get the girl."

"Mom said you have three girls on speed dial," Shawn said.

Wy blushed and then grinned at Emily. "That may or may not be true."

Amal's eyes widened. Shawn grinned. "Go home to your pie, little brother."

Wy was still laughing as he walked out the door. "Oh my word, he's still a mess, isn't he?" Amily said.

"Yes," Shawn said. He scooped up a bite of dip with a chunk of herbed butter bread and popped it in his mouth. By the time their entrées arrived, Shawn had filled her in on all of the places that catered for parties so she could get quotes for her open house, and clued her in on the florist with the most high-end designs, and given her the name of the woman at the newspaper office who was in charge of ads and public notices.

Amily took a quick taste of her gumbo and then moaned in true ecstasy. "This hits the spot. Good choice, for sure," Shawn said.

"Thank you for all the names and suggestions," she added.

"You're very welcome, and you should expect to see me there."

Amali beamed. "Of course, you have to bring your mom. I'd love to see her again. I remember her from school parties. She always brought the best cookies."

"It's a deal," Shawn said.

Nearly 2 hours and two crème brûlées later, they were on their way back to her house with the windshield wipers making half-hearted swipes at the random flakes of falling snow. As they turned down the street to her house, Amaly glanced over at the lights on at the tent around the crashed chopper. "I hope they haul that thing off soon."

Shawn glanced over and then back at the street. "Ugly reminder, isn't it?"

Unconsciously, she rubbed the side of her neck, feeling the puckering of scars beneath her fingertips. "Yes, I guess it is."

Shawn pulled up into her drive and killed the engine, then reached for her hand in the dark. "This was the best night ever. Please say we can do this again sometime."

Amali turned toward him in the dark. "We can do this again sometime."

Sha laughed, then lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Another thing I now know about you."

Amal's heart was pounding. "What's that?"

"You have this wry, cockeyed sense of humor that lights every dark corner of my soul. Stay put. I'm coming around to help you out."

Amal's heart was pounding. "Lights every dark corner of my soul." And then he opened the door again, insisting that she hang on to his arm until they were out of the weather. She unlocked the door, opened it, then turned around. Shawn leaned in front of her long enough to flip off the porch light, then cupped her cheeks. He was going to kiss her. All she had to do was not faint from pure joy. He pulled her close, so close that she felt his breath on her face, and then his lips were on her mouth, and his hands were in her hair. She didn't even know that he'd pulled back until she heard him talking. "Thank you for an amazing evening. I am just a call away if you need me, and I'll call you soon so we can do this again."

Amali nodded, then he turned the porch light back on. "It's cold, honey. Lock the door behind me, okay?"

She nodded again, but stood in the open doorway until he was backing out of her drive before she closed the door. Then she remembered the mail. Opened the door to get it out of the box, then locked it as she went back inside.

Shawn drove home in a daze. Something had happened to him tonight that had never happened before. He'd fallen in love at first kiss.

Toby West had just landed Alton's jet at Miami International, taxied off the main runway and down a smaller strip before rolling to a stop in front of Alton Corporate Hangar. Wolf was inside the plane, dressed in a pair of Toby's coveralls with a sock cap pulled over his hair and holding a pair of sunglasses.

"Wait here, boss," Toby said, then exited the plane and put a maintenance crew to work running checkups. Pretty soon, there were more than a dozen men coming and going around the hangar, all wearing the same kind of coveralls. At that point, Toby went back inside, came out carrying Wolf's suitcase as if it was his own, dumped it in his car, and then turned around just as Wolf approached. Toby passed off his car keys without making eye contact and kept moving back toward the plane. He spoke to the manager, then walked out of the back of the hangar, heading for the main building, while Wolf slipped into Toby's car and drove out of the hangar with no one the wiser. Toby caught a cab at the terminal and went home to sleep, while Wolf left Toby's car in the parking garage next to his apartment, then caught a cab to a car rental agency.

A couple of hours later, he was on his way to a property he owned on the outskirts of Savannah, Georgia. There were no caretakers, so it was empty, but he kept the utilities on, loaning it out to friends for weekend getaways now and then. The nearest neighbor was a half-mile away, and if anyone saw a car parked there, they'd think nothing of it. It was the perfect place to disappear.

Wolf needed someone to trust, but his first choice had already died in his stead, and he was heart-sick. The authorities needed to know he was alive, but that wouldn't stop the investigation because Xander and Stu were still dead. The first time he stopped for gas and to get some food, he sent Jack Fielding a text. It never occurred to him that his first call should have been to Fiona because he already distrusted her enough to put Jack on her tail. He glanced at the time. It was getting late. Jack would contact him when he could. Right now, he just wanted to get somewhere and sleep without fearing someone would kill him in his bed.

Fiona went through the day on autopilot while receiving bouquets of flowers, calls of sympathy, and friends coming to pay their respects. She hadn't gone to work this morning, and it was costing her a lot. Maybe someone else's life. She'd been in the middle of an important project when this happened, and she needed to finish building the one-of-a-kind surgical instrument needed for a doctor in Manhattan who was waiting to perform a critical surgery. People's lives depended upon her skills and abilities. She'd already made up her mind that she was going back to work tomorrow to complete the task, and was standing on the balcony of their bedroom looking out into the night when she saw a shadow moving through the grounds. Her heart quickened, thinking she recognized the silhouette, and then moments later, when her phone rang, she knew she'd been right.

"Are you mad? Get off my property before the security alarms go off," she said.

"I need to see you."

"You don't need anything, you want," she hissed.

"So do you, and you know it," he said. "You want it now, you want me in you."

Fiona moaned. His laugh was soft in her ear. "Come to the cabana."

She left the balcony and ran down the back stairs, turned off the security alarm, and ran out into the night. From a distance, she would have appeared as a wraith in white silk, floating above the ground. The moment she entered the cabana, the door locked behind her. Before she could turn around, her nightgown was on the floor, and he was behind her. She felt him pushing, thrusting, and then he swept her off her feet and carried her to bed.

All of Fiona's stealth had come to nothing because Jack Fielding got it all on camera. From the moment the man entered the grounds to seeing Fiona answer her phone, then her coming out of the house, walking across the grounds, and disappearing into the cabana.

"Damn it, Wolf, you called it," Jack muttered. "I've got the evidence you wanted. You may not be alive to use it, but I'll damn sure turn it over to the police. Maybe she had something to do with your death, and maybe not, but she's not getting away with this shit." Now all he had to do was wait for daylight to get some clear shots of their faces, and he was gold. He saw the lights go off in the cabana and knew they'd make a night of it. He was secluded enough, but uncomfortable as hell, but that's how he got the big bucks. His only prayer was no rain. He peeled a wrapper down on a protein bar and took a bite.

Moments later, his phone signaled a text. He glanced down at it, then nearly lost his seat eating. "What the hell? A message from the grave." He opened the text, reading in disbelief.

"Jack, it's me, Wolf. Not dead. Had to make a last-minute flight to Sao Paulo. Stu and I switched jobs, and it got him killed. Toby knows. He flew me home. Somebody wants me dead. It may be business related, and it may be personal. Keep an eye on Fiona, and do me a favor: find out who's heading the investigation and show them this text. Tell them to look within my organization and at her as well. I don't trust her anymore, and I have my reasons. You have my number. I'll be in touch."

"Holy mother of God," Jack whispered. Now he was more intent than ever to get an ID on the cabana man.

It was nearing daybreak when Wolf reached his destination. He took the turn from the main road and into the gateless entrance, then down a long tunnel of trees framing the old Low Country House at the end of the drive. Then pulled the car around to the back of the house and parked. His eyes were burning from lack of sleep, his belly was protesting a lack of food, and his steps were dragging as he circled the car to get his bags and the sack of groceries he'd stopped to get along the way. He went up the back steps, unlocked the door, then stepped inside and flipped the light switch and set his suitcase on the floor. Light flooded the kitchen, revealing the well-appointed renovations within. He locked the car with the remote, then closed the kitchen door and locked it. It had been so long since he'd been here that he needed to tour the house to remember the layout.

It was just after sunrise when Fiona Outon slithered back across the grounds and into her house, and Jack Fielding was still filming when her late-night guest took his leave. He didn't know who the man was, but he looked pretty pleased with himself as he headed for the rock wall, slipped behind some bushes, and then promptly climbed a tree and went over the wall.

"Gotcha," Jack muttered, then got the number on the license plate as well as the man jumped in and drove away. As soon as it was quiet, he came down from his perch on the other side of the wall, walked two blocks up the street to where he'd parked his Jeep, and drove away. He wanted a shower and food, but not necessarily in that order, so he went through a fast-food drive-thru for breakfast and ate it on the way back to his place. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Jack uploaded the images from the SIM card of his camera to his laptop, then watched it all from start to finish before sending Wolf a text.

"Check your email. Do you want this shared with the authorities, or do you just want me to share your text?" Then he got up to get a cup of coffee, and when he came back, he had a response from Wolf.

"Well, damn. I didn't see this coming. That's Hank Kilmer. I play golf with him."

"Yes, show it to the authorities if they want to talk to me. Get me a number, and I'll call them. And thank you. Once I can come out of hiding, I'll get the money into your account."

Jack sent back a final text. "Consider it done. And this one's on me, friend. I'll be in touch."

At that point, Jack got down to business. It took four phone calls and being put on hold for a total of 45 minutes during those calls to get the name of the federal agent in charge of Outon's murder investigation, and then he blinked when he saw the name. It was his stepbrother, Colin Ramsey.

"What were the odds?"

"Special Agent Colin Ramsey was at his desk when the phone rang. He hit save on his computer and swiveled his chair around to answer. 'Ramsay speaking.' 'It's me, Jack. Long time no see.' Colin blinked. 'Jack? Is in my brother, Jack?' Jack chuckled. 'Has it been so long you also forgot what I sound like? Hell, yes, it's me. What's wrong? Is it Dad?' Jack sighed. 'Nope, the old man is fine, or was last week when I saw him. I'm actually calling on business. I've been given to understand you're handling the chopper explosion outside of Jubilee, Kentucky.' Colin frowned. 'Yes, and I'm Wolfgang Outon's go-to man when he needs things investigated, and I have some very important info to share with you.' Colin hesitated. 'Look, Jack, I know we're family, but I can't discuss anything to do with the...' 'Wolf's not dead,' 'What the hell?' Colin muttered. 'How do you know?' 'Can you prove that?' 'I know because I got a text from him last night and another one this morning.' 'Then who was on the chopper?' Colin asked. 'Stuart Bean, Wolf's personal assistant. Apparently, there was an emergency at Wolf's refinery in Brazil, so Stu took the chopper to Jubilee with Wolf's proxy to sit in on some board meeting, and Wolf flew to Brazil on his private jet. Wolf didn't know shit about what had happened to Stu until he landed in Sao Paulo, but he believes it's someone in his inner circle who tried to take him out. And there's another angle to this story. Before Wolf left, he hired me to tail his wife. Something happened between them that led him to lose trust in her. But here's the deal: for the time being, Wolf doesn't want anyone to know he's still alive because he thinks they'll just try it again. I'm going to send you a screenshot of the texts between us, and at Wolf's instructions, I am also going to send you a video of his wife, Fiona, and his golf buddy, Hank Kilmer, sneaking around in the cabana outside of the big house.' Colin shifted focus. 'Okay, but I'm going to have to talk to him face to face before I can act on any of this. I believe you, but I need to make sure someone isn't trying to pull something on you.' 'Fine, but just for the record, I've worked for Outon off and on for a good 10 years, and believe me, I know the man better than you know mine.' Colin groaned. 'You're not going to let that pass, are you? So how do I contact him?' 'You don't. I need a safe number where he can call you that you know for sure won't be traced, or he's not having it. He'll FaceTime with you, but he's not going to tell you where he is. I don't even know that.' 'Then give him my personal number,' Colin said. 'I assume you still have it.' Jack pulled up his contact list and read off the number he had. 'Yes, that's it,' Colin said. 'And out of curiosity, why does he suspect his wife? I mean, wives cheat, but they don't blow up a plane to get rid of the husband when it's a hell of a lot simpler just to divorce them. But it's a lot more lucrative to be the sole heir when they're worth a cool billion, don't you think?' Jack said. 'Noted,' Colin said. 'Good to hear from you, brother. We'll talk again. Thanks,' Jack said. 'Check your email in a bit. I'm about to hit send.' Colin hung up, then turned back to his computer, pulled up his email, and waited. A couple of minutes later, the email popped up. He saw their texts. He watched the video, and then he got up and headed for the chief's office. A half hour later, he was back at his desk. For now, they were going to adhere to Alton's request, but only until the DNA results came back. After that, Outon would have to come forward, and they were still going to continue with the investigation as it stood. Someone had blown up an aircraft in mid-flight and killed two people. Nobody got a pass on that. Colin updated his partner, Mike Broa, on what was happening, and then, while Colin was following up on the pilot who died, Mike was checking in with the lab to see if there were any updates from debris gathered at the crash site.

Colin called Sutton Airfield and was put on hold. Within seconds, he was trying to get information on Xander Sutton, the man who'd piloted the chopper, when someone finally picked up the phone. "This is Bordon."

"Mr. Bordon, this is Special Agent Colin Ramsey. I'm very sorry for the loss of your employer, but I'm investigating the chopper crash in which he died, and I need to ask you some questions. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure. We're all pretty stunned about this and have no idea how it happened. Xander was meticulous about the upkeep of his aircraft."

"Were you there the day Outon and Xander left the airfield?"

"Yeah, but it didn't exactly go down like that. Wolf's personal assistant, Stu Bienen, was at the airfield waiting for Wolf when he arrived. All I know is there was a last-minute change of plans, something about a refinery catching on fire in Brazil. Bien brought a suitcase and Wolf's passport with him so he could fly straight to Sao Paulo. I know this because I flew Wolf to Miami Airport to catch his private jet, and Stu and switched places with Wolf and took the flight with Xander to Kentucky. He was Wolf's proxy for some board meeting there."

Colin was stunned that the man hadn't come forward. "So when you all were informed of Xander's crash, you already knew Mr. Outon wasn't on that chopper?"

"Well, I didn't think he was, but what do I know, right? I didn't say nothing. Both of the men's vehicles are still parked here at the airfield, so I didn't know what to think, and you're the first person who's asked," Bordon said.

Colin sighed. There were too many spoons stirring the same pot, and after talking to his brother Jack, he guessed it was going to get worse. "Then, Mr. Bordon, I'm going to ask you to remain quiet about this for the time being. We won't officially know anything until we get DNA results back."

"Yes, sir. I don't have a problem with that," Bordon said. "Oh, and you can expect some people from the Bureau will arrive to tow away both vehicles sometime today."

"Yes, sir. I'll let the girls in the office know," Bordon said.

"Thank you again. If I need further verification, I'll be in touch," Colin said, and hung up. If Outon was really alive, he had yet to call. What Colin needed to do next was interview Fiona Rangley, and part of his line of questioning had to do with shaking the tree for deadfall. He was curious to see what fell out.

Chapter 7

Amali woke with the memory of Shawn's embrace and the kiss that came after. The day's weather report was vague, but cold was definite, so she dressed for warmth: thick socks for the boots she was wearing, wool pants, and a soft knit sweater as comfort for the tenderness of her new scars. She eyed the white streak in her hair as she was brushing her hair, then put it all up in a ponytail. The scars on her neck and jaw would shine like a new penny without the fall of hair to hide them, but she couldn't be bothered. Whatever anyone else thought was their problem. Today was a work day at the office. Everything she'd purchased in Jubilee yesterday was being delivered there this morning, so she put on her coat, grabbed her purse and car keys, and headed for the garage. She was backing down the driveway when she saw a huge crane in the rearview mirror. The NTSB must be moving the chopper wreckage from the crash site. That was progress. She wondered if the investigation was making progress too, and then kept driving. Except for feeling empathy for the families of the deceased and for the teachers and children traumatized by the event, none of that had anything to do with her. And since she couldn't leave the office today until all of the deliveries had been made, she drove straight to Granny Annie's Bakery to get some snacks for the day.

There was a short line at the counter when she entered the small cafe. Tables and chairs were full of customers having coffee and sweet rolls before Sunday breakfast. The aromas wrapped around Amal like a hug as she got in line, giving her plenty of time to check out the display case as well as the menu on the wall above the counter. By the time she got to the register, she'd made her choices and ordered two sausage biscuits, a dozen donut holes, and a chocolate brownie to go. An older woman came up front carrying a tray of cinnamon rolls and slid it in the display case. As the clerk was boxing up Amal's purchases, she glanced up at Amal and smiled.

"Welcome to Granny Annie's."

Amal smiled. "Thank you. This isn't my first visit in here, and it won't be my last. I think I ate my way through the display case last November."

The woman laughed. "That's good to know. I'm Annie Collie, and this is my shop. I'm happy to get repeat customers. Do you live near or visiting again?"

"I've recently moved here. I'm Emily Lincoln. I'm opening my own place next door to the bank."

Annie's eyes widened. "The CPA? I saw the sign the other day. Welcome to Jubilee."

"Thank you," Amal said, then paid for her purchases and waved as she left the shop. She was still smiling when she got in her car and drove away, wasting no more time getting to the office. She didn't want to leave a delivery man waiting. Within minutes, she was inside her office and turning on lights as she carried her goodies to the back room. She started a pot of coffee to brewing, wrapped one of the sausage biscuits in a napkin, and plopped down at her desk to eat. Once she finished off the biscuit, she got up to pour herself a cup and took it back to her desk, then began going through the enormous backlog of emails she'd been ignoring since her move. A short while later, her first delivery arrived. After that, Amal turned her attention to office decor.

Shawn's day started off slow. He was lingering at the breakfast table, reading the news on his iPad. His mom was somewhere in the house running the vacuum, and the washing machine was on a last spin, but something was off balance because it was beginning to thump. He got up to shift the load and glanced at the clock. It was after 9:00 a.m. Normally, he would be in his office, but he was caught up with his workload and looking forward to a slow day. When his phone rang, he glanced at caller ID, saw Carson Veterinary Clinic on the screen, and answered.

"Hello, this is Shawn."

"Shan, this is Sam Carson at the vet clinic. We have some kind of issue with the computer setup in our office, and it's slowing everything down to a crawl. Do you have time to come into town to check it out?"

"As it happens, I do," Sean said. "I can be there in about 20 minutes or so."

"I owe you, man. When you get here, you'll see what I mean," Sam said.

"See you soon." Shawn dropped the phone in his pocket and then went to look for his mom to tell her he was leaving. He found her on her knees in her bedroom, going through an old trunk with half the contents already scattered out around her.

"Hey, Mom, is everything okay?"

Shirley looked up, smiling. "Yes, I got sidetracked. All this stuff was Mom's. I'm just visiting my past."

"Then say hi to Grandma for me," he said. "I just got a phone call from the vet's office. Their computers are down. I'm heading there now. Need anything from Jubilee before I come home?"

"I'm going to town later. I have a half-dozen errands to run, and I'm taking Danny out to lunch at Cun Katie's."

"Drive safe. Have fun. Love to Danny," he said, then grabbed his coat and car keys and headed out the door.

The day was cold but clear, and the drive uneventful, but when he pulled into the parking lot at the vet's office and saw at least a dozen cars, he guessed it was about to get noisy, and he was right. He could hear dogs barking from halfway across the parking lot, and chaos ensued after he entered the building. With the computers down, our the receptionist was red-faced and hassled by demands she couldn't meet. Leslie Morgan, Sam's vet tech, was chasing a cat down the hall, and then Sam appeared, saw Shawn, and rolled his eyes.

"I did warn you."

Shawn laughed out loud. "So, besides the escape from the zoo, what's going on here?"

"Follow me," Sam said, and took Shawn back to his office. "The backup of patients in the outer office is because the computers are down. I can't pull up test results or anything to do with previous care. My computer went down first, and then everything else followed. I can't figure out if it's a power problem or something wonky with our technology."

"I'm assuming you've tried turning everything off and then trying to reboot?" Shawn asked.

"We've tried everything but a Ouija board," Sam muttered.

"I empathize," Shawn said. "Before I begin, what exactly were you doing on the computer when it quit? Did it just go black or flicker, or were there any warning signs other than a clown face that looked like the Joker popping up?"

"No."

"Oh, wow," Shawn said. "Sam, it's a virus, isn't it?"

"I had just opened an email when it happened."

"Sounds like it," Shawn said. "Write down your log-on and password info, then leave me to it."

"Right," Sam said. "Oh, if you need to know, the breaker box is down the hall, last door on the right."

"Got it," Shawn said. "Go tend to your critters, and I'll see about cleaning this up." Sam opened the top drawer of his desk, pulled out a small red notebook, and opened it to the first page. "Log on, password, IP address. If you need anything else, just yell." Shawn was already in work mode as Sam left the office.

Duane's absence within his circle of friends had become an issue. They knew working for Wolfgang Outon was often a 24/7 job. They also knew Outon was dead, so the fact that Stu wasn't answering any of his messages was a bit odd, but understandable, given that he'd been the dead man's personal assistant. But when the next morning rolled around, and he still wasn't responding, his father, Ronald Bienen, went by his apartment and let himself in. The fact that there was a bowl in the sink with a smattering of dried-up cereal and curdling milk made him anxious. It was obvious it had been there for days, and Stuart was fastidious about everything. He called Stu's number and left yet another voicemail, then exited the apartment and went straight to the Miami PD to report him missing. A detective, Emerson, in Missing Persons took the report and was less than convinced there was an issue until he asked Ronald where his son worked.

"He is Wolfgang Outon's personal assistant. He's often out of the country, but he's never out of reach, and we're going on 4 days now. This isn't like him. And then we heard on the news about Mr. Outon's chopper going down, and we don't know what to think."

"Oh, I see," Emerson said, finding out Bienen was Wolfgang Outon's personal assistant set off a whole set of alarm bells. Outon was dead, his personal assistant missing. Something was definitely off, but he had all he needed for the report. "Thank you for coming in, Mr. Bian, and start inquiries at once. If you learn anything new, don't hesitate to call me. You have my number."

Ronald was worried, but he'd done all he knew how to do. "Yes, and thank you. Please keep me in the loop," he said, and then was escorted back to the lobby. But the moment Ronald Bian left Missing Persons, Emerson picked up the phone and called his boss.

It was nearing noon by the time Shawn had wiped the virus and had the vet clinic system back up and running. "Oh my God, thank you, Sean. Before you moved here, we had to depend on someone coming in from Bowling Green or an IT guy like you doing it remotely. What do I owe you?" Sam asked.

"I'll invoice you," Shawn said. "You've got too many furry patients waiting on you out there, and one parakeet on the loose," Sam said.

"Don't open the front door until we get it back in its cage, right?" Shawn said, as he was walking toward the lobby. He passed Leslie in

The hall. "Hey, cousin," say hi to Wade and Rita for me. Or you could tell them yourself. You live closer to Mom and Dad than I do. And are you still single? I have a girlfriend who thinks you're cute.

"Shawn immediately thought of Emily." "None of your business," he said, then winked and pulled her ponytail before heading to the lobby.

The awall paret was sitting on the top of Arletta's computer monitor, and Arletta had the three-legged clinic cat held fast in her lap. The cat's eyes were fixed on the little bird, and it was digging its claws into Arletta's sleeve. Shawn could see a massacre about to happen, so he put down his toolkit, walked straight toward the counter, and snatched the little bird from its perch before it knew what was happening. Then turned and faced the room.

"Where's the cage?" he asked.

"Back in exam room four with Mildred, the owner," Arletta said.

Shawn pivoted, went back down the hall, and into the exam room. The little old lady weeping in the corner looked up and then gasped. "You caught him! You caught Peter Pan! Thank you, dear boy, thank you!" she cried.

Shawn smiled. Peter Pan. He got the connection. They both knew how to fly. "You're welcome," he said, as he slipped the little bird back into its cage and latched the door.

"He's quite the escape artist, isn't he?" Shawn said.

Mildred was already at the exam table, wiping her eyes and peering into the cage. "I told Dr. Sam not to trust him. He got out of Dr. Sam's grasp, and then someone opened the door and out he went. I thought Captain Hook would get him."

Shawn frowned. "Who's Captain Hook?"

"That three-legged cat who lives in the clinic," she muttered. "He's a scamp, a real scamp, I tell you." Then her eyes narrowed as she looked at him closer. "You're a Pope, aren't you? I can spot them a mile away."

"Yes, ma'am," Shawn said. "I'll be going now. Take care."

The wind had come up while he was inside, and it made the cold day feel colder. It was just after 12 by the time he left the parking lot. He thought of Emily and then made a knee-jerk decision to drop by her office to say hello, so he would have a good excuse to kiss her goodbye.

Emily's last delivery arrived. It was a painting of Pope Mountain in all its fall splendor, which was how she first saw it when she came to Jubilee. The paint was large and heavy, but she had a big wall facing the entrance in desperate need of attention, and this painting was perfect. She was prepared for hanging it and had seen the need for extra-large picture hangers and a stud finder to make sure she got the hanger firmly set before the painting went up. But it quickly dawned on her that she was going to need a ladder, something she didn't own. Frustrated, she plopped down on the sofa and began going through her phone, looking to see where the nearest hardware store was located. When she caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye, she looked up just as Shawn walked in.

"Yay, a tall person to the rescue!" she said and jumped up and gave him a quick hug.

Shawn smiled. "I don't think I've ever been greeted like this before, just for being tall."

Emily pivoted out of his arms and pointed at the painting. "Look, isn't it magnificent?"

Shawn blinked and then moved for a closer look. "It's Pope Mountain, yes. This is how it looked last year when I first visited Jubilee. They just delivered it, and I suddenly realized I was going to have to buy a ladder just to hang it."

"Oh, nope, no need for ladders here, we've got this," Shawn said and took off his coat.

"Do you have a hammer?"

"Yes, and picture hangers and a stud finder."

Shawn turned with a total lack of expression on his face. "A stud finder, huh? Well, here I am, so it already worked. Let's do this."

Emily burst into laughter. "Oh my lord, it's a shame you're so lacking in confidence."

He grinned. "I assume you wanted it on that wall?"

"Yes, centered on the wall behind the reception desk."

Shawn picked up the stud finder, ran it across the wall until he found a stud, and marked it for reference. After deciding how high on the wall the painting needed to hang, he nailed the heavy-duty hanger into the stud, then hung the painting for her, shifting it until it was level. He stepped back.

"How's that?"

Emily was standing at the entrance into her office, her hands clasped beneath her breasts as if she was praying. There were tears in her eyes. "Perfect," she whispered. "Thank you, Sean. Thank you."

"You're welcome, honey. Are you planning to save any of these boxes?"

"No, they're all from the things that were delivered this morning."

"Then I'll break them down and carry them to the dumpster out back."

"Okay." Still locked into the painting, she just nodded.

Shawn made short work of the cleanup and carried the armload of cardboard out of her office and down the hall to the back entrance. A blast of cold air hit him in the face as he exited the building, and he quickly dumped the trash into the dumpster before heading back inside.

Emily was plumping pillows on the sofa when he returned. "What do you think?" she asked as she gestured around the room.

But Shawn's eyes were on her. "Beautiful, just beautiful."

She turned, realized he was looking at her and not the room, and froze for a second. Every improper thought possible was running through their heads until Shawn came to his senses and made himself focus on anything but taking her to bed.

"Have you had lunch?" he asked.

"No, but I did have breakfast from Granny Annie's Bakery, and I have been in the sack of doughnuts I brought back from there too. She's my great-aunt, one of my grandmother's sisters. They were Popes."

Emily shook her head. "I, I am in continued awe of your roots in this place. Not growing up here."

"So am I. And I just spent the morning at the vet's office cleaning up a virus on their computers, and I'm starving. Will you come eat with me?"

"I'd love it, but I need to wash up first."

"I better do that too. I've been dodging runaway cats and endured being barked at for two solid hours. I even caught a runaway parakeet named Peter Pan before Captain Hook, the vet's three-legged cat, could catch it."

Emily's eyes lit up. "You're not serious."

"As a heart attack," he said.

She grinned. "Your life is far more interesting than mine. Give me a sec to wash up, and then the washroom is all yours."

"Where do you want to eat?" he asked.

"At the table with you," she said and disappeared into the back room.

The lump in Shawn's throat was there before he knew it. She was already under his skin and burrowing deeper by the minute. By the time they left the office, the wind was playing havoc with hair, making Emily glad she'd left her hair in the ponytail.

"How do you feel about Trapper's Bar and Grill?" Shawn asked as he backed away from the curb.

"Love it," Emily said and then frowned. "Got any relatives there?"

"A couple," Shawn said. "Remember the little girl from the chopper crash who was trapped with Danny in the school? Her father, Lewis, works there. His wife was a Pope. Her name is Rachel."

Emily nodded. "I only ask because I don't want to be picking my nose and embarrass myself in front of your kin."

Shawn grinned.

Emily settled back to enjoy the ride. The best part about entering Trapper's was that it was warm and out of the wind. Music was playing, a dozen televisions mounted on walls were all tuned into different sports channels with closed captions for dialogue. Chatter and laughter overrode the music, and waiters and waitresses were doing little dance steps as they wove their way through the tables and booths with menus and trays.

As soon as they were seated in their booth, Shawn and Emily shed their coats, gave their drink orders to their waiter, and began looking through the menu. All of a sudden, Shawn heard a little voice and then running footsteps.

"Uncle Shawn! Uncle Shawn!"

He turned and saw Lily running toward him, and her mother, Rachel, a few steps behind, trying to catch her. He grinned and swooped Lily up in his arms. "Hi, baby. How's my best girl? Are you feeling all better now?"

"Yes, I don't cough so much anymore. Mama says you're a hero."

"Shawn grinned. 'Hero,' I said, 'hero.'"

"Lily, for God's sake," Rachel said when she finally caught up.

Shawn laughed, and Emily was in a state of delight. "Oh yeah, hero!" Lily said, then gave Emily the side-eye as the waiter returned with their drinks.

"Can you give us a few more minutes to decide on food?" Shawn asked.

"Sure thing," the waiter said and walked away.

Emily winked at Lily. Lily giggled. "Is she your girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend?" Rachel corrected, then gave Shawn an adult version of Lily's side-eye. "Introductions now."

Rachel and Lily were both waiting for answers. Shawn sighed. "Apparently, I was so overwhelmed by the presence of three beautiful females, I forgot my manners. Rachel, this is my friend, Emily Lincoln. We went to school together back in Conway. I am delighted to say she's recently moved to Jubilee. You might have seen the sign in the business center next to the bank about the new CPA. Emily, this is my cousin, Rachel Glass, who is also Lily's mother and the wife of Lewis Glass, who's the bartender here. He's the one looking at us now. Maybe we can all wave."

Emily burst out laughing. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Rachel, and you too, Miss Lily. I also understand you were very, very brave at your school, and I know how hard that can be. So that makes you a hero too."

Lily's eyes widened. "Am I, Mama? Am I a hero too?"

Rachel's eyes were suddenly shimmering with unshed tears. "Yes, ma'am, you sure are. Now, you've said hello to Uncle Shawn and his friend Emily. Let's go back to our booth and order lunch. We came to have lunch with Daddy, remember?"

Lily reluctantly slid out of Shawn's lap and took her mother's hand. Rachel looked down at Shawn. "You're a great hero to me, Shawn Pope, and it's a pleasure to meet you, Emily. Welcome to Jubilee. I'm sure we'll see you again."

Shawn was a little anxious as to how Emily had taken all that. Big families were often overwhelming, but he need not have worried. Emily was enchanted. "What a little beauty. She's all Pope too: impulsive, hard-headed, and loyal to the bone."

"Shawn said, 'I could see that. I got the side-eye.'"

"Emily said, 'I think she was checking out her competition. I mean, being Uncle Shawn's best girl has to have boundaries.'"

Shawn grinned. "Technically, we're cousins twice removed, but we're all aunts and uncles to the little ones, no matter what the connection. As for you being her competition, she's just going to have to face it. Now, what sounds good to you?"

"Chicken Caesar salad and a side of onion rings."

"Um, your food orders are as perfect as your eye for design," he said.

"If I get a cheeseburger and fries, I'll trade you a handful of fries for a couple of onion rings."

"Deal," Emily said.

Shawn waved down the waiter, gave their order, and then turned his attention back to Emily. "You're also the prettiest dealmaker I ever met," he said.

She sighed. "Careful, you're likely to turn my head."

His voice softened. "I won't lie, I'm doing my dead level best."

She leaned forward. "Then fire away, Shawn Pope. I am a stationary target."

Her words became a challenge. Shawn took straight to the heart. She'd given him all the permission he needed. He was falling fast and hard. "Thank you for the opportunity," he said and reached for her hand, then slid his fingers up her wrist. "Tell me about where you used to work."

"A large CPA firm in Tulsa. I was just one of the accountants, but I loved the job. Everything about it makes sense to me."

"Are you still in touch with any of them?" he asked.

She shrugged. "No. After a month or so of commiseration, the level of my suffering was too much for them to take. Calls straggled off to nothing. Even after I finally went home, nobody came to visit because they didn't know what to say. If it hadn't been for my neighbor across the hall, my life would have come to a screeching halt."

"How so?" Shawn asked.

"He was an accident attorney. He went to bat for me, took the drunk driver to court, and wiped the floor with him. It was the driver's third offense. My friend made the insurance company pay, and the driver as well. It gave me the time and finances I needed to start over, and I was kind of over Oklahoma by then. As I told you before, I came here for the holidays last year and fell in love with the mountain, which led me to you. Imagine my joy, my first friend who became my hero. I was distraught when they took me away, not because I was being moved again, but because I lost you."

Shawn slid his hand across her wrist. "The bonds we created in childhood are special. Adults don't take their children's friends that seriously because they just see kids, but we were already people when we met each other, just little ones, right?"

"Exactly," Emily said and looked up. "Oh, here comes our food."

They settled into their meal with the same ease they had before, like they'd known each other forever. After the meal was over and as they were paying, Shawn realized he didn't want this to end.

"You love Pope Mountain so much. Would you like to see it from the top?"

Her eyes lit up. "Yes, I would love it."

"When?"

"What about now?"

"Yes, yes! Take me back to the office first so I can shut everything down. I'll take my car home, and you can pick me up from there, if that's okay."

"It's very okay."

A short while later, he followed her home, waited until she parked and dropped off some things inside the house, and was ready and waiting outside his car when she came out of the house. Watching her coming toward him with that happy look on her face was like opening a present from Santa on Christmas day, all anticipation and excitement to see what came next. He opened the door for her as she slid into the passenger seat.

"Buckle up," he said. So she did.

***

Chapter 8

They drove all the way through Jubilee with Shawn telling Emily about his morning at the vet and laughing about a three-legged cat named Captain Hook. He kept thinking how easy it was to be with her and what an upbeat attitude she had towards life when life had been so hard on her. But when they started up the mountain, her mood shifted to one of awe.

"These trees are ancient, aren't they?"

"They have to be. They're so tall."

He nodded. "I imagine they are. If only they could tell their stories."

"Are you warm enough? I can turn up the heat."

"I'm fine, thank you. I actually drove a little way up this road when I was here last fall, but the forest hides the people living here, and without knowing any of them or seeing anything but mailboxes, I felt like I was intruding, like I needed to be invited."

Shawn frowned. "Really?"

She nodded. "Since I've never belonged anywhere, I don't really know how to read a room, so to speak. The mountain is so beautiful, but it feels like—oh, I'm going to sound silly saying this—but it feels like it holds its people close, guarding them from intruders."

Shawn flashed back to the disaster a couple of years ago when a younger cousin was shot up here by a man hunting for buried treasure. "You don't sound silly at all. I think you're just sensitive to energies, and mountains are ancient. Who knows what secrets they still hold?" And then he pointed to a driveway and mailbox on his left. "That's where Lewis, Rachel, and Lily live. Cameron and Rusty Pope live further up, and then the Morgans and the Reigns, and our house, and farther up, Uncle John and Aunt Annie Collie. She's the one with the bakery. There are at least a couple of hundred people up here who can all claim some kind of kinship with each other."

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To the top. What's up there?" Shawn reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "The church in the Wildwood. There's something I want to show you."

"I can't wait. How much farther?" she asked.

Shawn grinned. "When my brother BJ was a kid, 'Are we there yet?' was the totality of his conversation."

Emily was laughing as she poked his shoulder. "I get the reference, but it's obvious we aren't there yet because you're still driving. My question had to do with time and distance."

Shawn's smile widened. "Lady, you are an absolute delight. And since you asked, and unless you want to risk a wreck on these winding mountain roads, maybe another 20 minutes."

He made it in 15, and the gasp from the seat beside him was worth the drive.

"Do you feel that?" she whispered.

Shawn glanced at the look on her face as he pulled into the parking lot. She was awestruck. "Feel what, honey?"

Amily shook her head and got out on her own, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "It's here. This is what I kept feeling last fall when I'd look up at the mountain. Something is here that belongs to me." Then she frowned. "No, not belongs, something that's part of me."

Shawn walked up behind her and slid his arm across her shoulder. "That does it. You're going to have to talk to Aunt Ella."

Amily glanced up, and as she did, the features on his face shifted just enough that she thought she was looking at someone else, and then the notion faded. "Do people still use the church?" she asked.

"The parking lot is full every Sunday. The old preacher's name is Brother Farley. If he has a first name, I don't know it. The little house behind it is the parsonage; it's where he lives, but I don't see his car. Probably visiting someone who's sick; he's known for that."

"I didn't know places like this still existed," Amily said. "Thank you for bringing me here."

"The church isn't why we came." He held out his hand. She clasped it without caution, already knowing she would follow him anywhere he led her. Around the church to the cemetery stretching out to the edge of the forest, then wound their way through the grave stones at the far end before he stopped.

Amily looked down. There was a very old marker, and beside it, a little wooden structure like an upside-down box, newer but slightly weathered. Shawn pointed to the ancient marker. "The man who founded Jubilee is buried here. I've mentioned him before. His name was Brendan Pope. He's the grandfather of us all. He died in the late 1880s. His Chickasaw wife, who he called Meg, disappeared on this mountain in 1864. Her body was never found. Then two years ago, his old journal turned up. It was the first that we knew what had happened to her, and it hurt our hearts to think our little grandmother was lost all this time. We all decided that if we used the clues from the journal and some drone technology, we might find her."

Amily was shaking as she touched the top of the little wooden house over Meg's grave. "And you did?"

"Oh, Shawn," nearly two centuries in the dark, and you found her."

Shawn blinked. She'd done it again. How the hell would she know about that abandoned cellar where they'd found Meg's bones? He shivered, then let it go. "Yes, we did find her and buried her beside the man who'd lost her. They're the reason we're all here now: me and my people, the town of Jubilee, all of it."

Tears were rolling down Amily's face. "What a beautiful love story that finally had its ending. I can empathize with Meg. I feel lost all the time because I was given away. I used to hope someone would come find me, but they didn't, and the only reunion I've ever had is with you. So don't you ever think that didn't matter. It meant everything to me."

Shawn couldn't bear the tears when he took her in his arms. She laid her cheek against the front of his coat. "I don't quite know how to explain this, but I don't think you're lost anymore. I think you belong here somehow, and you found your own way back. I'm just grateful I was here to welcome you home," he said.

She looked up, lost in the intensity of his gaze. He wiped the tears from her face and kissed her, then again and again, until her lips were no longer cold and her arms were locked around his neck, giving back as good as she got. When he finally turned her loose, she was trembling. He tilted her chin until their gazes locked.

"You're shaking from the cold."

"I'm sorry, baby. I need you."

"Get you back in the car. I'm nowhere near cold. I'm shaking because of the fire you just lit."

Shawn blinked. "Jesus wept, woman. I cannot lay you down in a cemetery in the middle of winter, but I want to."

"Another time, another place," Emily whispered.

His eyes flashed. "Promise?"

"Promise," she said, and let him walk her back to the car.

Once inside, silence surrounded them. It was so quiet, Amily heard the whispers. "Goodbye," she said softly.

Shawn shook his head. "I'm still here."

"Oh, sorry, not you. They were whispering."

Shawn shook his head again as he started the car and headed back down the mountain. It was getting late; the sun was already sliding below the treetops, and in winter, sunset came early. He didn't want this day with her to end, but she was so quiet.

"Amily, honey, are you tired?" she sighed, then laid a hand on his knee. "No, just thoughtful. You're like sunshine. It's wonderful being with you."

Shawn felt like a kid again, trying out his best tricks in hopes the little girl with the long dark hair sitting two desks ahead of him would ever look his way. "Would you like to stop by our house on the way down? It's either that or lie to my mom about having you this close without stopping to say hello."

Amily smiled. "I would love that, if you think it wouldn't be an intrusion."

"I know it won't, but if it would make you feel better, I can give her a heads-up call now," he said.

"Yes, do."

Shawn made the call. Shirley answered on the third ring. "Hi, Sean."

"Actually, I'm on my way down the mountain. I took Amali on a little sightseeing trip, and I was wondering if it would be okay if we stopped by before before I took her home?"

"Of course, it's okay. I can't wait to see her again. All I remember is a little girl with blue eyes and a lot of dark hair. Oh, and talk her into staying for supper. I'm frying chicken."

Shawn laughed. "Yes, ma'am. See you soon."

Amily was already beaming. "How much of that could you hear?" he asked.

"All of it. And I never turned down fried chicken. This is the best day ever."

"It's not over yet. The best is yet to come."

Shirley went into Super Mom mode, and by the time they arrived, she'd run a dust mop over the living room and kitchen floors, peeled an extra potato for the pot, and had the chicken she'd been breading already frying in the cast iron skillet. The house was warm, and she turned on all the lights. It was the mountain way of making guests feel welcome. When she heard them drive up, she was ready. There was nothing in the world she wanted more for her sons than to find their own paths to the life and the people who made them happy, and she was hoping Amali Lincoln was that for Shawn. Then the front door opened, and Shirley called out, "I'm in the kitchen."

They came in moments later with Shawn walking beside Amali with his hand at her back. The looks on their faces said it all. Shirley smiled. "What a beautiful sight they are, falling in love." Shirley went to meet them, gave Shawn a quick kiss on the cheek, and then turned to Amali. "Welcome, Amali, and what a beautiful woman you grew up to be. Do you remember me?"

Amily smiled. "Yes, ma'am. Shawn was the only boy who was nice to me, and you were Shawn's mama. You brought the best cookies to the school parties, and you always gave me a hug."

Shirley's heart broke. She'd given all of the kids a hug, but in Amily's mind, the hug had been just for her. "I did. I can't wait to hear all about the years in between then and now, but I better get back to the stove. I don't want the chicken to burn. Sean, honey, would you get yourselves something to drink? It's going to be another 20 minutes or so before supper is finished. Show Amali where the powder room is, and if you want to warm up by the fire..."

"I'm willing to help," Amali said. Shirley winked. "This time you're a guest. Next time I'll put you to work." Amali's heart skipped. There was already going to be a next time.

Shawn clasped Emily's hand. "I don't have etchings to show you. How about a tour of the house and my office instead? You have to see this house. It's house generations of Mom's family. This room in the living room room were the original part, right?"

Amily said. Shirley was a little taken aback; she'd never mentioned that to her boys.

"So how did Shawn saw the look on his mom's face and shook his head slightly."

Shirley regained her composure. "Yes, you're right, and every generation has added on something since. I'm the fourth. My sons are the fifth generation to sleep beneath this roof."

Amily was smiling as Shawn led her away. Shirley sighed, then went back to frying chicken, convinced there was more to Amily Lincoln than met the eye.

Shawn gave her the whole tour and then went to his office to invoice Sam Carson as she went to wash up. When Amily came out into the hall, Shawn was nowhere to be seen, so she paused a moment, lost in thought. The voices at the church. "I've heard them before. They were the same voices in my head after they pulled me out of the fire. What's happening to me?" Then she heard footsteps and opened her eyes. Shawn was standing in the hall, watching her. She shivered. "I said something earlier that made no sense to me. I'm still trying to figure out why I said it."

Shawn waited. She kept talking. "Before last fall, I had never been to Kentucky before. Last fall, I didn't know Jubilee even existed. But from the moment I first first saw Pope Mountain, it felt like home. And I have no concept of what home really means other than where my things are stored and where I eat and sleep. And yet, that's the only word that fit what I was feeling."

Shawn opened his arms. She walked into them, savoring the feeling of being enveloped. "Something's happening to me here, Shawn, and I think you're part of it, maybe all of it. I heard the words about the original part of your house coming out of my mouth, but I don't know where they came from. I have no reason to know that," Amily said.

Shawn shook his head. "Aunt Ella says the mountain has magic. It holds ancient secrets and holds fast to the people who honor it. Maybe it's just talking to you, honey, and you're the only one who can hear it."

She sighed. "Maybe. And maybe it's just me. Maybe that accident did something to my brain. You should do a little online research and read about people who develop gifts after near-death experiences. Maybe you didn't just survive but came back with new abilities. You wouldn't be the first," he said.

Amily's eyes widened. "I never thought of that. My head is always full of numbers, and my head is always full of possibilities. I'm always looking for the back door into a problem to solve it. I think we pair well, like biscuits and gravy." And then he winked.

She grinned. "Biscuits and gravy? That's probably the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me."

He shrugged. "I do what I can."

She laughed, and for Shawn, that sound was a high like no other. "Not to change the subject, but I feel a chill in the house. I think it's time to put another log on the fire. I'm not all brainiac. Come watch me being all strong and stuff."

Amily grinned, and when he reached for her hand, she clasped it back.

In the kitchen, Shirley heard the laughter and smiled. It was good to have joy in this house. A few minutes later, they were back with her.

"I talked briefly with BJ today. I missed his text. He says he's coming home for Easter," Shirley said.

"That's great, Mom. Now we'll have two great chefs in the kitchen."

"Has BJ always wanted to be a chef?" Amily asked.

"If he did, he never said anything about it growing up," Shirley said. "All he did was eat. He was never full, and the last one to leave the table. Leftovers were non-existent in our house," Shawn said.

Amily giggled. "I was always a little hungry too, but mostly because we weren't allowed second helpings. Too many foster kids to feed, I guess. One of my foster mothers made the best chicken and dumplings. It's still my favorite comfort food, but I'm no good at making the dumplings. They're either raw on the inside or falling apart in the broth."

"We'll have to make them together one day. I'll show you a secret to that," Shirley said.

"Will you really?" Amily asked.

"I'd love it too," Shawn said.

"Could I be the official taste tester?"

Shirley smirked. "You're the only one left at home for which I am daily grateful, but it also means you're the designated hitter for everything now. So yes, you're the taste tester. But tonight, the chicken is fried, not stewed, and I just took the last piece out of the skillet."

"What can I do to help?" Shawn asked.

"Get the plates and flatware out for Amali. She can set the table, and you can mash potatoes. I'm going to finish up the sides."

Amily quickly did her part, then got out of the way. She walked to the kitchen window to look out at the land beyond and saw pasture and outbuildings and trees in the distance that went on forever, blanketed by a fresh fall of snow. Big flakes already beginning to coat the ground.

"It's snowing!" she cried and darted outside before they could react. They both walked to the window to see where she'd gone. She was standing in the yard with her arms out, head tilted back, letting the snow fall on her face.

Shirley saw the expression on her son's face and sighed. "You've fallen for her, haven't you?"

He sighed. "I loved her when I was nine. This is just a reawakening."

Shirley was stunned. "Oh, honey, well, I'm happy for you. Now, I want Aunt Ella to meet her."

Shirley frowned. "Okay, but why Ella specifically?"

"Because I think they're alike. She knows stuff she shouldn't know, and it's bothering her. I think it started after her wreck. I took Amali up to the church in the Wildwood. She's so drawn to the mountain. I was telling her about Brendan and Meg and how she'd gone missing and Brendan had died without knowing what happened to her, and us finding the journal and wanting to find her again."

"What did she say?" Shirley asked.

"I said nothing about the search or where we'd found her, but the moment she touched the little house over Meg's grave, she said something to the effect of how wonderful it was that she'd been found and was no longer alone in the dark."

Shirley shivered, then looked back out the window. "She's lost too, isn't she?"

He shrugged. "She's been lost all her life, even from me. I actually cried the day I went back to school and found out she was gone. I'm not losing her again."

"Oh, son, I didn't know you felt that way. You never said."

He winked. "I was a kid. Guys aren't good at sharing feelings."

And then the back door opened, and Amali came in, talking. "This is the most beautiful place on Earth. You're so blessed to be here and part of the history of the place."

"You're sparkling," Shawn said and lightly brushed snowflakes from her hair.

"Inside and out," Amily said.

"And you're just in time," Shirley said. "Supper's ready."

Shawn seated the women before sitting down. "Shawn keeps feeding me," Amily said as they began filling their plates.

"It's the only excuse I could come up with for the pleasure of seeing your face," he said.

"Then you're going to have to pull a different rabbit out of the hat next time," Shirley said. "Everybody help yourselves. If it keeps snowing, I'm not letting either of you on this mountain road before daylight tomorrow."

"Ever been to a slumber party, Amali?"

Amily poured gravy over her mashed potatoes, then passed the gravy boat to Shawn. "No, but I always wanted to."

"Don't worry," Shawn said. "I have four-wheel drive, and the snow just began. It's probably not even snowing down the mountain. We'll be fine."

"Shoot," Emily said. "I was all set for ghost stories and snuggles."

Shirley smiled to herself as she scooped a spoonful of gravy onto her plate. This girl was going to fit into their crazy family just fine.

They left the house just after 8:00 p.m. with a sack of leftovers for Amali and an open invitation for a lesson in making dumplings when she had the time. She could still feel Shirley's kiss on her cheek and the warm hug before they walked out the door. The snow was still falling, swirling before the headlights like down, and just beginning to stick on the blacktop, but Shawn already had his SUV in four-wheel drive.

"Thank you for today," Amali said.

"Thank you for sharing it with me," Shawn said.

"Always," she said. "In the next few days, I'm going to hit the shops to get quotes for flowers and finger food for my open house, and I don't want to do it by phone. I want to taste stuff, not order it blind." Then she leaned her head back against the seat and glanced out the window beside her into the darkness. "It's sure dark on the mountain. No street lights whatsoever, just a black screen of nothing except a white line in the middle of the blacktop and the car as your cursor."

Shawn was surprised by the imagery and her relating it to his work. "So where's the next link? What do I click on?"

"The lights of the city, and after that, my street, and then my house."

He smiled. "You've played this game before, haven't you?"

"I've thought about it, but there's never been anyone before to play it with," she said, and then glanced at his profile, highlighted by the dashboard lights.

Shawn took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "Why do I feel like the focus of this game just changed and is sliding downhill faster than we are?"

Amily shrugged. "Probably because life cheated us a little, and we've learned the hard way how fast happiness can disappear. I hold on to all things dear."

The skin crawled on the back of Shawn's neck. "Am I one of those things?"

"You are my sunshine," she said softly.

"I have this overwhelming need to kiss you, and I need both hands on the wheel, and I see lights down below. I know I've been ignoring them. I don't want this day to end."

"There will be others. And short of sounding like a stalker, I lost you once. I won't let that happen again." There was a tightening in her chest. At any moment, she felt like she might burst into tears.

"Promise?" she asked.

"Promise," he said.

As he predicted, the farther down the mountain they went, the less it was snowing. By the time he pulled up in her driveway, it was obvious it hadn't snowed here at all. They got out of the car in unison, with Shawn carrying her bag of leftovers into the house and Amily going ahead of him, turning on lights as she went.

"Just set the food on the counter, and thank you for bringing it in," she said, then took off her coat and wrapped her arms around his neck. "One for the road. And don't even talk about what we're both thinking. No slumber party tonight. I want to know you're home safe before the roads get bad up there. And for us, there's always tomorrow. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I found where I belong."

The kiss was unavoidable. Supper had been foreplay; they had been dancing around this moment for hours, but it went from gentle to engulfing within seconds. One moment, Amily was in his arms, and the next thing she was against the wall, pinned between sheetrock and a living, breathing wall of man and muscle. She was at the point of coming out of her clothes when he suddenly lifted his head and stared straight into her eyes. She was still pinned against the wall, so close she could feel the jut of his erection. His breathing was shaky, and yet he hadn't made a move beyond the kiss.

"Don't want to leave you," he said.

She put her hands on his chest, feeling the blood rush of his heart. "And I don't want you to go, but you're going to because it's the sane thing to do, and right now, we're both too close to insanity to make the right choice."

He nuzzled the side of her neck. "Beautiful, sexy, and wise."

"I can't fight that. Text me when you get home so I know you're safe," she asked.

"Yes. Walk me to the door, and then lock it fast before I change my mind."

She sighed. "Where have you been all my life?"

"On hold, pretty girl, on hold." He held her hand all the way to the door. "For now, and for the rest of your life, when you need something, call me. I need to be wanted too." Then he opened the door and got as far as the steps before he turned around. "Lock the door, Emily."

She closed the door between them and turned the lock. Shawn's heart was pounding; his pulse was playing Ricochet from his head to his toes, and he ached to be with her, but not tonight. Instead, he got in the car and drove away.

Amily watched his tail lights until they disappeared, and then she put up the food she'd brought home and stripped and crawled into a tub of hot, steamy water. A cold shower would have been wiser, but it was the wrong weather for that, and it would take more than a cold shower to turn off the fire he'd started with a kiss.

Thirty minutes later, she was still in the tub when her cell phone rang. "Hello?"

"I'm home."

"Are you in bed?"

"I'm soaking in the tub."

"Jesus wept, and thank you for the image," he muttered, then heard soft laughter in his ear.

"It's not funny."

"You're right. This is the saddest, most miserable moment ever."

He sighed. "Okay, point taken. I'm just having a guy moment. It will pass."

"I don't want it to go away, and I honor the intention. I mean, after all, we swore a blood oath to each other on the day of gum in the hair."

"We did?" he asked and heard laughter in her voice again.

"You don't remember? Dang, mister, I've carried that oath with me forever. It became my lucky charm."

"It was the spell you put on me to bind me to you for life." He was grinning now.

"Are you teasing me now?"

"I'm insulted."

"No, I'm not teasing. You had the bullies already laid out on the ground. They were wailing and baaing and bleeding all over the place, and teachers were coming out of the building on the run, and you were helping me up. There was a bloody cut on the palm of my hand, and your knuckles were bloody from the fight. You frowned and said, 'You're bleeding, Molly,' and I pointed at your hand and said, 'You're bleeding too.' Then you got this look on your face, your eyes narrowed, your chin jutted like it always did when you got serious, and you cried out, 'Blood oath!' Then you put your bloody knuckles in the palm of my bloody hand and said, 'Ain't nobody going to ever hurt you again,' and then the teachers dragged us away."

"Oh man, yes, I remember that. My brothers and I were all into playing knights and slaying dragons for the princess, and we played 'Blood Oath' until Mom made us quit because she got tired of scrubbing the blood out of our clothes. You were the only for real princess I ever got a chance to protect."

Amily's voice softened. "And you were the knight in shining armor I needed to appear. So no worries about me disappearing again. You slayed my dragons, you shed blood for me, you won my heart years ago. I think in the lands of knights and dragons and rescued princesses, you already own me. Rest easy, Sir Shawn. All is well with me."

Shawn was still smiling long after she'd hung up, and when he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of dragons bowing down and a sword with a wolf crest, and Amily rising from the ashes.

***

Chapter 9

Snowfall ended before morning. The sight from below had turned the mountain into a giant cupcake with icing on the top. Everyone within the icing was hustling around, getting ready to go to work, and children were begging to go play in the snow before mothers had them fed. Cameron Pope was already outside with his son Mikey making a snowman, while Ghost, who was as white as the snow, was on the porch with Rusty, as big and furry as the German Shepherd he had come from a land of sand and heat and considered anything colder than rain and a fence a couple of miles down the mountain. Rachel Glass was bundling her daughter Lily up in a coat and mittens so she could go outside with Daddy. It was Lewis's day off, and he was devoting the day to his family and the daughter they'd almost lost. Shops were opening in Jubilee, and special shows with winter rate prices were ongoing in the music venues to keep business booming and visitors coming and going. Beneath all the fun and entertainment, Jubilee was a well-oiled dynasty hiding in plain sight.

Amily was kicked back on her sofa with a cup of coffee at hand, going through email on her laptop when it occurred to her that she hadn't checked the spam file since her move, so she opened it to make sure something important hadn't wound up in there. As she was going through the list, she noticed a message from Ancestry.com. Thinking it was probably an advertisement, she almost deleted it and then hesitated, reminding herself there was always hope, and opened it and read it, and her heart nearly stopped. After all these years, she had a match. Her hands were shaking. She wasn't even sure if she remembered her password and jumped up and ran into her home office, dug her little black book out of her desk, and flipped through the pages until she found it and ran back to her computer.

"Oh my God, oh my God," Amily whispered as she logged into her site, then went through the links to get to the name. There was the name Wolfgang Amadeus Outon, with a suggested parental connection. Her heart was pounding. "Is this man my father?" There was a link to contact him via email, and she clicked on it. Her fingers were flying over the keyboard as she sent a message.

"Dear Mr. Outon, my name is Amily Anne Lincoln. I am 27 years old. I am a CPA and own my own business. I grew up in foster care. I have no background or knowledge of my family or parents or where I came from. But Ancestry.com has just notified me that we share a familial connection. If you are interested in connecting with me, please reply to this email or call me at this number. I look forward to your response. Amily."

Then she hit send, leaned back, and stared out the office window at the mountain looming in the distance. "Holy crap, did this just happen?" she muttered. All outside noises faded into the background. She kept telling herself he would surely welcome this news, or he would never have signed up on this kind of site, or maybe not. Maybe it had been true ancestry he'd been looking for, not a byproduct of his youthful past. All she knew was that she wouldn't get her hopes up until she heard a voice, and she knew how to hide expectations. It was back to business as usual. If there was a miracle on her horizon, she would welcome it, but today, her reality was the business she was trying to grow, and it was time to head to town. The urge to call Shawn was huge, but she wasn't talking about any of this until she knew it was a fact.

Shawn was in his office early, doing a remote cleanup for a small business in Bowling Green, completely focused on how they'd been hacked. They'd already lost $5,000 to hackers getting into their bank account, and at the moment, they had frozen their own account until further notice. He had been working for nearly 3 hours when he finally found a malware in their online security that allowed the hackers to get into the weakened system and access the money. After

That it took Shawn another hour to clean it up and reinstall the security with added anti-all. Weare after one last run through and getting it all clear, he called the owners, let them know they were good to go, and sent them an invoice. It was a good morning's work, but it was nearing noon.

He could smell something cooking and headed to the kitchen. Shirley heard him coming up the hall. "You finally came up for air," she said. "I just cleaned a whole lot of bad juju out of a business system."

"All that hard work made me hungry and something smells good."

"I baked a small ham and made a corn casserole and klaa biscuits are in the oven. They'll be done in a couple of minutes. Get yourself something to drink and then we'll eat."

Shawn filled a glass with ice and sweet tea, then walked to the window, admiring the overnight snowfall. "It's beautiful out there, isn't it?" he said.

"Yes, too bad your Amali isn't here. She'd likely be outside tromping around in it," Shirley said.

"My Amali. It had a nice ring," most likely, he said, then took a drink of his tea and set it on the table. "Be right back. I'm going to add another log to the fire."

Wolf Woke Up Before Sunrise, momentarily startled by the unfamiliar shadows of the room until he remembered where he was and why. For a man who had always had his finger on the pulse of the world and his businesses, he was, for the moment, completely disconnected with all of it. It was both unsettling and worrisome to wonder what was happening to his holdings with Fiona at the helm.

And he reached for his phone to check for messages. He had one from Jack and opened it immediately. "Wolf, the FED handling the murder investigation of the crash turns out to be my stepbrother, Special Agent Colin Ramsey. I've given him the details. He's willing to hold off on an official notification of your death, but only until DNA results are in. But he needs to confirm for himself that you are still alive. This is his personal phone number. You need to make it a video call so he can see that it's you. If you need me for anything else, you know what to do."

Wolf threw back the covers and went to get dressed, then headed for the kitchen, turning on lights as he went. First thing on the agenda was coffee. So he filled the well in the curig, popped in a coffee pod, slid a coffee mug beneath the spout, and hit the power button. After that, he began making the rounds inside the house, looking out every window until he was satisfied that he hadn't been followed. By the time he returned, the coffee was ready, and so was he. He took it to the kitchen table, then pulled out his phone and made the call.

Colin Ramsay was just getting out of the shower when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the time and then realized it was a video call coming in. "Out of area," outen he muttered, grabbed a T-shirt and pulled it over his head, wrapped the towel around his waist, and sat down on the side of his bed to answer. The moment he did, Wolf's face was before him.

"Son of a [ __ ]! You are alive!" he said.

Wolf grimaced. "Only because someone set one of my Brazilian refineries on fire. I am assuming you've seen everything I asked Jack to send to you?"

"Yes, and I've spoken to my superior, but you only have until the DNA reports come back confirming the identification of those on board the chopper. Do you really suspect your wife is capable of all this?"

"Yes. Discovering her infidelity was one thing, but she's pulled a couple of stunts the past month that made me realize how little I truly know about her. I always do background checks on people I hire. Maybe I should have done that with the woman I married. But planting a bomb on a chopper? That doesn't fit in with known scenarios of how women kill," Colin said.

"Fiona is a biomedical engineer. She builds one-of-a-kind surgical instruments for surgeons all over the world. She has a master's degree in engineering and a very successful business of her own. And she always insists on packing for me when I travel. So if there was a bomb, and if it was on that Chopper, it's because I carried it to the airport and Stu carried it onto the plane."

"What do you mean?" Colin asked.

"Stu was waiting for me when I got to Sutton Airfield. I had a scheduled board meeting in Jubilee, Kentucky. I'm I'm one of the investors in a big hotel there. Stu learned about the bombing and fire at the refinery when it was called in at the office and for some reason couldn't reach me by phone, so he headed to the Airfield to intercept. He was waiting for me when I arrived. After a brief discussion, he agreed to take my proxy and place at the board meeting in Jubilee and had my pilot and private jet waiting for me at Miami International. Stu and I are were the same height in size. I gave him my bag packed for a couple of days' stay at Jubilee, and he brought the bigger suitcase I keep packed at the office for emergency travel, along with my passport and a decent amount of cash. So if the bomb was in the bag, then Stuart carried it onto the chopper, just as I would have done."

"Okay, then," Colin said. "We'll continue to follow all leads, but with emphasis on what we can find out about her. In the meantime, if you get any further info that would help with the investigation, you have this number. No need for further video; a text on this line will do."

"Thank you, sir, and I understand. Jack Fielding is your stepbrother. You should know that he's also one of three people I trust implicitly in this world, and one of them just died on that Chopper. I want someone brought to justice for that."

"Stuart Bean died because of me. Understood," Colin said. "And my sympathy for your loss."

The call ended, but the day for both of them had just begun. Colin dressed and headed for the office with this new information, while Wolf settled in for the day with his laptop, checking the stock market, reading his newspapers online, still putting off opening email. Even if he saw pressing business, he wouldn't be able to answer it because, in the eyes of the world, he was dead.

The forensic report on Ellis Townley's clothes and apartment was on Detective Mun's desk when he got to work. Miami homicide now had their first lead on a suspect, a man named Vincent Romo. They went to his last known address with an arrest warrant, only to discover he was no longer in residence. Yet another snag in their case. Now they had to find out where he'd gone. It was beginning to appear that both Townley and Romo had a part to play in the chopper exploding and Wolf's subsequent death, but that case belonged to the feds, and Miami homicide needed to offload what they had that did not pertain to their case.

When they got back to the precinct, Muny sat down at his desk and began calling until he got the name of the FBI special agent in charge, and then made another call and waited for the agent to pick up. It was mid-morning, and Special Agent Colin Ramsey was at his computer, running a background check on Fiona Rangley, when his desk phone rang. He picked up the receiver while still focused on the screen.

"Special Agent Ramsey."

"Agent Ramsey, I'm Detective Joe Muny. I work in the homicide division of the Miami PD. During our investigation of a murder here in Miami, we think we might have uncovered links to the crash that killed Wolf Gang Outen in Jubilee, Kentucky. We were told you're the lead investigator on the case. Is this so?"

"Yes, but what led you to this conclusion?" Colin asked.

"We caught a homicide case in an apartment building in a lower-income area of Miami. The dead man was Ellis Townley, AKA 'Roie.' Forensics identified DNA at the murder scene belonging to a known criminal named Vincent Romo. We have an arrest warrant out for Romo, but at the moment, he's in the wind. Here's where your crash feeds into our info: If the midair explosion happened because of a bomb, and if it had been detonated by a phone call, then we have reason to believe Ellis Townley made the call and Romo was the cleanup guy."

The hair stood up on the back of Colin's neck. "I'm listening."

At that point, Muny began to explain from finding Ellis's phone in his car and the receipt from Bullard's campgrounds in Jubilee and confirming his DNA was in a cabin rented under this name that Ellis Townley had been murdered the day after the crash and within an hour of his return to Miami. Muny continued, "During our forensic search at the crime scene, we discovered Ellis's phone and a receipt from the campgrounds in his car. When we called the campgrounds for verification, we spoke to a clerk named Jordan, who had additional info that added to Townley's suspicious behavior. Keep in mind, it's winter in Kentucky and cold as blazes there, and yet the Friday morning of the crash, Jordan claims he saw Townley standing out in a clearing between the office and his cabin for quite a while, continually looking up at the sky with his binoculars and holding a phone. And within minutes of the crash, Townley was in the office checking out in a state of panic. Jordan, the clerk, said a chopper had crashed just outside an elementary school, causing severe damage and injuries, and Townley was ashen and shaking."

Colin frowned. "Right. Of course, we know about the school."

"The last call on Townley's phone was to a burner phone," Muny said. "When we contacted the police, they gave us access to school employees who confirmed the timeline of the warning Mrs. Pope gave to the office to the timeline of the last call made on Townley's phone."

"And Mrs. Pope's warning was within a minute of the last call on Townley's phone?" Colin asked.

Colin took a deep breath. "Okay, I see where you're going. But that's not all," Muny said. "We pulled banking records for Townley and Romo. Both men received large lumpsum deposits into their accounts on the Monday before the explosion. On Friday, Townley's was $10,000, Romo was $25,000. But we don't know who put them there. And this is where our need to know ends and yours begins."

Ramsay was stunned by the developments. "Can you send me all of the files and info you have on this?"

"Yes, sir, with pleasure," Muny said. "We're still after Romo. If we find him, we'll let you know. Unless something happens, he'll likely be charged with Townley's murder, but your team is the one to dig deeper into phone calls and bank deposits."

"Much appreciated," Muny said. "Send your files to my email address here at headquarters. We'll take it from there."

"Happy to help," Muny said. He wrote down the email address Colin gave him, then hung up the phone and began assembling files. A short while later, Colin received the files, made printouts, then set Brokaw on the trail of the money deposits and gave another agent the job of issuing a request for the phone records of both men, while Colin began to dig into Fiona Rangley's background.

Fiona Rangley was fully convinced that no one knew about her fling with Hank Kilmer, and she needed to keep it that way. Since she was Wolf's widow, a perception of propriety and grief was important. There would never be a public reveal of her and Hank's relationship because Hank's wife would have something to say about that. She had been given to understand there were no physical remains of Wolf to recover, only bits and pieces of DNA. It was a shocking realization that a body could just disintegrate.

Now she would wait until the lab's findings officially determined the identities of the crash victims before she could proceed to the business of what to do next. But scheduling a memorial service and a reading of the will would have to wait, and that was something of a nail-biter because she didn't know what was in Wolf's will. They'd signed a prenuptial agreement, so she already knew there were boundaries, but the rest was a mystery, and that made Fiona nervous. She didn't like surprises.

She sat within the silence of her home, thinking through everything she'd set in motion. It was all Wolf's fault, that damn ancestry test. Once she knew he'd sent it off, she spent weeks watching his email for the results. He was off on one of his trips when it came. As usual, after going through her own personal mail, she logged into his email account from her laptop. She knew the password because she trolled the account daily, making sure he wasn't cheating with another woman on the side. Even though she knew it was coming, the day she saw it, she clicked to open it and realized it was the test results he'd sent off, but she didn't have access to the ancestry account, so she couldn't follow through. Angry, she just deleted it from the list. She'd spent four years of her life on this man, grooming their relationship, being the loving, attractive, devoted wife he wanted, and it had been worth it. Wolf was handsome, sexy, and rich as sin, everything she wanted in a man. Ultimately, it would still have come to this end; they always did, but he'd forced her hand. And so she'd gone into her little bag of tricks and made calls and pulled strings and bought off people to create what she needed to make happen. And here is where she'd landed: the rich, grieving widow, awaiting a death certificate to get on with her life.

She'd stayed home from the office today and got up to make herself a drink. It was early in the day, but she could be forgiven for the need. She poured herself a shot of bourbon and carried it to the window overlooking the grounds between the house and the tennis court, then took a sip. Liquid fire, smooth as silk, slid down the back of her throat. It always made her eyes water, but she loved the kick. Then she threw back the shot and swallowed the rest of it like medicine, and closed her eyes, waiting for the fire to reach her stomach.

And in that moment, while she was still riding the burn, a horrible thought occurred: she'd put an end to Wolf Outen, but now that he was officially registered, what if he got a hit from Ancestry.com? [ __ ] [ __ ] [ __ ] [ __ ]! Wolf was gone, his laptop reduced to shrapnel and ashes, but his [ __ ] DNA was now on record for life in that repository. What if someone had already keyed in on his new entry? She made a sharp pivot and went to get her laptop.

Wolf was gone, but nothing about his life had been changed or deactivated. She logged back onto his personal email and began searching. When she saw another ancestry email with the heading "You Have a New Connection," she knew she couldn't open it. She wanted to throw up. If the connection reached out to Wolf, it wouldn't go through the ancestry website; it would come in the form of a personal email to him. All she could do now was continue to troll his email and wait.

Wolf had been on his laptop all morning. He wanted to log on to his bank accounts and check in with his lawyer, but that would open the floodgates of his resurrection, and it still wasn't the time. Instead, he finally began going through the daunting task of sorting through his business email. There were hundreds of them, and the urge to purge was strong, but he didn't have anything else to do, and it was a way to pass the time. It was nearly midafternoon when he paused, then got up and walked away. He was thinking about home and what he wouldn't give for the freedom to walk over to the wet bar and pour himself a drink. Whiskey neat, he muttered, as he popped the top on a can of Coca-Cola. The house was quiet and isolated, and after a few moments, he walked out of the kitchen and onto the backside of the wraparound porch and sat down in one of the cane-back chairs against the wall. He took a quick sip of the cold pop as he surveyed his surroundings. The lagoon behind the house made him wary of alligators. He frowned at the neglected landscaping, knowing he was paying someone for upkeep, and made a mental note to deal with that when he got home. It was chilly today, even with full sun, but it was January, January, George's coldest month of the year, and he was wishing for different clothes than what he had. Next time he left the house to get food and gas, he was going to pick up a couple of sweatshirts, denim pants, and laundry soap. No way to tell how long he would be here, and washing what he had was inevitable.

He sat sipping his drink, still in shock about Fiona. He was 99% sure she was responsible for the bomb and stunned by the level of her betrayal. He'd never seen this coming, never suspected her of deceit until that day she'd found the refu from the testing kit he'd sent to Ancestry.com. Why would she care if he found family unless she was planning his demise and expected to be his only heir?

It was 15 minutes to 5 when he finally went back inside. He wanted a stake, but he would be having ham and cheese on whole wheat bread and be grateful he still had choices. Stuart Bean did not. So he made the sandwich and a cup of coffee and went back to the laptop. Another hour later, and Wolf was down to the last and most recent emails on his business account, all of them advertisements or random companies peddling their wares to a mailing list. When he saw a notice from Ancestry.com, finally, his test results, he opened it, read it, and then created his account. His family tree only had one leaf: his name. He would have to enter his mother and father's names later, but all of their info was at home. Then he scrolled down farther through his email and saw another notice, a possible ancestry link. He frowned. How could he get a personal notice so fast? He went back and checked the date of the first notice; it wasn't recent. Then he checked this notice; it had come days after his first report, and yet he'd seen neither of them on his personal account, and they'd arrived before his supposed death. "What the hell is going on?" Still confused, he opened the second notice and had to read it twice before the info sank in. Then his heart skipped a beat. "A daughter? I might have a daughter? That is [ __ ] impossible!"

He had to take the chance and opened his personal email account. Neither of those messages were there, and they should have been because he'd used both of them as contact addresses and listed the personal one first. Why were they on the business account and not the personal one? He hadn't opened his personal account at all for fear of someone knowing it was active, but he had to find out what was happening and went to the personal account only to find out neither of them were there. But what he did find was a response to the notice of having a match. He opened his ancestry page, went through the info on the possible link, and began to read. And as he did, became horrified at what was unfolding in front of him. If this young woman's DNA was a match to his DNA, then his ex-in-laws had lied through their teeth and given his daughter away. It seemed impossible, but it was the only explanation because after his wife and daughter's deaths, and because of what they'd told him, he'd had a vasectomy to keep from ever fathering a child again. He read the letter again, reading between the lines to the poignancy of the post, and then he Googled the woman's name. Link after link appeared regarding her connection to a CPA firm in Tulsa, and then to a horrifying car crash, and then something about winning a lawsuit against the drunk driver who nearly killed her. Then he found an article with her photo and froze. "Oh my God. Oh my God. Shandy, my Shandy. It's you. She's you!" In that moment, he knew this had to be his child because she was the spitting image of the woman he'd loved and lost. His voice was shaking. He felt like throwing up. "That [ __ ] family! They gave you away because they wanted no part of me! When all of this is over, I'm going to make them wish they were the ones who'd never been born!"

But now that he'd seen her letter and the photo, it didn't answer the question of why he hadn't received his own information from the test he'd sent in. Then it hit him: Fiona. She'd already had a fit about him submitting the test. What if she'd been watching for that email results? She could have been checking my email for days. What if she'd seen it and deleted it because she didn't want me to know? His thoughts were in free fall, but this worked both ways. He didn't want Fiona to know this young woman existed; it could put her in danger too. So he copied her letter to his work email, but his elation in learning he had a daughter came with the gut-wrenching fear that her life was now in danger because of him. If Fiona wanted him dead for his money, then she wasn't going to want to share it with a daughter she didn't know he had. Stuart Bean had already died; he'd be damned before he'd let this happen again. He wanted to call Emily, but his first thought was protecting her, and so he called Colin Ramsay instead.

Colin was sitting on his sofa with a pizza on the coffee table in front of him and a beer at his elbow. Between the info they'd received from Wolf Outen and then the call from Detective Muny in the Miami PD, it felt like the case was beginning to come together. If the leads he'd been given came to fruition, the randomness of it all was boiling down to a greedy woman. They were still waiting on reports from the evidence gathered at the crash site, but progress was slow, low due to the sheer quantity of it. He just chewed and swallowed his last bite and was reaching for another slice when his cell phone rang. Out of area was all the screen showed on caller ID, but he guessed it was Wolf.

"Hello, this is Colin."

"It's me," Wolf said. "I don't suppose you have any firm evidence yet to link Fiona to this mess?"

"No, we don't, Wolf. What's wrong?"

"I just discovered something that is concerning to me and I'm not sure how to handle it." And then he went into the whole explanation and ended with, "What should I do? I'm afraid not to warn her, but without being certain it's Fiona at the bottom of it, I don't know who to warn her from."

"What if she's not your daughter?" Colin asked.

"You'd still want to confirm it through another DNA test."

"Ancestry already did that for us, and when I saw her photo, I knew it was her. She's a mirror image of her mother, Shandy, who was my first wife."

"So how did you lose a baby if you had a wife?"

"I was overseas working on an oil rig at the time. You know there was big money in Saudi oil patches back then, and I was gone for months at a time. We were living with her parents, and Shandy was 5 months pregnant when I left again. The paycheck for the job would set us up in our own place. I'd been there for months and was due to fly back in 3 weeks when I got a call that Shandy had gone into an early labor. It was a bad scene. I hopped the first plane out, but by the time I got there, she'd already delivered and was dying from a brain bleed, one of those unknown aneurysms people have and never know about until they blow. Her parents told me the baby had been born dead and severely malformed. They'd already had it removed to a crematorium. Shandy died in my arms less than an hour after my arrival. I was out of my mind with grief and disbelief, and the day after the funeral, they kicked me out of their lives. All I can think is that the [ __ ] gave away the baby because they wanted no part of me."

Colin was shocked. "That's appalling. I can't imagine how you're feeling right now, but I think we both need to sleep on this a day or two. Give me a little time to get the background check we're running on Fiona before we make any decisions."

"Okay, but only a day or two. I've lost 27 years of my daughter's life. Life is short and unpredictable. I don't want to die with her thinking I didn't want her."

"Understood. And it's always your call to break the news of your resurrection anytime you see fit. Just let us know in advance before you do."

"We'll do," Wolf said. "Thanks."

The call ended. Colin put his phone aside and reached for another slice, but even as he was eating it, he realized his appetite was gone. He couldn't quit thinking about the tragedy and how Wolf's life had unfolded afterward, wondering if it was anger or grief that had driven him to become the man he was today.

After talking to Colin, Wolf went back to his personal site to read Amal's letter again, and to his horror, it was gone. Fiona! Oh God, she'd read it, deleted it, like everything else. But she knew. This changed everything.

Chapter 10

It became a time of sit and wait for all concerned. The Miami police were still looking for Vincent Romo. The feds investigating the crash were still sorting through evidence, although it appeared the bomb had been triggered by a phone call, which linked the info from Miami directly to their case. Wolf Outen made a foray into a small nearby town for a larger supply of food and some hair dye and to pick up some warmer, more casual clothing and some cheap reader eyeglasses. His heart hurt for the daughter waiting for a reply to her email that hadn't come. He could only imagine what she must be thinking, but he was about to put an end to her waiting and stop wallowing in his personal rage over what Chand's parents had done.

Back in Jubilee, the snow had melted on the mountain, and when it did, Shawn came down. He was bringing Amal a present: two boxes with bookshelves in need of assembly for the books she had yet to unpack. He had nothing on his agenda, and his mother was visiting family. Amali was excited Shawn was coming and had spent yesterday cleaning house and cooking. Today, they would not go out to eat; this time, it would be her treat. She'd put on her favorite sweats, a pair of thick fuzzy socks, and no shoes. She had the gas fireplace going in her living room, and after the day had turned out so windy, she'd upped the thermostat to 74 to keep the chill off the house. She was switching laundry from washer to dryer when her doorbell rang. The church bell chimes had become the joke between them, and she was already smiling when she opened the door.

"Welcome to the Lincoln Chapel. Come in out of the cold," she said.

Shawn scooped her up in his arms and gave her a quick hug and kiss, then stepped back. "I have gifts," he said and pulled two large flat boxes into the house before closing the door.

"Shawn, what in the world?"

"Bookshelves for your books."

"But they're not put together."

"I brought tools," Shawn said and watched her eyes light up as he hung his coat on a peg by the door and then pulled a couple of screwdrivers, a wrench, and a pair of pliers from the coat pocket.

"I am so excited! Thank you, what a darling, thoughtful thing to do," she said and hugged him.

Shawn grinned. "I can't help it. I am a darling, thoughtful person."

Amali shook her head. "Your welcome would have been sufficient. Want to do this now, or since it's a little trashy to walk in the door and strip you naked, let's do bookshelves and lunch and work our way forward," he said and began opening the first box.

A little shiver of want rolled through her as she watched him tearing into the box and removing the contents. A sheet of instructions was taped to the bottom of one shelf. "There are the instructions," she said.

"I don't need them," Shawn said and opened the little bags with two sizes of screws and the pegs for the shelves.

Amali rocked back on her knees. "Oh no, you're one of those."

He grinned. "No, I've already put together four just like this for my office."

"Fair enough. Am I to sit back and admire your skill and dexterity, or am I allowed to help?" she asked.

"You can totally help if you want, but since I work alone, an audience would be awesome."

"I choose to sit and watch you because you're so pretty."

Shawn wadded up the instructions and threw them at her. She laughed, and their day together began.

After the nonsense wore off, Amal's thoughts wandered. She wanted to talk about the message from Ancestry, but she didn't want the pity or Shawn trying to commiserate with her, so she stayed silent, keeping the humiliation to herself. As soon as the first shelf was put together, Shawn put it on one side of her fireplace and moved the unopened box of books beside it. Amali immediately plopped down and began transferring books from the box to her new shelving. Shawn paused in the act of opening the second box to watch. She was a beautiful and obviously competent woman, but in some ways, he still saw the child in her, looking for approval, wanting to belong. She'd grown up lonely. He wanted to fill her up with so much love and attention that she never felt lonely again, but there was a fine line between attention and smothering, and he never wanted to be that man. She would come to him if and when she wanted, or not at all, and it would change nothing in his heart. She would always be his first love.

After the second shelf was done and the last box of books unpacked, they gathered up the packing and boxes and carried them to the trash bin, then hurried back inside. Amali was beaming. "Look how pretty they balance out the room, and the dark color of the wood grain is exactly my taste. All teasing aside, thank you, Shawn. The gifts in my life have been few and far between, but you are the best gift of all."

Shawn walked up behind her, slid his arms beneath her breasts, and pulled her back against his chest. She leaned into his body, her head beneath his chin, and let the silence envelope them. Then Shaun's phone rang. He groaned. "If it's work, somebody is going to have to wait." "Wa," he muttered, then saw caller ID and read the text. "False alarm. Mom's just letting me know she's leaving Betty Reigns's house and heading up the mountain to check on Uncle John. She checks in because I asked her to, that way I know where to go looking if she doesn't show up."

Amali turned to face him. "Family isn't just who you love or who you're related to. Family is insurance too, right? I mean, you always know there's someone who will worry if you don't show up, someone you're accountable to, someone who'd know you'd gone missing."

He cued her face and brushed a kiss across her lips. "You could always check in with me. I would consider it an honor."

"Then if I have the occasion to leave town, I will let you know when I do and where I'm going."

"Okay, okay," he said. Then followed her to the kitchen table as she took a big pot from the refrigerator and set it on the stove to reheat. Wind rattled the dry bushes against the house. This felt like Oklahoma weather in winter, cold and windy, and hardly any snow. At least here it did snow without added insult of freezing rain. The tradeoff was welcome, and she was glad she'd decided on chili and jalapeno hush puppies for lunch. She turned on the fire under the pot of chili, then turned on the deep fryer to the correct temperature and left it to heat while she mixed up the batter.

"Sean," he looked up. "Yeah?"

"I'm putting Jalapenos in the hush puppies. What's your heat level?"

"Wow, that sounds good. Make them like you like them, and it will work for me." She forked a bunch of pickled slices out of the jar and began chopping them up on the cutting board, then Rak them into the hush puppy mix and gave it a stir. A few minutes later, the chili was beginning to bubble, the deep fryer was at optimum temperature, and she began dropping in the batter, a spoonful at a time. By the time she'd finished, she had a shallow bowl heaping full of crunchy bites.

"Lunch is ready."

Shawn got up. "Everything smells so good. Do you want the pot of chili on the table?"

"Yes, please, on that trivet," she said, pointing to the one already on the table. He took the hot pot, and she carried the bowl of hush puppies, then they both went back for their drinks and finally sat down to eat.

Amal had her spoon in her bowl of chili, but she was waiting to see Shawn's reaction as he took the first bite. "Oh my God, this is good," he mumbled, and as soon as the first bite went down, he chased it with a hush puppy and rolled his eyes. "Crunchy bite of delicious," he said, and added a handful around the bowl on his plate. Plate. Amali breathed a sigh of relief. He liked it. After that, she dug into her food without hesitation. The meal continued with her upcoming open house as the main topic, and he could tell she was a little anxious about attendance.

"I don't think you have a thing to worry about. The locals are always curious about new business; they'll all want to see it for themselves and meet you."

"Regardless, will you still be able to stop by?" she asked.

"You still planning for the end of this week?"

"Yes, Friday from 10:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m."

"Then I'll be there, and surely if she wants to come, Emily added."

"Trust me, she'll be there. She's already talking about what she's going to wear," Shawn said.

"I've dithered with that a bit myself," Amal said.

"Don't even dwell on that. You'll rock the look, no matter what."

She sighed. "You make me forget about the scars."

He frowned. "What scars?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, it's the first thing people notice."

"Not me," Shawn said. "The first thing I noticed was your cute butt, then your long legs. Of course, you did have your back to me, but it was a great start. And then you turned around, and I saw that white streak in your hair, your your beautiful face, and your eyes. They're so blue. Blue is my favorite color, by the way. But it was that haunting familiarity that stayed with me."

His words were so endearing, but she couldn't let herself acknowledge them without crying, so she made fun of herself instead. "So are you suggesting I greet everyone, but first?"

Shawn burst out laughing. "Hell, if I know, but it would raise some eyebrows, and I'm all for breaking rules."

"RS if we're done with lunch, I'll help you clean up."

"Just carry the chili back to the stove and put the lid on the pot. It needs to cool off before I do anything with it."

"What about the hush puppies?" he asked.

She looked at the bowl and then at Shawn. "There are only three."

"You can't toss them in the trash," he said. "I'll just set it over here for later. When BJ was still home, we never had leftovers. He just ate until the bowls were empty."

"Poor Shirley," Emily said. "Just starved a lot of you, didn't she? It's obvious it stunted your growth."

Shawn leaned back, rubbing his stomach. "I'm too full to argue. Can I stay and play for a while?"

Amali grinned. "Absolutely. What do you want to do? Watch TV? I have board games. Go for a walk? I don't care. This day is for you."

At that moment, for Shawn, all teasing stopped. In a house full of boys and one harried, overworked mother, there had never been a day just for him, not even on his birthday because his father had always [ __ ] it up. He'd never realized until now, when she said that with such innocence, how truly precious a gift she'd just given him. He wanted to say something, but he was afraid he'd choke up, and men don't cry, especially in front of women. He took a breath and then reached for her hand. "I just want to be in your presence. From our first day of school, when I walked into the lunchroom and saw you sitting at the end of a table, and I wished I had the guts to sit beside you so you wouldn't be alone, to this full circle moment, having sat at your table, eating food that you made for me."

Amal blinked. Her eyes welled. "I don't understand quite how fate brought us back into the same circle, but I'm suddenly realizing how blessed I was then and didn't even know it."

"Would you be up for just going for a walk?"

"If you're involved, I'm in," Shawn said. He grabbed the pot of chili, carried it to the stove, and put the lid on it. Set the bowl with three hush puppies on the counter while Amaly rinsed their dirty dishes and put them in the dishwasher. They turned facing at each other as at the same time. Amal could see the look on his face. "You're going to kiss me, aren't you?" she said.

"Can't help it," he said. "Just one for the road." And swooped fireworks. When they came up for air, Shawn was still holding her, reluctant to let her go.

"Ready for that walk?" he asked.

Amal's heart was pounding. "I'm ready for anything. Let me get my coat."

The cold air in Amal's face always felt like an awakening, like a burst of adrenaline. She took a deep breath, then watched the little cloud form from the heat of her breath. Shawn reached for her hand as they set off. When they reached the end of her driveway, he paused.

"Which way do we go?"

Amal hesitated. "That way," they said.

A little chill ran up the back of Shawn's neck. "She is hearing voices again and doesn't even realize what she's saying."

"Did they say why?" he asked.

She frowned, then looked up at him as they were walking. "What? Who's 'they'?"

"Never mind," he said, and then saw a balloon drifting high up in the air and changed the subject. "Look at that red balloon. I wonder how far that little guy has traveled."

She smiled. "I'll bet there's a child somewhere who cried when that happened. In the summer, when my brothers and I were young, we used to fill balloons with water and then throw them at each other. We thought it was hysterical fun, except for having to pick up the remnants afterward. Having siblings has to be the best thing ever. Did you sleep together too?"

"Oh, sure. Aaron and I were the two oldest, Wy and BJ the next. We paired up like that with all the fussing over pulling covers and boy stuff until we outgrew the beds. After that, we had twin beds, but we could never tuck the sheets in at the end because our feet and legs always hung over." She grinned, imagining four little boys turning into the giants they were today, and surely trying to keep them fed and in clothes.

"What about you?" Shawn asked.

Amali rolled her eyes. "Foster kids. Always two to a bed, sometimes three. In every family I lived with, there was always one bed wetter or one who cried themselves to sleep or one who was mean. It was hard to sleep with all that."

Shawn hurt for the matter-of-fact way that she'd accepted her lot in life. "No child should ever be abandoned. How did you make peace with that, always having to find your place within a new environment?"

"By staying in the shadows, being as silent and obedient as I knew how. Not making waves, at least until I grew older and wound up taller than than most of them."

"Did any of them ever hurt you?"

She tightened her grip on his fingers, but never looked up. "You mean, did they try to get in my pants? Yes, but it was covert, and by then I'd learned how to fight back. I was never molested, never raped, just never loved."

"[ __ ]!" Shawn said. She glanced up. The rage in his eyes was startling.

"Don't feel sorry for me."

"Am I allowed to be pissed off at the injustice of your life?" he asked.

"Yes." They kept walking. Shawn took a deep breath. "So now I'm asking permission to step into an obvious void in your life and love you for always."

Amaly stopped and turned to face him. "God, here we are again, in broad daylight, in front of God and everybody, and all I want to do is die a little death in your arms."

His eyes narrowed, his head lowered. "Then kissed her in front of God and everybody."

"The French have such a pretty way to describe sex, do they not? Maybe because sex with someone you love is such a beautiful thing," she said.

"I would say yes to that assumption," he said. "So, what do the voices say? Do we keep walking?"

Suddenly, they heard the sound of crashing metal and breaking trees, and then a car horn, horn blaring without stopping. But from where they were standing, it began echoing within the valley. Amali grabbed Shaun's arm. "She went off the road into a ravine. There's a baby! The highway! Get to the highway! We will see smoke coming up through the trees!" They started running toward the intersection, and within seconds of getting there, saw smoke rising through the trees a couple of hundred yards to the east.

"Call 911," Shawn said and took off running.

Amal's hands were shaking as she made the call. "9911, what is your emergency?" the dispatcher asked.

"Car wreck east of town on the south side of the highway. You'll see smoke."

"I'm dispatching services now," the dispatcher said. "Stay on the line with me."

Amali heard the calm in the dispatcher's voice. Moments later, she was back on the phone. "What is your name?"

"Amily Lincoln. Shan Pope was with me. He's already running toward the scene."

"Do you know how many are in the vehicle?"

"We didn't see it happen, but we heard it, then saw the smoke. Someone ran off the road down into a ravine." Then she dropped the phone in her pocket and took off running. Shawn was already a good 50 yards ahead of her and flying. She wasn't going to ever catch him, but she wasn't the kind to stay behind.

Jubilee PD immediately dispatched patrol cars and rescue units to the scene. Both Pope Brothers responded to the call with their partners, as did a half dozen other officers. As they drove up on the scene, their first sight was of a woman up on the shoulder of the road, holding a baby. The baby was screaming, and so was the woman. Tears were running down her face as she held the baby close, and she was screaming Shawn's name.

"Hurry, Sean, hurry! I'm starting to see flames!"

Aaron's heart skipped a beat. "See what and where?"

Was Shawn? He couldn't see anything. He ran to the side of the road, saw his brother at the crash site, then grabbed his fire extinguisher and headed into the ravine with his partner, Yancy, at his heels.

"Shawn, get back!" Aaron shouted and began spraying the fire. Shawn ducked, turned his back to the spray, as he kept trying to cut the seat belt off the woman who was trapped. Yancy had a knife as well, and together they finally got her freed, but she was unconscious and no way to tell where she was hurt. Moving her could make it worse. Her face was bloody from hitting the steering wheel, but the fire was almost out, and Wy and his partner were now down at the site with their fire extinguishers too. By the time the fire truck and ambulance arrived, the officers had the fire out, and the woman was regaining Consciousness.

Once all of the emergency response teams were on scene, Shawn stepped aside. He'd already made one trip up the ravine to give the baby to Amaly, and the horror on her face when he went back down again was forever etched in his mind. This time, when he reached the top, he went straight into Amal's arms.

"Where's the baby?" he asked.

"EMTs already have her," she said.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," Shawn said. "First the chopper, now the car."

"Did she get burned?" Emily asked.

Shawn pulled back. "No, baby. No. I don't know what injuries she has, but she didn't get burned."

"How did you know?"

"To walk in this direction. If you hadn't listened to the voices, we would have walked the other way. If we'd walked the other way, we wouldn't have been close enough to hear the wreck. If we hadn't heard the wreck, they would have both burned to death before anyone."

Ever knew the car was in that ravine? She was cold, so cold. Her face was numb, but the shock she was feeling came from realizing she'd been saying stuff about the voices aloud. "I don't know, sometimes I just hear them."

"Have you always heard them?" he asked.

"I don't think so. The first time I can remember, it was when I was trapped in the burning car. My pants were already burning, and I heard a voice say, 'You're going to be okay.' And I was. Please don't freak out on me about this."

He hugged her again. "Darling, as far as I'm concerned, you're just a shade on the light side of magic. And if you start throwing glitter, I want some fallen on me."

She started to cry, soft tears. Tears of relief that he was safe, that the woman and child had been rescued. And that's how Aaron found them, standing on the side of the road, wrapped in each other's arms. He walked up behind Shawn and then put a hand on his shoulder. "You okay, brother?"

Shawn nodded. "Need a ride back somewhere?" he asked.

Shawn nodded again, still holding her.

"Are we going to go far?" Aaron asked.

Shawn sighed. "No, just three blocks from your house."

"Got it," Aaron said. "Give me a sec to let Yansy know and I'll be back with my patrol car."

Shawn gave Amily a quick hug. "Got a tissue?"

She nodded. "Then wipe your eyes and blow your nose. Big brother is about to give us a ride home and get you out of the cold, okay?"

She mumbled and dug in her coat pockets until she found a couple of wadded-up tissues and did as he suggested.

"You even blow your nose? Cute," it sounded a little like a mouse squeak.

Amal shook her head. "I may die from the ardent love words that you speak."

Shawn was satisfied he'd shifted her focus from the shock. "And here comes Aaron," he said.

"I remember him too," she said. "The boy with the Mohawk."

Shawn laughed. "That was him at the age of 10. He just found out we had an indigenous ancestor, and since he wasn't into growing his hair long, he opted for that cut, even with Mom standing there telling him we weren't any part Mohawk."

"Better than getting shaved bald because of gum," she said.

And then Aaron was out of the car and opening the door. When Aaron saw her, he realized this was the woman Wy told him about, the one who knew about the lost tooth and the mashed potatoes. Instead of offering to shake her hand, he just hugged her.

"Amaly, welcome to the family."

"The boy with the Mohawk," she said. "Thank you. I'm happy to be here."

Aaron grinned. "I was going through my indigenous phase. Hop in the car, you can sit up front with me, close to the heater. You're cold as ice. Little brother won't mind the back seat."

Shawn gave his brother a look. They both knew the legroom in the backseat of a cop car was next to none, and he was going to have to fold all 6'5" of himself in and like it. But Amily wasn't having it. "No, Shawn is not getting in the back seat. He's too tall. He just ran a marathon to get to that crash down a ravine at full speed and came back the same with that baby, then back down again to the woman who was trapped. Get in the front seat, Sean."

Shawn looked over the top of the cruiser and grinned.

Aaron smirked. "You probably don't deserve her, but congrats anyway, Bro. You've got yourself a fireball."

The drive back was quick. Amali was listening to the brothers patter, hearing the respect and love in their voices. When they pulled up in the driveway, she started to get out, then realized this was where people rode who got arrested, and she had to wait for one of them to open the door to let out. It was Shawn. As soon as she was clear of the car, he shut the door, then leaned in the window.

"Thanks for the ride, Aaron."

"Sure thing. Good thing you two went for that walk," Aaron said.

Amali watched as he backed out of the driveway and sped away. "I'm selfishly glad you chose a different career path," she muttered.

"So am I. Now let's get in where it's warm."

They shed their coats as soon as they were inside, then Amaly turned the thermostat up a notch for quick heat. "I'm going to make coffee," she said.

He looked down at his hands. "I need to clean up."

Amali frowned. "Is any of that blood yours?"

"No," he said, and headed for the bathroom. She went to the kitchen to wash up at the sink, then started the coffee. The house was quiet and warm, and a far sight from the trauma they'd just witnessed. The baby screams were still echoing in her ears when shock finally set in. Her legs went weak, and then she was sliding down the side of the island and into the floor. She hugged her knees, lowered her head, and closed her eyes, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

And that's how Shawn found her. Within seconds, she was off the floor and in his arms. "I'm okay, I'm okay," she kept saying as he was carrying her down the hall.

"Hush now, darling. You just had a whole episode of PTSD, and we both know it. You're in shock, and you're freezing cold. Let me help you."

She quit fighting the inevitable and went limp as he sat her on the side of her bed, then pulled back the covers. Before she knew it, he was kneeling at her feet, removing her shoes, then tucking her into bed, clothes and all.

"Don't go," she whispered.

"You couldn't make me," Shawn said, then kicked off his boots and lay down on top of the covers, curled up around her, and pulled her close. For Amali, it was like being engulfed within a cocoon. She'd never felt this safe or this loved. She closed her eyes. Shawn held her, feeling the tension in her body slowly relaxing, and the even rise and fall of her breath. And then he heard her whisper, "Sorry, I'm so screwed up."

He started to respond, and then realized she was talking in her sleep. "No more than the next guy. You're not," he muttered, and scooted closer.

Amali was dreaming. The car in front of her spun out, slid into the median, and then back into the lane of traffic and broadsided her. Now she was spinning and screaming, knowing when it stopped, she would either be hurt or dead. She woke up with a gasp and rolled over, right into the front of Shawn Pope's chest. He raised up on one elbow and smoothed the hair away from her face. "You're okay, baby. You were dreaming."

Her heart thumped. They were in bed together, more or less. She didn't know whether to panic or strip. She grimaced. "I live for the day when this memory fades. Constant reminders don't help, and your experience is still new, just a little over two years, right? Give yourself a break."

He leaned over and brushed a kiss across her lips. "I've got you wrapped up like a burrito. Did you finally get warm?"

She nodded. "I never did get that coffee made."

"Do you want some?" he asked.

"Not any longer. A cold shower, maybe?"

He grimaced. "Our timing is a joke, isn't it? Graveyard snowstorm to full of chili car wreck. They all tend to ruin the moment." Then he rolled out of bed and helped her up. "It's getting late. I have chores to do up on the mountain, and your open house is on Friday."

"Yes to both. I'll open the office Monday morning. After that, I'm at work all week and Saturday until noon."

He took her in his arms. "I'll be at your office this Friday at 10:00 a.m. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

She slid her arms around his neck. "I'm anxious but excited, and so grateful you'll be there."

"A promise is a promise," he whispered, and then pointed to her bed. "The next time I'm here, we're going to wind up in there."

"I'll hold you to that," she said. "Be safe, and my best to Shirley."

One last kiss, and he was gone. It was nearly sundown. Time to put this day to rest.

***

Chapter 11

The next few days passed in a flurry of anxiety and busy work, but on Friday morning, Amaly was at the office by 9:00 a.m. to receive the deliveries of floral and baked goods. She had a small table set up against the wall for refreshments. The floors were shining, the pillows on her sofa were perfectly plumped, and she had an open house banner outside, hanging below her name. The flowers came first, two bouquets, one on the reception desk and a smaller green ivy on the coffee table in front of the sofa. But to her surprise, other florists began arriving with congratulatory arrangements, one from the bank next door where she'd opened her account, and another from PCG Inc, the company that owned this building. The baked goods from Granny Annie's Bakery came next. By the time Shawn arrived, she had everything in place and was sitting quietly in one of the chairs beneath the painting of Pope Mountain, contemplating the enormity of how far she'd come. It hadn't been an easy journey, but she'd do it all over again, just for the pleasure of being part of Shawn Pope's life. She was disappointed about her ancestry link, but she had to let it go. Whoever her parents were, they hadn't wanted her. Before it made sense that they wouldn't want to know her now, maybe it had to do with guilt, not wanting to face someone they'd given away.

Then Shawn walked in, carrying roses, and put them on the reception desk and whistled beneath his breath as she came to meet him, wearing a fitted pants suit and heels that made her long legs look even longer. He groaned. "Red and black power colors, and sexy as hell. Why do I have this sudden need to publicly stake a claim before every single guy in town sees you?"

The smile slid off her face. "Don't worry, you did that the day you beat up the bullies, and you're the first man to give me roses, so you're already doing everything right. Thank you. They're beautiful," she said, and kissed him.

As she was turning away to admire the roses, she saw Shirley pulling up to the curb. "Yay, your mom is here."

Shawn turned. "She brought Aunt Ella."

Amal froze. "The one who's psychic?"

"Yes, and Aunt Ella doesn't come down the mountain for much these days. Prepare yourself."

"Oh Lord," Emily said. "Should I be worried?"

"No, but when she leaves, you will have been informed," he said, and then winked. "I'm going to help Mom get Aunt Ella out of the car. She's in her 90s."

Amaly's heart was in her throat as she watched Shawn bold. He was a giver and a caretaker and a provider of all things necessary, and she knew he loved her. She was a little anxious about meeting the mountain elder, but she was holding the door open as the trio entered. The old woman was tall and thin, with a long, thick braid of white hair wrapped around her head, and wearing black beneath a long gray coat. Amaly could see the Pope bloodline in her face.

"Welcome, Miss Ella. My name is Emily Lincoln. Thank you for coming."

"Surely, you are so sweet to come support my new venture," Shirley was all smiles as Shawn helped Ella out of her coat and situated her on the sofa.

"Don't fuss," Ella said as she settled onto the sofa, and then looked straight into Amaly's eyes. "Come sit with me," she said, and the moment Amaly's backside hit the cushion, Ella turned to face her. "I saw you coming in my dreams." Then she touched the white streak in Amaly's hair. "The mark of an old wound, not in this lifetime, from before."

Amali was transfixed. Shawn was standing behind her, his hand on her shoulder for support, and she hoped to God nobody walked in before this woman had her say. It was like touching a history she'd never had.

Ella kept staring into Amaly's eyes. "You don't know your people, but one knows knows you. Patience. He needs patience."

Amal shivered. "Oh my God."

"May I?" Ella asked and held out her hand. Amali clasped it and felt a warmth running all the way up her arm. "We're connected, but you already know that, don't you?"

Amaly nodded, her eyes were welling, but she didn't want to cry. Ella touched the scar on Amaly's chin, and then the burn scars on her neck. "They protected you. It wasn't your time to die." She pointed at Shawn. "He's been waiting for something all his life. It was you." Then Ella glanced over at the painting. "The mountain called you, didn't it?" Her voice softened, her draw deepened. "Be at peace here, Amale. This is where you belong."

Ella saw the tears and knew the longing within the girl. "Don't be afraid of what you already know how to do. It is a gift given to few. Do you understand?"

Amal was shaking. "Yes, ma'am."

"Ella gave her hand a soft squeeze. "Not ma'am. Aunt Ella will do." Then she glanced over at the table full of goodies. "By any chance, do those come from Annie's Bakery?"

Amal nodded. "Would you like some?"

"I believe I would. And I'll let you choose for me. I like surprises."

"Shawn, I'd take a cup of coffee if you don't mind. It's nippy outside."

Shawn and Amily headed to the table, their shoulders touching, unaware they were walking in unison. But Ella saw it.

"Shirley sighed. "Was I right, Aunt Ella?"

Ella nodded. "They belong together. And she's got the sight. That wreck turned it on. Nearly dying will do that."

"This makes me happy," Shirley said.

"Said the child has grown up alone," Ella said nothing, but she already knew Amali wasn't alone in the world. She had family. They were still lost to each other, but that would change in the days to come. The whole family knew how Ella loved her coffee, two sugars and a splash of cream. Shawn was stirring it into the cup, watching Amaly choosing a tiny pecan tart and a bar cookie filled with fruit and three colorful meringues. He leaned closer. "I'm sorry I feel like Mom and Aunt Ella blindsided you. I didn't have a clue any of this was happening. Are you okay?"

Amali's eyes were bright with unshed tears, but she was smiling. "I am more okay than you can imagine. It was a gift to treasure. I'll fill you in later."

Shawn saw the truth on her face and relaxed. If she was good with it, then so was he. After that, it wasn't long before people began arriving, and Shawn sat back, watching her turn into Amal Lincoln, CPA, a woman with a mission. She was near the door, greeting new arrivals, then mingling with the gathering crowd as they admired her office and the painting of Pope Mountain, which had become the centerpiece of her decor.

Michael Devon, the manager of Hotel Devon, had been at the bank next door when he saw her open house banner and instead of getting in his car, went in. He recognized Shawn Pope and nearly everyone else in the room and decided the young dark-haired woman shaking hands with everyone must be a Lincoln, CPA.

"Welcome to Jubilee," Michael said. "I'm Michael Devon of Hotel Devon. It's always great to see new businesses sprouting up."

"Thank you, Mr. Devon. I'm very excited to be here. I'm Amily Lincoln. There's coffee and refreshments on the far table, and I see someone already trying to catch your eye," she said.

Michael smiled. "That's Liz Caldwell, my fiancée. She's the event coordinator at the Serenity Inn."

"Any relation to the owner, Ray Caldwell?" Emily asked. "Her father?"

"And speaking of Ray, that's him coming in now. Hope you have a great day," Michael said and headed across the room to where Liz was standing.

Amali hadn't met Ray, but she knew him on sight and was completely focused on him as he came toward her, barely noticing the well-dressed blonde coming in behind him.

"Mr. Caldwell, how kind of you to come. I was a guest at your hotel last fall," Amal said.

"So I've been told. My staff saw your open house notice in the paper and recognized your name. They assured me I should meet you."

"You must have been a memorable guest," Amali laughed. "I promise I didn't have wild parties in my room, but I was there for 2 weeks. I think they thought I'd moved in."

Ray beamed. "Wonderful, wonderful. Anyway, I just wanted to come by and welcome you to Jubilee. I am honored. Refreshments are on the table, help yourself and visit a bit if you'd like."

"Thank you," he said. He picked up one of her business cards from the reception desk and then moved along.

That's when Amal noticed the blonde. The moment their gazes met, the woman stepped forward and began talking to Amaly, but she wasn't looking at her; she was staring at all the scars. It was something Amal dealt with all the time, but it still irked her that the woman was talking to her ear and neck and not to her.

"Nice place you have," the blonde said.

"I'm Maryles," Amalia said nothing, waiting for the woman to shift her gaze. All of all of a sudden, Mary realized the woman hadn't answered. She shifted her gaze to Amil's face, then flushed when she realized the woman had just called her out on her rudeness without saying a word.

"Sorry, I was... I was distracted," she said.

Emily nodded graciously. "I noticed."

Mary flushed, she'd been caught out and didn't like that. "Yes, but I won't interrupt your event today by talking business. I'll take a card and a brochure with your info, if you don't mind, and get in touch with you at a later date."

Amal didn't believe her. The woman had no interest in hiring her. She didn't know what her game was, but she wasn't going to waste time trying to woo her. Instead, she handed her a card and one of the brochures. "Coffee and refreshments are on the back table, please help yourself."

Mary tucked the card into her purse and smiled again. "Thank you, I will."

Amali turned away, and within moments, a reporter and photographer arrived from the local paper to take some pictures for the Sunday edition. She paused to answer their questions for the piece, posed for pictures with several guests, and then left the photographer to snap at will. At that point, she turned around to look for Shawn and saw him watching her. When he gave her a thumbs up, she smiled.

About an hour into the event, Aunt Ella announced she was ready to leave. Shawn left the party long enough to help get her back into the car, and as soon as she was buckled in, Ella had her last say. "She's a keeper, Shawn. Bring her to see me sometime. She's still trying to find her way."

"Yes, ma'am. You two stay out of trouble, Mom."

"You know how to reach me if the need arises," he said.

"We'll be fine. You go do you," Shirley said.

Shawn waved them off and then headed back inside and quietly replenished goodies on the table and started a brew of fresh coffee. His job today was to stay in the background as backup. He'd been watching people coming and going with true delight. Amali's day was a rousing success, as best he could tell. Every person who'd come to the event was a local business owner or a local resident. He didn't think there was a random tourist among them, except maybe for the blonde woman who'd walked in behind Ray Caldwell. She was a stranger to him, and he assumed she'd seen the open house sign from the street and just wandered in. He saw her talking to Amal and realized something was off when he saw the expression on Amaly's face. After that, he kept a close eye on the woman, wondering if she and Amaly knew each other from before because the woman had given Amaly a look he didn't like. It was somewhere between disdain and disapproval. When she turned toward the fresh food table, he snapped a couple of pictures of her on his phone. When she reached the table, he saw her eye the food like she was judging a contest and then turn and walk away as if she'd found it lacking. Then she turned and again stared at Amaly as if she were mud under her feet. He snapped a picture of her again and then started toward her, but before he got to her, she'd taken leave on her own. He walked to the window to see what she was driving, but she just kept walking down the street, so he shrugged off the feeling and let it go. He'd ask Emily about her later.

Hours later, Fiona Rangley was back at Sutton Airfield, disembarking from the helicopter she'd chartered to take her to Jubilee and heading to her car. She was still patting herself on the back for thinking to check Wolf's personal email via her own laptop. She hadn't gotten where she was today without caution and perfect planning, and seeing that email from a woman claiming to be Wolf's daughter had nearly stopped her heart.

"DNA? Why didn't people leave well enough alone? Miss Amily Lincoln, Wolfgang Aeon's daughter, throwing her name into the ring to inherit a [expletive] fortune, my fortune." So she'd pulled Mary Les out of the mothballs and taken a visit to size up the competition. It was no big deal, just one more tragic death, and she'd be in the clear. She aimed the remote on her key ring to unlock the car, tossed her carry-all into the back seat, then started the car to cool off. The urgency to put an end to this roadblock was upon her, but she never did business on this phone. She dug into the console and pulled out the phone belonging to Mary Les. The battery was low, so she plugged it into a charger and began scrolling through her contacts. She'd already used up Townley, and Romo was off the map. She kept scrolling until she saw the name Stinger and made the call. It rang once, and then she got a one-word answer.

"What?"

"It needs to look like an accident. 50 thou," agreed Fiona. "Name and location."

"Amal Lincoln, Jubilee, Kentucky," and then gave out two addresses. "The first is her home address, the second is her place of business. I'll pay when it's done. Wire it now, all of it, or call someone else."

Fiona frowned. "What the hell? Times are hard. Trusting people even harder. My way or the highway."

"Fine," Fiona muttered. "But I want it done in two days, or I'll send someone after you."

There was a moment of silence, and then a whisper. "I know who you are. I know where you live. Never threaten me again." The line went dead. Fiona frowned. Maybe she'd overplayed her hand a bit, but $50,000 would take care of that, and she'd transfer the money as soon as she got home.

Their last open house guests were gone a few minutes after 4:00 p.m., and as soon as they left, Amaly plopped down on the sofa and kicked off her heels. "Oh my Lord, my feet are killing me."

Shawn sat down beside her and slid his arm around her shoulders. "I am so proud of you. I saw you at your finest, talking about what you know and what you do. You made some big impressions on people today."

Her eyes were alight with excitement as she turned to face him. "I have three new clients coming in next week to get their taxes done, and two people who run businesses in their homes wanting to talk about incorporating, and one client who wants me to keep the book books on their business. Next week is going to be crazy busy, and I couldn't be happier."

"I know exactly how you feel. I lost all my clients after we moved here from Conway. I've been rebuilding for the past 2 years, and after I added security installation as part of the business, it's really grown. We've come a long way from Ellen Smith Elementary, haven't we?" she said, eyeing the mess left behind from the event. "And now that we've patted ourselves on the back, I need to get get busy. This place isn't going to clean itself."

But he didn't budge. "I have a question. That blonde woman who came in before noon, you two had a conversation. Did you know her?"

"No," Emily asked. "Why?"

"I don't know, she just gave off a vibe I didn't like," he said.

"You mean because she kept talking to my scars instead of my face?"

He frowned. "Is that that what she was doing? I knew something was off by the look on your face."

Amali shrugged. "That's what some people do. It didn't bother me, but I also didn't play into it. I could tell she was put off by them."

Sean frowned. "Did she give you her name?"

"Mary Les," Emily said.

Shawn frowned. "Why does that sound familiar?"

She rolled her eyes. "Little House on the Prairie TV series. Mary Les. I guarantee that's not her name, and I won't see her again."

"You're probably right," he said, but he wasn't satisfied. He was going to do some digging on his own later. "How about I help you get this place cleaned up and then get you home?"

"I won't say no," she said. "I'll do the heavy stuff. I'll deal with the coffee urn and trash," Shawn said.

"You're the best," Amal said. "I'll take down the banner out front, get the room put back together, and box up whatever cookies are left."

Shawn held out his hand. She grabbed hold of him like the lifesaver he was. They went to work, and within the hour, they were headed out the door. Amali was taking her roses with her and stopped to set the security system and lock the door. Shawn was right beside her with the cookies. They went out the back way, got in their respective cars, and headed across town to her house. Amali drove into her garage as Shawn pulled up behind her, then they unloaded their cars and went inside. The roses went on the coffee table, and Shawn took the food into the kitchen and hung up their coats. When he came back, Amal was sitting on a bar stool, waiting.

"I never got to tell you how very much I appreciated you staying the course with me today. It was reassuring to see you from across the room, knowing you were within shouting distance. A familiar face is always a plus."

"I'm happy it was mine," he said, and brushed a kiss across her lips.

Amali slid her arms around his neck and felt his muscles tense beneath her hands. "Can you stay a while?"

"Or do you?"

"I can stay if you'll have me," he said, and slid his hands around her waist. She shivered. "All night."

A muscle jerked at the side of his jaw. "If you'll have me, yes please," she whispered. "I'm going to change. Can't take being fancy another minute longer."

Shaun's heart skipped a beat. "Need help?"

"I need you, but I have to be honest. Getting down to all the scars in front of a man has yet to happen, so I'm also scared half to death of what you'll see."

His eyes darkened. "[Expletive], and don't ever say or think that about me again. What I see in you is way beyond skin deep. You're new to this town, we're new to each other as adults, but we have history, lady. I've been holding on to you since before bubblegum. All I see, all I will ever see, is a woman of substance who makes me weak in the knees. You're in charge. Lights on, lights off. All I want is you in my arms."

"I'm a side..."

He made it sound so simple, and in the end, it was. Lights on in the adjoining bath with the door partially closed. Lights on at the end of the hall. They undressed in shadows and wound up in the bed in a tangle of arms and legs. His hands were in her hair, his mouth on her lips, the shape of her all woman, from the soft thrust of her breasts against his chest to the gentle curve of her waist and the flare of her hips. The only scars between them were from a lifetime of rejection that nobody could see.

Amali knew before he touched her how it was going to feel, what he was going to do. He'd lit a fuse, and it was smoldering. He was as hard as the muscles knotted in his back, and when he slid between her legs and into her body, she moaned. After that, they moved into another space, minute by minute, chasing a climax. Making love to Shan Pope was everything she'd ever dreamed of. He was everything she'd ever dreamed of, and when the blood rush finally came, the last thought that went through her mind was, "Just as I remembered."

They collapsed in each other's arms, still connected, hearts pounding, breathing little more than short, intermittent gasps. "Love you, baby, so much."

"That was... that was magic," Shawn said, and held her close.

She slid her fingers through his hair, feeling the short, thick strands beneath her palms. "You're the magician. I'm just the rabbit you pulled out of the shadows."

"Can we do this again?" he whispered.

She smiled. "I don't know. Can we?"

He nuzzled the spot beneath her ear and heard her groan. He smiled, then whispered in her ear, "What are the magic words?"

"Amali, I've loved you for forever."

Once again, he was hard within her. The second dance was beginning. When she closed her eyes, there was only so much joy one woman could feel without coming undone.

Three hours later, they were rummaging through the fridge for leftovers. Shawn had a bath towel wrapped around his waist and was heating up cold pizza. Amali had on an oversized t-shirt hanging halfway to her knees, no longer bothered by revealing her burn scars, and completely focused on the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she was making. "I like to put peanut butter on both slices, then put jelly in the middle, squish it, and cut it in quarters," she said.

Shawn grinned. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, and sprinkled a liberal helping of red pepper flakes over the pizza before he carried it to the table. She was right behind him.

"Want a glass of milk with that?" Shawn asked as he went back to get himself a Coke.

"Yes please," she said, waiting for him to sit down. When they were at the table, face to face, Amily put her hands in her lap. "I have something to tell you, and it has to do with what Aunt Ella said to me this morning."

"Can I eat and listen at the same time?" he asked.

The corner of her mouth tilted in a half-assed smile. "I don't know, can you?"

He chuckled. "We're about to find out," he said, and took his first butt bite as Amily started talking.

"When I turned 18, I ordered a DNA test from Ancestry.com and sent it in. I thought maybe, just maybe, I'd find something out about who I was, you know?"

He nodded and kept eating, just letting her talk. "And of course, nothing happened. I actually forgot about it. Then a few days ago, I was at home, going through a ton of old email I'd let pile up during my move, and saw a notice from Ancestry.com. It was one of those 'you have a match' emails, and my heart stopped."

"Oh wow," Shawn said.

"I know, right? They don't tell you much. You have to log on to your site to see the name and connection." She was shaking and without thinking, took a bite of one of the sandwich pieces and sat there chewing, then took a sip of milk to wash it down. Shawn said nothing. She would tell this in her own terms and time.

"It was a man," she said. "He had two email addresses as contacts. I used both. One as an initial contact and copied it to the second, telling him a little about me, how old I was, what I did for a living, and that I'd grown up in the foster care system. I can't remember the details of how I ended it other than I looked forward to hearing from him and hit send, then waited." She looked up at him. "Then I'm still waiting. And I'd just about given up hope when your Aunt Ella said that I didn't know my people, but one knew me and to be patient."

Shawn had been eating and listening, but he stopped and pushed his plate aside. "Oh, honey."

Amali looked away. "I didn't intend to say anything because I didn't want anyone feeling sorry for me. It's just easier for me that way. But I wanted to tell you the moment I got that notice and then decided to wait a bit. I wanted to share good news, not another pitiful me story."

"I understand. And it's okay if you feel the need to hold on to a story from your life that doesn't need to be told, then no one needs to hear it. Understood?"

She nodded, finished off the piece of sandwich, and started on the second. "He had a really strange name. I have no idea what his ethnicity or nationality is. I only know mine." She finished the second piece of sandwich, took another sip of milk. "His name is Wolfgang Amadeus Outon. That's a mouthful, isn't it?"

Shawn froze. "That man was suspected to be one of two men who died in the chopper crash. It wasn't official until all of the DNA results were in, but that was the working theory." And he couldn't believe that life would kick her in the teeth like this again. He couldn't think what to say, what to do, how to react, so he sat without commenting, watching her finish her PB and J sandwich and milk, and then carried their dirty dishes to the sink.

"What do you think?" Amal asked.

Before he could say a word, her cell phone signaled a text. "Just a sec," she said, opened it, read it, and gasped. "I'll be right back," she said and dashed out of the room, coming back seconds later with her laptop. She sat down and logged on, then opened her email.

"It's him," she said. "Wolfgang Outon. He sent me a Zoom link. He needs to tell me something face to face."

Shaun's thoughts were racing as he sat back down at the table. Either the feds and the NTSB were way off their mark, or this guy was a fake. Either way, he was about to listen in on their conversation.

Amali was already on the site and unmuting her screen when his face appeared. Her first thought was how strikingly handsome he was for a man of his age, thick gray hair and dark brows slashed over shockingly blue eyes. But he wasn't smiling. He looked serious, even a little scary. Yet when he spoke, every word reeked with 27 years of apologies.

"Amaly, my daughter, your letter was both a shock and the greatest joy I have ever known. I am sorry I did not immediately respond, but I am in hiding."

Amalia gasped. Had she just inherited a criminal for a father?

Wolf read her face with dismay. "No, no, it is not what you think. You live in Jubilee, Kentucky, is that right?"

"Yes," she said. "I have recently moved here."

"Then I am sure you were aware of the recent helicopter crash near an elementary school?"

"Yes, yes I am. My my sweetheart, Sha Pope, was one of the men who rescued some teachers and children who were trapped inside it. But that's all I know."

Wolf nodded. "I was supposed to be on that flight. My personal assistant traded places with me at the last moment so I could attend to a crisis at one of my companies in South America. He and the pilot are the two men who died. I knew nothing about the crash until the next day."

Amali gasped and looked over her laptop at Shawn. "Did you know who are you talking to?"

Wolf asked. "Shan HEK here listening."

Wolf groaned. "Then please ask him to join us. It is imperative that I impress upon you both the need for secrecy."

"I'm going to get my shirt," Shawn said and bolted for the bedroom. He came back seconds later with it buttoned up enough for decency's sake and laid his cell phone on the table as he sat down. The moment he he saw the man's face, he recognized him from newspaper reports and knew he was telling the truth.

"Good evening, Mr. Outon. I'm Sean Pope. Just for the record, Amal and I have known each other since third grade. I'm an IT specialist, and I know how to keep my mouth shut about everybody's business."

Wolf sighed. "I thank you and regret we are meeting under these circumstances." Then his focus shifted back to Amaly. "The FBI team working the crash knows I'm alive, as do a couple of my most trusted friends, and I believe my wife is responsible for the crash."

Emily gasped. "Oh my God. Why?"

"I think it began when she found out I had recently submitted a DNA test to Ancestry.com. She became enraged, which was both confusing and shocking, but I thought little of her reaction until after the crash. She always packs my bags for me when I travel. We believe the bag she packed for my short trip to Jubilee had a bomb in it. It was triggered by a remote device, which caused the chopper to explode in midair and crash near the school. Knowing I was supposed to be on that chopper and her irrational response to me wanting to look for family, and knowing she packed the bag that was carried onto the chopper, she has become the prime suspect."

"Are you safe now?" Amily asked. "Is she in custody?"

"I'm safe only because everyone thinks I'm dead. And no, she's not in custody yet. There's still gathering evidence, some of which I have contributed to. I discovered she has been trolling my personal email for months and deleting things she didn't want me to see. I discovered that when I found notices on my business mail that should have also been on my personal mail, as well like the notices from Ancestry.com that I never saw."

"Then how does that affect Amali?" Shawn asked.

"I can't be sure it does, but if my wife wanted me dead, finding out I had an heir might be further reason for her to come after Amal too. That's why I'm breaking my silence. After I saw Amaly's letter on my personal email, I immediately sent a copy to my business email, but when I went back to delete the message so that Fiona wouldn't see it, the message had already disappeared."

Amali was stunned. "But why would I matter to her?"

Shawn reached for Emily's hand. "Because your father is worth a cool billion, and if she's evil enough to kill to get it, she's evil enough to want it all to herself."

Wolf nodded. "Shawn nailed it. It would be nothing personal with her, just a means to an end to remove an obstacle from what she wants."

Amal reached for the scars on her neck without thinking, and as she did, Wolf saw the burn scars on her arm and hand and up the side of her neck. "You have been injured," Wolf said.

She nodded. "A couple of years ago, a drunk driver hit me, trapped me in my car. It caught fire." She shook her head and looked away.

Shawn slid his arm around her shoulders. "She spent a long time in recovery, but now she's as good as new. Don't worry about Amal's safety. I have two brothers on the Jubilee police force, a cousin nearby who's retired from special forces, his wife who's an ex-undercover agent for the FBI, and a mountain full of Popes who know how to protect their own."

Wolf shook his head. "I will be indebted, but after finding out Fiona has been trolling my personal mail, I am announcing my resurrection tomorrow. It should sideline my wife from setting her sights on you. Fiona is a beautiful blonde and a charmer, but you can't trust her. I did, and I believe it got one of my best friends killed."

Shawn heard the words "beautiful blonde" and his gut nodded. "With regards to blondes, today was open house at Amal's new office. It was a huge success, but the only person who came that we didn't know was a pretty blonde, probably in her late 30s, maybe early 40s. I got some weird vibes from her, didn't like the way she was looking at Amaly, and took a couple of pictures so I could ask Amaly about her later."

"Show me," Wolf demanded.

Shawn pulled the photos up from the gallery on his phone, then enlarged one for a clearer view of her face before turning it to the screen. "This is her," he said. "Her name was Mary Les."

Wolf cursed. "It's her. Damn her. It's her. Don't leave Emily alone. I am sending bodyguards tonight. I will not have your family put in danger because of me."

"You are welcome in my home," Emily said. "But Shawn is my partner for life. We take care of each other, and that's how it works."

Wolf backed off. "I'm sorry, of course. I have no right to take over your life, but I've lost so much time with you because of lies. I want to grow old knowing you are happy and alive in this world. The bodyguards will be there. You won't see them, but they will see you. I'll get there as soon as I can, but I need to clear it with the feds to make sure I don't blow their case. Just know that I am alive and I am overjoyed to know you exist."

"Do you know your people?" Amily asked.

"I knew who they were, but they have long since passed," he said.

"What about my mother and her family?" Amil asked.

"She died the day after you were born, and her parents are the ones who gave you away."

"I am so sorry. Amali ped my grandparents gave me away."

He nodded. "Her voice was shaking. "Do you know why?"

"Because you were mine, and they hated me. I was working in the Saudi oil patch when Shandy, your mother, went into labor. By the time I got Stateside and back to New Orleans, you'd already been born, and your mother was in a coma from a brain bleed. They told me you were born dead and disfigured, and that they'd already given the body to a crematorium. Your mother died in my arms the day after her funeral. They disposed of me."

Amali was crying now. They'd thrown her away like trash. "Thank you for telling me my mother's name. I always wondered who you both were and how I came to the life I was given. I'm sorry I won't get to meet her."

"Her given name was Cassandra. Look in the mirror, child, you wear her face." Then he looked at Sean. "On, keep her safe for the both of us."

"Count on it," Shawn said.

The screen went dark. Wolf Outon was gone. Amal closed her laptop and took a deep breath. "What in the world am I going to do?"

"Open for business on Monday. I'm commandeering one of your desks and I'll work from there until somebody is behind bars and we know that you're safe."

Her expression fell. "But your mom is a grown ass woman who reminds me daily she does not need babysitters. She'll be fine. And just for the record, this isn't the first time she'll be inheriting a daughter-in-law in need of shelter."

He said, "Daughter-in-law?"

Shawn leaned forward until their foreheads were touching. "Obviously, you have not thought through this relationship as thoroughly as I have, or you would not have that stunned look on your face."

She clutched her hands beneath her chin in a gesture of a prayer, and when she did, Shawn felt a chill run through him. It was how they'd found Meg, with her hands clasped beneath her chin like she'd been praying.

"Does this mean I get to live on the mountain with you and Shirley?"

Shawn was surprised. "You would live with your mother-in-law?"

"I never had a mother. I'd settle for borrowing yours and be grateful for the rest of my life that I had a family to go home to at the end of every day."

Shawn pulled her into his lap, cradling her like the broken child she'd been, and let her talk. "I knew last fall I would come back here. Pope Mountain was the magnet, and you were the gift I never saw coming. Are we crazy for committing this fast? I couldn't bear it if you had regrets later," she said.

"No, baby, no. This isn't fast. It's taken 18 years for us to come full circle. I'm happy, so happy. Please be happy for us."

"I am. But do me a favor and just let Shirley know you're here. I don't want her worrying."

Shawn pulled her close. "Already done."

Amali sighed. "What did you tell her?"

"That I'd see her in the morning."

"Good enough," she said.

***

Chapter 12

The moment Wolf ended his Zoom call, he went into emergency mode and dispatched a team from his security division to Jubilee. They came with photos of Amali and Shawn, her home and work address, as well as a photo of Fiona. They had their orders; he knew they wouldn't let him down. Then he called Jack Fielding.

Jack answered on the first ring. "Wolf?"

"Yes, it's me. Are you free to go back to tailing Fiona?"

"I can be. What's up?"

Wolf told him. "[Expletive], this is getting crazier. Can the feds really tie your wife to the bomb?"

"They're working on it, but she's stalking my daughter now, and that makes her deadly. I have bodyguards on the way to watch my daughter's back. I just need to know where Fiona is, what she's doing, and where she goes once she finds out I'm alive."

"So you're going to come..."

Out, Jack asked. Asked, got to clear it with the feds first to make sure it doesn't screw up their investigation. Do you know where Fiona is now? Jack asked. Not really. Check the Miami residents first, then see if she's registered anywhere in Jubile under the name Mary Les. Jack frowned. Why does that name sound familiar? Little House on the Prairie, Wolf asked. Oh, hell yes. If she's flinging fake names around, she may have more than one. I'll dig into it. Thank you, Jack. And this time, you're on the clock. No more freebies for me. I don't need them, but I do need you to help me get this nightmare cleaned up, Wolf said. You got it, Jack said.

They disconnected, but Wolf still had calls to make. Special Agent Colin Ramsey was still at the office. The agents on the case were in a conference room in front of their murder board, talking through updates and adding info regarding the crash as they went. Things were falling in place too fast to waste time sleeping. The background check on Fiona Rangely had turned up some shocking facts, and Colin was sharing them with the team. "Here's what just came in on the background check," he said, and aimed a remote at the big screen on the wall. Pictures immediately appeared. "This is Fiona Fe Whitley at her college graduation. She has a Master's in Engineering and runs a company called Biomed in Miami. She makes one-of-a-kind surgical instruments for doctors, and she's buried three husbands prior to her marriage to Wolf Outon. He would have been her fourth. All of her prior husbands were anywhere from 25 to 40 years older than her. They were all wealthy and had no living heirs. One died in his sleep, one in a car crash, and one died during a skydiving event when his SHO didn't open."

"That's way too many accidental deaths for my comfort," Colin paused for effect and changed the screen to a wedding photo of her and Wolf. "Cutting the wedding cake. Here's where her routine began to vary. She did not take Out's name when she married. She kept Rangely, and according to Wolf, she went ballistic when she found out he'd taken an ancestry test and put his DNA in their database. None of her prior husbands had heirs, and they were all wealthy. Each time, she inherited everything. And I just found out that Wolfgang Outon learned via ancestry that he has a daughter. He's worried Fiona might try to take her out so she won't be sharing the inheritance." Before he could add further details, his cell phone rang. He glanced at it and frowned. "I need to take this," he said and walked out of the room.

"This is Colin." "Shit's hit the fan, Wolf said. Fiona not only found out about my daughter, Amal Lincoln, but she's stalking her. She showed up at an open house Emily was holding for her new business venture, introduced herself as Mary Les, and chatted briefly before wishing her well and disappearing. But they had pictures at the event, and I have seen them. It is her. I just revealed myself to my daughter via a Zoom chat so that she's aware of what's happening. Now I need to come out of hiding so that Fiona knows I'm not dead. If I'm still alive, I'm hoping she's going to switch her focus back to me."

"What's that going to do to your investigation?" Colin's head was spinning. "We are close, so close." "Then I advise bringing her in for questioning, searching her private quarters at our house and her office. She built that bomb somewhere. It was in my house at one time because she put it in my [ __ ] suitcase when she packed my clothes," Wolf said. "I'm briefing the team on updates now. We'll figure it out and get warrants tomorrow." "How are you making the announcement?" Colin asked. "I'm not. You're making it. You announce I'm alive. You tell them the whole story about the switch between me and Stuart Bien. His people need to know what's happened to him. I'll appear in public later, but first thing tomorrow, I'm contacting my lawyer, changing my will, calling banks, and having her name taken off of the accounts. Then I'm going to see my daughter. I just don't need my whereabouts advertised. I'll show up when I'm ready."

"We can work around that," Colin said. "You do what you have to do, and so will we. Now, I have to go back to the team and let them know what's going on. Sorry, prudence and safety took precedence here," Wolf said and hung up. Colin sighed and went back into the briefing room. "Game plan has changed," he said and then began explaining what had happened. But even as they were scrambling, other reports were coming in that kept thickening the glue they needed to make a murder charge stick. And one involved bank accounts under the name Mary Les, but with Fiona as the owner of the accounts. And in those accounts, they found two specific cash withdrawals that coincided with the timing of the deposits into Ellis Townley and Vincent Romo's bank accounts. And another investigator found records of Fiona purchasing a burner phone with a credit card in the name Mary Eng Les only 5 days before the chopper crash. The agent also told the team that they had received security footage from the store where she bought the phone, and it was Fiona using that card. She already had two separate cell phones with two different numbers with her carrier, so why a third with a number that couldn't be traced? If she still had it, she was going to have to produce it to clear herself. And if she didn't, was it part of the crime scene debris? By the time the team session ended that night, they had submitted requests for search warrants at the private residence as well as Fiona's office. They were also bringing her in for questioning at the same time as Colin Ramsay's press conference.

Humpty Dumpty's wall was coming down. Detective Mun's investigation into Ellis Townley's murder had just gained serious traction. Agents from the Federal Ministry of Mexico had located Vincent Romo in Guadalajara and taken him into custody at the request of the American FBI. The agencies were arranging paperwork for transfer and pickup, and Romo was in a panic. He didn't know how the hell the cops had fingered him or how they'd found him, and for the first time in a long time, Romo was scared. He'd screwed up the job he'd been paid for, that was why he ran. His head was spinning. If Mary Les found out he'd been arrested, he'd give his chances of surviving prison as less than 10%. He'd worked for her before; she didn't play nice, and she didn't play fair. When the transfer happened, he was ready to make a deal. He was coming back to the United States to testify in a federal murder investigation in exchange for a life sentence for killing Townley. Even though Romo was Miami homicide suspect, Special Agent Ramsay would be on hand to take his statement to seal their case.

After being gone all day, Fiona was up early the next morning. She didn't like to get behind on work. The chef had bacon, waffles, and coffee on the breakfast buffet when she came down to eat, and D had all three of Wolf's newspapers on the breakfast table. Fiona eyed them as she walked in: The New York Times, The Washington Post, and the Miami Herald, visible reminders of Wolf. She picked them up and put them in the trash. When she saw the shocked expression on D's face, she quickly explained, "They make me sad." D's face crumpled. "Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't think..." "It's okay," Fiona said. "We're all having to adjust." Then she served herself a healthy portion of everything and began scanning through texts on her phone as she ate.

Wolf was up before sunrise. He just received confirmation that the six bodyguards were in place. Now he needed to plug the holes in the dike before Fiona found out what was happening. His first call was to his lawyer, Arie Walters. He called Arie's personal phone, knowing he'd still catch him at home, and knowing Arie was going to be immediately suspicious when he saw Wolf's name come up on his caller ID. He made a video call. The look on Arie's face was priceless. "What the hell?" Arie shouted. "Sorry for the shock, Arie. It's me, and I'm not dead. I've been in hiding, and we have a problem." The hair was still standing on the back of Arie's neck. "What the hell is going on?" Wolf began to explain, then told Arie what he needed him to do. "The first thing is to null and void my will and remove Fiona's name from anything to do with me. Put the name Amal Lincoln as the sole heir and recipient of everything I own upon my death." "Is that your daughter?" "Yes," Wolf said. "Don't you think you need to wait until a DNA test has confirmed that she's the spitting image of her mother who died in my arms?" "Ancestry.com has already linked us. That's good enough for me." "I can do that," Arie said, "but you'll have to personally sign the new will before it's valid." "Say the word when it's ready, and I'll be there," Wolf said. "This is like something out of a freaking soap opera," Arie muttered. "More like a nightmare," Wolf said. "She killed Stu and Xander thinking she was killing me." "Have the feds arrested her?" "It's in progress and under wraps. Say nothing. And if you need anything else from me, just call." "We'll do. And Wolf, welcome back to the land of the living," Arie said. Wolf sighed. "Thank you. It feels good to be back."

As soon as that call ended, Wolf made a call to Dylan Quarl, his banker in Miami. After a similar reaction and conversation with Dylan, he had their joint accounts frozen until further notice. "Is this public knowledge? Does everyone know this?" Dylan asked. "My resurrection will be announced sometime today by the feds. Say nothing about anything else I've told you, understand?" "You can count on my discretion, Dylan said. "We value your business, and I'm overjoyed to see your face and hear your voice again." "Thanks," Wolf said. "I'll be in touch." And then the last call he made was to Ruiz in São Paulo. But when he made the call, it went to voicemail. He didn't want to leave a message and thought little of it, making a mental note to try later.

Once the feds had a bead on Fiona Rangle's location, the teams descended. Ramsay's partner, Special Agent Brokaw, arrived at Fiona's office with a forensic team and a search warrant. Bypassing her secretary, who followed them in protesting, he walked straight into Fiona's office. He flashed his badge and put a search warrant directly into Fiona's hands. "Fiona Rangely, I'm Special Agent Brokaw. You are being served with a search warrant for your office, and another is being served at your home. We are taking you into custody for questioning in the crash of a helicopter on the outskirts of Jubilee, Kentucky, which resulted in the deaths of two men." Fiona was in shock. She couldn't believe it was happening or how they'd even keyed in on her at all. "You can't be serious! I want my lawyer!" she screamed. "You have the right to representation, but you're still coming with us," Brokaw said. "Special Agents Leroy and Patterson will escort you to our office." Fiona was still sputtering and screaming as they hauled her out of the building. Brokaw dismissed the employees with instructions not to return until further notice. It was to be expected that her walk of shame was captured on cell phones and posted all over social media before the feds even got her out of the building. At the same time she was being taken in for questioning, a separate team was at the Outon estate. The housekeeper and the chef were also sent home while the team began going through every room in the mansion and every outbuilding on the property, shocking the elite neighborhood with the presence of federal officers. PI Jack Fielding had followed Fiona from the Outon estate to her office this morning and was in the parking lot in front of the building with an eye on her car and in full view of the entrance when he saw a parade of black SUVs and vans come wheeling up to the front of the building. He grabbed his camera. "Oh man, Wolf, you just set her world on fire, didn't you?" Jack muttered, recording dozens of agents piling out of the vehicles with their equipment. He had a front-row seat and couldn't wait to see what happened next. And it didn't take long. He began filming again when agents emerged, this time with Fiona between them. They put her in the back seat of an SUV, flanked by two other agents. From what he could see, she was not in full cooperation with their decisions, and like before, he captured it all in living color.

The media had little warning about the scheduled news conference, and the different outlets were scrambling to get into place as Colin Ramsey appeared outside the FBI office in Miramar. "Good morning, and thank you for coming at short notice. I'm Special Agent Colin Ramsey, lead investigator of the helicopter crash in Jubilee, Kentucky, and the deaths of two passengers on board. As has been reported by the media countless times in the past few days, the chopper exploded in midair, which has led to rumors of a bomb. I won't comment on an ongoing case other than to say we're still in an active investigation. Also, rumors have circulated from the beginning that Wolfgang Outon and Xander Sutton were the victims of the crash. We now have proof that Mr. Outon was not on that chopper, and that it was his personal assistant, Stuart Bien. Wolfgang Outon is alive. I have seen and spoken to him personally. He will make a statement in his own time, but for now, he is staying secluded in fear of a second attack on his life. He is devastated at the loss of Stuart Bien, who is a personal friend as well as an employee, and sends his deepest sympathies to Stuart's friends and family, as well as to the family of Xander Sutton." The place erupted in shouts of disbelief and hands waving in the air to be recognized for questions. Colin raised a hand to signify silence. "I'm sorry, I won't be taking questions about an ongoing case, but I am issuing a warning: Anything you might try to do to hunt Wolf Outon down just to get a scoop before it's safe to reveal his location will very likely get you in deep trouble for impeding a federal investigation and endangering a man's life. Do I make myself clear?" That caveat shut down the noise. "Thank you for coming," Colin said and walked back into the building.

The media outlets had been live during the press conference, and shock was spreading both on Wall Street and in the business community at large. Dead billionaires rarely reappeared by magic, but the boost to the shares in the companies he owned had just shot through the roof. Carter Bullock was in the bathroom shaving when he heard a scream and then Lee shouting. He turned off the water and then shouted down the hall, "What the hell's happening? Are you all right?" She came up the stairs as fast as her aging legs would carry her, her eyes wide, her voice shaking. "Wolf! Not dead! He's not dead!" Carter frowned. "Who's not dead?" "Wolf, and I have a bad feeling about this," Lee said. "Ridiculous," Carter snapped. "We haven't seen him since the funeral. He is not a part of our world." "No, we're not a part of his," Lee said. "He could buy and sell us a million times over. I don't know how to explain it, but this feels like someone took the lid off Pandora's Box, and we're in the direct line of fire." Carter glared. "You never listen to me. Be forewarned. That's just you and your [ __ ] conscience again. I don't want to hear another thing about this, do you understand?" He stomped back into the bathroom to finish shaving and slammed the door.

Shawn was in the living room watching television when he heard the announcement about the impending conference. He jumped up and hurried to the bedroom where Amal was getting dressed. "Amal, honey, there's something about the crash on TV," he said and grabbed the remote to turn it on. She came out of the bathroom with the hairbrush still in her hand and sat down at the foot of the bed with Shawn beside her. "Did they say what it would be about?" she asked. "No, just that the lead investigator had an announcement to make." "I wonder if this has to do with my dad," then she glanced at him. "Do you have any idea how weird it is to feel that word on my tongue?" "You mean Dad?" "Yes," she nodded. He reached for her hand. "If he's as fierce as I think he is, he probably lit a fire under a whole bunch of people, and we're about to find out," Amal said. "There's a man coming out of the building now." Shawn turned up the volume. When he finished, Shawn turned off the television and then looked at her. "It has begun," he said. "Eventually, news outlets will come looking for you too, once they learn of your existence." She shrugged. "I don't have an issue with that, as long as no one is trying to end my life." "You're one tough lady," he said, then cued the back of her head and kissed her. "Mom knows we're coming. Are you okay to talk about some of this?" she nodded. "No secrets from your mom, but I don't want her ever put in the middle of this." "She won't be. She's tougher than you think." "I frowned. Why must the world still shelter the vicious along with the good?" "Preacher Farley would probably have an answer for that, but I don't. So, are you ready to leave now?" "Yes, let me get my coat and purse." He helped her on with her coat, then hugged her. "We've got this, one day at a time, honey," he said, and they left the house. The day was cold but clear, but Amal couldn't quit thinking about how fast her world had turned upside down, and it scared her. She was wishing she'd let sleeping dogs lie and never started a search to find family. As they were leaving town, she had a thought. "Shawn, remember there are three desks in the office. I only need one, and if you link up to my printer, you won't have to bring your own. I'm sorry for the upheaval in your life, but selfishly, glad to work beside you for a while." "Thanks, darling. That's a good idea. I'm sorry for what's happening to you, but getting to be in the same office is a plus." "Okay, yes, okay," she said, then looked away. Shawn still had nightmares from the aftermath of the chopper crash, and after realizing Fiona Rangely was already stalking Amal, he was terrified at what she might do. They were both so intent upon the situation and each other that they never noticed a dusty black Jeep a good distance behind them. Wolf Outon's men already had their backs. Amal was far too quiet on the drive up, and it had Shawn worried. She was shutting down, closing ranks, probably what she'd done all her life to protect herself. "You know I love you," he said. Tears welled immediately. "Yes, and I love you. You feel like your legs have been cut out from under you, don't you?" he said. She shrugged. "Information overload. I thought I wanted to find out about my family, but it's just an ugly story. I should have known. It's why people like me wind up in foster care, because of ugly people." "No, honey, your father was as cheated as you were. He lost the love of his life and missed 27 years of your life because of lies, and someone wants him dead because he's rich. What's happening now is neither your fault nor his. You are targets, but you're not victims." The tone of her voice shifted, revealing the anger she was feeling. "I know you're right, but I'm sick and tired of setbacks and struggles. I tried so hard not to die from that wreck. I finally get my life back together and find you, and now this. I've been fighting to survive all my life, and I'm fed up with the war." Shawn immediately pulled over onto the side of the road and reached for her hand. "Look at me." She sighed and then turned to face him. "Amal, sweetheart, you're not alone in this anymore. I'm not a passing fancy. I'm not just the little kid who had a crush. I know the value of who you are and treasure your acceptance of me. Whatever is happening to you is happening to me, and whatever happens to me affects no less than a couple of hundred people you have yet to meet who already have my back. You aren't alone anymore. You will never be alone again." Amal wanted to hide, to crawl into a closet somewhere like she used to when she was a kid and wait until all the fighting was over. But that couldn't happen, and she wasn't going to cry and then walk into Shirley Pope's house in a defeated frame of mind. But words were only words. There was a difference between a pep talk and action, and she needed confirmation like she needed air to breathe. "So, Shawn, is this a promise or a proposal?" he grinned. "Can't it be both?" "Only if you seal it with a kiss," she said, then leaned forward and closed her eyes. The last glimpse he had of her face before the kiss was the flutter of her lashes. Her lips were soft and warm, yielding to his arrival, weathering the shock of energy between them, and then it was done. "Are we good now?" he whispered. "So good," Amal said. He put the car in gear and continued up the road, still unaware they were being followed.

Chapter 13. It was a little after 10:00 a.m. when they drove up to the house and got out. The shift in temperature was notable, but it was always colder at this elevation. "Let's do this," Shawn said, then they went up the steps together. Shirley met them at the door. "Come in, come in," she said and shut the door as they shed their coats. "I'm in the kitchen, of course. Come sit with me a bit while I get this cake in the oven. I want to hear all about how the open house went after we left." After they followed, Amal sat, her hands folded in her lap to keep them from trembling, and watched what Shirley was doing. "What kind of cake?" Emily asked. "It's a Mexican sheet cake, basically. It's a chocolate sheet cake with a good dose of cinnamon in the batter. It's one of those cakes that's even better the second day," Shirley said. "It's killer good regardless," Shawn said. "Mom's been making this for years, but we rarely have any left the next day with six mouths to feed." "That was the case with everything I made," Shirley said. "So, what are you going to do with all this cake?" Shawn asked. "Marcus is coming to supper tonight," Shirley said. Shawn heard the too-casual note in his mother's voice but didn't acknowledge it and explained the relationship to Amal instead. "Marcus Glass and Mom grew up together. He married one of your cousins, right, Mom?" Shirley nodded as she began pouring the batter into the sheet pan. "Yes, Gloria Pope. Gloria passed away from cancer some years back. His granddaughter, Lily, was one of the children injured from the chopper crash." "Such a horrifying experience for all of them," Amal said. "It was," Shirley said, adding, "Shawn, open the oven door for me, please." When he did, she slid the pan into the oven, shut the door, and set the timer, then put the batter bowl in the sink to soak. "Now we can talk. The open house. Did you continue to have visitors throughout the day?" "Yes, a fairly steady stream of them," Amal said. "I also gained my first clients. I have appointments with them throughout the coming week." Shirley clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, honey, how exciting!" Shawn glanced at Amal. "No secrets in the family," he said softly. "Amal sighed. What's going on?" Shirley asked. "Entangled revelations. I'm still trying to absorb, but I'll give you the cheat sheet. Answers: When I turned 18, I entered my DNA into Ancestry.com because... because I wanted to know where I came from. A few days ago, I got a notice from Ancestry that there was a hit on my family tree. Long story short, I found my father." "Oh, honey, is this good news for you?" "Have you spoken to him?" "Yes, he contacted me via Zoom last night. His name is Wolfgang Outon, but his call was also a warning. As it happens, he is one of the men reported to have died in the chopper crash. Only he's not dead. He's alive, and the crash was meant to kill him. It's a fluke he wasn't on the flight." Shirley gasped. "What on earth?" Shawn could tell Amal had said all that she could handle. "It's a mess, Mom. Bottom line: they suspect his wife. The feds know Wolf Outon is alive, but he's in hiding while they continue to work the case. The wife thinks Wolf is dead, but found out Amal exists, and Wolf is worried Amal could be his wife's next target." Shirley's eyes widened. "Oh my God. Why?" "Outon is a very wealthy man. He's convinced his wife tried to kill him for his money. She won't want to share with an heir." Shirley just kept shaking her head. "How could she not know about a daughter?" "Because he didn't know either," Amal said. "Like Shawn said, there's a world of ugly behind this story, and an answer to why I wound up in foster care to go with it. But the scary part is that his wife showed up at my open house, introduced herself under a different name, and after speaking to my father last night, we all realized her real identity. She already has me in her sights." "You come here, we'll protect you," Shirley said. "No, Mom, it's the same thing Aaron told you when Danny's stalker found her. We don't bring trouble to you. We're handling it. Outon is handling it. This morning, the FBI announced Wolfgang Outon was still alive, and once the wife hears that, hurting Amal will gain her nothing." Shirley nodded. "Okay, understood. I'm so sorry this happened, but sweetheart, you have to trust you're no longer alone in the world. We've got your back, and it sounds as if your father does as well." Amal's defeat was in her voice. "Thank you for understanding. I'm still struggling with all of it, and I didn't want you to be angry that Shawn has been drawn into all of this through his association with me." "Association is hardly the word for intending to marry you," he muttered. Shirley's eyes widened, and then she clapped her hands. "Best news ever!" she cried. "Even after I tell you, we're kind of hoping to live here on the mountain with you," Shawn said. Shirley gasped. "Are you serious? You would do that?" "But only if you didn't mind," Amal said. "Oh, honey, I just lied. This is the best news ever. Having this house come to life again, and with a new generation of Popes, is a gift." "I'll still work in town," Amal said. "And I'll still be here," Shawn said. "But for now, I need to move a couple of computers down to her office so I can keep up with work and keep an eye on her at the same time. Also, everything we just told you is between the three of us for now. Not even Aaron and Wy are aware of any facet of the chopper investigation, and it has to stay that way." "I'll say nothing about any of this, not even about the two of you. That's your announcement to make. Just know I'm here for you and I'm on your side," Shirley said. "Thanks, Mom," Shawn said. "Yes, thank you, Shirley," Amal added. "Call me whatever, but I'd sure settle for Mom," Shirley said. "I never had one before." "I would love to," Emily said. Shirley glanced at the clock. The cake was still baking, but it was already after 11. "If you don't have plans, I can make sandwiches," she said. Shawn glanced at Emily. "Okay with you?" she nodded. Shawn gave her hand a quick squeeze. "Then I'm going to start loading up equipment while sandwiches are happening. And whatever they are, I'll take two."

Fiona Rangely's world had just been rattled in a way like never before. She'd been put in an interrogation room alone and was still awaiting the arrival of their lawyer, Arie Walters, when Colin Ramsey walked in. "Ma'am, the lawyer you requested is unavailable. Is there another you wish us to call, or do you want a court-appointed lawyer?" She jumped up from her chair, aghast at the news. "What do you mean he's unavailable? He is our lawyer! Find him! I mean, he knows you're here!" "Wolf Outon's not coming," Colin said. Fiona reeled. That sucker punch had come out of nowhere, and she didn't know what to think. "Then call Mvin Reams. He handles my business ventures. If I had my phone, I'd give you the number, but since you took it..." "We're the FBI. We'll get his number," Colin said. "Have a seat, ma'am," and he walked out. Fiona plopped back down in the chair and closed her eyes. None of this should be happening. She'd covered her bases, hadn't she? What could have possibly... The hair crawled on the back of her neck. She never got Townley's phone back, and Romo skipped out. What the [ __ ] had gone wrong?

Stinger arrived in Jubilee just after 9:00 a.m., located the target's home, and saw a vehicle parked in the driveway. Then went to locate the work address, noting the office was closed. But when Stinger drove back to the home address, and the vehicle in the driveway was gone, frustration set in. Now nobody was at either site, and it wasn't looking good for turning this hit into an accident. By sundown tomorrow, the town was full of tourists, and cop cars were everywhere. Two days to pull this off, including travel time, was a ridiculous demand with so many people watching every move. But the money was already in the account, and Stinger didn't renege on deals, which meant the method of removing Amal Lincoln was changing to Stinger's choice and rules, and screw Fiona Rangely. Her attitude had become a liability to work with anyway. Time to move to plan B.

Shawn and Emily drove back to Jubilee after lunch and went straight to her office. It took Shawn a couple of trips to carry everything inside, and then another hour to hook it all up and sync her printer to his system. Amal settled at her desk as he was working and began going through her email. A couple of the clients who'd signed up yesterday were confirming their appointments, and another had requested the questionnaire she used for tax preparations. It felt good to be in control of something again, and by the time Shawn was finished, she felt better about herself and the day.

Fiona had been in custody for over two hours before Mvin Reams arrived. He was wide-eyed and in shock to see her in an interrogation room and immediately demanded some time with her before the agents were allowed to question her. About 20 minutes later, Reams knocked on the door and told the guard they were ready. Ramsay and Brokaw entered, carrying file folders, and sat down across the table from them. Brokaw turned on a recorder, and Colin Ramsay opened his folder, sifted through a couple of pages until he found what he was looking for, and laid it on top of the pile of papers. Only then did he look up. Fiona Rangely was hard to gauge, and from what they knew about her now, good at lying. "For the record, Special Agent Ramsay and Special Agent Brokaw are in the room, along with Miss Rangely and her lawyer, Mvin Reams. Mrs. Rangely, please state your full name and address." Fiona did so with her chin up and her eyes blazing with rage, and followed it up with a question of her own. "Why am I here?" she snapped. "We're asking the questions," Colin said. "Where were you on the morning your husband, Wolf Gang Outon, was getting ready to fly to Jubilee, Kentucky?" "I was in the house with him," she said. "I watched him leave and then a short while later left to go to my office at Biomed Tech Technology." "Do you always pack your husband's suitcases when he's traveling?" Her heart thumped. "As a rule, yes." "We understand you and your husband had a loud argument some weeks ago when you discovered he'd sent a DNA test to Ancestry.com. There was a lot of shouting between you. What was that about?" She frowned. "Who said that? What does that have to do with..." "Just answer the question," Colin said. Her lawyer just shrugged when she looked at him. She shrugged. "It wasn't an argument, as such. It was just a surprise. I felt blindsided that he had not shared those wishes with me, but that all passed." Colin pulled a photo of Ellis Townley out of the file. "Do you know this man?" She frowned. "No, I've never seen him." He pulled out another photo. "Do you know this man?" he asked. She sighed. "No, I do not. I don't see what this..." He pulled out another set of papers. "How many phones do you own under your name?" Colin asked. Fiona was feeling sick. "My personal phone and my business phone, and no others under any names other than your own." "Oh [ __ ] oh [ __ ] no. Who is Mary Les?" Colin asked. She stared him down. "I haven't a clue." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the making of bombs and paying for them as Mary Les. And we have photos of you at a recent function where you identified yourself as Mary Les." Her belly rolled. How the hell did they know this, and why were they even looking? "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Colin laid down the photo of Fiona talking to Amal Lincoln at her open house. "This is you yesterday, talking to a young woman in Jubilee, Kentucky. You introduced yourself as Mary Les." She blinked. "What the actual [ __ ]? It's a case of mistaken identity," she muttered. He pushed the photo of Townley back in front of her. "5 days before the chopper crash, this man, Ellis Townley, deposited $10,000 into his bank account, and on that same day, $10,000 was removed from a bank account in the name of Mary Les. Townley was in Jubilee, Kentucky, the day of the chopper crash. He was seen standing in an open field with binoculars and a cell phone, watching the chopper arrive. He was on the phone when the chopper blew up in midair. He checked out within minutes of it happening, drove straight back to his apartment in Miami, and was murdered upon arrival by this man, Vincent Romo." He pushed Romo's photo back in front of her. "$25,000 had been deposited into Romo's account, and a matching $25,000 had been withdrawn from yet another account in Mary Les's name that matches the money and time of Romo's deposit. We have just extradited Romo from Mexico, where he's been in hiding. He has already given a statement that he accepted $25,000 to kill Ellis Townley and recover his cell phone. The woman who solicited the hit was Mary Les, but he was interrupted and did not recover the phone. The Miami Police found it instead. Can you explain that?" Fiona's jaw was set, her eyes narrowed as she turned to her lawyer. "Say something." And before he could answer her, she looked back at Colin. "I don't know anyone named Romo, and I don't know anyone named Mary Les." "We have you on security footage buying a burner phone and paying for it with a credit card under the name of Mary Les. We have credit card records of you making purchases of items that could be used in the

locked the office door and then grabbed grabbed his hand as they headed down the long hallway to the back parking lot.

When they reached the exit, Shawn paused long enough to scan the parking lot. Saw no one on foot and no one in sight and began weaving their way through the cars to where he'd parked. They were a good 30 ft from his car, but he was already aiming the remote to unlock the doors when movement on the roof of the building in front of them caught his eye. He looked up and when he did, sunlight flashed on something shiny like the scope on a rifle, he thought. And then it hit him. He grabbed Emily and shouted, "Get down!"

There was a pop and then a shattering pain that blew through the back of his shoulder as he threw himself on top of her, followed by two simultaneous shots that sent glass raining down upon them and then silence.

"Amali was screaming and he was struggling not to pass out. 'Easy, baby, easy. Are you okay?'" Just hearing Shawn's voice eased her panic. "Yes. Oh my God, are you..." Before he could answer, a bearded man in dark clothing and a black stocking cap appeared and knelt down beside them. "I'm Joe. Sniper's down. Are you the only one hit?" he asked.

"Yes," Shawn said. "Sorry, we weren't looking for a woman. We've called the police and ambulance. Sit tight, we've got this. And Wolf sends his regards."

Shawn groaned as he rolled off of Amali, then sat up and leaned back against the side of the car where they'd taken cover. That's when Amali saw the blood all over her coat and then a wide smear of it on the car behind where Shawn was leaning. "Oh my God, Shawn, you're bleeding. Flesh wound. Ambulance is on the way," he said, and then saw blood running from the cuff of his coat sleeve.

"Blood oath," he muttered and then closed his eyes and took a breath.

"This isn't funny, Sha. Pope, you are my life and I nearly got you killed."

"Stop talking nonsense. You didn't shoot me," he said, and then he groaned. She was on her knees now, pulling his arm out of the sleeve.

"[ __ ] that hurts!" Shawn groaned. "You're bleeding away from me."

"Shut up. I need to put pressure on it." But when she got his coat off and realized there was no exit wound, her focus shifted. "The bullet's still in your shoulder. Lean forward for me, sweetheart. I need to put pressure on this." There was panic in her voice, but she was already folding up the sleeve of his coat and using it for a pressure pad. He winced but didn't argue. They could hear sirens. Help was coming, and Amali's breath was warm on his face. She was safe.

"You saved my life. How did you know?" she asked. Pain was shooting from his shoulder to the top of his head now, but she was safe in his arms, and he was trying to focus on what she just said. "I, uh, sunlight reflected off something shiny above us. I thought rifle scope, and we ducked. But if your dad hadn't sent that warning, we'd both likely be dead."

"Is this over?" he groaned.

"I don't know. I think..." words left him. It was taking all of his strength now to keep from passing out.

"I'm so sorry. I love you, Shan. Please stay with me," she kept saying, but her hands were shaking, and she was so scared she couldn't think. All she could do for him was keep putting pressure on the wound. And then, all of a sudden, police cars came flying into the parking lot, lot with an ambulance behind them.

"They're here, Shawn. Help is here," she cried. Shawn looked up, saw Chief Warren, and then Aaron and Yancy coming toward them on the run. The sky was beginning to spin. Amali's face kept morphing into the face of a stranger. "Cavalry's here. Don't let them cut your hair," he mumbled and passed out.

Chapter 14

Shawn woke up in the ER, calling Emily's name. She appeared in the doorway, covered in his blood and flanked by six men he'd never seen before. "I'm safe, Sean. Lie still. Safe. Love you," he mumbled and passed out again.

"What's happening?" Amali asked.

"We're prepping to take him to surgery," the doctor said, eyeing her as well.

"Is any of that your blood?"

"No. Please fix him. I'm not doing life without him again."

"Miss Lincoln, we need to get out of the way." Amali turned toward the voice and then blinked. It was the man from the parking lot. "I'm Joe. Remember?" She nodded vaguely, remembering all six of the men conversing with the police, and it was only after she heard them talking to her father on the phone that she had let them take her to the ER. She leaned back, too shocked to cry. All she needed was to know Shawn was going to be okay, and now that she'd seen him and knew he was still alive, she let them lead her back to the lobby. People were staring, but she looked past them without thought. She could still feel Shawn's arms around her as they were falling and hear the frantic tone of his voice, "Get down."

Once she was seated, the men posted themselves around her like sentries. She looked down at her hands in the front of her coat and felt like thr growing up. She was covered in blood, and police were everywhere outside the ER entrance and inside the lobby. And then she saw Aaron and Wy heading straight for her.

"Shaun's brothers," she said, and the men stepped back. Aaron knelt at her feet. "Little sister," he said, and then hugged her. Wy didn't hide his shock at the sight of her. "What the hell, girl? Are you okay?" It was their sympathy that broke her. She started sobbing, then couldn't stop. They just gathered her up in their arms and held her close.

"It's okay, sugar," Aaron said. "Adrenaline crash. Cry it out. Shaun's going to be okay. He'll probably make a necklace out of the damn bullet they dig out of his shoulder. He's our quiet brother, and you know what they say, beware of the quiet ones." But she just kept sobbing. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Where's Mom when we need her?" Wy muttered and then took Amali by the shoulders. "Girl, did no one ever tell you the weight of the world does not belong on your shoulders? Stop apologizing for someone else's sins."

"Not going to say this often, but Wy's right," Aaron said. "Shawn did what he did because he loves you. If something happened to you, he would never survive the grief. Protect exp in someone we love is a reaction, not a thought. It's instinct. Don't deny him the choice, okay?" She still couldn't face them and leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. And as she did, Wy looked up and let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank God Mom's here," he said. "Just in time, because we've got to get back on duty." Aaron said, "Sister, if you need anything, call us." Amali nodded, but her gut was in knots. She stood, bracing herself to face Shawn's mother, but she need not have worried. Shirley saw all the blood and the look on Amali's face and knew she and Shawn had been through their own level of hell.

"Sweetheart," Shirley said and wrapped her arms around her. Amali was shaking all over again, her voice barely above a whisper. "Shaun's in surgery. He took a bullet in his shoulder meant for me. He saved my life."

Shirley just held her closer. "My sons take care of their own. Are you okay?"

Amali nodded. "Then let's go wash off some of this blood. I swear to my time has everyone gone blind around here? Could they not have helped you do this before?" Then she realized they were being followed and gave the security team a quick look. "Are they with you?"

Amali nodded. "They're the security team my dad sent."

Shirley said nothing more, but as they were about to go into the lady's room, Joe stopped them. "Ma'am, we need to make sure there's no one else in there but the two of you," he said. Shirley frowned, but surely Amali intervened. "The sniper who shot Shawn was a woman. That's how they initially missed her, but they didn't miss when they took her out, or Shawn would have more than one bullet in him, and I wouldn't be standing here talking to you."

Shirley piled, "My apologies."

Joe just shook his head. "None needed, ma'am." He knocked on the door and then shouted, "Anyone in there?"

"Man on the floor, incoming!" Nobody answered, and he pushed his way in and checked every stall. "All clear," he said. "We'll be waiting when you exit."

Shirley got down to business. As they entered the lady's room, "Here, honey, take off your coat and then get to the sink." Amali grimaced when she saw herself in the mirror, then grabbed a handful of paper towels and began washing the blood off her face, then her neck, and then pushed up the sleeves of her sweater and began scrubbing the blood from her hands and wrists. It was only after she began scrubbing the heels of her hands that she realized she'd scraped her hands when she fell and there was a tiny cut beneath her chin from when she hit the pavement. Bloody water was circling the drain.

"Sea's blood, her blood, mingling again like when they were nine." Her clothes were still bloody, but there was nothing left on her skin. And by the time they left the lady's room, there was a small line of women waiting to get in.

"Sorry, medical emergency," Shirley said and headed back to the lobby, only to be met by no less than 20 more family members who'd arrived while they were gone. After that, Amali was swept up into a conclave of family. By the time the surgeon came out to let the family know Shawn was in recovery and doing well, she was on a first-name basis with all of them.

Stinger, AKA Daray Compton, was dead. The feds ran her name through the system to see who they were dealing with and were not surprised. Ex-military, dishonorable discharge, wrap sheet with a multitude of offenses. And because she'd just failed her last mission, she was never going to spend the $50,000 Mary Les had transferred into her account. But her failure was the last nail in Fiona Rangle's coffin. Wolf was alive, his daughter was alive, and Fiona's reign of terror had come to an end. She was arrested and charged on two counts of murder, two counts of soliciting a murder, and one count of conspiracy to murder, and she had not a leg to stand on. Her only goal now was being sentenced to life in prison and not the death penalty. The irony that her plan blew up in her face when the refinery blew up in Sao Paulo. But Fiona wasn't laughing. She wasn't saying much of anything, just waiting for her new criminal attorney to arrive.

The moment Wolf got the news from his security team, his heart sank. His in-laws had cheated him of watching his daughter grow up, and his wife had come far too close to killing her. The entire span of his daughter's misfortune had come through her connection to him, and he felt sick. But there was no time to wallow in his own regret and misery. He needed to make sure Fiona was truly out of circulation before he went after the people who'd stolen his daughter. After a phone call to Ramsay to affirm that he contacted his team to stay on the job until he'd had a chance to confront Fiona. He wasn't a man who backed away from the enemy, and she'd become his worst. But all of this upheaval changed his plans to go straight to Jubilee. He was no longer certain of his welcome, had no idea where Amali was and what was happening to Shawn, and didn't know if she was even in a place where she could take a call. So he sent a text instead.

"My darling daughter, I have just learned of what has happened. There are no words to express how deeply sorry I am. I thought I had done enough to keep you safe until Fiona was arrested, but I, we all underestimated her. She'd already ordered the hit before she was arrested, and her decision to hire a woman was a move we never saw coming. I have been told your Shawn was sent to surgery. I pray it is successful. I cannot take away the horror and fear you both experienced. All I can say again is how sorry I am and hope that you are still willing to meet me. I want to be a part of your life, no matter how big or how small. I never knew you existed, and now you're everything to me. I'm on my way to Miami to sign some paperwork and have a face-to-face with the devil. Rising from the dead is more complicated than I had imagined. Please let me know if I may come see you as we had planned. With so much love, your dad."

Shawn's surgery was swift, no surprises, no broken bones, and one bullet less in his body than when he went in. And pumped full of pain meds, when they took him to his room, "Where's my girl? Where's Emily? I need to see my girl," he kept saying. Finally, one of the nurses who was helping get him settled started laughing. "She's with your mother, half of the population of Pope Mountain, and a bunch of men who look look like soldiers. She's safe, trust me."

"Can't trust you. Don't know your name," he mumbled.

She smiled. "Lynette Elgen, but everyone calls me Linny. At your service, Nurse Lenny."

"I want to see my girl. Get Mom, she'll bring her in a few minutes, okay?"

"That's what my mom used to say, just to get rid of us," he muttered.

Lenny grinned. "Who's us?" she asked as she kept working. Shawn had to focus. "Who was us?"

"Um, me, my brothers." The nurse kept checking the drip and eyeing his blood pressure reading as she talked. "How many brothers?"

"Three. And me. Two are police officers here, baby brother, chef in New York City. And what do you do when you're not stopping bullets?"

"Computers. It. I've been here before, unlocking a system failure. Can I have a drink of water?"

"Your brothers are policemen here?" she asked as she poured some water in a cup and then aimed the straw toward his mouth. He took a few sips. "Easy," she said. "More later," and set it aside. Then she checked the name on his wristband again. "Shan Pope. Pope. And then she looked at him closer. "Are you Wy Pope's brother?" His eyelids were getting heavy.

"Yeah."

She frowned. "Are you as hell on wheels as he is?"

Shawn opened his eyes again. "Ah, you've met him."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, but I won't hold it against you. You know how to call if you need us. Rest now."

"Not until I see my girl. Tell Mom she'll find her for me."

She sighed. "You are like Wy. He doesn't take no for an answer either. I'll let your family know they can come in now."

"Thank you," he mumbled and closed his eyes.

Amali was sitting among the family, letting their voices and their prayers roll on around her. Shirley knew Amali was still in shock and too overwhelmed for this gathering, but it was their way, always being there for each other, and she needed it to keep from coming undone. She'd always feared one of her sons would be shot in the line of duty, but she'd never imagined it happening to Shawn. Growing up, he was the steadfast son, the quiet one, the dependable one, and when the brothers got too loud, the referee. She glanced at Amali again and gently patted her hand, then looked around the room and saw Charlie Reigns sitting on the floor playing on his phone.

"Charlie, can you, can you come here a minute?" she asked. Charlie unwound himself and immediately headed her way. "Yes, ma'am, Aunt Shirley. What do you need?" She handed him some money, a couple of cold drinks for Amali and me, and get yourself one too.

"Yes, ma'am. What's your poison?" he asked.

"Pepsi or Coke," coming up, Charlie said and loped across the lobby to the snack area. A couple of years ago, Charlie had been the one in this hospital, hanging on to life by a thread. Now he was 15 years old and towering over both of his parents.

Amali heard the interchange, but she was staring off into space, lost in the past, remembering Shawn from their school days and the miraculous full-circle moment when he walked into her office. She closed her eyes and saw him standing before her, a skinny, long-legged little boy with a busted lip, a torn shirt, his knuckles raw and bloody, and the fire in his eyes as he helped her up out of the dirt. Can children fall in love? Not childish crushes, but a forever bond born when soulmates find each other again.

She was still lost in thought when her phone signaled a text. She took it out of her coat pocket to look. Saw it was from her dad and immediately opened the message. It hurt her heart to see the fear in his words. He was afraid she would reject him, that she would blame him for what had happened. She responded immediately.

"Of course, I want to see you. I would be heartbroken if you gave up on me. Sign your papers, dispatch your demon, and let me know the time and date of your arrival. We have 27 years of catching up to do." She hit send and then put the phone back in her pocket.

Charlie came back with the cold drinks. "For you, Miss Amali," he said and handed her a Coke, and "for you, Aunt Shirley," and handed her the second Coke.

Amali looked up and smiled. "Thank you, Charlie."

"Yes, thank you, Charlie," Shirley said.

"Welcome," he said and went back to his corner and his phone with a cold Coke for himself in his hand. Amali grasped the can of soda with both hands. The cold drink was a diversion, something to do with her hands besides wring them. A few minutes later, she excused herself to go to the lady's room with her bodyguard escorts in tow. When she went to wash up, she glanced up, then paused, staring at her reflection. Then she remembered her father's words.

"Look in the mirror, child. You wear her face, and I've already outlived you. I'm sorry you weren't meant to stick around. Your parents were bastards," she muttered, then washed her hands and walked out to be escorted back to the waiting room.

Within minutes of her return, a nurse entered the waiting room. "Pope family?" she called out. They all raised their hands. She smiled. "Awesome, but I'm going to have to limit the visit now to Shaun's girl and someone called Mom, because Shawn Pope needs to rest, and he won't settle until he sees their faces."

"That's all we need to hear," Betty Reigns said. "We'll get ourselves on home now that we know he's good to go. Shirley, keep us updated."

"I will," Shirley said. "Thank all of you for coming. Thank you for all the kind words."

"Amali," Annie Colie said. "Give him our love, Mrs. Pope."

"Amali, if you'll follow me, I'll take you to Shaun's room." They gathered up their coats and cold drinks and followed the nurse up a long hall, then through a set of double doors and down to the room with the security team trailing behind. But as soon as they reached the door, Joe stepped forward and entered first, then stepped aside. "All clear, ladies. We'll be in the hall if you need us."

Linny Elgen didn't know anything about the men trailing them, but she did know Shawn Pope had been the victim of a murder attempt, so she took it as extra security on his behalf. "Just, just have a seat. Talk to each other if you want. He's still sleeping off the anesthetic, so he's in and out. I'm Lenny, I'll be his nurse on this shift. Ring the buzzer if you need anything."

"Thank you," Shirley said. Amali dumped her things in an empty chair and headed straight to Shawn's bed. She touched his arm and then his chest, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat beneath her hands. She couldn't stop shaking. All, all she kept thinking was, "Thank you, Lord." Shirley moved to the other side of the bed, touching her son's cheek, smoothing the hair away from his forehead, patting his leg. "Still in one piece," Shirley said. "God is good." And then she sat down in the nearest chair before her knees gave way.

Amali kissed Shawn's cheek, then whispered in his ear, "Rest, love. I'm here." She dropped into the chair nearest the bed and laid her head on the mattress near his waist. Emotionally exhausted from all that had transpired, she sighed and closed her eyes. She was asleep when Shawn roused. He saw his mother dozing in a nearby chair and then Amali, motionless with her head resting against his hip. "My girls," he thought, then tunneled his fingers through her hair and closed his eyes.

Fiona Rangle's new lawyer, Sheldon Reker, had no easy answers for her, no little white rabbits to pull out of his hat. The evidence against Fiona was damning. There was no reason whatsoever for wanting her husband dead except to inherit what was his, just as she'd done before. Her past had finally caught up with her.

"What about an insanity plea?" Fiona asked.

"It might have been an option if you did not have three dead husbands in your past. You go down that road, and the authorities could start exhuming bodies." Fiona frowned. "They died in accidents."

"But your word means nothing now, and trying to sell that story to a jury would be impossible since, in this instance, you hired hitmen to do your dirty work, using multiple identities to hide the payoffs, and were on husband number four when you tried to kill him with a bomb they can prove you built. Did they not tell you the search warrants at your home and office yielded trace evidence of bomb material in both places? And then there's the security footage of you purchasing supplies to build it. And for what? Money you don't need? In the public eye, that's not mental illness, that's greed. Go to trial, and they'll persecute you. Throw yourself on the mercy of the court, and either way, you're in prison for life or until they set a date for your execution."

She started weeping. "This isn't fair," she moaned.

"Neither is murder," Reker said. "You have left a wake of unfairness behind you. So do I go to trial? It's your call. You can pay me tens of thousands of dollars to fight this, and I'll take it because it's my job to represent you. We can file motions and injunctions for years, and I'll get rich, but you're never going free. Can you make peace with a women's prison?"

"But I have skills. Valuable skills. I help doctors save people's lives." Fiona argued.

Reker sighed. "Then why wasn't that enough?" She looked away, unwilling to answer. She couldn't bring herself to admit it had all become a game, a way to prove to men that she was smarter than them. She couldn't come right out and say that because it wouldn't fit with being crazy. It would make her like the men she reviled, mowing down the competition to become king of the hill. She shrugged. "Then it doesn't matter," she said. "I will not be dragged through the court of public opinion. If they'll grant me solitary confinement, I'll take the judge's decision. Otherwise, there will be bloodshed in every cell I occupy with someone else. Eventually, we all die, some sooner than later."

Reker gathered up his things and left. Fiona was taken back to herself cell, the cell that left nothing to the imagination. It took the meaning of one room flat to a whole new level. Eat, sleep, wash, [ __ ], all in a room smaller than her walk-in closet. She'd made her decision. Her future was settled, or so she thought, until she got word she had a visitor and found herself face to face with Wolf Wolfgang. And in that moment, profoundly grateful to be on the other side of the wall, looking at him through a plexiglass window. His eyes narrowed as he pointed to the phone on the wall beside her. It was a challenge, and she knew it. She didn't have to talk to him, but it was her last chance to poke the bear. So she picked up the phone, expecting to hear rage, expecting accusations, expecting anything but the soft, chilling whisper in her ear.

"You [ __ ] with the wrong man. You put out your last hit. Make peace with the Lord. You're already dead and don't know it." Then he hung up the phone and walked out. Her mouth was open in a scream that never emerged. Her brain was on fire, and there was nowhere to run. When her bladder gave way, she couldn't stop it. Wolf Outon had shattered her bravado with a look and a whisper. The walk back to her cell with pee running down her legs was as humiliating as the wet spot on the back of her scrubs. When they locked the door behind her, she crawled into bed and curled up in a ball, wonderinging when it would happen. Who would he pay to do it? A guard, maybe? Another inmate? How would she die? Knifed, poisoned, attacked by a gang? The possibilities were endless, but her days were ending, and it was the most horrible feeling on Earth to know that this was no longer her choice. Her death would be a murder, and the irony was not wasted.

Wolf left the prison, feeling the satisfaction as if he just plunged the knife into her himself. Because she'd done it to others, she fully believed he would have it done to her, and that was his revenge. The doubt he' put in her head that she was no longer in charge of her own destiny, that alone would be what killed her. She wouldn't trust the food she was given, she wouldn't trust the inmates or the guards, and if there was any justice in the world, she'd stress herself to death. The weight of guilt was off his shoulders. His last goal in life was making sure the rest of hers was hell. He was on his way back to his Miami estate, wonderinging what was going on with the Sao Paulo disaster and tried calling Ruiz again. It went straight to voicemail, which made him anxious. Ruiz had been afraid for his life. What if someone had gotten to him? When he got back to the office tomorrow, he would call all the local authorities. They could at least update him on what had happened to the refinery. His housekeeper, D, was in tears when he walked in, elated to see him alive and well, and at the same time distraught at finding out Fiona's true nature.

"Oh, Mr. Outon, what a blessing to have you back! I am so sorry for what you've been through. You didn't deserve to be treated this way. I've removed Miss Fiona's clothing and toiletries from your bedroom. Given the circumstances, I didn't think it would be something you would want to come home to." Wolf was surprised by her loyalty. "Thank you, Miss D. What a thoughtful thing to do. I'm happy to be home."

D beamed. She'd been worried about overstepping her authority. "Shall I tell Chef Abel you're here for dinner, or do you have plans here for dinner and ask him to make it steak?"

"Yes, sir. Right away," D said and hurried off to the kitchen while Wolf made his way upstairs. He dumped his suitcase on the bed, then looked around the room, noting the absence of anything feminine, and it was good.

Wolf called Amali the next morning before leaving for his office. He wanted to check on her and on Shawn and to let her know he was calling off the security team, that the danger had ended. Her grateful tears broke his heart. "Thank you for everything," Amali said. "Your guards have been wonderful, patient, and thoughtful."

"I'm envious. They have seen you, and I have not. I can't wait to meet you in person," Wolf said. "Take care of you and your Shawn. Much success on your new office. I'll see you soon."

"Thank you, Dad. Looking forward to our first hug." But it was Wolf who was crying when the call finally ended. He'd never been called Dad. It felt good in his heart.

5 days later, Shawn Pope was home at Amali's request. His brothers had taken all of his computers back to his office so they'd be there when he was released and left them for him to reconnect. While Shawn was still in the hospital, he'd seen Amali every morning and every evening, and even though they talked and planned, it was as if the light had gone out inside her. Everything he was going through now, she considered her fault, and nothing he could say changed it. She needed something else upon which to focus besides his healing, so he began urging her to get back to her office, reminding her she'd promised appointments and breaking them might cause her to lose the momentum she had gained.

The first day she went in on her own, without guards at her heels, she noticed they had begun repairs at the school. It was another sign of healing. When she met with her first client, it was like finding herself all over again. She hadn't done this since before her accident, but she was in her element, doing what she knew, what she loved to do best. And after that first day, Shawn could see she was moving past the trauma and the guilt. Now she was his happy, blue-eyed girl again, lighting up every corner of his world.

Even after Shawn was released, he still wasn't allowed to drive, which meant he was going to miss their daily visits, but that too would pass. His second day home, he'd opened his office up again and eased back into work. As long as it didn't involve lifting or driving, he could chase an online virus to the ground without breaking a sweat.

Once BJ learned what had happened, he had called Shawn every day. The shock of it had put BJ in a whole different frame of mind. He was so far away from all the people who mattered in his life that it no longer seemed worth it. He had accomplished everything he went to New York to do, graduating from The Culinary Institute and training in big restaurants, but thinking about how close Shawn had come to dying made him refocus on his future. He wanted to come home to the mountains and find a place for himself within the tourist trade. Whether it involved opening his own place or working in one of the hotels didn't matter to him, as long as he was in Jubilee doing what he did best, he'd be satisfied with life. He had to talk to Cameron about a new dining area in Jubilee, but he'd do that when he came home at Easter. It was enough that life was getting back to normal and his family was okay.

Jubilee Elementary School was well on the road to recovery. Amali watched men coming to work in the morning and saw them leaving to go home at night. It was evident that more than repairs were being made. The brick on the whole south wall was also missing, and new brick had been hauled in along with new windows. The blast from the crash had really done a number on the school, and she couldn't help but wonder how the children would be affected once they returned. The campus where the middle school and high school were located was on the far side of the football field, and school was still in session there. The littles were the ones who were going to be traumatized going back. She knew because she remembered what it felt like after she was finally able to drive again. Then, in the middle of the building reconstruction, she saw a truck hauling in what looked like new playground equipment. And when she came home that evening, they already had a large slide, two different sets of swings, and the bare bones of some climbing equipment going up. Going back to school was going to be hard for them, and having new things to play on was a great way to distract them from the charred crash site beyond the fences.

It was a little over 10 days after Shawn's release from the hospital. It was just after 10:00 a.m., and Amali was at her office working on an account for a client when she got a text from Wolf.

"I'm heading your way today and checking in at Hotel Devon. Will you be free for dinner around 7:00 p.m.? I'll order it in my suite so we can talk in private if that's okay with you. I know you must have a million questions. I hope I have the answers you need. Oh, if you are free, fish, chicken, or steak?"

Her heart skipped. "Yes, perfect. And chicken, please." Then she made a quick call to Shawn and shivered at the sound of his voice in her ear.

"Hey, darling. How's my girl?"

"Good. My dad is finally coming to Jubilee. I'm meeting him for dinner in his suite tonight at Hotel Devon. Just wanted you to know where I'll be, and I'll text you when I get home."

Shawn smiled. "That's awesome, and thanks for letting me know. I'm still not used to having someone who cares where I am, but never assume I don't appreciate the backup," she said.

"Are you having a good day today?"

"Yes, now that I've heard your voice. And just so you don't forget, I love you forever," he said.

"Love you more. And if it's not too late when I get home, I'll call to say goodnight," she said.

"It's never too too late to call me. I'm your guy." The words were still echoing in her heart when she disconnected. And after that, her day flew past. She locked up at 6:00 on the dot, hurried home to shower and change, and was out the door and on her way to Hotel Devon with a small photo album of her life and 15 minutes to spare.

Chapter 15

Wolf's chopper sat down in Jubilee mid-afternoon. His arrival at the hotel was more than he'd expected, but filled him with delight. They had literally rolled out a red carpet. A bellhop took his bags, and Michael Devon was waiting to personally escort him to the suite he'd reserved.

"I'm a little late for the board meeting," Wolf said.

Michael shook his head. "I saw the explosion from the fourth-floor windows. I thought I watched you die. My deepest sympathy for the loss of your friend and your pilot. I cannot imagine what you've been going through, but your suite awaits, and your stay is on the house. Follow me."

Wolf followed as Michael led him to a separate elevator and swiped a card to open the doors. "I have a favor to ask," Wolf said as they entered the car.

"Anything," Michael said.

"My daughter, Amali Lincoln, will be joining me for dinner tonight around 7. Would you please have someone meet her at the entrance and escort her up to this suite?"

"I'll do it myself, and it will be an honor. I met her at her open house. She is both beautiful and delightful," Michael said.

Wolf sighed. "Thank you. Thank you for everything."

Michael nodded. The elevator stopped, the doors opened out into a small foyer facing a door labeled Presidential Suite. He swiped the card, then opened the door for Wolf. "Enjoy your stay, and if you need anything, all you have to do is call the concierge. They have been notified of your presence. The chef awaits your menu tonight, and there will be a bottle of our best champagne with your meal."

"Thank you," Wolf said.

"You are most welcome," Michael said, then handed Wolf the key card and left him on his own. Wolf's luggage was on his bed, the mini-fridge was stocked full of every imaginable treat, the view from his window was Pope Mountain in all of its majesty. He'd seen it countless times before, but today it held special meaning. His child lived beneath its shadows now. "Protect her when I cannot," he whispered, then turned away and began to unpack. The carefully wrapped present he'd brought for his daughter was still intact. It was his first gift to her, and he hadn't thought twice about what it would be. As soon as he had finished, he called the chef about the menu, thanking him profusely for his help in making this meal special. Now all he had to do was wait for her to knock on his door. He'd only seen her face and heard her voice. He didn't know if she was short or tall, what made her laugh, and what burdens she'd borne alone, but he would before this night was over. He wanted to know all about her, Shawn, and what had made him so special in her eyes, why she'd chosen him. Would say a lot about what she valued in life. Amali was her own woman, but she was all that was left of Shandy. There was nothing more precious to him in this world than this child he'd never known existed, but he was never going to get over knowing that finding her had nearly cost her life.

The night was cold, but the wind had long since laid as Amali drove across town. She had dressed for the weather in clothing that would not irritate the scars. The dress was a favorite, soft blue wool, long-sleeved, and with a neckline that dipped just below her collarbone and a hem that fell just above her knees. Her stockings were sheer, her shoes black with silver heels. Dark hair, highlighted by the streak of white, framed her face. High cheekbones set off a perfectly straight nose. Lashes and wing-shaped brows set off eyes as blue as the dress she was wearing. A brush of lipstick was the extent of makeup. She was excited and anxious and had been waiting for this moment for as long as she could remember. Her heart was pounding as she wheeled her red SUV into the hotel parking lot. She grabbed her purse as she got out, tucked the photo album under her arm, pulled the collar of her coat up around her neck, and headed for the entrance, completely unprepared for the bright red carpet rolled out before her and the escort service awaiting her.

"Miss Lincoln, we meet again," Michael said. "I have the honor of escorting you to your father's suite." Then he offered his elbow and walked her all the way through the lobby, then escorted her up in the elevator and all the way to the door of Wolf's suite. "Just knock. He is anxiously awaiting your arrival," Michael said, then slipped back onto the elevator and left.

Amali knocked three times. Moments later, the door swung inward, and she was in her father's presence and immediately looking for herself in his face. He was tall with a head of thick iron-gray hair, a nose that had obviously been broken at least once, a strong square jaw, and sky-blue eyes.

"I'm tall like you, and I have your eyes and your mother's face," Wolf said and opened his arms. The thunder of his heartbeat was strong against her cheek as he embraced her. And then he stepped back to take her coat and hung it on a hook by the door. "God, you are so beautiful," Wolf said. "Come, we'll sit by the fire to talk. Food will arrive shortly, but there's so much we don't know about each other. Would you like something to drink?"

She shook her head. "I'm already elated from the excitement, and I don't know where we start. You already know how I lost you. What else can I tell you that will fill in the gaps?"

"What was my mother's full name before you married?"

"Cassandra Lee Bullock, but I called her Shandy. Her parents were Carter and Lee Bullock from New Orleans, Louisiana. Old family, old money, upper class. I was not. They hated me from the start. Their money came from offshore drilling. I was one of the drillers on an offshore rig. Shandy loved me. I loved her. We married."

"How long were you married before me?" Amali asked.

"2 years. Before she got pregnant. Out of curiosity, what day do you celebrate as your birthday?" he asked.

"April 6th." Wolf's head came up, and his nostrils flared in anger. "I flew into New Orleans on the 6th. They told me you'd been born dead two days earlier. Goddamn it, Shandy was dying, and I believed them. But what if you were still, still there?" He buried his face in his hands, and in that moment, Amali felt every bit of his shock and pain.

"Do they still live there? Carter and Lee Bullock?" she asked.

He nodded. "I wonder who they paid off to make all this happen," she said.

"God knows," he muttered.

"What's your earliest memory?"

"Sitting on the side of a bed in a room full of crying babies," and eyes welled.

"Do you have any idea how old you were?"

She shook her head.

"Did anyone ever try to adopt you?" he asked.

"I don't know. I never understood what was happening for the longest time. I was just a kid with a bag who kept being moved from place to place, sleeping three to a bed. And like I told Shawn, there was always a bed wetter, or one who cried herself to sleep every night, or a mean one who pinched and pulled hair."

"What kind of a kid were you?" he asked.

"The one who never made waves. It's how I met Shawn." She related the playground incident when they were 9 years old and Shawn beating up the three boys who'd taken her down on the playground to put wads of bubble gum in her hair. "Oh, Dad, you should have seen him. A skinny boy with long arms and legs and the blackest hair and eyes I've ever seen. He was quiet like me, shy, I think, but he was my first hero, the first person who ever stood up for me. And he was so funny and so intense. There was blood all over the both of us, and the teachers were coming across the playground when Shawn jumps up and yells, 'Blood oath!' and squishes our hands together where they were bleeding. He was vowing he'd always take care of me and make sure nobody ever did that again. But life proved us wrong. My foster family was mad that they had to come get me. They blamed me for everything, shaved my head without even trying to get out the gum, and gave me back to Social Services, marking me a troublemaker. I lost my hero, and I never saw him again until I moved here and hired a man named Shawn Pope to come install security and set up my office computers. At first, we didn't recognize each other, and they'd changed their last name back to his mother's maiden name after his father went to prison. They were reviled for who they were related to, just like I was reviled for being related to no one."

Tears were running down Wolf's face. He was horrified and guilt-ridden, and there was nothing to change what had happened to her.

"And now you trust him completely?" Wolf asked.

"He's a Pope. That mountain is named for their family. They are held in the highest regard here. He has two brothers on the Jubilee police force and one in New York City, recently graduated from The Culinary Institute of America. He's a freaking IT genius, and this past month alone, a hero twice over. Before he took the bullet meant for me, he helped rescue teachers and children trapped in the elementary school after the chopper crash. And just a few days ago, while we were out on a walk, he pulled a woman and baby from a wrecked car before they got burned. His mother was the sweetest thing to me when we were kids. I always got a hug when she came to class parties, and she made the best cookies. Her name is Shirley. And when Shawn and I get married, I've asked if we could live up on the mountain with her. I never had family, and theirs is huge. I never had a mother, and now I will."

Wolf listened, watching the play of emotions on her face, and knew that above all else, his girl was happy. Then there was a knock at the door. "That will be our dinner. I need to let them in. The powder room is down the hall, first door on the left, if you need it before we eat. I'll be right back."

Amali took him up on the offer, and when she came back, he was waiting for her, and so was the waiter. "Dinner is served, and the first of many meals I hope to share with you and yours," Wolf said and seated her as the waiter removed the covers from their plates of food.

"Champagne, Mr. Outon, or would you prefer another beverage?"

Wolf looked at Amali. "I could order another wine or a non-alcoholic beverage if you prefer."

"Champagne, of course, to celebrate this day," he nodded at the waiter, who filled their glasses, then slid the bottle back into the ice bucket.

"Will there be anything else, sir?" he asked.

"No, Travis, and thank you."

"You're welcome. Enjoy your meal," he said and left the suite. Wolf picked up his glass. "A toast to us, Emily."

"Reunited at last," she said. The tink of fine crystal was evident as their glasses touched, and then the traditional sip before beginning the meal. They talked as they ate, sharing favorite foods and types of entertainment, and as they were talking, she thought to ask, "That fire at your refinery in Brazil, did they ever put it out?"

He paused. "Odd that you would ask. I've been trying to get in touch with Ruiz the..."

Site manager for days now, but it just goes to voicemail. I'm calling the São Paulo police tomorrow to get an update on the fire and see if they've been able to find out the cause. We aren't sure whether it was terrorist-related or it was him.

"Amal said Ruiz, he's been embezzling money and was afraid you'd find out. He didn't mean for it to..." and then she saw the look on her father's face and realized what she'd said and paled. "I'm sorry. This just begun happening to me after the wreck."

"Are you telling me that you're psychic?" Wolf asked.

"I don't know what to call it. Sometimes I just know stuff and hear voices." Wolf reached out and ran a finger through the white streak in her hair. "This is natural, isn't it?" she nodded.

"Were you born with it?" he asked.

"No, it happened after the wreck. After the voices came."

"God," Wolf whispered and touched it again. "When did you first hear the voices?"

"In the car when it was burning. My clothes were on fire, a trucker was trying to get my door open, and I was screaming, and then I heard a Voice say, 'It's going to be okay,' and it was."

"Did they tell you about Ruiz?" he asked.

"No, sometimes I just see things too. And when we started talking about him, I suddenly saw a man pouring gasoline on the floor of an office and then saw it bursting into flames, and he was running. I don't know how I know that. I know it was him, but he was falsifying documents to cover embezzling money and afraid he'd get caught."

"Christ almighty," Wolf whispered. "No wonder he's not answering his phone." She was trembling, afraid that she'd just ruined everything. "You believe me? You don't think I'm crazy?"

Wolf frowned. "No, I don't think that. Does Shawn think you're crazy?"

"No. They have an elder in the family, just like me. She's the one who told me the day of my open house that someone was looking for me, but to be patient. And that's after I'd already sent you the letter about our Ancestry.com match and had heard nothing back."

Wolf shook his head. "Now I know I have to meet these Popes."

Amali was still trembling. "I have a question."

"Ask," he said. "When Shawn and I get married, I'm not going to ask you to give me away because I was already taken from you, but would you walk me down the aisle?"

"Daughter, it would be my honor," Wolf said. "If we finished eating, I have something to share with you. It doesn't amount to much, but I have a few pictures of me growing up, and since you missed seeing that happen, I thought you might like..."

"Absolutely," Wolf said. "And I have a gift for you. You get your pictures, and I'll get my gift, and we'll meet by the fireplace."

She went back into the living room and got her photo album. Moments later, Wolf came back carrying a gift wrapped in shiny pink wrapping paper, tied with tendrils of silver ribbon.

"You first," Wolf said as he plopped down beside her. She opened the photo album and put it in his lap.

"A social work worker gave me a copy of this baby picture when I turned 18," she said. "It was taken when I was 10 days old. This picture is from one of my first foster parents. I don't remember them at all, but I was three. This picture is when I began first grade. I don't remember the school or the people taking care of me, but this is my school picture from third grade, when I first met Shawn. I was at Ellen Smith Elementary School in Conway, Arkansas. I was about 2 months from finishing third grade when that family gave me back to welfare and sent me somewhere else. That was Miss Willis and Mr. Willis. They were scary."

Wolf kept staring at the little face as it matured from year to year, hearing the same life story about not remembering the people and losing track of the changes. And by the time she got to her high school graduation, he was once again struggling not to cry.

"When you aged out of the system, how did you get your degree?" he asked.

Then she told him about the man in Little Rock who'd promised college educations and the program she'd signed up for her freshman year of high school. "I got a free ride to college for having a straight-A grade point average all through high school and my choice of major at the university there. I wanted to be a CPA. After college, I went to work for a firm in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and that's where I was living when I had the wreck. So that's me to date."

"Damn, damn girl, but I'm so proud of you right now I could bust. You had everything against you, and you beat the system and succeeded in spite of it," he said. "Besides Shawn, you're the only other person who said aloud that they were proud of me. So this is for you from me," he said and handed her the gift.

She tore into it without hesitation, then gasped. "That's your mother and me on our wedding day. I'm so sorry she never lived to raise you, but she would be so very proud of the woman you grew up to be."

Amali was in tears. She was holding her past and sitting beside her future. "This means everything to me," she whispered. "Thank you, Dad. Thank you."

"Do you see yourself?" he asked.

She nodded. "In both of you. At last, I can say I know my people. And I need to meet the Popes," he said.

"How long are you going to be here?" she asked.

"I'm flying out in two days to hold a press conference regarding my resurrection. I have no plans to make your presence a part of my comments, but it's possible they'll snoop around and find out anyway. I'm not going to start waving flags, bragging about who I'm related to, but I'm so proud to be your daughter and not afraid of the connection, if that's what you're saying. If it's okay with you, I'll talk to Shawn tonight and feel him out about a small family gathering at Shirley's so you can meet some of the immediate family before you leave."

"It's very okay. Just let me know when and where," Wolf said.

"Oh, I'll pick you up and take you there. It's up the mountain, and about every third mailbox has the name Pope on it."

A short while later, Amali was gone. The food was cleared from his suite, and he took the remaining champagne back to the fireside and had a long, solitary talk with Shandy about what had occurred. Then lifted a glass to her memory and to the child they had made. "I swear on my life, I will make your parents pay for what they did and spend the rest of my life making it up to our girl."

Amali walked into her house, clutching the photo of her parents, and then set it on the mantle above her fireplace before getting out of her dress clothes and into her PJs and fuzzy socks to call Shawn. It was well after 10:00. She hated to call that late, but she'd promised, and he would be expecting it, and she was right. He answered on the first ring.

"Are you home?"

"Yes," she said. "It was a wonderful evening. He wants to meet you and your family before he leaves."

"We would love it, and Mom would revel in it. When is he leaving?"

"He's here for a couple more days, and then duty calls, as he said. I'll run it by Mom, but I can tell you right now, she'll say yes. He won't be the only one checking out the in-law business. His money won't impress her; it'll be the man himself. Let me know if she's up to it. I can bring food too, if it will help."

"I'll call you tomorrow with time and day," Shawn said.

"Thank you, Shawn. I believe you two are going to like each other."

"I felt like I'd known him forever. That's the soul connection," Shawn said.

"Like I felt the first time I saw you," Amali asked.

"That first day I saw you, I thought I already knew you and that I'd been waiting for the sight of your face. The room was beginning to spin as the scene played out before her. In the Trading Post, right, fuk the Trapper I belonged to had just hit me. He was always hitting me when he got drunk. I was bleeding, and you let out this roar, picked me up, and sat me on the counter beside a pile of furs and threw him out the door. You wouldn't let him take me away, and so I stayed."

Shawn was in shock. He didn't know what to say, what to think, but it was just like before, and he wondered if she even knew what she just said. And when she segued from that into the picture Wolf had given her, he knew it hadn't sunk in. "I can't wait for you to see it. My mom and dad, they were so young, younger than I am now, and so beautiful. Love makes everyone beautiful, and and true love lasts forever, doesn't it?"

"Shawn?"

"Yes, it does, baby. Yes, it does. Now that I know you are home, rest well. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

"Yes, Sean. I love you."

"I love you too," he said and disconnected. He needed to talk to Aunt Ella. If what he believed was happening here, then finding Meg wasn't the end; they'd all believed it was just the beginning, and he and Amal were the closure to their family's tragic past.

Chapter 16

The next morning at breakfast, Shawn broached the subject of a family dinner to meet Wolf. Shirley's face lit up. "Bring him to supper tonight. I'll make sure the rest of us are here as well, and maybe ask Ella and John and Annie and Cameron and Rusty. What do you think?"

Shawn grinned. "It's hard to find a stopping place, isn't it? But that works for me, if it suits you."

"I understand. Amali met all of them at the hospital. Rusty wasn't there, bringing Mikey wasn't a good idea, but Cameron was. Aaron and Wy were up on the roof with the dead sniper, waiting for the coroner to arrive. They've both already met her. As for what was going on after I got shot, I know nothing," Shawn said. "I never lost a whole segment of time like that before, and I hope you never do again."

"Shirley said, 'Call Emily, ask her if 7:00 is okay. I know she's working until 6.'"

"I will, and thanks, Mom. She offered to bring stuff, so let her know if there's anything she can do to help. It will make her feel like she's not making too much work for you."

"We've got this," Shirley said. "I'll have Annie bring dinner rolls and desserts from the bakery and get Dany to bring a couple of salads. I can handle the rest. Clear it with Amali, and I'll start the ball rolling."

Shawn picked up the phone and sent her a text. "Mom's up for bringing Wolf to supper tonight, 7:00 p.m. Clear it with him ASAP and let me know."

"Message sent. Mom, house is chilly. I'm going to add a log to the fire," he said.

"No, you're not. You're not cleared for lifting. I'll do it, and remind you, I grew up doing this." He sighed. "Then I'll load the dishwasher. That I can do."

A few minutes later, he had the kitchen cleared. Shirley had the fire going, and Amali responded to the text. "Invitation accepted. Tell your mom thank you so much. We'll see you at 7:00. I miss you. Love you."

"Shan sent back a text. 'I miss you more. Love you more. See see you tonight.'"

After Shirley got the message, she went into spin mode, had everyone contacted, and all of the food organized within 2 hours. And the only person who couldn't come was Rusty because Mikey had a cold. Cameron was coming on his own with her apologies. Shawn wisely stepped out of the way and went to his office with a cup of coffee and good intentions. They lasted until his shoulder got a cramp, and then he was flat on his back in bed with the heating pad. His mother was too busy with her planning to fuss over him. The cramp would pass, and he'd be fine.

Amali opened up her office, turned up the thermostat, then went to the back room to make herself a cup of coffee. As soon as it was done, she carried it to her desk and went to work. It was nearing noon when a man entered her office carrying a huge bouquet of pink roses.

"Delivery for Miss Lincoln."

"How beautiful!" cried and jumped up from her chair. "You can put them there on the front desk."

"Yes, ma'am. Have a good day," he said and left.

On the run, Amali reached for the card, then turned it over to read. "First flowers to my darling daughter. Thank you for dining with me last night. See you later. Love, Dad."

"So this is how it feels to belong," she said and carried the card back to her desk.

Wolf was in his suite, finishing up a conference call with the staff at his Miami headquarters. He just designated a private investigator to catch the first flight out to São Paulo, Brazil, to find out what he could about the situation at the refinery and get what info he could on Julio Ruiz. He wasn't chasing any more of his business troubles down on his own until he had his personal life straightened out here. And the next call he made was to his lawyer.

Arie Walters was working on a brief and his third cup of coffee when his phone rang. "Arie Walters speaking."

"Arie, it's me, Wolf."

"Oh, hey, how's it going?" Arie asked.

"Good. I have a legal question and a request."

"Fire away," Arie said.

"Is there a statute of limitations on kidnapping in the United States?" Wolf asked.

"No," Arie said, wondering what the hell Wolf was up to now.

"If I want to press charges against people for kidnapping in the state of Louisiana, do I have to have a Louisiana lawyer to represent me?" Wolf asked.

"Yes, at least the lawyer has to be licensed in that state."

"Then I need some names," Wolf said.

"What's going on?" Arie asked.

"I'm about to take some people to task for telling me my daughter was born dead and then giving her away."

"You're talking about Shandi's parents, right?"

"Yes. I don't know who all they paid off to make that happen, but I'm not stopping until they all go down. They stole my child, and if it hadn't been for Ancestry.com, I would never have known she existed."

"So they're still alive? How old would they be now?" Arie asked.

"Late 70s. They think they got away with this, but they're about to receive a rude awakening."

Arie shuddered. The rage in Wolf's voice was palpable, and he couldn't blame him. "I have to be in court this afternoon, but I'll put some people on it. I'll get the list to you before the end of the day, okay?" Arie said.

"Yes, thank you, and good luck in court," Wolf added.

"Thanks, buddy. Talk to you soon."

Wolf disconnected, then thought about dinner tonight with the Popes. He needed to take a hostess gift, but he didn't know Shirley Pope. He didn't want to present something ostentatious and make them feel like he was rubbing their noses in his wealth, just something genuine from him to her. He wanted to make Amali proud and had the whole day ahead of him. Maybe it was time to finally see the sights of Jubilee. Surely he'd find something that struck his fancy. He got his coat, wallet, and the key card to his suite and was on his way out the door when he got a text.

"The flowers are lovely. Thank you, Dad. You're the best. I'll pick you up at the hotel at half 6. Love, Amali."

He was still smiling when he ran into Michael in the lobby. "Good morning," Michael said. "I see you're heading out. Do you need a ride somewhere?"

"I thought I'd see the sights," Wolf said. "I've been here countless times and never got beyond the amenities of the hotel."

"I'm on my way to the bank. I'd be happy to drop you off," Michael said.

"That would be great," Wolf said. "Much appreciated. They're bringing my car around now. Walk with me," Michael said.

A few minutes later, they were heading uptown. "Was your dinner satisfactory last night?" Michael asked.

"It was perfect, thank you for everything. Your father must be proud of how you've taken over the reins here."

"How's he doing?" Michael grinned. "It's hard to please Marshall Devon, but he hasn't complained, and he's doing great as long as there's land to buy and buildings to erect, he'll be happy."

Wolf nodded. "Speaking of land to buy, I don't suppose PCG Inc. has relented on selling anything here?"

Michael shook his head. "Their answer is not only no, but hell no. It is, was, and always will be their their final answer. We made peace with that when we agreed to build here."

"It's a strange way to do business," Wolf said. "This place is unique. They could explode their profits exponentially if they'd let people in."

Michael shrugged. "I've lived here nearly 10 years now, and I have begun to see the wisdom of perfection in small places. Besides, look at this place. Where else would they go? Surrounded by mountains, the valley caters to tourists and at the same time has found a way to exist within what amounts to a very small town. The land is still pure, the way it was in the beginning. No logging is allowed on the mountain, and the people who live there own their homes and land and have for generations. Big industry makes money for some and destroys the rest," Michael said. "Oh, sure, we have crime here. You can't be a part of the tourism industry without the criminal element wanting in, but our police are wiser than you would assume. We had a serious case of human trafficking trying to take hold here a few years back, and they busted it wide open."

Wolf eyed the young man with renewed respect. "Don't lose that perspective. In the long run, you will be the happier man."

Michael pointed. "We're coming up on the tourist side. Is there any place in particular you intend to go?"

"Maybe the Arts and Crafts area," Wolf said.

"Then I'm going to let you out here. See the carving of the black bear beside the fountain, take the sidewalk straight past it, and it's all in front of you."

"Many thanks," Wolf said. "If you need a ride back, call the hotel. We have courtesy cars. Someone will pick you up and bring you back."

"Thanks again," Wolf said and got out, smiling. He'd been in a lot of places and been lost countless times in the process, but he'd never received directions to walk past the bear before.

As soon as he passed the bear, his adventure began. He prowled the stands and the shops and had hot chocolate on a bench outside a candy store while watching a little girl feeding pieces of her cookie to birds begging in the square. Her father was standing nearby, and when the cookie was gone, he swung her up into the air and put her on his shoulders. The child's laughter went straight to Wolf's heart. His little girl had gone through hell without him, and all because of the hate in Lee and Carter Bullock's hearts. Unwilling to let the past ruin the day, he tossed the last of his hot chocolate into a garbage bin and kept moving, still looking for something special for the family who'd taken Amali to love before he even knew she existed.

It was mid-afternoon when he wandered into a woodcarver shop. Seconds later, he saw a bird on a shelf and wondered if the owner knew it had flown into the building. It was only after he moved closer that he realized it was a delicate carving, a hand-painted carving of a blue-gray warbler perched upon a delicate pine branch and nearly hidden among the needles.

"At that point, a 30-some man with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail approached the counter. 'Afternoon. Can I help you?' he asked."

Wolf pointed to the carving. "Did you do this?"

"Yes, sir."

"It's exquisite. I want to buy it," Wolf said.

"It's $350."

Wolf pulled out his wallet and counted out the cash. The young man beamed. "I'll box this right up for you very carefully."

"It's a gift for someone special," Wolf said.

A short while later, the man came back carrying a white oblong box. "Here you are, and thank you," he said.

Wolf eyed the man as he picked it up from the counter. "What's your name?"

"Andrew Glass."

"Are you a local artist?" Wolf asked.

He nodded. "And then pointed out the window. I live on Pope Mountain. My granny was a Pope."

Wolf nodded. "Beautiful place to live," he said and walked out, carrying his gift, thinking about what Michael Devon had said. Maybe he was right. Some things are perfect just the way they are.

It was cold, and Wolf was tired, and when he got back to the fountain and passed the black bear, he called the hotel for a ride. All he wanted now was to get warm.

Fiona Rangle was on hold. Her lawyer was in the process of trying to work out a plea bargain with the federal prosecutor, with Fiona admitting guilt to all charges and asking for a life sentence rather than the death penalty, but she knew that even if the federal prosecutor agreed to the plea deal, the sentencing would ultimately be up to the judge. She spent every day in the prison looking over her shoulder. Every meal felt like playing Russian roulette. "Will this bite kill me? Is this the day I'm going to die?" Getting jostled by other inmates during their time in the day room was a nightmare. Every second she expected to get shanked. At night, she saw Wolf's face in her dreams and woke up drenched in sweat or crying. She'd spent her life accumulating wealth, but money was worthless to her now. No more rendezvous with Hank Kilmer, no more trips to the hair salon or weekly massages at the spa, no more Mani Pedas. She wondered what was happening at BioMed. She was the sole owner. There was no one legally capable of taking over. She'd played a dirty game and gotten caught. Life as she'd known it was over, and what was left of it wasn't worth living.

Amali was outside the hotel at 6:30 sharp. Wolf emerged moments later, carrying a white box. She was thinking as he approached, "That's my father," and trying not to overwhelm herself again. She'd told him to dress for comfort, and even though he looked like he just stepped away from a fashion shoot, he seemed at ease in the charcoal slacks, black and white sweater, and peer gray trench coat he had on. He eyed the pink velour sweater and black slacks she was wearing, then gave her a quick wink.

"You look beautiful."

"Thank you. Are you ready to do this?" she asked.

He nodded. "I've been looking forward to it all day."

She put the car in gear as he was buckling up, and then they were off.

"So, who all am I meeting tonight?" Wolf asked.

Amali frowned. "I honestly don't know. Most likely Aaron and Dany. That's the oldest of the four brothers, and Dany is his wife. Wy isn't married, so I'm thinking he'll be on his own, although Shawn says he has three girls on speed dial."

Wolf laughed. "That's a great description. Although I've seen Shawn during our Zoom meeting, I'm anxious to meet him in person. From the way you talk, their mother must be something special."

"She's really pretty. I think she must might be around your age. I know she got married very young, and to a man who turned into an abuser. Shawn told me their father made their lives a living hell and nearly killed her, but their mother protected them from the worst of it, but they don't talk about that."

"I'm just telling you."

"He nodded. 'Understood,' he said. But as they started up the mountain, he got quiet."

Amali could see wonder in his eyes. "You know, for a man who grew up in the Louisiana bayou, this place is something to see," he said.

"You've been all over the world. I'm sure you've seen many ancient wonders," she said.

He shrugged. "Yes, of course, but nothing pulls at you harder than home."

Her eyes widened, and the tone of her voice lifted. "That's how I feel about Pope Mountain. From the moment I saw it, I felt a connection, like I'd been lost and finally found home."

"Did you and my mother date a long time before you got married?"

"About 8 months, but I fell in love with Shandy the first time I saw her." He chuckled. "Like being struck by lightning and not dying. I love that. What a perfect way to describe being in love."

"Been in love once, been married more than once. Lesson learned," he muttered.

"Oh, while I'm thinking about it, when you aged out of foster care, did your caseworker give you access to your file?"

"Yes, I requested a copy, and she gave it to me."

"Why? Because I'm going after the people who gave you away, and I want all the ammunition I can get before I go to the New Orleans police about it."

"I can make copies at my office and have a file for you before you leave," she said.

Wolf nodded. "That would be great, and we may have to do DNA tests again for the court."

"I don't doubt it for a second, but I don't want anybody challenging Ancestry.com as the only proof. We could probably have the tests done at the hospital lab or even the police department before you leave. They could send you the results."

"I'll call both places early tomorrow and let you know. I'm due to fly out around three. I don't want to leave you, but there are so many loose ends still dangling from people thinking I was dead, and I still have to make my own public appearance and give a statement, or I'll be hounded until I do."

She nodded, trying to imagine what it took to be who he was, and then shrugged it off. It didn't matter. All he needed to be for her was her father.

"If you wind up in court with my grandparents, will I have to be there?" she asked.

He frowned. "Most likely."

"Is that okay?" A sudden anger rolled through her. "Yes, they threw me away. I don't mind a bit being the nail in their coffins."

"I second that," he said.

After that, they let the conversation slide until she began slowing down. Wolf sat up, curious now. "So, we're almost there, huh? I was beginning to wonder if there really were houses up in these woods."

"There are hundreds of people up here. They just treasure their privacy. Wait until you see Shirley's house. The original part was once a two-room cabin, but it's been built onto several times in the last four generations. The front porch runs the entire length of the house. It's painted white now, and the fireplace is built of natural rock. She inherited it a few years ago after her mother's passing."

"I love coming here," Wolf was thinking of his three-story mansion on his Miami estate and the villa he had in Italy and the chateau he owned in France and realized he only owned them for the cache, not because he loved being there. His daughter was teaching him something, and he needed to sit up and take notice. And then she turned up into the driveway and headed toward the house.

As soon as she came around the curve and saw all of the other cars, she laughed. "Okay, maybe a couple more people than just Shirley and the boys."

"I think I can handle it," Wolf said.

The front door opened, and people began spilling out onto the porch, and when they did, for the first time in more years than Wolf could count, he was shocked. "They're giants, and they all look alike."

Amali smiled. "You are officially in the land of Popes."

"Which one is yours?" Wolf asked.

"The one coming down the steps to meet us."

Shawn hugged and kissed her as she got out. "I've been missing you. You look beautiful," he said and then extended his hand to Wolf. "Mr. Outon, welcome to our home."

"Thank you for having me," Wolf said, taking the measure of Shawn Pope's firm grip. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person," he said, then looked toward the porch. "The family resemblance is amazing."

"Come meet them," Shawn said and led Amali up the steps. "Everyone, this is Emily's father, Wolf Outon. Introduce yourself."

"I'm Aaron Pope, Shawn's oldest brother, and this is my wife, Dany. I'm Wy Pope, just younger than Shawn, but better looking. I'm Cameron Pope, one of about a 100 cousins. My wife Rusty is sorry she couldn't be here to meet you. Our son isn't feeling well, but Rusty sends her best wishes."

And then the eldest man stepped forward. "I'm John Colie. My wife Annie is inside. She's Shirley's aunt."

"It's a pleasure," Wolf said.

Then Shawn opened the door. "Let's get out of the cold. There are more of us inside."

Shirley came out of the kitchen as they walked in and immediately gave Amali a big hug. "There's my busy girl. Thank you for this. You have no idea how much this means to me," Amali whispered.

"We're excited to meet your father," Shirley said.

"Amal turned. 'Dad, this is Shaun's mother, Shirley. Shirley, this is my dad, Wolf Outon.'"

Wolf had just removed his coat and quickly turned to greet her. "Mrs. Pope, this is a pleasure. I've heard nothing but high praise about you since the moment Amal and I met. I am so very grateful you and your family were kind to a lonely little girl when so many were not. You have my undying appreciation."

Shirley's heart broke for him. "Please, call me Shirley. I can't imagine how you must feel, but we're all so happy you two have found each other."

Wolf handed her the box he'd been carrying. "This is for you, a little hostess gift for organizing all this at such short notice."

Shirley beamed. "Oh my, you didn't have to do that."

"But she loves that you did," Wy piped up and made everyone laugh.

Wolf grinned. "The one with three women on speed dial was a caution."

"Sit down and open it, Mom," Shawn said.

Shirley sat, opened the lid, and then gasped. "Oh my Lord, this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." She lifted it out with both hands. "It's a warbler, a mountain warbler. It was my mother's favorite bird. It looks so real. Thank you, Wolf. Thank you. I will treasure this."

"I'm happy you like it," he said.

"Did you get it in the village?" Shawn asked.

Wolf nodded. "Andrew Glass," Cameron said. "He's kind of famous in the wood carving world. He won Wood Carver of the Year a few years back. It's really broadened his sales and craft."

"I am impressed," Wolf said. "Everything he had in the shop was outstanding, but I honestly thought the bird was real when I first walked in. After that, my decision was made."

While they were admiring the carving, two more women came out of the kitchen. Wolf was trying not to stare, but even at their ages, the Pope resemblance was striking. And then Shawn saw them and began introductions again. "Oh, Wolf, this is my Aunt Annie Colie, John's wife. She runs the bakery in Jubilee. And this is Aunt Ella, the elder of our family. Ladies, Amal's father, Wolf Outon."

"My only claim to fame is outliving all my peers," Ella said.

Wolf smiled. "There's much to be said about persistence."

Ella arched a brow. "I like that. I am old because I persisted."

"And we're glad you did," Annie said.

Shirley got up and carried the carving to the mantle and moved things around until it was set in the forefront, in a place of honor, and then stood back admiring it. "Isn't this the most beautiful thing?" she murmured, then turned around and waved her hands toward the dining room. "I came in here to tell you supper was ready and got sidetracked, didn't I?"

"And I'm ready for it. I miss my mama's cooking," Wy said.

"It's what you get for moving into Jubilee to chase women," Aaron said.

They laughed all the way to the table, and as they were taking their seats, Wolf couldn't help but think about the unity within this family, something he'd been missing all his life. He kept watching his daughter and the man who loved her and saw their future in this place. He was at peace, knowing no matter where his life took him, she would always be safe and loved here.

By the time they got down to dessert, Wolf felt like he'd known these people all his life. Cameron Pope was the dark horse. He was smart and witty and belittled his own talents, which when told around the table were obviously many. The man had secrets, but he liked him. Wolf had been an only child and was seriously envious of the camaraderie between Shirley's sons. The women were like hens in a hen house, all talking at once and still hearing everything else going on at the same time, and Amal was in the middle of it. John and Annie Colie anchored the others by age and experience and took the job of family elders seriously, but it was Ella Pope, the nonagenarian, who had him stumped. She was quick-witted and didn't mind to laugh at herself, but he'd caught her watching him more than once with those dark eyes flashing, and then she'd look away. She reminded him of an old woman from the Bayou where he grew up. People had gone to her for potions and curses because that was their way. Ella didn't come across quite like that. Amali said the family claimed she had the sight, and if she did, he wondered what she thought of him.

And then, when Shirley and Dany got up to serve dessert, he found out what Ella was all about. Ella leaned over, took his hand, and whispered in his ear, "They paid someone to take your baby girl across state lines and abandon her in an alley in Hot Springs, Arkansas. The cops thought she'd been born there. They left a note wrapped up inside her blanket. It said, 'Crazy ran in the family,' so that no one would want her. Go after them. They will turn on each other."

Wolf saw his reflection in her eyes and felt like he was drowning. "I'm not going to ask you how you know this. All I'm going to do is say thank you, because I'm already after them. They just don't know it, and this is more ammunition for the hell I am going to rain down on their heads."

Ella nodded. "I would have expected no less. You didn't get where you are without a fight," she said and let go of his hand.

"Dad, would you rather have a slice of apple tart or Italian cake?" Amali asked.

Wolf jumped like he'd been slapped. "Uh oh. Yes," he said.

They laughed as Shirley put a slice of each on his plate. "I'll have the cake," Ella said. "I don't bake anymore. Too much trouble for just me."

Shawn kept an eye on Wolf all the way through the meal, wanting to make certain that he was at ease so Amali could enjoy herself as well. He knew how much this meant to her, but sitting side by side with her at a family gathering meant a lot to him too. However, they were coming up on well over an hour at the table, dessert was just beginning, and the muscles in his shoulders had begun to knot. Amali saw the pain on his face and leaned over. "Where are your pain pills?" she whispered.

"On my nightstand, but it's okay," he said.

"No, it's not okay. I'll be right back," she said. "Excuse me a moment," she told everyone and left the table, returning shortly and taking her seat before dropping the pills in his palm. Shawn downed them.

"Thank you, baby."

Shirley was too busy cutting cake and tarts to see the byplay, and no one else was paying attention. Satisfied that she hadn't usurped Shirley's place, Amali took a bite of the tart and then rolled her eyes. "Aunt Annie, you did yourself proud. This tart is delicious."

Annie beamed. "Thank you, sugar."

Amali sighed. "Shirley, he's promised to teach me how to make dumplings that don't fall apart, and now this amazing bite. I have a long way to go to get to Pop level cooking."

Shawn slid his arm around her. "You can serve frozen dinners and feed me from cans for the rest of our lives, and I'll be happy."

Amal shook her head. "You say that, not knowing full well we're moving in with Shirley because I wanted a mama, and you offered me yours." Her chin trembled, and she agreed. "So I'm going to be learning from the best."

Shirley had tears in her eyes, but she was beaming. "Well, I never had daughters. I had to wait until my boys gave me some. I have my darling Dany, and now you're on the horizon. I am a happy woman."

Wy frowned. "Don't be waiting on me for a third daughter. I'm nowhere ready for all that, and if and when it ever happens, we know it won't be Linny Elgen, don't we?"

Shawn said, "What about Lenny Elgen?"

"She was my nurse off and on while I was in the hospital. When she found out you were my brother, she frowned, then she said she wouldn't hold it against me."

Wy flushed. Shirley frowned. "I am going to assume whatever asinine thing you did was forgivable, mostly."

Wy said. Wolf laughed out loud. "Sorry, Shirley, but I want you to know this has been, without a doubt, the most enjoyable meal I have ever had with the most delightful people I've ever met. Does anyone here want to adopt me too?"

"You're already in, or you wouldn't be sitting here," Shawn said.

Shirley sighed. "I promise I raise them better than this. Anybody want coffee?"

Ella held up her hand. "You know how I like it," she said. "Two sugars with a splash of cream."

They all echoed. Wolf grinned. "Want to know how I like my coffee?"

"Black with a splash of whiskey," Amali said.

He blinked. "How did you know that?"

She looked startled. "No, what? How I like my coffee?"

Wolf said. Amali felt the room tilt, then looked at Shawn in sudden panic. "Crap, did I do it again?"

He slid his arm around her shoulder and kissed her forehead. "You're just teaching me early to never lie to you," he said, then made a joke of it for her benefit. "Pay her no mind, everybody. She's slowly turning into Aunt Ella and still doesn't have a feel for her breaks. After her wreck, Mother Nature gave her this wild streak," he said, running his finger down the white streak in her hair, "and then opened up a little window in her brain that started showing her past, present, and future. That makes her special. I got shot and woke up as confused about life as ever."

Now everyone was looking at Amali with renewed respect, including Wolf. "One family member with the sight was special. Two might just put them on the map."

"Then coffee with a splash of whiskey coming up," Shirley said and pointed at Wy. "On, would you please go get the bottle of Jim Beam and don't pretend you don't know where it is because I know you do. It hasn't been touched since you moved out."

Wy got up from the table and came back moments later with the whiskey she'd asked for and set it on the counter. Shirley winked. "Thank you."

Wy took the cake server out of her hand, swung her into his arms, and began dancing her around the kitchen with Shirley pink-cheeked and giggling, telling him to stop. He danced her back to the counter and returned to the table, grinning. "What? She's my mama, and she's pretty," he said and sat down.

Ella clapped her hands in delight. "Lord, Shirley, that boy is just like your daddy."

"Thank God," Wy muttered. "Way better than being like mine." The blow landed straight in Shirley's heart. She walked to where he was sitting and put her arms around his neck. "You are my sunshine, Wy Pope, and don't you ever forget it." The dark shadows passed, and Wy was all smiles and laughter again.

"So, what does that make Aaron?" he asked.

Shirley moved around the table, placing her hand on each son as she passed by. "Order of birth, alone. Aaron became our rock, the one I knew who would always pick up the pieces. Shawn is the guardian, protecting us, standing between us and trouble. What does that make BJ?"

"He is the bottomless pit with a tender heart," she said.

"And you were always the captain," Aaron said.

Shirley turned away. "Of a sinking ship. Sorry for the dark turn, everyone."

"Hush now, Shirley," Annie said. "We're fine. Every time I shipped out, I knew you were going to write and send books and cookies. Mom was sick, and you and Aunt Annie and Aunt Ella stepped into the gap," Cameron said. "I'll never forget it. All of you. Everybody always talks about how big Pope men are, but we know it's the women in our family who are the anchors."

Amal raised her hand as if asking permission to speak, and then did anyway. "I knew nothing of your life at home, but you were the face I looked for at every school party, Shawn Pope's Mama, the one with the pretty smile and big hugs, the one who made the best cookies. Sometimes, when you're drowning and you don't know how to swim, you look for anything that will float. You were that for me, Shirley, in the one year of my life when I was fostered in Conway. You made me believe I mattered."

Wolf's heart was breaking for his girl and for them. Without knowing all the wise, but it was Shawn who ended it. "No, ma'am, you do not apologize for anything. You didn't sink the ship, you saved us before it went down by bringing us back to this family, for which we will be forever thankful. You're our hero, and if BJ were here, he'd second that and then ask if he could have that last piece of apple tart."

The small touch of humor shifted the moment, and once again, all was well. By the time the meal finally ended, it was with grateful hearts and full bellies. Amali took Wolf back to his hotel, confident that they'd both passed the Pope test, but Wolf was still locked into the look on Shirley Pope's face when Wy danced her around the kitchen and her son's admiration and devotion to her. After what Ella Pope told him, he was even more determined to get justice for what he and his daughter had lost.

Chapter 17

Amali picked Wolf up the next morning at 8:00 a.m. and drove straight to the hospital lab. After DNA swabs were taken, Wolf left info on where the results should be sent. It was serious business, and they had little to say as they left the hospital arm-in-arm.

"What's your schedule like today?" Wolf asked as they got back in her car.

Amali started it and drove out of the parking lot. "One appointment at 10 this morning, then just working on accounts for the rest of the day."

"Why? Now that we've just found each other, I guess I am reluctant to part company. If I brought lunch to your office, would you be free to stop and eat with me before I fly out?" he asked.

Her face lit up. "I would love that."

"Good. Do you have a preference of food?" he asked.

"No, surprise me. Between 11:30 and noon, okay with you?"

"Yes, perfect," she said. "Oh, I I have the files from my caseworker with me. I'll have them copied for you by then."

"Thank you," Wolf said. He didn't tell her what Ella said to him yesterday, and wasn't going to, but he'd been unable to sleep last night because of it. It was unlikely he'd find proof, but it explained how a baby who'd been born in New Orleans would be abandoned in Arkansas and end up in the Social Services System there. And if that note had been included in her case files, it could explain why she'd never been chosen for adoption. At any rate, he'd find out when he read the files.

"If she even knew that," a few minutes later, she pulled up into the breezeway of Hotel Devon to let him out. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Have a good day, sweetheart. Love you, and I'll see you later."

"Bye, Dad. Love you too."

Amali had just ended her appointment and walked her client to the door. She was on her way back to the desk when her cell phone rang. When she saw it was Shawn, she started smiling. "Hello, love. How's it going?"

"Good. Mom's bringing me into town this afternoon for a checkup and hopefully to get staples out. I was wondering if it would be okay if she dropped me off at the office with you while she hits the supermarket."

"Yes, absolutely," Amali said. "I can't wait. I miss miss you so much. Dad's bringing lunch here around noon. It'll be our last visit for a while. He's flying out at three."

"Give him my best and wish him safe travels from me."

"I will," she said.

"You sure I'm not going to bother your work?" Shawn asked.

"You can bother me all you want. I can always lock the door and pull the shades."

He chuckled. "You don't have shades in the front window."

"Well, yes, there's that, and I need you 100%."

"Well, first too. See you later. Love you."

"Love you more," he said and disconnected. A short while later.

She began hearing sirens and then saw a patrol car go flying past her window with lights flashing. Then people were running out of buildings, and she panicked, thinking of the plane crash from before, and ran outside. It took a few moments for her to realize there was a pile-up at a stoplight, and all, all three drivers were in the street now fighting with each other.

As another police car rolled up, she recognized Wy bailing out of the cruiser with his partner on the run beside him. And before the men knew what was happening, the fight had ended. Wy had one man on the ground and handcuffed, and a second one face down on the back of his cruiser, while his partner dealt with the third. Amali shook her head and went back into the office. Disaster averted. Nothing had fallen from the sky, and all three men were fit enough to fight and probably heading to jail. If she'd been a betting woman, she would have bet all three of them had been on their cell phones when it happened, and she was glad it wasn't her.

They were still working the scene when Wolf arrived with their lunch. "Hey sweetheart, what's going on down the street?"

"Three-car fender bender. You should have seen the drivers. They were all out in the street, street having a free-for-all when the police arrived. Wy Pope was involved in their arrests."

Wolf smiled. "Sorry I missed that. Are you at a stopping point?"

"Yes. I brought folding chairs to the long table and cleared some space so we could eat." He set the bag on the table and then looked around, admiring the efficiency of the setup and the style of the decor. And then he saw the painting.

"Is that Pope Mountain?"

"Yes. Isn't it magnificent? You have a good eye for style," he said, and then began pulling containers from the sack. "Chicken salad sandwiches, a little potato gratin, and macaroons. What do you think?"

"Yum. Do we have forks?"

He pulled them out of the bag, and bottles of soda, napkins, salt, and pepper, and the chef's best wishes.

As they sat, Wolf began talking as they ate, asking her about her clients and the range of her services. When there was finally a lull in the conversation, Amali remembered the file and jumped up to get it. "All of these are copies. You can keep them. I even made copies of the photos in my case file."

Wolf wiped his hands and opened the file, casually leafing through 18 years of his daughter's life. "Have you read it?"

"Sort of, years ago. But honestly, I asked for it because all of my immunization records and school records are in it. Even a birth certificate that says Amal Lincoln."

"Where did they get the Lincoln?" Wolf asked.

She sighed. "It's the name of the street where I was found."

He cued her cheek. "Where did you get your given name?"

She shrugged. "I was told it was from a nun who was a nurse at St. Vincent in Little Rock. I looked it up once. It has different meanings in different languages, but I liked the Arabic root word of Amal best. It means hope."

"It's a beautiful name. It suits you," he said. "What are you looking for in the records?"

"Everything and anything. I'm kind of curious how you wound up in Arkansas when you were born in New Orleans."

"Who knows? I was born and dumped. I have no idea how any of this happened beyond what you've told me. I'll be reading this thoroughly. I want to know everything before I take it to the police. Thank you for fighting for me," she said.

"I could do no less. You are my child." He glanced down at his watch and sighed. "And I should say goodbye for now. I haven't packed, and the chopper is coming early. Something about a weather change. I'm going to miss you so much, but we can FaceTime at will. Keep me abreast of what's happening and let me know when you're going to hold your press conference. Maybe I can watch it."

"Absolutely, I will," Wolf said and began gathering up their trash.

When she stopped him. "I'll get this. Grab your coat. I don't have set appointments this afternoon. I can lock up long enough to give you a ride back."

He put on his coat and picked up the file she'd given him while she bagged up their trash, and then they were out the door and heading down the hall to the back to the parking lot. She tossed the trash in a dumpster and aimed the remote to unlock her car. As they were walking toward it, she pointed to the building in front of them. "The sniper who shot Shawn was on that roof." And then she pointed to a dark stain on the pavement. "That's his blood. I think of his sacrifice every time I pass it."

"God," he whispered, and then bypassed the stain and got in her car. "You have a good man. Never doubt him."

"Oh, I know. He's been my guy since the bubble gum in my hair, and nothing is ever going to change that." Then she drove him to the hotel and let him out, blew him a kiss, and drove away.

Wolf watched until she was out of sight before he went inside, and then he was running. There was no time left to waste.

After Amali got back to the office, she finished cleaning up, then sat down to work, but all the while thinking about Shawn, at his checkup. If he was okay and healing well, would they remove the staples today? Then she saw him coming in the door and went to meet him.

"There's my girl," he said, and wrapped his arms around her. They stood within the silence, waiting for the world to reset around them.

"Are you okay? Did they remove the staples?"

"Yes, and it's a big relief to have them gone. I'm also cleared to drive when necessary, but still no lifting." She pulled him down onto the sofa beside her, then turned to face him. "I would not be alive now but for you, sweetheart."

"You don't need to," she immediately interrupted. "No, let me finish. Gratitude is a pitiful word for that act, but you will have mine for the rest of our lives. When you passed out, I thought you died, and I nearly lost my mind. Then they took you away and wouldn't let me go. I was so ashamed to face your family. It felt like my fault. I just want you to know this, and then we'll never speak of it again. You have to know. You have to understand. I never mattered to anyone ever until you. I will never, ever take your presence in my life for granted. You are my hero. You are my heart. Love you forever."

She didn't know she was crying until Shawn began wiping away her tears. "Love you more," he said.

She reached for a tissue and, without missing a beat, looked up at him and smiled. "When you were Brendan, that's what you always said, 'Chicky, my little Chickasaw, love you more.'"

The hair stood up on the back of Shawn's neck. He couldn't think, wouldn't move, afraid to take a breath and break the spell. And then she blinked. "Sean, honey, do you want something to drink? I have coffee and Pepsi, and there might be some snicker doodles from the bakery."

"Pepsi and cookies would be great," he said. She gave him a quick kiss on the lips for being a good boy. "When they took out your staples," she said, and jumped up.

He watched her disappear into the back room and thought, was this how fast Brenda and lost Meg? She just walked out of sight. A sudden wave of sadness washed through him, as if they'd just shown him what that loss felt like. Then Amali came back, smiling, carrying a handful of cookies in a napkin and a bottle of Pepsi in the other.

"Are you warm enough sitting by the window? I can turn up the thermostat."

"It's all good," he said, and then her phone rang.

"Duty calls," she said, and hurried back to her desk to take the call. He opened his drink, put half a cookie in his mouth, and kicked back to watch her in action, while coming to the realization that none of their meetings had been by chance. Brendan and Meg lost each other. She died waiting to be found, and he died without ever knowing where she'd gone until now.

About an hour and a half later, Shirley called to let Shawn know she was on the way. "Okay, I'll be watching for you," he said, and began logging out of Amali's extra computer.

"Was that your mom?" she asked.

"Yes. Thanks for letting me use your stuff. I got caught up on email and saved one 17-year-old gamer from a total meltdown," he said. "And you know what?" he said. "The best part ever was me saving his score when I got his program unlocked."

She wiggled her brows. "You are the man. Thanks for the reminder."

"Not that it was needed. The next time I see you, my mommy will not be picking me up, and I will most likely be taking you to bed," he told her, and then she was in his arms. The room tilted again, and Amali felt the rough brush of a beard against her face and a deep chuckle in her ear. "I said you would be okay." Her heart skipped, and then the feeling was gone, and it was Shawn, and he was telling her goodbye, and all she could think to do was keep nodding and smiling.

As soon as the door closed behind him, she dropped to the sofa. "Oh my God, oh my God, what's happening to me?" she whispered.

"You just came home, chicky. You just came home."

The file on Ellis Townley's murder was closed. Detectives Muny and Bruner had solved the case, and whatever happened to Vincent Romo now was up to the courts. They had commendations in their files from the FBI for their quick observance of facts, adhering to a federal case, and sharing their information. It should have all felt over, but it didn't, because they kept remembering how Townley's death had made the life of that single mother who lived down the hall that much harder. Muny still thought of taking the two boys to get food and wondered how the hell they would manage now that they had lost access to a car. Trying to find a way to get one for them wouldn't work because they obviously would not have been able to afford the gas or insurance if they had one. He kept trying to forget it, that it wasn't his job to fix the world, but he couldn't let it go.

On their next day off, he and Bruner drove by the apartment building to make a welfare check on Winona Deal and her four kids. Bruner sighed as they drove up and parked. "Tell me again, why the hell are we doing this? You didn't have to come," he said as he got out and went inside the building.

"Damn it," Bruner muttered, but he was right behind him. When they got to the apartment, Muny expected to hear noise. Granted, the boys would be in school, but with two little kids under school age, it shouldn't be quiet. But he knocked and got no answer. He knocked again and was still waiting for someone to answer when a door opened behind them. An old man was standing in the doorway with a cigarette hanging from his lip and holding a bottle of beer.

"They're gone," he said.

Muny's heart skipped. "Oh yeah? Do you know where they went?"

"Her old man got shanked in prison. Her people from Virginia come and moved her and the kids back to where she grew up."

"Oh, okay. Thanks," Muny said and was turning to walk away when the old man called out.

"Hey, are you the cops who was here when Rosie got killed?"

They nodded. "Did you catch who done it?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah, we did," Bruner said. The old man took the cigarette out of his mouth and flipped the ashes. "Good. Rosie had a hard life, but he was a decent man. He didn't deserve to die like that," he said, then stepped back inside and shut the door. Muny glanced at his partner, then headed for the stairs. It wasn't until they got back in the car that Bruner spoke. "Okay, I'm glad I came. This is a feel-good moment I never saw coming." Muny grinned, then started the car and drove away.

Fiona's lawyer, Sheldon Riker, was at the Tallahassee prison where Fiona had been sent, waiting in visitation to speak with her. He had news, and more news, none of which she was going to like. When they finally brought her in, he was shocked at her transformation. She was gaunt, hollow-eyed, and looked like utter hell. Her hair was dry and stringy, and the dark roots were growing out. She shuffled when she walked and didn't blink when the guard handcuffed her to the table where Riker was sitting. She looked up at him, blinked, and then frowned.

"What are you doing here?"

"To give you updates," he said. "The families of Stuart Bien and Xander Sutton have filed civil lawsuits against you. They're asking $5 million each for loss and suffering. And the Board of Education in Jubilee, Kentucky, has filed a lawsuit against you for the sum of $4 million for the damage to the school and playgrounds from the chopper crash, for which you have claimed guilt, and to pay the medical bills of the two teachers and 13 students who were injured during the second explosion."

A ripple of shock went through her as he continued. "Your assets have been frozen. That includes your bank accounts and property registered under the name Mary Les, and BioMed, your company under your own name. Whatever monies are decided after the lawsuits are settled will come from those assets, minus my fees, of course."

Her eyes welled. "What about me? What's my fate?"

"The feds have agreed to the plea bargain up to a point. You have no leverage, so there's no point in arguing. They have agreed to leave your sentencing up to the judge without requesting one way or the other. Either you'll be a lifer, or you'll lose your life."

She lowered her head like a bull deciding whether to bluff or charge, then glanced up from beneath hooded eyes. "What about my single cell?"

"If you're in for life, you share. If you're awaiting a death sentence, you get a single cell to await execution," Riker said.

"And who's the judge signing my dance card?" she asked.

"I don't know yet, and it doesn't matter either way. We have no say."

She grimaced. "In my high school yearbook, I was voted most likely to succeed. When I graduated college, I was Magna Cum Laude. Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

Riker sighed. He didn't like her. He had no sympathy for her. She was the most narcissistic, heartless, selfish, vicious woman he'd ever met, and he was ready to be rid of her drama. "It was the murders, Fiona. You skipped the part about all the murders. That's why you're where you are. When I get more information, you will be informed," he said, then nodded at the guard. "We're through here."

The guard took her away with her head down, shuffling as they went. Riker's skin was still crawling as he waited to be escorted out.

The sky was dark and threatening by the time Wolf landed in Miami. He grabbed his luggage and caught an Uber, but the rain beat him home. He walked in, dripping water, and was shedding his shoes and coat when his housekeeper came running to his aid. "Mr. Wolf, I didn't hear you come in. Welcome back," she said. "I'll take your luggage up to your room. Chef is wondering if you'll want dinner here."

"Yes, but nothing fancy. Whatever we have on hand is fine with me. I'm too tired to make the decision."

"Yes, sir," D said and took off upstairs with his suitcase. As Wolf hung up his coat and went to the library in his sock feet to pour himself a drink, he poured a double shot of whiskey, then carried it to the French doors overlooking the grounds, watching raindrops splashing on the veranda. He took a sip of his drink and then turned around, eyeing the ornate furnishings and elaborate woodwork, and knew in that moment he'd trade everything he had for the kind of family he'd just left. Losing Shandi and their baby had burned him from ever wanting to be that close to a woman again. Finding Amali had changed him. The pursuit of money had lost its spark, but his need for justice was turning into a burning rage. He downed the rest of his whiskey, went upstairs to shower and change, and then he was going to sit down and read the files from her caseworker. By the time he went to bed tonight, he would know what had happened to his child. He sent Amali a text to let her know he was home and sent his love. The miles between them now were long, but she was no longer lost to him.

Wolf put his phone on mute and read files all the way through his dinner. He passed up dessert and took a coffee into the library and settled into his favorite chair to continue reading, making notes as he went. When he was finally through, two things completely shocked him. The original note that had been found within her blanket was in the file. "Be forewarned, this child's family has a long history of mental illness." When Wolf recognized the writing in Carter Bullock's favorite phrase, "Be forewarned," a chill ran through him. Suspecting a person of such malevolence was one thing; seeing the proof of it was yet another. "God is good," Wolf muttered. The Bullock desire to destroy Wolf was about to blow up in their faces.

The next morning, he went to the safe deposit box at his bank to get his and Shandi's marriage license, her death certificate, and the death certificate they'd given him for the baby he thought was dead, and added them to the file. All he needed now were the DNA reports from their tests at the Jubilee Hospital, and then he was headed to New Orleans, satisfied he was as prepared as he could possibly be. He turned his attention to the refinery disaster and Julio and found an email waiting in his inbox from the investigator he'd sent to São Paulo. "Mr. Outon, The refinery fire is out. The damage is vast. It is a total write-off. I'm including info I received from the Brazilian government about rebuilding or, if you so choose, cleaning up and selling off. I'm forwarding you their comments and the laws they cited. As for your manager, Julio Ruiz, he is no longer in São Paulo. I don't think you have other avenues to pursue there unless you want us to track Ruiz down and question him ourselves to see if he knows more or will admit to any wrongdoing. I await your decisions. Jay Langley."

Wolf sighed. He could do nothing with what Amali told him about Ruiz without actual proof of wrongdoing. Ruiz was gone, and so was the refinery. It was insured to the hilt, so Wolf wasn't going to suffer a loss, but he was heart-sick about the deaths, the job losses, and facing a huge onsite cleanup before he was done there. He thought about it for a few minutes and then sent Langley a note. "Come home. I'll send a site manager down to begin organizing and overseeing cleanup. I may have a way to smoke Ruiz out of hiding, but that's for later."

Wolf, there was nothing left for Wolf to do but go back to his Miami office and get back to work. There was no way to know what hell had gone on at his other holdings after his reported death, but he was about to find out. And since Special Agent Ramsay had already alerted the media that Wolf would hold his own press conference when the time was right, and now was as right as it was going to get, he called his public relations office. The phone rang twice. "Emily Sheets out in Public Relations, how can I help you?"

"Emily, this is Wolf. I need you to schedule a press conference. I want it in our conference room sometime this week."

"Mr. Outon, how wonderful to hear your voice! Yes, sir, I'll get right on that and let you know."

"Thank you, Emily. Good to be back. I await your call," he said and hung up.

Chapter 18

By noon the next day, the press release from Outon Industries was the lead story on every media outlet. Wolf Gang Outon was about to make his first public appearance since before the chopper crash. The media already knew his wife had been arrested and charged with multiple murders, as well as the attempt on his life, and they were anxiously awaiting his comments. The conference would be inside his office building; no outside guests were allowed, media only, and questions would be taken. Wolf was braced for whatever they asked, but hoping the existence of his daughter had not been leaked. Coming at the Bullocks unannounced was his goal. After that, he wanted to tell the world of their miraculous reunion.

Wolf wasn't the only one making plans for Amali. Shawn had plans for her too. All the time he'd been healing, he'd thought of little else but Amali. In his heart, she was already his, but he wanted the world to know it too. She just needed to be properly asked before he put a ring on it. He'd been online for days looking at engagement rings in every size and shape, in every setting imaginable, and while they were all beautiful, he hadn't found one that spoke to him. Shirley had gone up the mountain to Ray and Betty Reigns's place this morning to help Betty with housework and laundry. Betty had taken a bad fall, and cousins were bringing food daily to help out. Ray was at work every day, and Charlie was in school, which left Betty on her own. So Shawn was on his own. He'd been working since before daylight and had just finished up a remote fix for a client when his cell phone rang. He glanced down, surprised at the caller, but quickly answered.

"Hello, Aunt Ella."

"Yes, it's me. You bought that ring yet?"

He was long past the need to ask her how she knew he was even looking. "Uh, not yet, but I've been looking. I have my granny's wedding rings. I wondered if you might like to take a look at them if they don't suit what you want."

"That's fine. I never felt called to offer them to any of the kin before, but you and her... well, full circle, son, full circle."

Shawn was stunned. "I don't know what to say, but I'd sure love to see them."

"Then come on up," Ella said. "This is just between you and me, and nobody else will know. The only people who know I have them are dead and gone now."

"Is now okay?" Shawn asked.

"If you're feeling up to driving, now is fine with me." His heart skipped. "I'm up to it. I'll see you soon." He grabbed his coat and keys, left a note on the kitchen island, and was out the door. He hadn't been behind the wheel of a car in weeks, but it felt good to be in control of his life again. He'd lost track of time when he was in the hospital, and then 10 more days of recuperating at home after that, basically the last half of January and a few days into February now. Once he reached the blacktop, he turned right and headed up the mountain. Ella's place was just below John and Annie Cole's. It was the house she'd been born in, and the house she would die in. There were stories about a man she'd once loved and lost, but there were just stories. Ella never confirmed or denied any of them, other than she'd made peace with the single life. He couldn't wait to see the rings. Something told him she already knew they would suit, or she would never have called.

When he reached the turnoff to her house, he stopped to see if the mail carrier had run, and when he saw mail in the box, pulled it out and took it with him, and then carried it up the porch. Upon his arrival, he knocked, then heard her call out. "Doors open, come on in."

"Brought your mail, Aunt Ella," he said.

"Thank you, Shawn. Save me a trip down the road later," she said and took it out of his hands and laid it aside. "Come to the kitchen where the lights better. I haven't looked at Granny's rings for a good 50 years, but after I met your girl, I took them out and cleaned them up a bit."

Shawn followed. "Which grandmother is this? Your dad or your mother's mother?"

"My papa's ma'am. Her name was Annabelle, but they called her Belle. I don't know how Papa's daddy came to have that ring to even give to his wife. Nobody had money back then. Maybe it came from the old country, maybe he won it in a poker game. Who knows? People didn't dwell much on family history back then, mostly because if their lives were bad enough to leave their homeland, they didn't like to be reminded of it."

"I can understand that," Shawn said. "Sometimes I almost forget we were ever anywhere but here, and Arkansas is someone else's story."

Ella patted his shoulder. "Yes, boy, like that. Now sit yourself down here and open up the box. Be honest, it won't hurt my feelings none at all."

Shawn sat and picked up a small black box with a tiny hinge on one side. He could see it had once been covered in some kind of fabric, but there was little left to it but a few pieces of fuzz. But then he lifted the lid, and as he did, sunlight coming through the window caught in the facets, and for a heartbeat, it was like holding fire. The stone was a rosette-cut sapphire, the same color as Amali's eyes, with tiny diamonds set around it like a halo. The setting was silver, as was the single engraved wedding band beside it.

"There's a word engraved inside the band," Ella said. He turned the band toward the light and saw one word: Forever. His heart stopped. "Jesus wept, Aunt Ella. This is the prettiest thing I've ever seen. It's her, a thousand times over, and you knew it, didn't you?"

"But what if it doesn't fit?"

Ella patted his hand. "I already asked Spirit before I called you. It'll do just fine. So, you want it?"

He stood, put his arms around her thin, bony shoulders, and just held her. Ella was chuckling as she patted him on the back. "I'll take that as a yes."

He took a slow, shaky breath and let her go. "I don't know how to navigate the waters common to you and my girl, but I'm trusting she'll figure it out the same way you have. I know I love her so much it hurts, and sometimes I have an overwhelming fear of losing her."

"That's just soul memory, son, from when you lost her before. That won't happen to you again. But I'm not talking about losing her in this life, understand me?"

He nodded. "She keeps slipping into that time and sliding back into this one without even knowing it. She refers to herself as 'Chicky' when talking about Brendan. Her memories of him and her memories of me are all mixed up together right now."

Ella nodded. "Because it's all so new. That streak in her hair, don't tell her because she doesn't need to know, but that's where Meg suffered the injury that killed her. One of the soldiers hit her with the butt of his rifle. They thought she was dead when they threw her in that cellar, suffering a second blow to her head. In this life, and in the very same place, was where Spirit healed her so she wouldn't die again."

Shawn shivered. Spirits and angels and reincarnated souls were so far out of his normal zone, he could hardly bear it, and yet he knew it was so and felt blessed by the journey with her.

"I will tell Amali where this ring came from. She deserves to know. Your generous heart, but she'll hold the secret too. We're both good at that. Is that okay?"

"Always," Ella said. "Now get yourself on home before Shirley knows you're gone. You don't want to have to lie to your mama. All anyone needs to know is that you chose one that was antique because it was the color of Amali's eyes, and let it be."

"Yes, ma'am," Shawn said. He put on his coat again, put the box in an inner pocket, and zipped the pocket. Ella walked him to the door, then watched him going down the steps. So tall and handsome, those broad shoulders and that black hair. So young, with a soul so old. She sighed. "This one would do just fine."

Shawn drove home in a daze, put the ring in his safe, tore up the note he'd left for his mother, then glanced at the clock. Almost noon. Amali would be taking a break for lunch about now, so he sat down at the kitchen table and called, just to hear her voice.

Amali was in the back room getting her sandwich and a bottle of Pepsi out of the refrigerator. She intended to kick back on the sofa to eat her lunch. Her eyes were tired from staring at a screen all morning, and admiring her painting of Pope Mountain as she ate was the best way she knew to rest them. She had just taken the cap off of her Pepsi when her cell phone rang, and when she saw it was Shawn, she abandoned all thoughts of food and quickly answered.

"Hello, my favorite person. What do you have to say for yourself this fine day? Hope I'm not interrupting. If I am, just say so. All I wanted was to hear your voice," he said.

"As always, your timing is perfect. I just stopped for lunch."

"Eating in or eating out?" he asked.

"Peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a Pepsi."

"I might echo that here," he said. "Mom's at Betty Reigns's house for the day."

"Is Betty sick or something?" Amali asked.

"She fell a few days ago, really messed up her shoulder and whacked her head. Everyone's been bringing them food, so Mom went to help her catch up with laundry and cleaning."

"Sounds like the Shirley we know and love."

"Have you heard from Wolf since he left?" he asked.

"Only that he got home okay, and then a text this morning about the upcoming press conference. Apparently, it's in the morning, 10 a.m. Eastern Standard Time."

"I'll make a note to watch," Shawn said. There was a moment of silence, and then he added, "I miss you. When can I come see you?"

"Are we talking about looking at each other's faces or spending the night?"

"I'm talking about all of that," he said.

"The answer is anytime you want, whenever you want, always."

He sighed. "You're my drug of choice, and I am in need."

"You need a key to my house is what you need," she said. "I'll get one made before I go home this evening. It'll be here for you whenever you can get free."

"Tomorrow after 6?"

She laughed. "That'll work. I'll bring home barbecue."

"I'll bring dessert," he said.

"You're the only sweet thing I want," she said. "Love you. See you tomorrow."

"Love you more," he said. The call ended. Amali sighed, then reached for her Pepsi and took a drink before digging into her PB and J.

Wolf was as prepared for this press conference as he was ever going to be. He'd talked to Ari, his lawyer, about what issues to skirt and what to ignore depending on what they asked. His goal at this moment in time was to reassure stockholders he was hale and hearty. He'd purposefully dressed for the media: black suit, white shirt open at the collar, his thick gray hair combed away from his face with the length just brushing the collar of his suit, black brows, hooded ice-blue eyes. He was lean and fit and did not look his age. It was his habit to never smile in public. He played tough and looked the part. Wolf Outon looked like a biker in a business suit, and today he needed that persona to maintain emotional distance because he was royally pissed about what had happened on his watch.

There was a tap on his door, and then his secretary walked in. There was a moment when the thought went through him that it should have been Stu, and then he let it go. "They're ready for you, sir. Security is waiting for you in the hall."

He nodded, straightened the cuff links on his shirt one last time, then strode past her and out the door. Three men from his security team were waiting. One led the way, the other two flanked him as they proceeded to the conference room, and then they took him in the back door and straight up onto the stage. There was no prior announcement, just Wolf emerging without fanfare. At least a dozen media outlets were represented live and on camera, and more than 30 journalists from stations all across the state were sitting in the audience. He walked straight to the bank of microphones and looked up.

"Thank you for coming. As you can see, the rumors of my demise have been exaggerated. Although the reasoning was sound, I am first going to acknowledge the depths of my grief and despair for the two good men who died because someone wanted me dead. My deepest sympathies to the families of Stuart Bien, who was my personal assistant for the last 13 years, and Xander Sutton, the owner-operator of the helicopter that crashed. I will take some questions, but I am limited in what I can talk about since final sentencing has yet to take place for Fiona Rangley, who has confessed to and is incarcerated for the deaths just mentioned after she learned I did not die. I'll take the first question now."

Hands went up, journalists were calling out to be recognized. Wolf began acknowledging them and answering.

"Mister Outon, why did your wife want you dead?"

"We assuming it was my money, since the first three men she'd married and buried left everything to her. I was to be number four."

"Mr. Outon, when did you learn about the crash?"

"After I landed in Brazil."

"Mr. Outon, do you think you'll ever marry again?"

Again, he frowned. "I have to divorce this one first, and I do not speculate about the future."

"Why were you in Brazil?"

"A refinery I own was ablaze. We suspected terrorists at first, but I now suspect it was an inside job. The employee has fled the area, but I'll find him. Ten men died, and even more were injured because of him. I'll say no more about that."

"Mr. Outon, your face is so well known, how were you able to hide so successfully, and where did you go?"

"A few good friends, and I'm not going to tell you where I went. I might need that hidey-hole again one day." And then he ended the press conference on that bit of humor by thanking them for coming and strode off the stage with his head up and his well-known swagger.

Amali and Shawn were on the phone together, watching the press conference. She was at her office, and he watched from home. When it was over, he asked, "Do you feel better now knowing you weren't mentioned?"

"Yes, I'm satisfied the media is unaware that I even exist," she said.

"Is it still on for tonight?" he asked.

She smiled. "It's always going to be on with us. I'm locking up the office at noon and getting that key made. I'll close early if I can, but if not, I'll be home right after I pick up the barbecue."

"Love you, and drive safe coming down."

"I always drive safe. Love you more." But as he was disconnecting, Amali heard an echo. "My little chicky, love you more." She put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes. "Who are you?" But the whispers were gone. She sighed, then turned off the television and went back to work. Tonight, she would sleep in Shawn Pope's arms, knowing all was right with her world.

It had been raining in Jubilee for over an hour now, cocooning the population beneath roofs and within walls. The evening meal had come and gone, leaving the faint scent of barbecue lingering in the air. Foreplay began with conversation, teasing, and flirting until the need for more moved between them. Lights dimmed as they moved from room to room until Shawn was standing in Amali's bedroom, taking off her clothes. The silence of the act was a seduction all its own, every stroke of his fingers against her skin, his breath against her neck as he slid his hands beneath her hair, the weight of her breasts against the back of his hands. The scars she had been loathed to reveal were nothing more to him than the topography of the woman he loved. And then Amali stood bare beneath his gaze, watching as he came out of his clothes without fanfare, as always, staggered by the breadth and the height of him, all man, and he was hers.

A gust of wind splattered rain against her curtained windows as she reached for him, pulling him down onto the bed beside her. They lay facing each other, her hand on his shoulder, his hand on the curve of her hip, gazes locked, and then a whisper. "Close your eyes." They both heard it, thinking the other one said it, and obeyed. But when the veil went down, the curtain lifted in Amali's mind. She saw the beard man and the tender look within his eyes. Shawn saw himself staring into the face of a young woman with brown skin and black hair, so long it covered the pillow upon which she was lying, and then a whisper again. "Lost no more. It is done."

They both jumped, their eyes flew open, and they were staring at each other in shock. Shawn cued her cheek. "What did you just see?"

Amali's heart was pounding. "I saw a big man, as big as you, with a dark, curly beard. I think he's been talking to me ever since my wreck. Who is he? Why is this happening?"

"Because you came home," Shawn said. The lights flickered in the hall, acknowledging his answer.

"I don't understand. I've never been here before," she said.

"Not in this lifetime, you haven't. But you were once before. You loved a man who called you 'Chicky.'" Amali stilled, her eyes widening, and with everything he began saying, she was seeing it play out before her. "When you disappeared without a trace, it broke his heart. He died never knowing what had happened to you. His name was Brendan Pope. You've been mixing him and me up in your head for weeks, and I said nothing. But now, after what I just saw, what we've been shown, I think he's been trying to tell you and me to remind us of who we were and who we are."

"Oh my God, oh my God," Amali said. "What do I do? What do we do?"

"What they did," he said. He rolled her over onto her back, slid between her knees, and in a single thrust, they were one, sealing a bond long since broken and healing the souls once lost. The madness grew with every thrust, with every kiss, with every fervent whisper. The need for more was an addiction, chasing that ever-growing blood rush to the end. One minute rolled into another, into another. Rain began hammering the roof and then the windows, as if pounding to be let in. The climax happened without warning, jolting them out of rhythm and into a sensation of falling, falling forever, falling into each other's arms. The shock wave passed, leaving them stunned and breathless, but so at peace in a way neither had ever known. The voices were gone now. The message had been received and accepted. Balance had been restored.

Shawn rolled over and took her with him, pulling the covers up over their shoulders. As he did, "The word 'love' is not enough, but it's there for you, and so am I. Amali, forever." He didn't know that she was crying until he felt the tears on his chest, and then he drew back in a panic, needing to see her face. "Are you all right? Did I hurt you? What's wrong?"

"Love, I'm so good, so perfect. It's hard to explain. It is a strange world for me to be accepted, to be loved without boundaries, to have been broken time and time again, shunned and shamed for things not of my doing, and then be given everything that has been missing in my life all at once. Forever has been a long time coming, but I will always be on your side. I will always have your back."

"Amaly, sweetheart, come here to me," he whispered. "You're safe now. The war for us is over." He pulled her close, and then they slept.

Parting ways the next morning was hard for both of them, but life and work were upon them, and the future still beckoned. "I'll call you," he said as she was helping him on with his coat. She nodded. "And I'll answer, and we'll talk about stuff and be thinking about other stuff in between," he said, and watched her eyes twinkle. "Exactly. Be careful going home. Love you." He kissed her square on the lips. "Love you more." And then he was gone.

Amal watched until he drove out of sight, then went back inside to finish getting ready. Later, as she was leaving her house, she saw more trucks pulling up at the school. She caught a red light at the main intersection, and as she was waiting, saw a big truck roll through with the logo Winslow's Custom Windows, likely also school related. When the light changed, she headed for the bakery. Neither she nor Shawn had taken time to feed themselves this morning. He was going home to Shirley's cooking; she was taking some of Annie's to work with her, keeping it all in the family.

Julio Ruiz was on the run. He knew someone from Outon Industries had been at the refinery site since the fire was out because his brother-in-law told him. He knew Wolf would be on his tail because he hadn't answered Wolf's calls. He also knew running had been a mistake and was trying to think of a story that would fit the situation. His wife thought he had run off with another woman. His children were distraught, and all because he chose to skim a little off the top of Wolf's profits. Men were dead. Men he had called friends. There were nights when he wished he had died with them and thought about ending his life. Then he'd wake up the next day and remember that in his faith, suicide was a sin. And in the end, it was the church and a village priest that brought him to a halt.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," Julio said.

"I am listening," the old priest said, and Julio began to count what he had done and ended sobbing, praying for absolution, praying for his soul to be at peace. The priest listened, and then he did and said what he always said and did for everyone sitting in his confessional. But then something moved within his heart that led him to add one thing. "God will forgive you, my son, but will you ever forgive yourself? You cannot run away from your past. Be a man. Go home. Face and accept your truth, as you have accepted God's love and forgiveness."

Julio staggered out of the church in a daze. He was afraid he would be in prison for years. His family would suffer his shame, but then he remembered they were already suffering for what he'd done. He walked back down the street to the PADA where he'd been staying, packed up his clothes, and got in the car. If he was to make amends, they began with Wolf Outon. After that, he would let fate have its way.

Wolf was in his limo being driven to a meeting when his cell phone rang. He was on his laptop checking notes and almost let it go to voicemail, then remembered he had a daughter now and checked caller ID. When he saw the name, he was shocked.

"This is Wolf. Where the hell have you been?"

Julio flinched. "Running. Hiding. Hiding from you and my truth."

"I already know you started the fire," Wolf snapped. "I also know you were stealing from me. One crime led to a terrible one, didn't it, Julio?"

Julio was stunned. "I am ashamed, and I am so sorry. I am on my way home to turn myself in, Señor. Please forgive me for abusing your trust."

"To hell with my trust," Wolf snapped. "Men are dead. You don't need my forgiveness. You need to talk to God about that."

Julio sighed. "I already did. That is why I'm going back."

There was a long moment of silence, and then the timbre of Wolf's voice shifted. "It is good to know your conscience is still guiding you. I trusted you completely, and I have been struggling with myself, wondering how I missed this weakness in you."

Julio was crying. "I have been struggling with the weakness in myself."

"Yes, well," Wolf let his voice trail off. "Sorry."

"Wolf, I have one question. How did you know?"

Wolf thought a moment and then realized that of all the people, Julio Ruiz would be someone who would believe. "My daughter is psychic. She sees into the past. She sees into the future. She said your name. That's when I knew that it was you."

Julio gasped. "Kumika? I did not know you had a daughter."

Wolf sighed. "For a long, long time, neither did I. Thank you for calling me. Go with God, Julio. You're going to need him." Wolf dropped the phone back in his pocket.

Chapter Closed. Julio started the car and drove away, still crying, still afraid, but going home.

Chapter 19

It was the 14th of February. The dining room at the Serenity Inn was decorated for Valentine's.

Day and completely booked for the night, eating establishments all over Jubilee had been running special ads all week. Shawn jumped at the Serenity Inn offer the first day it ran and reserved a table for 2 for 7 p.m.

Yesterday, he'd picked up his suit from the cleaners and polished his boots. Bought gifts for Emily and his mom. Why? He cleared his conscience and his girls on speed dial by choosing Mom as his Valentine date. Aaron and Dany had gifted her a trip to the hair salon and a manicure.

Shirley left the house that morning with a spring in her step, unaware Shawn had hidden her flowers and candy in the back bedroom. After she left for her hair appointment, he got everything out and arranged it on the kitchen island so she'd see it when she came back.

From the time they were big enough to know what the day was about, they always made Mama their favorite Valentine and found a way to do or give her something special because they knew the only thing their father would give her was another black eye. Even grown up and with lives of their own, they never forgot her place in their lives. But this year, Shawn had a whole new agenda. This year, Valentine's Day was most especially for his girl.

All day, it felt like Christmas and the anticipation of waiting for daylight to get out of bed and open presents, waiting for the turkey to cook, waiting for the football game to begin, waiting to hear Shirley call, "Go wash your hands, dinner is ready!" He wanted that life with Emily. He wanted the babies and the tree and the dinner on the table and family all around it, and his mom with a grandbaby in her lap.

He'd called Emily early that morning to wish her happy Valentine's Day, then sent a text to Wolf: "I'm going to ask Emily to marry me tonight. We'll FaceTime you afterward so she can tell you herself, but I wanted you to know." Within minutes, he had a response: "One great big hurrah!" that made him smile.

After that, he went to the office and worked through the morning, then made himself a sandwich. It was mid-afternoon when he heard the front door open and got up to see if his mom needed help carrying anything in, then stopped, stunned by his mother's transformation.

"Mom! Oh my God, I hope you feel as good as you look, because you look beautiful."

Shirley beamed. "I feel like a million dollars, and look at my nails! Pink with silver sparkles."

Shawn pointed to the sofa. "FedEx brought you a package. It's from BJ."

She took off her coat and sat down to open the package, then frowned. "I don't want to break a nail. Will you open it for me?" she asked.

"Sure thing," he said, pulled out his pocket knife and sat down beside her. He had the package open in seconds. "Here you go."

Shirley removed the lid, peeled back the layers of tissue paper, and then smiled. "What a beautiful scarf! Turquoise and gold. I'm wearing this to church on Sunday."

"I hope it's not the only thing you're wearing," Shawn said.

Shirley swatted him on the arm. "You are so bad."

He laughed. "There's a card with it."

Shirley found the card beneath the folds and opened it. "Happy Valentine's Day, Mom. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I couldn't love you more. Hope to see you soon. BJ."

Shirley laid the card against her heart. "Love my boys," she said, and laid everything back in the box to take to her room.

"There's more in the kitchen," Shawn said.

Her eyes widened. "From you?"

He nodded. She headed to the kitchen, then clapped her hands when she saw what was on the island. "Oh, Shawn! Pink roses! You know they're my favorites. Thank you!" Then she saw the candy. "Divinity," she said, and immediately chose a piece and took a bite. "Mmm, every bit as good as it looks."

She was still smiling as she opened the card. The smile froze, and then her chin began to quiver. He'd signed it: "To the first woman I ever loved. Happy Valentine's Day, Mom. From son number two."

He hugged her. "Don't cry. This is a happy day for me. I'm proposing to Emily tonight."

Shirley looked up, and in that instant, saw him as the man he had become, and not just her son. "Oh, honey, no more tears. I promise. I am happy for the both of you, and happy for me too. I'm gaining a daughter for this house. You are such a dark horse. I didn't even know you'd gone ring shopping."

"I looked online for ages, and in the end, it was an antique set that won me over. I'm so excited. I can't wait to see it on her finger."

"Me either," he said, and then glanced at the clock. "I'm going to bring up some wood for the fireplace, and yes, I'm using the wheelbarrow now. Go sit somewhere and be pretty until it's time to change into your fancy duds."

"Yes, okay, I will. When is Wyatt coming to pick you up?" he asked.

"Around 6:30. He's taking me to Hotel Devon," she said.

He nodded. "I'm going to get firewood. Be right back."

She patted his cheek, then poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table to finish off her piece of candy. As Shawn went out the door.

Amali had a dress she'd been saving for a very special occasion, and this was the perfect time to wear it. It was the ultimate little black dress, and she hoped her black notori lace tights had enough design to hide the burn scars running up the side of her left leg, because there sure wasn't enough dress to do it. But once she had it on and the black lacy tights, she felt confident enough to pull off the look and was dressed and waiting when the church bells chimed. Her heart skipped. Shawn was here. She smoothed down the fabric on the front of her dress and headed for the door, her high heels clicking on the tile in the entry as she went, wondering why he hadn't used his key.

Then she opened the door. He had flowers in one hand and a box of candy in the other. Black suit, white dress shirt, and a devil-may-care smile on his face that stopped her heart. Shawn had thought he was ready for her and all that went with her, until he saw her in that dress. She had legs that went all the way to a hot Saturday night in a dress that barely made it to Tuesday. It zipped all the way up the back to the Mandarin-style collar, then shot demure all to hell with a heart-shaped cutout above her breasts that left nothing to the imagination.

"Holy Lord, Lord Amali, you look like you just came off a runway. Beautiful, absolutely beautiful," he said, and leaned across the bouquet and kissed her.

"Thank you, darling. You look pretty smashing yourself. Come in out of the cold."

"These are for you," he said and handed her the flowers.

"I want to put them in water before we leave," she said, taking a vase from a shelf in the living room before going to the kitchen. As soon as she had them in water, she looked up. "Look how beautiful," she said, fingering the red rose petals.

"I see," Shawn said, but he was looking at her. "These are for you, too."

"Ooh, chocolate! I'm saving those for later." She opened the card and read the words as they blurred on the page: "My girl forever. Love you more. Sean."

"Oh, Sean, you are going to spoil me, aren't you?"

"Absolutely rotten," he said, "but I'm not done." Then he reached for her hands, took a deep breath, and dropped down on one knee.

"This has been coming since the day we swore a blood oath, but I was too young to see the ending. Finding you again has been the blessing of my life. I love you, Amali, to the depths of my soul. I can't see my life without you in it. Will you marry me? Will you be my wife?"

Amali was trembling and crying and nodding all the way through every word he said, and the moment he paused, she started laughing. "Yes! Yes, a thousand times yes!"

He took the ring out of his pocket, still anxious it wouldn't fit, but then Ella was right. It slipped on as if it had been made for her.

Amali saw the ring and gasped. "Sean! Oh my God!" She looked up at him then. "It's the most perfect thing I've ever seen. How did you know?"

He stood, touching her cheek, and then the ring, and then brushing a soft kiss across her lips. "I wasn't sure. It's an antique. The sapphire is the color of your eyes, and I..."

She closed her eyes. "Ella gave this to you?"

"There's a band that goes with it. The word 'forever' is engraved inside."

Tears were rolling. "If it makes you sad, I can..."

"I'm not sad. I'm overwhelmed. I can't believe this is my life. Finding joy, finding love, finding you."

"You keep giving and giving, and all I have to give back to you is me."

"But darling, you're all I ever wanted," he said, and kissed her. "Now, my dear fiance, I'm starving, and we're going to be late."

"Are you ready?"

"I just need my coat."

"The gray one?" he asked as he went to the coat closet.

She nodded. Moments later, they were going out the door, arm in arm.

Music drifted from the dining room out into the lobby as they entered the restaurant, checking their coats at the door. People were already eyeing the striking couple: the tall man in black, the elegant woman in the little black dress standing beside him.

"Shawn Pope, table for two," he said.

The hostess looked up at him and smiled. "Yes, sir. Right this way," she said, and led them into the dining area, winding their way to a table by the windows overlooking the night lights of Jubilee. Special menus were already at the place settings. A single LED candlestick rested at the center of the table, nearest the window, and below it, a sprinkling of red rose petals lay on the crisp white cloth.

As he seated her, Shawn leaned down and brushed a kiss against the side of her cheek, and then took the other chair across the table and reached for her hand, fingering the ring he'd just put on. "You are just as beautiful by candlelight as you are wearing nothing in bed."

She felt the heat of her own blush as she leaned across the table and whispered, "You are a bit scandalous."

"Shawn Pope, I do what I can," he said, and then winked. The tinkle of her laugh drifted across the dining area, turning heads and bringing smiles to strangers' faces. It was the night for love and lovers.

Every course of their meal was orchestrated to perfection, beginning with champagne. After the sommelier filled the flutes, Shawn picked up his glass. "A toast to the night and to my beautiful fiance," he said.

"And to you, Shawn Pope, the man who holds my heart," she countered. Glasses clinked. Bubbles tickled her nose as she took her first sip. Then she glanced out the window. "Oh, Shawn, just look at that moon! This night is magic."

He knew the moon was up there, but he couldn't take his eyes off of her. "Love you forever," Shawn whispered.

Amali turned away from the moon to look at him, and when she did, he saw that far-away look in her eyes again. "I know you," she whispered, and then blinked. Her gaze shifted, and she was smiling. "Love you more."

He nodded, and then pulled out his phone. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"We're going to call Wolf and show him your ring. Come sit on my lap," he said.

Amali jumped up from her seat, plopped down in Shawn's lap, and then watched her father's face appearing on the screen. "Hi, Dad," Amali said, and turned her hand toward the phone. "We're engaged!"

The smile on Wolf's face was nothing but pure delight. "Congratulations, sweetheart. Welcome to the family, Shawn."

"Thanks, Shawn," Amali blew him a kiss, and then he was gone. But their call had garnered attention from other diners, and when their call ended, people around them began lifting their glasses in congratulations.

"Just like in the movies," Amali said as she slipped back to her seat.

Shawn smiled. "The ones with happy ever afters."

They made love that night in slow motion, drawing out each moment for as long as they could bear, until the walls fell down around them. They slipped into dreams that were not theirs and woke up to a brand new day.

It was the first week of March when Fiona Rangle learned her sentence. The good news was that she was getting that single jail cell after all. The bad news was that the single cells were reserved for death row inmates only. She wanted to cry about it, but crying over spilled milk and dead husbands changed nothing about her fate. The civil suits against her were still pending. The cogs of justice turned slower for some things than for others, but that didn't matter either. She wasn't fighting anything but the uncertainty of time and how much was left with her name on it.

That night, she dreamed of the estate in Miami. D was running a bath for her and adding the lilac-scented bath salt she always loved. Hank was waiting for her in the cabana. Then she was running down the stairs to meet him when Wolf appeared out of nowhere and opened the front door. Police swarmed into the house, dragged her out onto the lawn, and cuffed her hand and foot. Set the house afire, then drove away, leaving her helpless and too close to the flames.

She woke up shaking. The analogies were clear. Karma had finally caught up with her. She didn't want to be here anymore, but she was going out on her own terms. One last master plan, and someone else would take the blame.

It happened in the showers. Stripped and naked as the day she'd been born, Fiona started cursing the other female inmates who were in the showers, calling them names, insulting their ethnicities, their looks, calling out their ignorance by the way they spoke. And then shoved one woman out of the way and got under the shower head with a wash rag, snatched a bar of soap from someone else, and started washing herself. The guards went in after her to take her out, and when they did, she spit in their faces.

Within seconds, every naked woman was on her, punching, kicking, pulling hair, gouging their fingers in her eyes, drawing blood. Lots of blood, running into a red and winding circle down in the drains. Fiona wasn't fighting for her life; she was fighting for it to end. She heard guards sounding an alarm and never knew who threw the first punch, but it didn't matter. She kept fighting and kicking, laughing and screaming until they threw her against the wall. Her head cracked, her eyes rolled back in her head. She was dead before she hit the floor. She had incited the riot. Her last "fuck you" to the world.

Wolf was in a meeting when his new personal assistant, Mark Hines, slipped into the room, handed him a folded note, and slipped out again. He unfolded the note, saw the words, and stood. "Excuse me, gentlemen. I need to take a call," he said, and walked out of the conference room back to his office and picked up the receiver.

"This is Wolf Outon."

"Mr. Outon, I'm Ken Reeves, the warden at the Tallahassee Correctional Center where your wife is."

Wolf took a quick breath. "No need to tiptoe around the message. She tried to kill me. Say what you have to say."

The warden cleared his throat. "Herb... um... she was in an altercation with some other women in the showers this morning, and I'm afraid she died during the fight. You will be notified when her body is released."

To the rage in Wolf's voice was hovering on detonate. "You can't seriously believe I'm going to take the responsibility to bury that woman? I was already in the act of filing for divorce. Obviously, this saves me a dime. Burn her, bury her, choose your poison. By the law that put her there, she belonged to you. You lost her, you bury her." He replaced the receiver, sitting within the silence until the rage had passed, then went back to his meeting. "My apology, gentlemen. A little housekeeping to deal with now. Where were we?"

That evening, when he went home, Wolf sat down with a glass of wine and a stack of mail and began sorting through it, discarding junk mail and separating bills from personal letters. Then he picked up an envelope from a lab in Kentucky, set everything aside, and tore into it. As he suspected, it was the DNA results he'd been waiting for. There were no surprises. He was Amal Lincoln's father. The Bullocks might argue she was Wolf's daughter, but not their granddaughter, but they didn't know about his vasectomy after Shandi's death. And to eliminate themselves from guilt, they would have to submit DNA tests to prove otherwise. They couldn't lie their way out of that.

He took the papers to his office, unlocked the safe, and put them into Amal's file. Today had been a collage of emotions, but this was a perfect end to the turmoil. Tomorrow would be about rearranging his schedule and contacting Toby to ready the jet, but tonight, he would call Amal. He wanted to know if she would be willing to be on standby, just in case her physical presence would tip the scales of the Bullocks' denial.

Amali spent all day Friday in a state of anticipation. She was going to spend the night on the mountain with Shawn and Shirley so she could go to a family wiener roast with them. But by the end of the day, the location of the wiener roast had been moved from Ray and Betty Reign's place to the dining hall in the church due to warnings of inclement weather. If they couldn't have it outside, then it had to be in the dining hall or cancel it all together. And so, the church it was. She was beside herself with excitement. She'd never been to a wiener roast. She was going to meet a whole lot more of Shawn's family. She couldn't wait for the day to be over and was closing the office until Monday when closing time came. She changed clothes in the back room and grabbed her coat and purse before heading out the door. She'd gone from business casual to tennis shoes and jeans and left her good coat in the office and traded it for a lined windbreaker with a hood. She'd locked up the office and was on her way down the hall to the back parking lot when her phone rang. She answered without looking at caller ID.

"Hello?"

"Hi, darling. It's me, Dad. Do you have a minute?"

"For you, always. I've already locked up and I'm on my way out. What's up?"

"Our DNA results finally came, verifying what we already knew."

"Oh, that's wonderful, Dad. Now what?" she asked.

"That's part of why I'm calling. Within the next couple of days, I'll be heading to New Orleans to file charges. I don't know how it's all going to play out, but I'm certain the Bullocks will deny everything. I have enough proof on paper to hang them, but it will all take time. Before I commit you to anything, I just need to know that if the need arose, you would be willing to come to New Orleans and confront them face to face. I'd send a chopper to get you. And if you don't want to do that on your own, absolutely bring Shawn with you for moral support."

"Yes, Dad. Yes, I absolutely will back you 100%. I'm on my way to spend the weekend with the Popes anyway. I'll talk to Shawn about it tonight. I wish you were here. I'm going to a family wiener roast. Can you believe it? I've never been to one before."

The poignancy of that remark within the joy in her voice was gutting. It was all he could do to respond without losing it. "You are on a journey of many firsts with Shawn Pope, and I am forever grateful for his presence in your life. Have so much fun, and give my best to the family. I will keep you informed as this unfolds."

"Thank you, Dad. Love you."

"Be safe, you be safe. Emily, you are all that matters to me in this world." He disconnected.

Amali headed for her car, blinking back tears. But by the time she left the city limits of Jubilee and started up the mountain, clouds were gathering, and she was already wondering how the evening would play out.

Shawn had their car loaded, except for the cookies Shirley was boxing up to take with them. He kept glancing at the time and watching for Amali's car to show up in their drive, then missed her arrival. All of a sudden, he heard footsteps on the porch and went running. She was pulling a little suitcase in one hand and wrestling her purse with the other when he came flying out the door.

"I'll get it! I'll get it!" he said, and swooped in for a kiss. "I've been watching for you forever, and then you arrived when I looked away. Come in, sugar. I'll take your bag." He swept her into the house, shouting, "Mom! Emily's here!"

Shirley came from the kitchen with her arms open and gave Amali a big hug. "Here's my girl, and we're just about ready to leave. I need to box up the rest of my cookies. Everything else is in Shawn's SUV."

"I'm so excited and a little nervous," Emily said.

Shirley laughed. "It's just a wiener roast and a bunch of kin folks. All you have to do is eat hot dogs and fixings and meet a bunch more people who look like me and mine."

"I can do that for sure. I'm starving," Emily said.

"Then come have an appetizer. I can't make all those cookies fit in my container anyway."

Shawn came back in time to overhear her. "Mom, what the heck? If you had overflow, all you had to do was say so. I'm good at leveling things off."

Shirley shook her head. Thunder rumbled overhead. She made a run for the kitchen with them behind her, put the lid on her container of cookies as Shawn and Amali took a couple of extras for themselves, and they were out the door. The first raindrops splattered on the windshield as Shawn was backing up.

"Here it comes," he said.

Amali was still chewing her bite and looked up. "Here comes what?" she asked, and then the heavens unloaded so fast it made her jump.

"Shawn pointed at the torrent. Here comes that good Lord," she muttered.

"Welcome to weather on the mountain. The higher we go, the harder it falls because we're closer to God," Shirley finished and then smiled. "That's what my mother always said."

Amali was a little apprehensive about the windshield wiper ability to keep up, but Shawn was driving. She'd already trusted him with her life, and tonight didn't feel any different. She took another bite of cookie, and by the time she'd finished hers, they were driving into the church parking lot. Shawn pulled up as close as he could get to the covered entrance and honked. Three men came running. He popped the trunk and shouted, "Everything in here goes in there!" The men grabbed the pans and bowls while another one helped Shirley and Amali out and ushered them inside. It was left to Shawn to find a parking place and then make a dash for the door. He came in dripping and laughing, wiped his boots in the foyer, hung his coat on a hook beside dozens of other dripping coats, grabbed a couple of paper towels from the hall table, and wiped his face and then his boots before heading inside.

One of the Morgan boys was strumming an acoustic guitar. A cousin from the other side of the mountain was playing fiddle, and Ray Reigns was playing his banjo. The music was mountain music, more bluegrass than country. It had a kick and a beat beneath the fiddler's mournful wail, the kind of music you could two-step, clog, or waltz to, the kind that spoke to their souls. It didn't take long to find Amali within the crowd. The women had her cornered, admiring her engagement ring and welcoming her into the fold. He had a moment of déjà vu, remembering when Aaron first introduced Dany the same way. "The wheels of time do roll on," he thought, then saw that far-away look on Amali's face and went to save her from herself.

"Hey, y'all. Don't chew her ear off before I've got her fed," Shawn said, then winked at a couple of girl cousins as he swooped her out of the crowd. They were laughing as he led her away. As soon as they were alone, he slid an arm around her shoulders.

"Amali," she looked up. "Rain or no rain, I feel like I'm at my first prom, hoping my dress is okay, and when the music starts, someone asks me to dance. Thank you for bringing me to the party. Thank you for bringing me into your world."

He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. "It's my selfish pleasure to have you, and we just got started," he said, and swung her into his arms. "Can you two-step?"

"Go slow and teach me. I'm a fast learner."

So he did, and by their second turn around the room, she'd proved herself right. She was a natural. The music shifted to a jig, and Shawn paused and shook his head. "This one's beyond me," he said. "Let's go see who all's here and find something cold to drink."

The rain slowly passed, and by the time they were roasting marshmallows, the moon was visible behind passing clouds. Shirley was making s'mores as fast as they brought her the roasted marshmallows. Her fingers were sticky. There was a smear of melted chocolate on her chin. Amali saw her then, but not as Shawn's mother, not as the woman who'd been kind to her as a child, but as Shirley Pope, the girl who'd grown up here and now the woman who'd returned to grow old here. Shirley was showing her what mattered most in this life without even knowing it.

Then the band struck up a song Amali had never heard, and Shawn was suddenly at her elbow. "Last song of the night," he said, and walked her back onto the dance floor.

"What is it called?" she asked.

"Good Night Irene. It's an old song from the '30s. It was written as a lullaby and then became popular as the way to end a dance sometime during the '40s and '50s, at least that's what I've been told."

"I love it," she said, then "Put your head on my shoulder, darling, and close your eyes. I've got you."

It was the last three words that resonated: the trucker who pulled her from the fire, her father's vows, and now Shawn Pope's promises. "I've got you."

"So God, I'm finally getting you. Angels abound in all shapes and sizes whenever and wherever we are in need. Thank you for my Shawn. The others may come and go, but him, I'm going to keep."

They waltzed until the last note faded, and then the task of gathering up and cleaning up and finally saying goodbye lasted the better part of another hour. By the time they started down the mountain, Amali crawled into the back seat of her own accord and curled up in a ball. Shirley laughed, covered her with a blanket, and got in the front seat with Shawn. Amali fell asleep listening to them talk. Shawn all but carried her into bed when they got back home, helped her into her pajamas while she was muttering something about cold feet and a warm heart, then let Shawn tuck her into bed. She was asleep before he even had the lights out. He was still smiling as he went through the house checking windows and locks.

Shirley was in the kitchen putting dirty dishes into the dishwasher. "Everything okay?" she asked. "Does Emily need anything?"

"Everything's fine, Mom, and she's already passed out. I think she had a little too much fun."

"You can't ever have too much fun," Shirley said. "Remember that. And if you do overload, just save up the good feelings for a day when you need them." Then she hung up the dish towel and kissed his cheek. "Night, son. Sleep in. We don't have anything to do tomorrow but just be together."

"My favorite way to be," he said, and went through the house turning out lights behind her.

Wolf was at the airport the next morning with two of his security guards, waiting to board his jet. Toby West, his pilot, was overseeing a refuel, and as soon as they were finished, they would be allowed to board. Wolf eyed his security team, gauging their appearances. At first glance, they could have been business associates traveling with him. They were both in gray suits, white shirts, and black ties, but the results of daily workouts were hard to disguise beneath their tailored suits. One might even confuse the bulge of their shoulder holsters for more muscle were it not for the aviator sunglasses and the stoic expressions on their faces. But for Wolf, they would do nicely. He thought of Shandi as he was waiting to board, wondering if souls knew what their people did after they were gone, wondering if she'd cried among the angels for what was happening to her child. He had loved her being beyond words, and he was traveling to the city of her birth to destroy the people who'd given her life. Given the circumstances, it seemed like a fair "fuck" trade. Then the fuel truck began pulling away, and Toby came out from behind the tail of the jet and waved them on.

"That's us, men," Wolf said, and reached for his bag.

"I've got it, boss," Joe said.

Wolf led the way as they crossed the tarmac, then climbed up the boarding ramp onto the jet. Toby helped them stow luggage and made sure they had drinks before takeoff and were buckled in their seats. "We have clear weather all the way. We have a tailwind, so our flying time is down to just under two hours. Any questions?" he asked.

"None," Wolf said. "Let's do this."

"Yes, sir," Toby said, then walked to the cockpit and closed the door behind him. Moments later, the engines fired, followed by the sound of the that familiar roar. After all these years and a thousand flights, Wolf still hated takeoffs and landings. He leaned against the headrest and took a quick sip of his drink, then put it in the cup holder of his chair and folded his hands in his lap, knowing they still had the usual time lapse and waiting in line for takeoff to go through. Then, finally, they were airborne. At that point, Wolf glanced out the window. They were flying through clouds. Clouds so wholly perfect in his mind that the jet became a knife slicing through meringue. Within moments, they were out of them, and it was nothing but blue sky as far as the eye could see. He wondered then how many angels had Shandi gathered to fly with him today.

Chapter 20

They landed at Louis Armstrong New Orleans International 1 hour and 45 minutes after takeoff. By the time they were allowed to disembark, Wolf was silent, afraid if he opened his mouth, he would be screaming. He had not set foot in this city in 27 years, and he was not looking forward to spending the time here. He needed to do what he'd come here to do. This place had meant nothing to him but sadness and defeat, and he wouldn't be here now if he hadn't come for war.

"I've got your bags, boss," Joe said.

Wolf started down the ramp to the waiting limo. His guards loaded their bags in the car and then joined him. Their driver keyed up the intercom. "Mr. Outon, are we still proceeding to the Waldorf Astoria on Roosevelt?"

"Yes, thank you," Wolf said. The limo started moving on the tarmac, then away from the airfield, heading to the hotel on Roosevelt Way. Wolf was numb to the beauty, lost in the past, but their arrival was duly noted. As they entered the lobby, Wolf Outon's face was known the world over, and there was no mistaking the man of gray hair framing it or the bodyguards flanking him as he moved toward the front desk. Bellhops came running. The manager came out of his office to check Wolf in while trying not to fawn. Everybody knew of his resurrection, and what had happened. Only a few knew he had reserved suites here: the presidential suite for himself and the two nearest suites for his men. Wolf said little beyond producing a corporate SE credit card and picking up room keys before heading to the elevators. The guards carried all the luggage. Nothing left their sight, and nobody argued. Moments later, the flurry he'd caused in the lobby was over, and he was out of sight. But word was spreading: Wolf Gang Outon was in New Orleans. What was he doing here? Who was selling what was he buying?

As soon as the guards got Wolf in his suite and put his luggage on the rack, he began issuing orders. "Get your things in your rooms. Do what you need to do. Order a car and meet me back here in 20 minutes. We're going straight to the PD before word gets out that I'm in the city. The element of surprise is on my side, but it won't be for long."

"Yes, sir," Joe said. "Nothing has been ordered for your suite. Don't answer your door." Even though all of this was standard protocol for Wolf, after all that had transpired, it had amped up the reality of how fragile his safety really was. He followed them to the door, locked and chain-locked it behind them, then turned around. The luxury was obvious and expensive, but it also meant privacy, and that was what he needed most. He quickly hung up his suits, left his travel bag of toiletries on the bathroom counter, and then went through the file he'd brought with him one last time, making sure everything he needed was still in it. Satisfied, he slipped the file into his briefcase and set it on the sofa, then began to pace. His enemy was within this city. They were breathing the same air, and he was about to drop a bomb on their lives.

The car pulled up in front of the New Orleans Police Department long enough to let them out. "Wait in the parking lot," Joe ordered.

"Yes, sir," the driver said, and as soon as his fighters were out, he did exactly that. He wasn't about to screw up the best call he'd ever received. They'd hired him for $1,000 a day until their departure from the city. Sometimes, he didn't make that in a week.

Wolf walked straight to the front desk. "I need to speak to a detective in the Criminal Investigative Division."

The officer glanced up, then did a double-take, thinking he recognized the man. "About what?" he asked.

"A kidnapping."

The officer blinked. "And your name?"

"Wolf Gang Outon."

The officer blinked, thinking that explained the muscle Outon had with him. "If you'll just take a seat, someone will be with you shortly."

"We'll stand," Joe said, as they moved their boss back and out of the way. The officer picked up his phone and made a call. Three minutes later, a linebacker of a detective came striding into the lobby, spied Outon almost instantly, and headed toward him, only to find Alton's defense a little more than he bargained for when both men blocked him. So he decided to introduce himself first.

"Mr. Outon, I'm Detective Louiso. Would you please follow me?" He turned and led the way to the C wing and then to his desk. "Have a seat, and I'll get chairs for your men."

"They'll stand," Wolf said.

Louie nodded. It was a simple mistake; he'd never had anyone bring their own security into a police station before. "Yes, sir. Now, the desk sergeant mentioned something about a kidnapping. Who's been kidnapped, and when did it happen?"

"My daughter was kidnapped. It would be 28 years ago this coming April."

Louie's mouth dropped. "I'm sorry, sir, but why is this just being reported?"

"Because I didn't know until a month ago that I even had a living daughter." And then he began to explain, from being in Saudi Arabia to trying to get home to his wife, only to find her comatose and dying, and what his in-laws told him.

Louie was in shock. "You're saying your in-laws told you your daughter was born dead and deformed and had already been cremated? That your wife had been in a coma since the delivery and she died in your arms less than an hour after your arrival?"

"Yes, and I have birth and death certificates to prove this." Then he pulled out the file and began laying out papers. "This is a picture of me and my wife on our wedding day. This is a picture taken less than two weeks ago of me and my daughter." Louie was stunned. Except for the fact that Wolf was older, it could have been the same woman in both photos. "These are the DNA tests proving she's my daughter. This is the note left within the black blanket she was found in. A handwriting expert will tell you this handwriting matches the handwriting of my wife's father. I don't know what doctors and nurses were paid off to say my daughter died, and I don't know who they paid to take her out of Louisiana to dump her, but she was found at approximately 6 days old in an alley in Hot Springs, Arkansas, dirty and too weak to cry, with that note inside her blanket."

"Read that note, please."

Louie looked. "They mentioned a family history of mental illness."

"Yes, except that's a lie, and I'm guessing it was meant to keep anyone from ever wanting to adopt her, thereby ensuring her a misery of foster care and orphanages. There's another birth certificate in her case file. They gave it to her after she was found. Her surname came from the street on which she'd been found, and her given name came from the nun in the hospital where she was taken. Amal Lincoln. My daughter grew up without me and without my name. I want them dead. I will settle for the rest of their lives in prison."

Louie took a deep breath. "Sir, I can't begin to understand your emotions, but you do know we'll have to do our own investigations into the information you've given us, and that will take time."

"Where did you get the info from her childhood?"

"From my daughter, at her request. Her caseworker gave her a full copy of her own files after she aged out of the system. The caseworker's name and location are in the file. The DNA results came through tests we had done at the hospital in Jubilee, Kentucky, only a few weeks ago at my request. The lab results came to me. Everything else in that file is either an original or a copy of the originals I have in my possession. So investigate away. But in the meantime, I suggest you bring them in for questioning immediately because tomorrow, I'm holding a press conference stating what I've just told you and that I have filed charges against them with the NPD."

Lewis flinched. "Are you threatening the validity of this police force?"

"I don't have to. I'm just telling you what the court of opinion is going to do to your police force if nothing is done to follow up on the information I've just given you. And just so you know, I have already retained my own lawyers here in the city. A criminal defense lawyer and a litigation lawyer. We will be filing a civil lawsuit against my ex-in-laws as well. Their cards are in the file, too. I understand he's one of the best attorneys in the state. I don't play games, Detective. 28 years ago, two residents of your city kidnapped my baby and trafficked her on the day of her birth without giving a "fuck" about what happened to her as long as she didn't die in Louisiana. Paid off God knows how many people to get away with it, and then... then sat back and watched my world coming down around me. If you have any further questions for me, I am at the Roosevelt Waldorf Astoria, presidential suite. I will be there until they have been arrested and charged. After I'm gone, you can communicate to me through my lawyer. Oh, and that file is yours. I have another one just like it with all of the originals."

Lewis was horrified by the story and more than a little scared of Wolf Outon, but if everything Outon just told him could be proved by the info he'd given them, this would probably become the biggest scandal in recent history. He grabbed a pen. "I assume these people still live here in New Orleans, or you wouldn't be here. So I'm going to need names and an address."

"Carter and Lee Bullock. Pillars of old money New Orleans. Evil to the core. I'm sure you already know where to find them."

"We'll see ourselves out," Wolf said. The moment he stood, his security was right beside him. They sandwiched him between them as they walked single file out into the hall and disappeared.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," Lewis muttered. He grabbed the file and headed for the captain's office. They couldn't stop Outon from saying whatever he wanted to say, and he was famous enough to get the media's avid attention with a single phone call. Outon hadn't threatened them; he'd just shortened their time to make decisions.

Carter was at the putting green between his wife's azalea bushes and the wisteria-wrapped pergola at the back of the property when the housekeeper came scurrying out, trying to wave him down. "Mr. Carter! Mr. Carter! You need to come quick!" Cursing the stroke he'd just flubbed, he jammed the putter into his golf bag and rolled it back into the house. He could hear raised voices, but when Lee began screaming, he took off running. The last thing he expected was to see the NOPD on his doorstep and his wife being taken out the door and put into the back of a police car.

"Stop! Stop this instant!" he roared. "I'll have your jobs for this! I demand to know what's going on!"

Detective Lou Gerod stepped forward. "We've received some serious allegations regarding you and your wife, and we need you to come down to the station for questioning."

Carter threw up his arms in disbelief. "How dare you! How "fuck" dare you! I'll have your jobs for this!" he said, and started fighting them.

Louie didn't play games. He didn't argue. He just cuffed Carter without responding. "I'm calling my lawyer."

"You can call him from the station," Louie said, and took Carter's elbow in a firm grip and led him to the cruiser. When Carter realized they were putting him and Lee in separate cars, he panicked. "I want to be with my wife!"

"No, sir. We'll be questioning you both separately. I'll see you at the station," he said, then shut the door and watched them drive away. Louie knew this was just the beginning of a big, ugly mess, but Wolf Outon's charges had to be addressed, and the proof he'd brought with him was shocking to say the least. However, it was the captain's decision to pull the Bullocks in now so that when Outon held his press conference, the police would already have the jump on it. At this point, nobody was being charged or arrested, but Carter and Lee Bullock had a world of explaining to do.

Benton Warwick had been the Bullocks' family lawyer for 35 years and was nearing retirement when he got the call. He arrived at the police station a few minutes shy of an hour after receiving the message and came in bristling, throwing their good name and weight around like a peacock fanning its tail. But like the peacock, it was all for show. The moment he found out about the accusations that had been made, he had a clear moment of panic.

"I'm sorry, Detective Giroux, but I feel I must recuse myself."

"And your reason would be?" Lewis asked.

"That I may have prior knowledge that could incriminate me."

Lewis blinked. "Son of a "fuck," Outon's story was true then. I advise you not to leave town if you want to give a statement regarding this now. We'll take it, otherwise, we'll be asking you back at a later date."

"We'll make it later. I think I'd like my lawyer here when I make it."

"Fine. You're excused for now," Louie said, and went back to the interrogation room where Carter Bullock had been placed. He walked in on a very angry man and delivered a message that turned the old man pale. "I'm afraid Mr. Warwick has had to recuse himself from being your representative since he claims he has prior knowledge of why you're being held. Do you have another lawyer we might call?" Louie asked.

Carter grunted like he'd been punched. "Lash Faraday, but what the hell's going on here? I have a right to know! I demand to know why we've been dragged in here like common criminals!"

"Because accusations have been made against you by Wolf Gang Outon that put you in that context. He has accused you of kidnapping his daughter, trafficking her, and abandoning her in an alley to die, and he has the daughter and the paperwork to prove it."

"We did no such thing!"

Lou stared. "Sit tight. I'm going to call Faraday. I want to talk to my wife. I demand to talk to Lee."

"You're not in charge here, Mr. Bullock. I am," LS said, and walked out. Carter sat staring at the door, unable to believe that this was happening. Another hour passed before Lash Faraday's arrival, then when he came, Lou decided to keep Carter on ice. He wanted to speak to Lee Bullock first. When they entered the interrogation room where she'd

been placed. She was sitting with her head down, her hands motionless on the table before her. She saw Faraday and frowned. "Where's Mr. Warwick? I need to speak to Carter. I demand to know what's happening."

"Mr. Faraday has been informed of the accusations against you. You have 30 minutes to discuss your options, and then I'll be in to take your statement."

Her eyes narrowed in anger. "Accusations? Who made accusations against us?"

"Wolf Gang Outon," Louie said and walked out. When he went back in, he brought his partner, Amos Cox, with him. Wasted no time setting up the interview and informed her it was being taped. After after identifying everyone in the room for the tape, Louie opened up the file Outon had given him and began to question her.

The first picture on top of the file was the wedding photo. "Lee, you don't mind if I call you Lee?" Lewis asked.

"It's fine," she muttered.

"I'm sorry you have to speak up for the recording," he said.

"It's fine," Lee snapped. He laid the picture face up in front of her. "Can you identify these two people in this photo?"

"My daughter, Cassandra, and the man she married."

"What was that man's name?" Lewis asked.

"Wolf Gang Outon. He was below her status and station in life in every possible way, but she would have him, and there was nothing we could do," Lee said.

"I have a copy of their wedding certificate and a copy of the marriage license. Can you please verify those for me?"

Lee glanced at them and then shoved them away. "Yes, they belonged to them."

"I see you and your husband were witnesses on the marriage certificate. Can you verify those signatures as your own?"

"Yes, they are our signatures," Lee said.

The next thing he laid out was the baby's birth certificate. "Whose birth certificate is this?" he asked.

"The one given to the baby. My daughter bore it. It was born dead and deformed."

"There's no name on the birth certificate other than 'Baby Girl Outon.' Why is that?"

Lee shuddered. "It was just a lump of flesh and hair. It wasn't a person."

"But surely your daughter had a name picked out?" Lewis asked.

"Our daughter suffered an aneurysm during birthing. She never saw the thing she gave birth to. She went into a coma. She was dying. We made decisions for her."

"Where was Mr. Outon during this time? Why was he not part of these decisions?"

Lee looked him straight in the face. "He was in a foreign country, working in some Saudi oil field. He wasn't there when she needed him. He arrived less than an hour before she passed."

"Where was their baby?" Lewis asked.

"It had been cremated. It was the humane thing to do, like burying roadkill."

Louie hid his shock and pulled out a death certificate. "This is the baby's death certificate. Can you please verify that for me as well?"

Lee glanced. "Yes, we have a copy of it too."

Then Lewis pulled out another picture. It was the first photo in Amal Lincoln's case file. "Do you recognize this baby?" he asked.

Lee glanced down. "No, I do not."

Louie spoke for the record. "I just showed Mrs. Bullock a photo taken of a a baby girl found abandoned in an alley in Hot Springs, Arkansas, 6 days after the birth and purported death of her own granddaughter." Then he pulled out the photo of Wolf and Amal taken only weeks before. "Do you recognize the people in this photo?" Lewis asked.

Lee barely glanced and shrugged. "It's another photo of my daughter and her husband."

"No, ma'am, it is not. This is a photo of Wolf Gang Outon and the daughter he found through Ancestry.com. Her name is Amily Lincoln. She was found abandoned as a baby in an alley in Hot Springs, Arkansas, approximately 6 days after her estimated date of birth."

Lee gasped, then slapped both hands over her mouth to keep from screaming.

Louie pulled the copy of the note found with the baby. "Do you recognize the handwriting on this note?" he asked.

Lee was trembling. "Uh, no. No, I do not."

"According to our handwriting expert, this note was written by the same man who signed your daughter's marriage certificate. Now, I'm going to ask you again, do you know who wrote this note?"

She glanced at her lawyer in a panic and then screamed, "No comment."

"Did you and your husband conspire to kidnap Wolf Gang Outon's baby?"

"No comment," Lee said.

Lewis kept raising the tone of his voice. "Did you and your husband traffic Mr. Outon's daughter? Did you pay someone to abandon her to her fate in another state?"

"No comment," Lee said.

"How many people did you and your husband buy off to help make this happen?"

"No comment," Lee said.

Louie gathered up the photos and the papers and put them back in the file. "Lee Bullock, did you knowingly and with malicious intent deprive Wolf Gang Outon of his rights as a father and purposefully and with malicious intent conspire to abandon your own grandchild to her death out of hate for the man she belonged to?"

She slapped her hands flat on the table, then screamed, "No comment."

Louie glanced at the lawyer, waiting. He didn't seem to have a comment either. "Lee Bullock, you are being arrested and booked in a women's holding facility on suspicion of human trafficking for selling a baby, abandonment of a baby, abetting the kidnapping, and fraud against the child's father, and that's for starters. You will be held for the duration of the time in which it takes to have your DNA sampled, and if it comes back as a match to the woman we know now as a Molly Lincoln, you will be charged for the aforementioned crimes and more if the need arises. This session is over."

He turned off the recorder and pointed at the officer standing by the door. "Officer, would you please please take Mrs. Bullock to booking?"

"You can't do this to me!" she was still screaming as the detectives turned back to the lawyer. "Mr. Faraday, do you have an issue representing both parties in this case?"

Lash Faraday was conflicted. Legally, he could do so. Technically, it would be a nightmare. "While I'm not in favor, I don't have a personal issue with it. What I will do is assure you that I will not divulge to either client what the other has said or done during interrogations. If they object, then one or both of them may choose to replace me."

"Fair enough," Louis said. "Follow us, please. Same rules, same routine. You'll have some time to confer with Mr. Bullock, and then we'll join you." They walked two doors down to where Bullock was being held and let Faraday in.

Carter stood. "It's about damn time."

Louie closed the door, then glanced at his watch. "It's late. We've missed dinner."

"I'll pony up for coffees if you'll get some chips or something."

"Deal," Amos said. They returned later, refueled and ready. They'd already faced the lesser of two evils. Now it was time to meet the monster.

"Let's do this," Amos said. They entered the room and walked toward the table in tandem, pulled their chairs out at the same time, knowing the screeching sound they'd make on the floor, and then sat.

Carter was quiet. He was pissed. Faraday refused to pass on Lee's comments, but with Benton Warwick out of the picture, he was forced to play ball. He knew the accusations against him. He knew who'd made them, but he had no idea of the avalanche of evidence they had until they began. He was holding it together with his usual aplomb, having an answer for everything and giving them with assurance. He didn't flinch. He didn't waver. And for a man who was contemplating murder, he was hiding it well.

And then they pulled out the marriage license and asked for verification that was his signature. Then they pulled out the pictures and, like Lee, fell for the one with Amal and Wolf and then choked on his own spit when he realized it was not his daughter's face he was looking at, but her baby, fully grown, the one he threw away.

Then they pulled out the copy of the note tucked into the baby's blanket, and he felt the blood rushing from his face. "My words, in my handwriting. Jesus Lord. Mr. Bullock, do you recognize this note?" Louie asked.

"No, I do not."

"That's odd, because the professional handwriting expert we use has definitively identified it as the same handwriting as on your daughter's marriage certificate, which points to you as the person responsible for the kidnapping and trafficking of Wolf Gang Outon's baby. It also points to you and your wife having conspired in this heinous act. You left a baby, your own granddaughter, to die. It was by the grace of God that she did not. You expected her to be lost forever, but by the grace of God and the miracle of DNA registries, your plan did not succeed. Now, I'm going to ask you, Carter Bullock, did you, with malicious intent, deprive Wolf Gang Outon of his rights as a father?"

Faraday leaned over and whispered in Carter's ear. "No comment," Carter said.

"Carter Bullock, did you, with malicious intent, conspire to have Mr. Outon's baby kidnapped and trafficked and left to die in another state?"

"No comment."

"Then I am going to inform you that you are under arrest for the aforementioned crimes. You will be taken to a men's holding facility until which time a test of your own DNA either eliminates you as Amal Lincoln's grandfather or confirms our suspicions that you have in fact committed all of the above crimes and possibly more. I am ending this session as of 10:01 a.m. this morning."

"I will not be taken to prison," Carter said.

Louie stood and pointed at the guard at the door. "Officer, please take Mr. Bullock to booking. Papers to transfer him will be ready tomorrow."

"He'll spend tonight with us."

"Yes, sir," the officer said. Carter was led away in handcuffs, wondering who of all the people involved would turn on him first. And then grinned at his own stupidity. If Lee had seen the picture of Wolf Outon and his daughter, she'd be the one to give him up. No way was he taking all the blame. She'd never wanted to lose her figure to give birth to Cassandra. The idea of raising another baby appalled her. She'd been all for the disappearing act, and if he went down, she was coming with him.

Wolf woke up to a text from Jiro F. "Both Carter and Lee Bullock arrested on suspicion and being held in custody pending DNA confirmation. Before evidence goes to the DA, request details not be shared with the public at this time, but your desire to acknowledge your daughter is understood. This case is going to get ugly, and she will be drawn into it regardless of your desire to protect. It's my opinion that she would be most protected if at this time nothing was said, but again, it's your call. Jiro."

Wolf was surprised that they'd acted this quickly, and Jiro's advice was sound. He knew his desire for revenge was driving this, and maybe he did need to step back for now. Protecting Amal had to come first, but his distrust of the Bullocks and their presence in this city was uppermost in his mind. They'd paid off a whole lot of people to get rid of Amali. He didn't trust they wouldn't start throwing money around to try to make paperwork disappear. So maybe he didn't hold a public press conference. Maybe he just dropped this story to the New York Times and The Washington Post. The local papers would pick it up from the AP and run with it. And Emily was as mad and hurt as a woman could be at what they'd done. He'd warned her what might happen. She'd already told him to go for it. This was their fight, him and his girl. He wasn't giving anybody a break, not the Bullocks, not the cops, not the DA. He'd let her know, and her decision would be the one he followed.

Amali was knee-deep in tax reports. The deadline for filing was about a month away, and she kept getting walk-in customers asking for appointments, which was good but definitely increasing the workload. She had a client coming in soon to finish up an online filing. She had their copies ready to sign and an invoice waiting and was getting up to get a cup of coffee when her phone began to ring. She ran back to her desk to grab it.

"Hello?"

"Hey sugar, it's me. Got a second?"

"Just," she said. "I I have a client due any moment. What's up?"

"The New Orleans police arrested Clark and Lee Bullock on suspicion of a buttload of charges last night. They're both in holding pending DNA testing. It's procedure for the cops. The Bullocks already see the writing on the wall, but so far are denying everything and down to no comment."

"Oh my God, that's wonderful, Dad! Thank you, thank you for not letting this go!"

"Hell no, I'm not letting it go. And that's why I called. I told the detective I was going to hold a press conference regarding the kidnapping of my daughter and the crimes committed by the Bullocks to make it happen. They can't stop me from doing it, but they want me to wait until the DNA tests come back and they turn everything over to the DA."

She frowned. "What are your thoughts on that?"

"I think I don't trust anybody here. The Bullocks bought off a lot of people to make you disappear, and I don't trust them not to try destroying evidence to get away with it. Granted, you are the ultimate proof, but destroying the evidence trail would then be just my word against theirs as to how you disappeared."

"Then follow your gut, Dad. Pulling you into the public eye could become a problem for you."

"My truth won't hurt me. I've already survived it. My truth won't hurt my business; it would be the reverse. As for the media, my future brothers-in-law are cops, and Shawn is over the top when it comes to protecting me."

"Then you're okay with this?"

"I'm okay with this," she said.

"Enough said. Love you. Talk to you soon."

"Love you too." The call ended. Her client came in, and her morning continued, but Wolf was on a mission. He started going through his contacts until he found a journalist at the Miami Herald who he knew and trusted and gave him a call. "Might as well start at home."

The phone rang a couple of times, and then the call picked up. "Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, Wolf Outon, is this you?"

Wolf grinned. "Leave it to a wordsmith like Danvers to use International Civil Aviation Organization spellings instead of just blatantly saying 'What the f---?' Yes, it's me. I have a story. Do you want the scoop?"

"Does a bear ask for charmine in the woods? What's it about?"

"My daughter."

There was a moment of silence. "I didn't know you had a daughter."

"Neither did I, up until a month or so ago."

"Holy s---, Wolf! Where do we start?"

"At the beginning, which was nearly 28 years ago. You're going to need to record this. It's a sad, long ass story with a very happy ending."

"Give me a sec," Danvers said. Wolf heard footsteps running away and then footsteps running back. Danvers was slightly breathless when he picked up. "Are you giving this to anyone else?"

"Only you. Once the story runs, I'll probably give comments to other papers, but that's it."

"Thank you for this, but why me?" Danvers asked.

"Because I trust you," Wolf said. Another moment of silence as he heard Danvers clearing his throat. "Thanks, man. I'm ready when you are."

Wolf started talking, and when he finished, Danvers was in disbelief. "This... I can't imagine. How is she okay with all this coming out?"

"What do you mean, 'her truth'? She hasn't known who the hell she was for the past 27 years of her life. We're both celebrating each other's existence right now, and honestly, she's angry, maybe even more than I am, at what happened because she's the one who was thrown away. She's the one who grew up with nobody to love her. Write the truth, Danvers, that's all I ask."

"Consider it done. Do you want to vet it before I send it in?"

"No. If you screw me over, I'll just make you sorry you were ever born."

"Okay," Danvers laughed. "And that is exactly why I love you, man. You're the real deal. Are you here in Miami?"

"Not yet, but I will be by tomorrow."

"Then watch for the headline. I might even win a Pulitzer for this." Wolf hung up, satisfied with their joint decision, then called down to room service and ordered breakfast.

Chapter 21

The story broke the morning after Wolf's arrival back in Miami. His phone started ringing by mid-morning. He transferred all the calls to his personal assistant's office with instructions to Mark to tell callers he had no further comments at this time. The AP picked it up, and by evening, the story was nationwide, with every news anchor trying to put a new spin on the same information they all had. And then, digging through the dirt to add his wife's bloody death in prison to the gore, he guessed s--- hit the fan in the New Orleans world as well, but he didn't care. More pressure on them to nail the Bullocks before they started flashing money and pulling strings.

He sent Amal a link to the story in the Miami Herald with a suggestion to not to respond to calls and if journalists ran her down to refuse to give them a story. "Once the shock wears off of all this, we'll be old news in no time," Wolf said. And then he sent Shawn a message: "Watch her six, son. The reporters won't hurt her, but they can be absolute a------s without trying." Shawn sent a three-word reply: "Already on it."

And he was. Every family member in Jubilee had been warned about reporters asking questions, and the police force had been forewarned about the possibility of paparazzi, but that didn't faze them. It was business as usual in Jubilee. They dealt with the media before because of the entertainment world of the music venues. The minute one of the entertainers started having personal problems that hit the news, the press came looking for photos and scoops on what was going on, like being caught cheating or in the middle of a messy divorce. So the long-lost daughter of a billionaire who was now living in their midst sort of fell into the same category. Shawn had assured her that if some random reporter got in her way, he'd make them sorry. Her thoughts flashed to the bubblegum fight of their youth, and she laughed, but Shawn didn't. After that, she wasn't so sure he hadn't meant it. So she accepted that if the cops didn't run the nosy media out of town, the Popes might take them up the mountain to see the sights. Either way, their fate was out of her hands.

In the end, Amaly took it all in stride, just as she had every other bump in her road, believing eventually it would work itself out. Problems always did. The bigger excitement in her world was the the remodeling going on up at Shirley's house. They were turning two of the now empty bedrooms in the house into a master suite and en suite for her and Shawn, and as soon as it was finished, they were setting a wedding date. All she knew was that it was Shirley's idea, and she was having the time of her life. Shawn was working through hammering and sawing, and his mother's sudden appearances in his office, coming in with color swatches and paint chips. It was quite the noisy event up on their quiet mountain, while down in the valley, Jubilee Elementary was getting ready to reopen. Teachers were preparing themselves for problems, but with the hope that all of the renovations and new desks and new playground equipment would be enough to help them get past it. And even more helpful, thanks to a huge donation from PCG Inc., a brand new privacy fence to go with the new playground equipment had gone up behind the school, hiding all of the burned-out area of the the crash site. It was the best they could do with a bad situation. Their first day of school would be the Monday after Easter.

But Shawn wasn't just looking out for Amali. He'd been keeping his brother secret, and tomorrow was the big surprise. BJ was coming home. And as soon as Shirley left for town, he raced into BJ's old room to put clean sheets on the bed, then dusted and swept it. Due to Shawn's suggestion, question: the carpenters weren't due back for 5 days. Shirley thought it was because of the holiday weekend, when in truth, it was the actual length of time BJ was getting to stay. Whatever noise happened in the house this weekend would come from making up for lost time with Shirley's baby boy. At the same time, Shirley was picking out sweet potatoes from the produce shelf. Wolf was in his Miami office opening email when he noticed a message from Detective Gerard. When Wolf saw the heading, "Bullocks Charged," he quickly opened it. Then, as he began to read, he physically sagged from the release of guilt that had been upon him.

"DNA results confirm the Bullocks are Amily Lincoln's grandparents. They are officially under arrest, having been charged on multiple counts, and everything has been turned over to the district attorney. There's word they may try for a plea deal, but rest assured, they are not getting away with anything. They're going to prison for the rest of their lives. And to my knowledge, have named no less than 13 people who assisted and abetted them. They are all being processed as I write this. On behalf of the City of New Orleans, we deeply regret the injustices you and your daughter have suffered. I know it changes nothing, but I have two sons, and I cannot imagine them having to go through what happened to your child. You are a good and dutiful father for seeking justice, and I greatly appreciate your choice to come to us rather than seeking your own level of revenge. Detective Louie Gira, CID, NOPD."

Wolf felt weightless, thinking if he moved, he might disappear. He sat until the feeling passed, then walked to the windows overlooking the city that had become his home. He needed to let Amily know, but he couldn't think. He just kept staring at the vista until it blurred. He tried to shake off the flood of emotions, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, as if that alone would stop the tears. "Help me," the thought came from his soul as he leaned his forehead against the window and took a breath. But when he exhaled, a sob came with it, and then another and another, until he was crying too hard to stop, and the city disappeared before him. All he could see was Shandi's face, smiling up at him like the day they wed. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I lost our girl. I will forever believe you let us back to each other. I swear on my life, I won't lose her again."

Shirley was home from the supermarket, and Shawn was on the way to Jubilee to pick up Amal, leaving Shirley happily on her own to begin baking for the weekend festivities. Amali had closed the office at noon and had been home for over an hour, watching for Shawn to arrive. When it dawned on her that the same car had been driving slowly by her house ever since the news broke about her identity, she'd had call after call at her work and reporters and photographers walking into her office looking for a story or to snap a few unsolicited photos. They'd been an aggravation, but nothing more. If they didn't leave when asked, she just called the police. After the 10th one was locked up and forced to pay bond to be released, that proc slammed to a halt. Word was spreading. Then she began to notice a different kind of harassment. They were the ones who didn't want a story; they just wanted photos for the tabloids, then made up the story they wanted to go with. But they were few and far between, and when they finally disappeared, she thought they were gone until today. The car had just circled the block again, and she was stewing about what to do when Shawn drove up. She noticed the driver's brake lights flash and then the car sped up to go around the block again, probably in hopes of catching pictures of the both of them. She ran to the door before Shawn was even at the steps. "Hurry, Shawn, hurry! Some guy has been circling the block for a solid hour. I think he's paparazzi!" she shouted.

Shawn stopped in mid-step and turned back toward the street. "What make and model car?" he asked.

"Dark blue Toyota. It has an Illinois license plate. It could just be a tourist looking for an address, but I don't think..." Shawn saw it coming. "Get back in the house and close the door."

"Honey, please, I don't want you getting hurt again on my behalf."

"I'm not going to hurt him," Shawn said.

She groaned. "I meant you." He didn't look back, just shut the door.

"Amal," she shut the door, then ran to the window as Shawn was getting something from the back of his SUV, then gasped when he walked out into the middle of the street, forcing the driver to stop to keep from hitting him. She watched the driver get out, holding a camera with a long lens attached. He was grinning and talking and in the act of aiming it for a shot when the size and height of the man before him suddenly dawned, and then he saw the look on Shawn's face, and a "maybe I'm too close" look crossed his face. The hesitation was his undoing. Shawn's arm swung up. There was something in his hand, and for a second, Amaly thought he was going to shoot the man, then he did, but with a swath of yellow spray paint that blasted the camera lens and most of the man's face. Amaly gasped. The man was cursing a blue streak and waving his arms when Shawn started toward him. The man backed up, still shouting and cursing, before he realized Shawn was now painting something on the hood of his car. A word, just one word, all across the hood in letters so large Amaly could read it from the house. It spelled "RUN" in yellow, and from the look on the man's face when he saw it, he was considering the suggestion. Then Shawn tossed the paint can into the open hatch of his SUV, pulled out a tire iron, and turned around. The man jerked like he'd been slapped, leaped back in the car, and spun out so fast he fishtailed sideways, clipping a neighbor's mailbox on the way. And Shawn was still standing in the street, holding the tire iron and watching the intersection until he saw the car shoot around the corner and turned toward the main highway. Pausing only long enough for one car to pass before it turned East. Other than going up the mountain, it was the only way out of town. It appeared the man had chosen to heed Shawn's warning.

Amal watched in disbelief at the calm, methodical manner in which Shawn replaced the tire iron, then got a rag from the back of the SUV and cleaned his hands and shut the hatch before heading back to the house. She opened the door and burst out laughing, then threw her arms around his neck and began kissing him wildly, madly, deeply, square on the lips. "You are my hero, then, now, forever, always. This was better than bubble gum," she said.

Shawn wasn't even smiling as he cupped the side of her face. "I already made a promise to God and your daddy that you would never be afraid again, and I intend to keep it." The smile slid off her lips. "To God and Daddy, I'm not joking. Anybody messes with you will go through me to do it. You suffer no more on my watch." He slid his hands beneath her hair and pulled her toward him, and this time, he was the one doing the kissing, and nobody was laughing. When it was over, "You ready to go home with me, darling?"

She nodded. "Then get your coat. It's still nippy up the hill." She put on the coat as he picked up her bag. She locked the door and followed him down the drive to his car and got in as he loaded her bag into the back seat. "Thought I'd better put your bag here rather than the back, just in case there's yellow paint somewhere. I did kind of give it a toss." She choked on a giggle and buckled up, but by the time he was driving away, she was laughing and bragging about the uniqueness of his wrath and the ingenuity of using yellow, the mark of a coward. "She finally had Shawn grinning."

"In all honesty, the yellow part was just a fluke because I knew the white can was empty," she started laughing, laughing all over again. When they pulled up to the house, Shawn reached for her hand. "Let's don't mention this to anyone." She leaned over the console and kissed him. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

Shawn stowed her bag in his room, then gave her a tour of the renovations in progress before they joined Shirley in the kitchen. Sometime later, she was sitting out on the back porch with a barn cat winding around her ankles and dreaming of the day when this would be her noise. Shawn was on tall man duty, pulling down baking pans stored too high for Shirley to reach and putting others back up, and she could hear them talking and laughing. Being in this family was healing her in ways she'd never known were undone. When she heard a voice, "You're coming out of the dark. It is a blessed place to be." At that moment, her phone signaled a text. She pulled it out of her pocket to see who it was from. It was Wolf.

"Both Bullocks talked. They are going to prison. They will die there. 13 other people also being charged for abetting in various ways. Doubt there will be a trial. Looks like you're off the hook as to testifying. If you want to be in court the day they're sentenced, I will make that happen for you. Happy Easter, little girl. I wish I could have been the daddy who hid the eggs. I will settle for getting to walk you down the aisle. Your mother would be so proud of the woman you have become. I know I am. Love, Dad."

Amali came back into the house with tears running down her face, and when they saw her, everything came to a halt. "Honey, what's wrong?" Shawn asked. She handed him the phone. "Good news, but Daddy sad."

"I feel it in my bones," they read it, then reached for her at at the same time. "Group hug. This is how we fix all the hurts in this family. That and cookies," Shawn said, and kissed the top of her head. It made them laugh, but when Shirley sent them outside with popping cookies, they didn't argue.

"Your mother is a healer, isn't she?" Amal said.

"A fixer of all kinds of aches, even the ones you can't see," he shrugged. "We all have gifts and burdens. Some people use them to the fullest, some people waste them, and some people never even know that they are there." She leaned her head against his shoulder. "How did you get so smart?"

"I guess Clyde Wallace beat the stupid out of all of us. What's left is gold." Shawn never talked about his father; he never ever said his name. She knew their scars ran deep, and the only way she knew how to make the dark go away was to be his light. She glanced longingly at the cookie she was holding, then sighed. "Shawn, remember when you used to give me your dessert at school?"

He nodded. "Back then, I thought you just didn't want it, but you were giving up something you wanted to make someone else's world better, weren't you?"

He grinned. "Maybe so."

"Here," she said, and handed him her cookie. He sighed. "God, you humble me on a daily basis. Just eat the cookie." And so he did.

That night, they made love within the silence of the old house, within the walls of a room where lives had been lost and babies had been birthed, and the passage of time had been stopped within the moment of a heartbeat, making love in the dark. And in the morning of the next day, while Greece was still warm in the skillet where she'd took the eggs, Shirley Pope's last son walked in the door. He dropped his bags, threw his coat on the sofa, and caught his mother on the run and swept her up into his arms. "Happy Easter, Mom!"

Shirley was in shock. "What happened to you?"

"I grew. I hope I'm done. Big man. Clothes are expensive." Shawn was grinning. "Damn son, I think you're right. As of this moment, you are officially the tallest Pope on the mountain, and you're early. Caught a different flight last night, stayed over in Bowling Green, started home before daybreak. And this beautiful woman must be your girl. My fiancée, Emily Lincoln."

"Amal, this is Brendan James Pope, our baby brother, but we call him BJ. You never knew him; he wasn't old enough to go to school then."

Amali smiled. "Finally, we meet," she said.

"Your reputation in this family is epic." He hugged his mother again, smiling. "What have you been saying about me?"

"The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," Shirley said, and laughter filled the house. They spent the rest of the day together, but from time to time, Amali would make herself scarce just to let them be brothers with each other, brothers with their mother, mother with her sons. It wasn't until supper that BJ shared another secret, something he'd been working on for some time. "I've taken a job as the head pastry chef in a five-star hotel restaurant, and I'll be leaving New York City."

Shirley clapped her hands in pure delight. "Oh son, I am so proud of you! You've worked hard to get to this. So where are you going and when do you begin?"

He glanced up, anxious to gauge their first reactions. "To the kitchens of the Serenity Inn, here in Jubilee. I start in two months." The cries of delight were music to his ears. Shawn shook his head. "I'm so happy for you, little brother, but I never thought you'd come back."

"I didn't think I would either, until you nearly got yourself killed and I found out you loved a woman enough to die for her, and I was missing out on everything. Family, and you guys are worth more than all the money and prestige the world could offer. This new job is perfect. I still get to do my thing and get paid a great salary to do it. I'm not meant for a solo life. I want what you and Emily have, what Aaron and Danny have. Not sure about Wy's choices, but I miss him too."

"None of us are sure about Wy's choices, but so far, he's kept himself out of hot water," Shawn said. BJ glanced at Shirley. "And I don't want Mom to get older without me." He had them all blinking back tears, and Shirley wouldn't have it. "You can't bake a cake big enough to stop me from aging, but you can make my life sweeter with your presence, and I'm selfish enough to say it, I'm glad you're coming home."

Shawn glanced at Amali, then leaned back in his chair. "So, in two months, you'll be looking for a place to live, and in about the same length of time, Amaly will be moving up here."

BJ's eyebrows rose. "Are you leasing?"

"Yes, I signed a 2-year lease. I didn't know my world would turn upside down within a month of moving in."

"What happened?" BJ asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh Lord, that's a whole other story, and Shawn can fill you in with all the uglies. However, while you're here, have Shawn bring you down to check out the house. He has a key. If you want to do a sublet, I'd be happy to do that. I was going to just sell all my stuff; I don't need to bring anything here, but if you want to lease the house, then I'll leave it all furnished for you too. None of it is personal to me."

"If it's larger than 325 sq ft, I want it." Shirley frowned. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"It's the size of the apartment I've been living in for the past two and a half years," BJ said. Shirley reeled. "Oh my Lord, I didn't know! My bedroom is larger than that!"

"I know you also do not want to know what rent goes for something like that. New York City isn't all flash and glamour, but it's a great place to be. However, I'm at the bin there, done that stage. I just want to come home. I need to live close to the job and was planning to look for a place in Jubilee anyway, but it appears my new sister has just solved that problem for me." He winked at Amal.

"Anything for family," Amal said, then eyed him closer. "However, unless you plan to sleep with your legs hanging off the end of my bed, you're probably going to have to get a different one."

"The continuing story of our lives," BJ said. "That I can do. One last thing, keep the news to yourselves for now. Ray Caldwell, my new boss, wants to make a big announcement upon my arrival, and I don't want to spoil whatever PR he's planning for the hotel."

Shawn shrugged. "We're good at keeping secrets in this family, remember?" Amaly let the comment roll over her head. She had secrets of her own she would probably never share. In her world, it was how people stayed safe and sane.

When BJ walked into church on Easter Sunday, the congregation was still arriving, gathering in little clumps to visit and sharing family news before the service began. Both of his other brothers were already there, and when they saw him walk in with their mom and Shawn and Amy, they both came running. Then all the hugging and laughing and back-thumping began, and the first words out of Aaron's mouth were, "You grew!"

Wy was wide-eyed and in disbelief. "You're bigger than Cameron."

BJ shrugged. "Don't blame me, blame the DNA."

Cameron appeared, grinning from ear to ear. "Son, when did all this happen?"

"Lots of taste-testing in the kitchens of New York City," Jay said.

"Well, it all went to height and not weight, which is always good," Cameron said. "It's good to see you here," he added, and then lowered his voice. "And even better to have you home."

"Thanks for helping make it happen," BJ said.

Cameron shrugged. "I didn't make it happen. I just heard the word and passed it on. Your resume and application got you the job."

"When do you start?"

"Two months, but that's not being advertised," he said.

"Understood. Anyway, it's good to see you again."

"It's good to be home," BJ said, and then the pianist took her seat at the piano and sounded a chord, the signal services were about to begin, and everybody began scrambling for a seat.

On that Easter Sunday, Shirley Pope was as happy as a woman could be. She had all four sons and their significant others lined up in the pew beside her, a hymnal in her lap, Preacher Farley standing at the pulpit with sunlight coming through the windows onto his face, and she was feeling the timelessness of this place with the future sitting beside her.

Epilogue

Wolf Gang Outon had once attended a funeral in the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City, but had never felt the presence of spirit as profoundly as he did today in the church in the Wildwood, waiting to walk his daughter down the aisle. They hadn't issued invitations for the wedding; it was family only because there was no room for anyone else. Family filled the pews and all the folding chairs along the walls and sat holding children in their laps to save room to witness the marriage of another Pope and the woman he was bringing to the mountain for them all. It was acknowledgement of the continuation of their heritage and reassurance that even after they were gone, there would still be Popes on the mountain that bore their name.

The reception afterward was being held at the ballroom of the Serenity Inn, and Brendan Pope, the new pastry chef at the hotel, had received the honor of making both the groom's cake and the wedding cake. The the last touches had gone onto the cakes just before midnight last night, and then the cakes had been rolled into the massive coolers to await their presentation. BJ had 4 hours of sleep before he was up and getting ready to join his brothers at the wedding. By age alone, Aaron was Shawn's best man, and by order of birth, Wy and BJ were his groomsmen. Amal's choices had been the wild card. She'd asked Ella to be matron of honor, and Dany and Shirley to be her bridesmaids. Ly Glass was her chosen flower girl, and to everyone's horror, she wanted Mikey Pope to be the ring bearer. Even Rusty and Cameron were doubtful of the choice. It wasn't until Amali suggested Ghost walk with Mikey to keep him in the aisle that they all threw up their hands and gave in. "We're delighted, but on your head be it, and don't be surprised if Cameron winds up in the aisle with them riding herd," Rusty said.

"Pomp and parades are not my thing, but belonging to this family is everything. I've learned to celebrate the flat tires and ruts in my road. I don't want perfect; I just want them," Emily said.

"And I want what she wants," Shawn said, and the discussion ended. And today, it was happening. They tied the forever wedding band onto the ring bearer's pillow. Ghost was on a short leash, and Cameron was riding herd, but it was Ella who'd gone over the moon. She had never been a bridesmaid; she had never been a bride, but today, at the age of 94, she was going to walk down an aisle toward a preacher, holding a Bible, wearing a dress of sky blue silk with a bouquet in her hand. It was the closest thing to marriage she was ever going to be. Her heart was full to bursting. "She would ask life for nothing more."

The Sunday School classroom was full of women wearing gowns in different shades of blue. Shirley's wedding had been before a justice of the peace, and she was so honored to be part of Amil's wedding party that it was all she could do not to cry. Dany and Amily were Shirley's girls, the daughters she had never had, and she treasured their places in her heart. Everyone was chattering and pinning curls into place and tucking flyaway ribbons back where they belonged, while Amaly stood before the full-length mirror in silence, staring at the woman looking back at her, pretending it was the mother she had never known, present with her on this day. Wolf and Shirley had taken her dress shopping. He wanted to fly her to New York to pick something out from a couturier; she had opted for bridal shops in Frankfurt and hugged his neck for the offer. Now here she was, wearing the dress, not hiding the scars, with pearls at her throat and diamonds in her ears. She had moved her engagement ring to her right hand for the ceremony and was waiting for everything to begin. "Beautiful," she blinked. "You're here," she thought. "My beautiful baby. I've always been here." Amaly's eyes widened. "Mother forever." And then, all of a sudden, she was watching the puzzle falling into place. So many souls, so many lives connected forever through eternity.

There was a knock at the door. "They're ready," someone said. The bridesmaids gathered at the door, clutching their bouquets. Amaly turned around to look for Ella, caught her watching, and smiled. Ella winked, blew her a kiss, and then took her bouquet from the florist and got in line. "Amal sighed. Life was good."

The music sounded, and they began walking out the door. Shawn was standing at the altar with Aaron, waiting for sight of Amily, but when Ella appeared in the doorway on her own, with that braided crown of snow-white hair owning the elegance of her years, one could have been forgiven for thinking an angel had entered here. The congregation hushed as music led her down the aisle, and when she took her place at the altar, she winked at Shawn. In that moment, Shawn realized the depth of the honor he had given Ella. She was elated to be there. BJ and Shirley came next and took their places. Wy and Dany followed, moving at a sedate and proper pace. Then a ripple of voices and some whispers of delight rolled across guests when Ly Glass appeared in a miniature gown of pink chiffon with ruffles beneath her chin and ruffles around the hem. She took hold of her basket and started down the aisle, sprinkling multicolored rose petals on the old pinewood floor before taking her place beside the women. The pianist was still plunking at the same sonorous, sedate pace when the ring bearer, Mikey Pope, appeared, wearing a little blue suit with a bow tie already cockeyed beneath his chin. His eyes dancing with delight at being the focus of their attention, clutching the ring pillow like a handbag. His mother, Rusty, saw the look on his face and held her breath as Cameron and Ghost appeared beside him. A single gasp rolled through the congregation as the big white dog slipped up beside his little boy and nosed his elbow. Cameron leaned down and whispered in Mikey's ear, "Taking Ghosty for a walk now." Mikey grabbed onto Ghost's hair with one hand, still holding onto the pillow with the other, and down the aisle they went. Somewhere in the congregation...

They heard a clear, quiet voice. "Whatever you do, don't anybody laugh." They knew it was Rusty, and she knew her son. One laugh, and he would turn into the class clown.

When the trio made it to the altar without disaster, Cameron turned the ring over to Aaron and took the ring bearer to sit in his mama's lap for the rest of the service, then sat down beside them with Ghost between his knees. The music stopped. Everyone turned to look back up the aisle. Father and daughter, standing so close together they could have been one.

The music sounded again, and the notes of the traditional wedding march rolled out of the open doorway and onto the mountain. Amal's gaze went straight to the altar, to the man waiting for her. "Are you ready?" Wolf whispered. She leaned against him. "Yes." She had been waiting for this moment, and the man at the altar, all her life.

Shawn was blinking back tears, and it was all he could do to be still and wait for her to come to him. He understood the gesture of a father giving away his daughter, but it was an unnecessary act. She had always belonged to him.

Then they were standing at the pulpit, and Preacher Farley asked, "Who gives the woman?" "Wolf's voice never wavered. 'Her mother and I do,' he said." And then he kissed Amal's hand and took his seat. Amali and and Shawn's fingers locked as they faced the pulpit, waiting through all the ritual, waiting through all of the vows and promises, waiting for the words, "Do you, Shawn, take thee, Emily? Do you, Emily, take thee, Shawn?"

The forever ring went on her finger, and the engagement ring was moved to follow. Brother Farley's voice was wavering. "You may now kiss your bride," he said. But the words would forever echo in their mouths, minds. The moment they turned, a loud whoop came from somewhere in the congregation, and then everyone was smiling as they made their escape down the aisle and out into the parking lot to the waiting limo.

The reception was down the mountain, and nobody wanted to miss it. Wolf was standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, grinning from ear to ear. When Shirley slipped up behind him and gave him a pat on the arm, "Welcome to the family," she said. He turned and gave her a big hug. "It's good to be here."

"Is Miss Ella coming to the reception?" Shirley nodded. "She wouldn't miss it for the world. And I'm not so sure if she's ever taking that dress off again." "If I asked her to dance, would it be a bad thing?" he asked. "It would be the perfect end to her most perfect day. And save a slow one for me. I may need rescuing. Wy's on fire today." Wolf laughed. "At his age, I was just like him."

Shawn leaned over in the limo and whispered in Amal's ear, "So, Mrs. Pope, how am I doing so far?" She was so full of happy she was shaking. "You're always my home run hitter, Mr. Pope. We have the honeymoon suite for the next two days, and then home to the mountain. Whatever should we do with all that time?" "As long as it has nothing to do with bubble gum or spray paint, I'm your girl," he chuckled, then put his arm around her and pulled her closer. The trees on the side of the road were just a blur.

Wolfgang had given Liz Caldwell, the event coordinator, one directive: turn the ballroom of the Serenity Inn into a palace. And he gave her carte blanche to make it happen, with money as no object and all of the technology of modern movie making at her disposal. She pulled from Camelot and castles and turned a ballroom into a night of magic.

The dance floor awaited. The room was dimmed, but for the lights from the ornate candelabras, filled with hundreds upon hundreds of flameless candlesticks. The walls were draped with tapestries. The tables were adorned with silks. The cups for wine were chalices. Peer-colored plates awaited food. And in the center of it all, the castle: a monument of cake art and sugar, a beacon as white as snow.

And then the bride and groom came through the door, and the moment they entered the room, they paused in tandem, stunned by the sight before them. Wolf walked up behind the both of them, his hands on their shoulders. "I never got to read you fairy stories, and you already found your prince. All I could give you was Camelot." He gestured toward the cake. "Your castle awaits."

Then they saw BJ at the other end of the room, standing by the cake, and started toward him in total awe. They looked at BJ and then at the cake, towering above them all, marveling at the size and exquisite detail of every facet of the design. "Oh, Shawn, look what they have given us! If this is Camelot, then BJ has to be Merlin. This cake is magnificent. The ballroom is magic. Thank you, Dad, for everything." Shawn was right behind her. "With PR, Wolf, I am at a loss for words. Little brother, you are a master at your craft. Thank you both for making this night so special. I have been blessed with a daughter and now a son. My cup runneth over," Wolf said. BJ was beaming. "For me, it was a work of love. Here come the photographers. Everybody smile."

The night became a blur of faces and names, of laughter and tears. The ballroom was packed. The hot and cold buffets constantly being refilled. Shawn led his bride onto the dance floor to share the first dance. The tall man in black, the young woman in white, dipping and swaying in candlelight, head to head, cheek to cheek, heart to heart. And then the father-daughter dance that brought everyone to tears. What was lost had now been found. The sight of Ella Pope dancing in Wolf Gang's arms, the candlelight dispelling the years and age between them. Shawn dancing with his mother before his brothers all cut in. He walked off laughing at the turmoil and went to find his bride.

They toasted each other with champagne from chalices and cut the cake with a glimmering sword, revealing yet another layer of magic waiting within. The faint taste of high bush blackberry jam between one of the layers, and then all and cherry between another, and then the sweet, sharp tang of lemon custard, and another of vanilla buttercream with fresh grated cinnamon in a sponge so feathery light it melted on the tongue. The groom's cake was chocolate with a dark chocolate ganache and the words "Shawn and Amal Forever" written across the surface.

Amali tossed the bridal bouquet without ever seeing where it went, and in the melee, no one noticed they had disappeared. The party went on in the ballroom as Shawn was laying Amaly down on a bed of silk. They made love until they crashed, and then rolled up in each other's arms and snuggled close. Amal's cheek was on Shawn's chest. She could hear his heartbeat, the steady thump-thump pulse against her ear. As she was falling asleep, she felt her pulse skip and then pick up to match his own. Two souls, one heartbeat, forever.