LITMIR.BIZ

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the top of the bridge of her nose. The cracking noise inside of her head was deafening but she barely had time to register it before the sensation of falling overruled everything.

      When she hit the Carvers’ hardwood floors, the back of her head struck hard. She felt blood rushing out of her nose as she tried scrambling backward.

      The person from the porch came inside. They shut the door causally behind them. Kim tried to scream but there was too much blood in her nose, cascading down into her throat and mouth. She coughed, almost gagging, as the person took one large step forward.

      They lifted that blunt object again—a pipe, Kim thought vaguely as pain swept through her mind like a hurricane—and that was the last thing she saw.

      Before that final blow, her mind went to a strange place indeed. Kim Wielding died wondering what would happen to that chicken, still defrosting in the Carvers’ sink.

      CHAPTER ONE

      Because of the way her life had started—a dead mother, an incarcerated father, and grandparents who were always hovering over her—Chloe Fine often preferred to do things on her own. People sometimes referred to her as a severe introvert and as far as she was concerned, that was fine with her. It was this personality that had driven her toward getting exceptional grades in school and had helped her to blast through her studies and training at the FBI academy.

      But it was also that personality that had caused her to end up moving into her new apartment without a single person to help her. Sure, she could have hired a moving company, but her grandparents had taught her the value of a dollar. And since she had strong arms, a strong back, and a stubborn mindset, she’d elected to move in by herself. After all, she only had two heavy pieces of furniture. Everything else should be a cakewalk.

      This was proven to not be the case when she finally managed to lug her dresser up the stairs—with the assistance of a dolly, several ratchet straps, and a thankfully wide stairwell leading to her second-floor apartment. Yes, she’d managed to do it but she was pretty sure she had pulled a thing or two in her back along the way.

      She’d saved the dresser for last, knowing it would be the hardest part of the move. She’d intentionally packed the boxes light, knowing it would be a one-woman job. She supposed she could have called Danielle and she would have helped but Chloe had never been the type to ask family for favors.

      Chloe sidestepped a few boxes of her books and notebooks and collapsed in the recliner she’d had since her sophomore year of college. The thought of Danielle being here with her to sort through all of her stuff and start to set the place up was appealing. Things had been not quite as strained between the two of them since Chloe had uncovered the truth about what had occurred between their parents when they’d been young girls, but there was definitely something different. They were both very aware of the weight of their father hanging over their heads—the truth of what he had done and the secrets he had been keeping. Chloe felt that they were both dealing with those secrets in their own ways and they knew their opinions differed in some nearly psychic way that only close sibling are capable of.

      What she had never dared express to Danielle was just how much she missed their father. Danielle had pretty much always resented him after he had been taken to jail. But Chloe had been the one who had missed that father figure in her life. She had been the one who had always dared to hope that maybe the cops had gotten it wrong—that there was no way her father had killed their mother.

      And it had been that hope and belief that had resulted in the little adventure they’d taken together that had culminated in the arrest of Ruthanne Carwile and an entirely new viewpoint on the case of Aiden Fine. The thing that had sort of backfired on Chloe, though, was that in uncovering those little secrets, she had started to miss him even more. And she knew that Danielle would find this horrifying and maybe even masochistic in a way.

      Still, despite all that, she wanted to call Danielle over to celebrate the small albeit hard-earned victory of moving into her new place. It was just a small two-bedroom apartment in the Mount Pleasant neighborhood of Washington, DC—small, barely affordable, but exactly what she had been looking for. It had been about two months since they’d hung out—which seemed odd, given everything they had gone through the last time they’d been together. They’d spoken on the phone a few times and while it had been pleasant enough, it had also been very surface level. And Chloe wasn’t good at doing surface level.

      Screw it, she thought, reaching for her phone. What could it hurt?

      As she pulled up Danielle’s number, the reality of the situation sank in. Sure, it had only been two months since everything had happened, but they were different people now. Danielle had started to pick up the pieces of her life. She had a job that could potentially start paying quite well—a bartender and assistant manager at an upscale bar in Reston, Virginia. As for Chloe, she was still figuring out how to go from having been recently engaged to now being single and apparently not able to remember how to go about finding a date.

      You can’t force something like this, she thought. Especially not with Danielle.

      With her heart churning over it, Chloe sent the call. She fully expected it to go to voicemail. So when it was answered on the second ring by a chipper-sounding Danielle, it took Chloe a moment to respond.

      “Hey, Danielle.”

      “Chloe, how are you?” she asked. It was so odd to hear Danielle’s voice with an edge of cheer to it.

      “Pretty good. I moved into the apartment today. I thought about how nice it would be to celebrate it by having you come visit and have a bottle of wine and some really unhealthy food. But then I remembered your new job.”

      “Yeah, grinding away,” Danielle said with a laugh.

      “Are you liking it?”

      “Chloe, I’m loving it. I mean, sure, it’s only been three weeks but it’s like I was born for this job. I know it’s only bartending but…”

      “Well, you’re assistant manager, too, right?”

      “Yeah. A title that still scares me.”

      “I’m glad you’re liking it.”

      “Well, how about you? How’s the apartment? How was the move?”

      She didn’t want Danielle knowing she had moved it all in by herself, so she kept the answer generic—which she hated to do. “Not too bad. I still have to unpack, but I’m just glad to be in, you know?”

      “I’ll absolutely come have that wine and greasy food with you soon, though. How is everything else?”

      “Honestly?”

      Danielle was quiet for a moment before she responded with: “Uh-oh.”

      “I’ve been thinking about Dad. I’ve been thinking about going to see him.”

      “And why in God’s name would you do that?”

      “I wish I had a good answer for you,” Chloe said. “After everything that happened, I just feel like I need to. I have to make sense of it all.”

      “My God, Chloe. Leave it alone. Isn’t this new job of yours supposed to keep you busy solving other crimes? Man…I thought I was the one who spent all of her time living in the past.”

      “Why does it upset you so much?” Chloe asked. “Me going to see him…”

      “Because I feel like we’ve both given him enough of our lives. And I know if you see him, my name is going to come out of one of your mouths and I’d rather not have that happen. I’m done with him, Chloe. I wish you could be, too.”

      Yeah, I wish the same thing, Chloe said but kept the comment to herself.

      “Chloe, I love you, but if you plan on the rest of this conversation being about him I’m going to say goodbye now.”

      “When are you working again?” Chloe asked.

      “Every night this week, except Saturday.”

      “Maybe I’ll come by

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