LITMIR.BIZ

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nodded, his pale gaze narrowing in an obvious attempt at sympathy.

      “What about the ring?”

      Her uncle frowned, tiny creases framing his surprised stare. “Ring?”

      “Mommy’s ring? I found it right before I was attacked.”

      The lines of his face deepened. “There was no ring. No evidence that anyone had been in your house. We had our best team out there just to be sure. You fell, peanut.”

      She shook her head, wincing as a fresh band of pain wrapped its fingers around the side of her skull. “You missed it then. Her ring was there in an envelope.”

      “No.” His tone dropped to the low, all-business timbre she’d dreaded ever since he’d married into the family. “No ring, honey.”

      Lindsey swallowed, unable to believe her uncle would doubt her word. “Then someone took it.” She struggled to sit up, but had to settle for merely shifting against the pillows, too sore to do anything more. “Whoever shoved me took it.”

      Anger flashed across his now stern features. “Tony Alessandro took your mother’s ring seventeen years ago.” He squeezed her hand. “I’d like to find the monster who left you that copy last night. It’s brought back your old nightmares.”

      Frustration mixed with the fear churning in Lindsey’s stomach. The nightmares had started the night her mother disappeared. The blackouts had begun a few weeks later. What had happened today had been neither. “This wasn’t a nightmare.”

      Her uncle’s forced smile crinkled the lines framing his eyes. “I’ll go get Aunt Pris. She’s been waiting outside.”

      He stood to leave, but Lindsey tightened her fingers around his, determination filling her with strength. “I saw Mommy’s ring.”

      Her uncle extracted his hand then pushed away from the hospital bed. “You’ve had a shock. You only thought you saw it.”

      Lindsey stared at his back in disbelief. She had no doubt about what had happened. She’d been attacked. The only question was by whom? And what had happened to her mother’s ring?

      If Uncle Frank wasn’t going to help her find the answers, she’d find them on her own.

      MATT SHIFTED AGAINST THE stiff back of the waiting room chair, doing his best to ignore the nonstop glare Lindsey Tarlington’s aunt, Priscilla Bell, had been channeling in his direction.

      The mayor’s wife had always kept a low profile, but she hadn’t been seen in public in months. Based on her appearance, the rumors about her health might be true. She looked like hell. Thin, frail, sickly. Perhaps being married to the mighty Frank Bell had taken a toll.

      When Mayor Bell emerged from Lindsey’s room and huddled with his wife, Matt discreetly stared at the floor. He did his best to pick up scraps of their conversation, but they kept their voices too low for him to make out their words.

      Frank Bell. Matt fought the urge to snarl at the man.

      Bell had been a hotshot in the district attorney’s office at the time Lindsey’s mother, the D.A.’s younger daughter, had disappeared. Convicting Matt’s father had catapulted Bell’s career onto the fast track. Of course, the fact he’d been married to the D.A.’s older daughter, Priscilla, hadn’t hurt, either. And now political rumblings had Bell setting his sights on a quick trip from mayor of Haddontowne to governor of New Jersey.

      As a public defender, Matt had butted heads with the man on more than one occasion. One thing was for certain—Frank Bell had the tenacity of a pit bull terrier. If he wanted the governor’s mansion, he’d let nothing get in his way—including any doubts about the conviction that had made his career.

      “Thought you would have left by now.” Bell’s voice carried across the small waiting room from where he stood next to the chair his wife had vacated.

      Matt stood, fully aware he’d adopted an antagonistic stance. He’d learned a long time ago that head-on was the smartest way to address the mighty Mayor Bell. “Wanted to make sure your niece was all right.”

      “She’ll be a lot better off if she doesn’t see you here.” Bell turned away, but barked out over his shoulder. “Maybe you should be paying attention to your clients and leaving my niece alone.”

      “She deserves to know her mother’s killer got away scot-free.”

      Bell pivoted, unchecked hatred seething from his battleship-gray glare. Bitterness swirled in Matt’s gut. No wonder his father’s defense had never had a chance. If Frank Bell had managed half of the fury he was projecting now, the jury would have been terrified to do anything but return a guilty verdict.

      “My niece sleeps just fine at night knowing the man who killed her mother met his just end in jail.”

      “But you never found the body. How can you be so sure?”

      “Evidence doesn’t lie.”

      “No, but it can be conveniently interpreted for a quick conviction.” Matt fought to hold his anger in check. “You and I both know this topic isn’t closed, Mayor. Whoever sent that copy and attacked your niece is determined to reopen old wounds.”

      He turned sharply on one heel, stepping toward the elevator, determined to have the last word. For once.

      “My niece fell, Mr. Alessandro.” Bell’s words stopped Matt cold. “The shock of seeing her mother’s ID was too much for her. If I find out you’re behind any of this, you’ll pay.”

      “How can you—” Matt spun to argue, but Bell had disappeared back into the treatment room.

      Fell. Could the man honestly believe that? Lindsey Tarlington had been certain she’d been shoved when Matt found her, and he saw no reason to doubt her story.

      So why did Frank Bell? Maybe believing his niece complicated Bell’s plans for the governor’s mansion.

      Matt punched the elevator button, hot emotion rolling through his veins. He believed Lindsey’s story, and he planned to tell her so—in person.

      Her attack might present just the opportunity he needed to begin earning the woman’s trust.

      THE NEXT AFTERNOON, LINDSEY stood in the middle of the attic studio, deserted since the night her mother had vanished. She closed her eyes, trying to sense her mother’s presence, wishing fervently for a sign or a clue as to what had happened all those years ago.

      Lindsey had been discharged from the hospital just a few hours earlier, sent on her way with a mild concussion, nothing more. The doctor had agreed with the police that her pounding head was consistent with an accidental fall.

      A disbelieving laugh burst from her lips. Fall, her foot. There was no way she’d confuse being shoved with falling.

      Even more discouraging had been Uncle Frank’s phone call. The photocopy of her mother’s license had been made on paper found in any office supply store. There had been nothing distinguishing to provide a clue. Nothing. Not a single fingerprint or fiber.

      The house below her creaked, and she flinched, even though she’d checked and double-checked every door and window before she’d pulled down the old attic steps and made the climb up to what had been her mother’s sanctuary.

      Lindsey hadn’t been up here in recent years. Any time the urge had sneaked into her mind, she’d ignored it, choosing instead to pretend the space didn’t exist. Sometimes avoidance was easier to face than the truth.

      She opened her eyes to take in the sight. The attic remained as it had always been, a small art studio, lovingly filled with her mother’s work and favorite things.

      Lindsey stepped gingerly toward the easel that stood off to one corner. She fingered the wooden shape, draped in an old sheet, then stood back, watching dust particles dance in the beam of sunlight forcing its way through the streaked attic window.

      One

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