The Alvarez & Pescoli Series - Lisa Jackson An Alvarez & Pescoli Novel

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      It could all be a pack of lies.

      It took a little effort, but she managed to feed the fire, tossing a couple of chunks of fir into the grate and not hurting her ribs too much. As the flames rose, crackling hungrily, she replaced the screen. Using her crutch, she hobbled past the table to the far side of the room. She’d just reached the bookcase and was going to examine some of the titles when she felt it—that sensation that someone was watching her. She froze and turned, glancing around the empty room. No one was inside, and even the dog had curled up by the door, content to wait, eyelids closed.

      No one is watching you.

      She glanced up to the ceiling, searching, ridiculously, for a hidden camera.

      “You’re getting paranoid,” she told herself but couldn’t keep her pulse from racing, her heart from beating a little faster. Using her crutch, she made her way to the windows. It was getting close to dark, twilight shadowing the rugged hills, and she had to squint to see into the shadows.

      Snow was falling, but slowly, and she thought there might be a chance that the sky would soon clear. In her mind she prioritized the tasks of returning to civilization. First get to the hospital, then call her mother and Emily, her neighbor, about her cat. She’d have to deal with the insurance company about the car, check her phone messages to see if anyone had work for her and…and…She froze, thinking that she would still have to track down Aaron, if he were truly alive.

      And if not? What if this is a wild goose chase? What if someone lured you here just to shoot at your car and cause the accident? What if Zane MacGregor is a part of the “accident”? What if everything that’s happened to you is scripted?

      “Oh, shut up!” she said so loudly Harley lifted his head and let out a startled little woof. She felt like an idiot. “Sorry,” she said, but couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her, a pair of malevolent eyes glaring at her with hatred from the twilight shadows.

      She edged away from the window. Whoever had shot at her car had used a high-powered rifle, and even though the overhang of the roof was low, Jillian was backlit by the soft, warm glow of the fire and lanterns. Someone who forced a car over a ledge wouldn’t think twice about shattering a window.

      And then there was MacGregor.

      With his rifle.

      She licked her lips and eased away from the light so that she, too, was hidden in partial darkness.

      Who are you, you bastard?

      And what do you want with me?

      Her fingers tightened over the handle of her crutch as she thought of the reason she’d shown up here.

      Her first husband.

      Supposedly dead.

      From deep in the cabin she glared through the window, trying to locate the source of her fear. Okay, you prick, how the hell are you connected with Aaron?

      Pescoli was eyeball deep in reports. Lab reports, notes on the victims’ relatives and friends and cell phone bills. She’d read each of the women’s backgrounds until she felt that she knew them as well as their siblings did. All of the victims, it turned out, had traces of Valium in their systems, so Pescoli figured the guy who’d held them had restrained them all with drugs, probably tranquilizers and pain pills. The FBI was already all over the local distributors, hoping to find a link to where the killer could have gotten the drugs.

      The trouble was, each of the victims had prescriptions. Legal prescriptions for anxiety, pain and sleep.

      Her back was beginning to ache a bit; she’d never been one to sit for hours on end. She just had too much restless energy and had to keep moving. She never would have been able to handle a desk job. As it was, the time she spent at her desk, reading through files and clicking on the damned mouse of her computer, was enough to drive her crazy.

      She walked down a hallway and saw, for the first time in days, a sliver of late-afternoon sunlight shining through the windows, bright rays cutting through the clouds, which were collecting again. For a few seconds, the light was nearly blinding as it bounced off the thick drifts of snow piled outside around the parking lot and the yard where the flagpole stood. Old Glory moved slightly in the breeze, the State of Montana’s flag, too, billowing a bit, gold fringe glinting in the sun.

      Thank God for the tiny break in the weather, even if it was predicted to be short-lived.

      Now, if there was only a break in the case.

      She walked to the kitchen, poured herself a cup of “Joelle’s Special Blend,” according to the note left on the counter, and headed back to her desk.

      Taking a sip as she sat in her chair, she thought the coffee tasted the same as it did every day. “Special blend, my ass,” she whispered, setting the cup down and scanning the lists of friends and relatives of the three women one last time. None matched, nor did towns where they lived, schools they attended…anything. As far as she could tell, the women didn’t know each other. But they were all targeted by one guy who had connections with each one; she was sure of it.

      Her cell phone rang and she recognized her son’s number on the ID. She let it ring twice and reined in the urge to answer with “Where the hell are you?” Instead, she picked up and said neutrally, “Detective Pescoli.”

      “You called me?”

      “Yeah, Jer, I did. You’re supposed to be with your fa—with Lucky this weekend.”

      “I didn’t want to go.”

      “Why?”

      “It’s boring over there.”

      “And?” she prodded, twisting her desk chair around so that she couldn’t see her computer monitor or the notes spread over her desk.

      “He’s not my real dad.”

      “He raised you.”

      “Part of the time, cuz he had to,” Jeremy shot back indignantly.

      “Look, Jeremy, this is part of the deal. You know it and I know it. You spend every other weekend with Lucky.”

      “It’s your deal, not mine,” he said. “I didn’t get any say in it.”

      “I guess I need to remind you that you’re the kid.”

      “I’m almost eighteen.”

      She winced. Hadn’t she uttered the same words with the same passion to her own parents? “This might come as a big surprise to you, but just being eighteen doesn’t mean you get to do anything you want.”

      “I’ll be an adult then!”

      If only.

      “Jer, the rules won’t change just because you’re another day older. Eighteen shmeighteen. I think it just means that legally I can kick you out of the house.”

      “What?” His shock waves radiated through the airwaves. “Kick me out? Great, Mom, real supportive.”

      She wasn’t going to be lured into that argument. “Well, for the moment, you’re not eighteen and you need to hustle your butt over to your stepfather’s place.”

      “But I was going to stay with Ryan tonight. Play video games.”

      “Take it up with Lucky.”

      “Way to pass the ball, Mom.”

      “I gotta go. If I don’t hear from your stepdad that you made it over there or worked things out, there will be hell to pay.”

      “Aren’t you tough?”

      “Yeah, Jer, I am. Love you!” She hung up then, before she could hear another word of protest. The truth of the matter was that she could collar a suspect in a restraining hold, cuff him, toss him into the back of her rig, take all kinds of verbal abuse and put it right back at the damned perp, but when it came to her

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