CENTRAL CITY, NEW ORLEANS

Jade followed Shawna Zeker up the worn wooden steps of Ms. Hansen’s house. Early morning fog lent a hazy, mirage-like quality to the air.

It matched Jade’s mood perfectly.

After her argument with Nathan the night before, she hadn’t slept a wink. Her eyelids felt heavy with drowsiness and tears, and she swore her limbs creaked in protest as her shoes hit each stair. Her heart, meanwhile, felt as gray as the sky, as oppressed as the humidity frizzing her hair.

Díos mío, she wished she didn’t hurt so much.

Ignoring the squeezing of her heart, Jade trained her focus on the woman before her. If she was hurting—and she and Nathan had never even been in an official relationship—she couldn’t imagine how Shawna must feel, knowing that her husband was dead, and that she’d been blamed as the perpetrator. Especially when it seemed to be the case that the blame didn’t sit at her feet, but rather Miranda Smiley’s.

“Thank you for letting me come over,” Jade said, stepping to the side so that Shawna could open the front door. “I know this must be very difficult for you right now, so I’ll make it quick.”

Shawna glanced over her shoulder. “I’m surprised to find you without Detective Danvers.”

How would she know . . .?

Jade forced a nonchalant smile on her face, despite the fact that her teeth were clenched with nerves. “He’s at the office. Since this just required me picking something up, he didn’t think it necessary for him to come along.”

“Interesting.”

That was all Shawna said. And maybe Jade was overreacting, maybe she’d watched one too many crime shows on TV, but she couldn’t stop the worry that threaded down her spine.

Stop being ridiculous. You have nothing to worry about.

When Shawna stepped to the side for Jade to enter the house first, the worry inched up another notch. Which was stupid—because Shawna had already been proven innocent when it came to her husband’s death. If there had been any lingering doubt within the homicide department or the crime lab, she wouldn’t be walking free right now.

Crossing over the threshold of the house, Jade’s gaze immediately latched onto Ms. Hansen, who was seated in the corner of the living room. Much like the last time Jade had seen her, the elderly woman had her thinning white hair pulled back into a top-knot, and had on another one of those sheet-dresses. This one was pink with what looked to be bananas printed all over it.

The worry eased as a genuine smile pulled at Jade’s mouth. Ms. Hansen looked like the very picture of every grandmother in the world—though not Jade’s grandmother on her father’s side, who preferred to dip into modern-day fashions, including leggings, skinny jeans, and, God forbid, a crop top or two.

Jade blamed Sammie.

“Good morning, Ms. Hansen,” she said, inching farther into the room. “It’s Jade Harper—we met briefly a week or two ago?”

“Don’t bother,” Shawna muttered, sparing a quick glance at her mother. “She’s been in a foul mood all day.”

“I ain’t in no mood, girl,” Ms. Hansen said, her fingers twitching on the chair’s armrest. “I’m tired of them cops swingin’ on by here, looking to prove that you’re a murderer. You may have been angry at Charlie, but you never followed through on what you said you’d do. And I told you—I don’t want her in my house.”

Jade’s gaze flicked from mother to daughter. “Mrs. Zeker, why don’t I wait outside? You can bring me the document out there. No harm, no foul.”

Shawna shook her head. “Like I said, ignore my mom, please.” Once more, she looked to the elderly lady. “Mom, I told you that Ms. Harper is here to help clear my name for good. Don’t make a scene.”

“There’s no scene to be made. You know as well as I do, girl, that she ain’t here to prove you innocent. They’ll choose that Miranda lady’s side, just like Charlie chose her. You’ll end up in jail by the time the day’s over, I promise you that.”

Jade’s mouth parted and then clamped shut. As much as she wanted to argue the fact that Shawna Zeker had already been put through the ringer, and had been deemed not guilty, there didn’t seem much of a point in fighting with an older woman who seemed determined to paint her as the villain.

Stepping back toward the front door, she motioned with her hand. “Ms. Zeker, I’ll be out front by the car.”

“No, just wait a second.”

Right, because she really wanted to wait around while the matriarch of the family looked ready to strangle her. Not.

But she’d come this far already, and so Jade smiled politely and said, “Sure, no problem.”

She watched Shawna head toward the back of the house. Rooted to the spot four feet from the front door, Jade cast a quick glance about the living room. The walls were blank, hospital-white; rickety furniture sat askew in various corners, but though they looked to be older than she was, pretty throw-pillows brought them back to life.

The throw-pillows were the only difference since the last time she had been here. She couldn’t help but wonder if that photo of Miranda and Shawna was still stuck under those paper towels in the pantry.

“You’re the one Detective Danvers is pining over, aren’t you?”

Jade’s head jerked in Ms. Hansen’s direction. “Beg pardon, ma’am?”

“You are.” The woman’s fingers tapped impatiently on the armrest. “It’s a shame.”

“A shame?” she echoed, unable to stop herself from doing so. “I’m not sure that I understand.”

Sightless eyes found Jade, focusing on her face with a spectacular accuracy. “Yes,” she answered, “it’s a shame that he brought you into this. It’s no place for a young lady such as yourself.”

The worry from earlier returned, and it returned tenfold. Jade’s foot inched back. “Thank you for the concern, Ms. Hansen, but I’m sure that I’ll be fine—”

“Got it!”

The sound of Shawna’s shoes hitting the hardwood floor captured Jade’s attention. In the woman’s hand she held a sheet of paper, which she waved about in the air before thrusting it in Jade’s direction.

With shaky fingers, she grasped the paper and looked down.

It was a credit card bill dated to the previous month. Below the total of one-thousand dollars and some change was Zeker’s signature. Jade’s heart rate accelerated, her body warming with success. She’d need to line it up with the copy of the signature from the marriage license, of course, and perhaps with the signature they had on file for his driver’s license, but this . . .

She squinted down at the letters, her trained eyes swooping over the characters. Without even doing a comparison, she knew that the signatures were not matches.

Her instinct was to call Nathan, to let him know that they were on the right track. But as soon as the thought crossed her mind, the realization sank in that they were currently not speaking.

Which was stupid, in and of itself, because why were they letting a petty argument stand in the way of their happiness? Sure, he’d let his insecurities take over. So had Jade—the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she’d hidden behind fear, too.

Fear that her relationship with Nathan would be a near-replica to the one she’d had with John Thomas. Fear that her relationship with Nathan would be nothing like her relationship with John Thomas, and that her love for the detective was too much, too fresh, too scary.

The tip of her finger slid over the black ink on the credit card bill.

She needed to speak with Nathan. They needed to get over this—because, if this whole mess with Shawna had shown her nothing, it was that life was too short to live in fear.

She loved him.

Her chin kicked up as she lifted her face. “Thank you for this,” she told the mother and daughter duo. Sliding a plastic baggy out of her back pocket, she slipped the sheet of paper inside and sealed it shut. “I’ll have it back to you as soon as possible.”

Ms. Hansen turned her face away, which Jade figured was as much of a dismissal as she’d ever seen.

Time to go.

Jade stepped back. “I’ll let myself out. Thank you, ladies.”

With a shake of her blond head, Shawna said, “I’ll walk you out, Ms. Harper.”

There was no time to tell her no. With a wave of her arm, Shawna gestured for Jade to take the lead, which she did happily. She hated to be the type of person who judged, but Ms. Hansen’s old house gave her the hibbie-jibbies.

She crossed the threshold of the house onto the front porch.

At least the fog had eased up—it no long swirled around the stairwell. The sun now peeked through the heavy cloud coverage, giving away promise that by mid-afternoon, New Orleans would return to its typical scorching heat.

“It’s going to be a hot one,” Jade murmured conversationally, hoping she didn’t sound as awkward as she felt. Her foot hit the first stair rung, and she turned, just slightly, to look back.

She didn’t have the chance.

One moment she was standing on her own two feet, debating the proper way to assure Shawna that they would find her husband’s killer, and in the next, a cracking pain exploded in the back of her head.

Stars burst before her eyes, much like in the cartoons she’d watched with Sammie as a kid. Her hand grappled for the porch railing as her knees buckled. But she missed, and her knees did give out, and the very last thing Jade heard was Shawna whispering, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t have a choice.”

And then everything went black.