Becca smiled sunnily at Rio’s two friends. They sat side by side at the foot of her hospital bed. Tweedledee and Tweedledum, waiting patiently on their steel thrones for Rio’s return.

They looked so similar they could have been brothers, although Rio claimed they weren’t. They were the same height, had the same wide shoulders and brown hair, even the same hard faces and watchful gazes. The only thing that set them apart was the color of their eyes. One had blue. One had brown. But she couldn’t remember which had which.

What she did know, with absolute certainty, was that they didn’t like her. Why that knowledge sat warm and fluffy inside her and made her want to giggle, well, that probably had a lot to do with the glorious batch of pills the nurse had handed to her.

Those lovely, lovely pills.

No pain. No fear. Nothing could dent her contentment with those wonderful drugs fizzing along in her bloodstream.

She smiled happily at Dee and Dum again. “How come you don’t like me?”

The two men exchanged cautious looks, but brown eyes was the one to shrug. He rubbed a finger along the top of his eyebrow. “We don’t know you, so nothing to dislike.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire, couldn’t jump over the telephone wire.” She stopped singing to stare up at the moon. The beautiful, silver moon. “Oh wow! Wow! Isn’t it pretty?”

Both men looked up. “What?”

She wasn’t sure which of them asked the question. But then it didn’t matter. “The moon silly. It’s come to visit me. Isn’t it pretty?”

“That’s the overhead light,” one of the Tweedle-duo said, and added dryly. “She’s stoned out of her gourd.”

“No shit.” Amusement softened the other voice.

“I am not!” Becca beamed at them, her happiness a warm, fuzzy blanket comforting her from the inside out. “My mom used to sing to the moon. That’s why it came to visit. It wants me to sing to it, too.” She cleared her throat. “Aye, I see the moon and the moon sees me. She be smilin’ through the window on me precious baby.” Becca belted the lyrics out, regardless of the masculine wincing going on at the foot of the bed, only to stop and frown in consternation. “I don’t remember the rest.”

“That’s okay. You just rest,” Blue eyes said, unfurling himself from the chair to stretch.

“You know I’ve been shot, right?”

At the murmurs of agreement, she shimmied her shoulders in contentment.

“That’s settled then.” She tried to dust off her hands, but her palms missed by at least a hundred miles.

“What’s settled?” Blue eyes asked, ambling closer to the bed.

“That you like me now.” She nodded emphatically. “Because I’ve been shot. Plus, I’m very likeable. Ask anyone, they’ll all tell you how likeable I am.”

“Will they now.”

She’d gone back to gazing up at the moon, so she wasn’t sure who’d responded.

“That’s right. Everyone likes me.” Dragging her attention from the glowing orb above, she paused to frown and count off on her fingers. “Well, except for Lena, and Adam and Rio—but everyone else.”

“Well, Rio did love you,” A husky male voice tinged with accusation said. “And you did break his heart.”

“Love me?” Becca laughed, but sadness suddenly tugged at her. She sighed and snuggled down in the bed. “He never loved me. He couldn’t have. If he’d loved me, he wouldn’t have believed them. He wouldn’t have left me there. He would have known something was wrong.”

“Something was wrong?” The husky voice sharpened slightly, following her down the tunnel of ancient grief. “How would he have known?”

“At the party,” she mumbled, batting the voice away. “If he’d loved me, he would have known I wouldn’t cheat on him. He would have known they’d drugged me. If he’d loved me, he would have rescued me…but he left…he left me there all alone.”

Voices buzzed in the distance, but sleep rolled up and over her, drowning them out.

An eon later, Becca clawed her way to consciousness, buoyed by the fiery pain in her shoulder, and the urgent need to pee. The urge to pee brought her straight up in bed and swung her legs over the side. The scorching disapproval of her shoulder almost laid her flat again.

“Hold your horses, there,” a raspy voice mumbled from the foot of the bed, as she cautiously slid to the floor. “Where do you think you’re going?”

The voice was masculine. Sexy. But not Rio. It must belong to one of the men Rio had introduced as her new bodyguards before he’d abandoned her in favor of his precious police work.

Okay…that sounded way too bitchy. She justified the silent cattiness by the fact she really needed to pee. Like a category five kind of pee.

“How about you climb back in bed,” the man with the sexy, husky voice and blue eyes said.

“How about you help me to the restroom before I pee all over the floor,” she countered.

“I’ll get the nurse.” With a sweep of his broad hand, the curtain flew back.

There was no way she was waiting for the nurse. Not when standing upright had brought gravity into play and her bladder was about to burst. She shifted until she could grab the wheeled IV stand with her left hand. Her right shoulder was heavily bandaged, and the arm locked to her chest in an intricate sling. Slowly, she shuffled forward, dragging the IV stand along like a crutch.

A hoard of nurses descended on her before she reached the fabric curtain.

“I see you’re feeling livelier,” a vaguely familiar woman in green scrubs said. “How’s the pain?”

First things first. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Across the hall. Do you think you can make it, or should I bring a bed pan?”

From the urgent swell in her bladder, she suspected she’d fill a bed pan lickety-split. “I’ll make it.”

It was a pledge born of grim desperation and one she barely managed to keep. Five minutes later, she opened the door to the restroom feeling a million pounds lighter, and a whole lot relieved.

The relief lasted until the tall, brown-haired guy with endless shoulders and vigilant blue eyes stepped away from the wall. Rio had told her his name. Brett Taggart. The other one was Lucas Trammel. Tag and Tram to their friends, which she wasn’t. It had been painfully obvious, from the moment they shook her hand, that they didn’t like her. They didn’t even know her, but they didn’t like her.

Gee…wonder where the dislike originated. She silently snorted in disgust. What exactly had Rio told them about her anyway?

Not that it mattered. As soon as she got hold of Detective Wilbanks, he could find her a couple of qualified and reliable bodyguards. Rio’s two biased SEAL buddies could go back to terrifying terrorists.

She shuffled toward her bed, holding onto the IV stand, her shoulder throbbing a little worse with each step. It had been easy to ignore the pain on the way to the restroom, but without the bladder distraction, the pain seemed to swell. Or maybe the pain meds were wearing off.

“What time is it?” she asked the nurse who’d accompanied her into the bathroom, keenly aware that ‘ol blue eyes had fallen into step beside them.

“Just after midnight. As soon as you’re settled, I’ll get you another pain pill,” the nurse said, her hands partially raised, as though to ward off any stumbling.

Midnight? She’d slept for over six hours. Rio must know something by now. Where was he anyway? Had he gone to bed and left his buddies to watch over her? That didn’t sound very policemanlike.

“Brett, isn’t it?” Becca kept her eyes on her feet, watching them shuffle forward one small step at a time. It was amazing how disconnected her head felt from her body. Maybe the pain pills were still affecting her. Or maybe being shot just messed with one’s equilibrium. “Has Rio contacted you? Did he find the person who shot me?”

Or the person who tried to run me over…

“Not yet, but he will.” Blue eyes said, his voice quiet, yet confident.

Becca focused harder on her feet, fighting back disappointment. What had she expected? It was highly unlikely the shooter would stick around and wait to get caught. But man, she wished this threat to her life was over.

“Don’t worry,” her bodyguard offered, his voice dropping to a comforting rumble. “We won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe.”

“I know.” The effort of climbing back into bed stole the breath from her lungs and words from her mind, so she waited to continue until she’d settled back against the pillows and swallowed the two pills the nurse gave her. Once she could form words again, she sighed and smiled politely at her two bodyguards. Blue eyes had joined brown eyes at the foot of her bed. It looked like she had a pair of guardian angels—who disliked her—whether she wanted them or not. “I appreciate you two stepping in like this. Of course, I’ll pay you for your time.”

The two men exchanged glances and then blue eyes fixed his stunning azure gaze on her face. “No need for that. We owe Rio a favor.”

What kind of a favor? But she bit the question back. None of her business.

“Well, you don’t owe me any favors, and I’m the one you’re losing sleep over, so expect to be paid.” She filled her tone with finality, indicating the matter was closed.

From the two pairs of raised eyebrows and amused faces, she suspected they weren’t putting much stock in her decisiveness.

Well, damn.

Where was Rio anyway? He could at least keep her informed about what was going on. She was the one who’d been shot after all.

Shouldn’t being the shootee come with some privileges? Like updates and attentiveness. Maybe back rubs and kisses.

She smiled wistfully as she sank into dreamland, knowing the kisses were a thing of the past.

* * *

The morning following the wild ride to the emergency room with Becca bleeding all over his passenger seat, Rio parked his cruiser in the circular driveway to the right of Chateau Fontaine’s massive front pillars. The villa Fontaine sat on the hills overlooking Old Town and had been the family estate of the Harts for as long as Rio could remember.

Constructed from Jerusalem limestone, with gleaming Palladian windows, the house boasted alcoves, towers and octagonal turrets. Among the oldest of the Mission Hills structures, Chateau Fontaine had been in the Fontaine family for generations. Lena’s grandmother, the grande dame of the Fontaine family—and heiress to a vast empire of real estate holdings—had gifted the villa to Lena and Aaron Hart as a wedding gift.

Rumor had it the Fontaine fortune had paved the way for Aaron Hart’s political career and bought him the mayorship of San Diego.

Had it paid to cover up Rachel Blaine’s murder, too?

Or Rebecca Blaine’s attempted murder?

While he couldn’t see Lena or Adele wielding the rifle, or the truck that had tried to run Becca down, they certainly had the means to hire someone to wipe Becca from the planet.

And then there was Adam…who had both the military background and the temperament to take matters into his own hands and make use of that rifle.

He glanced at his watch as he closed the door to the cruiser. He’d stopped by the ER as dawn painted the horizon to check on Becca, only to find her asleep. Tag had been down at the cafeteria, but Tram had reported a quiet night. No suspicious activity. No drama.

Becca was doing as well as could be expected, and a model patient. Years ago, her A-plus report card would have surprised him…but he barely raised an eyebrow regarding Becca 2.0. This new Becca had some serious mettle and fortitude.

Her doctor had given him an early afternoon check out timeframe, which meant he had an hour—give or take—before he needed to head over to the clinic and ferry her…somewhere.

Somewhere safe.

Someplace her enemy wouldn’t be able to locate with a couple of phone calls. Someplace that wasn’t connected to him.

Luckily Tram had an idea and was rustling up a safe haven, which gave Rio time to interview Becca’s family. Or if not family, at least the people she’d ran away from sixteen years ago.

A demure woman with her graying hair collected in a bun and donned in black trousers and an ivory blouse answered the front bell. He didn’t recognize her, but then it had been ten years since he’d been out here last, which had been for the reception following Aaron Hart’s funeral. He followed the housekeeper through the stain glass double entryway, across the travertine tiled foyer with its grand circular staircase, and into a sitting room on the right. The floor here was wood parquet, in an angular pattern and polished to a high gloss. His footsteps rang out, echoing through the room, as he closed on the two women seated beneath one of the bay windows.

The two women, their blonde hair short and straight, rose from the high-backed antique couch. Swaths of paper, booklets and brochures were strewn between them and across the claw footed rectangular table in front.

“Rio!” Lena Hart headed toward him, the heels of her rose-colored pumps clicking against the wood floor. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Other than her hair looking shorter and more silver, she hadn’t changed much in the past ten years. Same average height and thin build. Same smooth skin. Same classically styled apparel, this time in pastel slacks and blouse. He caught a whiff of a subtly expensive floral scent as he reached for her perfectly manicured, outstretched fingers.

“Lena.” He took her hand, gave it a quick shake and let it go.

The irritated press of her lips as she slowly lowered her arm, told him she’d anticipated more. Perhaps she’d expected him to brush his lips against her knuckles, like she was the queen and he the supplicant. God knew the woman had been playing the part of local royalty for years.

It still surprised him, after all this time, that the imperial woman before him and his grandmother had been such good friends. Other than religion, the only thing the two women had had in common had been their regal bearings. Everything else, from their socioeconomic status to their addresses, had been wildly divergent. To give Lena credit, his grandmother’s lack of education and money had never appeared to bother her. Nor had it stopped her from wanting to merge their two families.

But then Aaron Hart hadn’t come from money or status either. He’d been ambitious and smart, though. Maybe that was what Lena valued the most.

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” Lena asked, her tone noticeably cooler.

“Police business,” Rio offered blandly. “Where were you yesterday evening around five p.m.?”

“Why that sounds like an accusation.” She raised perfectly arched eyebrows, her blue eyes growing chillier by the second.

“What’s going on, Rio?” Adele asked. She cast her mother a nervous glance as she eased around the coffee table.

Rio glanced between the two women. “Someone took a couple of shots at Rebecca Blaine yesterday evening. I need to know where you two were and whether anyone can verify your whereabouts.”

“Oh my God!!” Adele’s voice rose shrilly. “Is she alright?”

Rio studied Adele’s horrified face. She looked honestly stunned and shaken by the news. Lena on the other hand—he tilted his head, scanning her cool features—well, Becca’s stepmother looked more annoyed than concerned.

“Don’t be a fool.” Lena directed a quelling look at her daughter. “I’m sure Rebecca is fine. God knows the girl always lands on her feet.” She turned back to Rio and crossed her arms, eyeing him with dismissal. “And who told you someone tried to shoot her? Rebecca? Does she have proof?”

What, exactly, was the woman implying? That Becca had made the shooting up? An image of Becca’s ashen face, stoic pain and blood-soaked blouse flashed through his mind. His stomach soured and tightened.

“There’s plenty of proof. Rifle casings. Eye witness accounts,” he said tightly. “Trust me. The incident happened. I was on scene at the time.”

“Indeed.” Lena scoffed lightly, her gaze as cold and sharp as an icicle. “Casings? As in plural? But the shooter missed? How convenient. Have you checked into whether she set the shooting up herself?”

“Mother!” Adele choked the words out. “What a horrible thing to say.”

“Try not to be such a Pollyanna, Della.” Lena rounded on her daughter, her face tightening. “You’re far too trusting for your own good. That girl has been nothing but trouble from day one. Don’t you find it just a wee bit suspicious that we don’t hear from her in years, only to have her show up now, spewing these wild accusations, mere days before your wedding to Preston?”

“Your concern for her is touching.” Rio ground out through his teeth.

This is what Becca had grown up with? Hell.

She’d complained back in the day that Lena hated her, but Rio had brushed aside her grievances as teenage drama. But Lena’s verbal assassination on Rebecca’s character was antagonistic as hell.

“You said she was fine,” Lena snapped. “And it would be just like the little troublemaker to try to disrupt the wedding. She’s always been jealous of Adele. Indeed, I should have expected something like this.”

“I never said she was fine,” Rio contradicted flatly, rage pressing against his calm. “Nor did you say were you were last night.”

Lena frowned, but just for a moment and it was Adele whose voice rose in concern.

“Rio! Please! Is she okay?”

Rio wrestled back his anger. “She was shot. She’s recuperating in protective custody.” He paused to modulate his voice. “Now, where were you?”

“Is this really necessary?” Lena asked, exasperation in the hands she flapped at him. “You can’t believe we had anything to do with what happened to her.”

“It’s standard procedure to question family and friends.”

“As well as the supposed victim, I hope?” Lena raised her pale eyebrows in challenge.

“For God’s sake, mother.” Adele brushed past Lena, to stand before Rio, twisting her hands nervously. “Mother and I were at the Oceanaire Seafood Room last night. We had reservations for six p.m. We left the house around five thirty.”

“How did you pay?” It would be easy enough to check her statement out. Hell, the serving staff probably remembered them.

“Preston, my fiancé, paid by credit card.” Adele twisted her fingers harder.

“That’s quite enough.” The annoyed look Lena directed at her daughter turned Adele’s face white. Lena twisted back to glare at Rio, her voice thinning. “If you don’t think that girl could have carried this attack out on her own, then you’ve forgotten what she’s capable of.”

Becca’s damnably brave smile as he drove like a bat out of hell flashed through his mind. There wasn’t a lot he was sure of yet, but he was certain of one thing. Becca hadn’t arranged to get herself shot.

“When did you hear from her last?” Rio asked.

“Sixteen years ago, when she walked out the door. And good riddance, I say. The girl was nothing but trouble from the moment Aaron installed her in our home.”

He wanted to ask her if they’d ever bothered to get Becca some counseling to combat the trauma of her mother’s death. But it wasn’t his business and it was ancient history.

“And now if that’s all—” Lena gestured toward the door.

“It’s not.” Rio didn’t budge. “Was Adam with you last night?”

“No.” Adele’s voice caught on a nervous quake. “Adam is out of town on business. He’s not due back until Friday morning.”

“Adele!” Lena’s voice snapped out like a whip. “Stop catering to him. Adam’s business dealings are none of his business.”

“Actually, they are.” Rio’s voice chilled. “Until we find out who decided it was open season on Rebecca Blaine, everything your family does is my business.”

Lena’s face froze. “We’ll see if Chief Moyer feels the same.”

“Moyer doesn’t run SDPD anymore,” Rio reminded her, his tone flat. But her comment reminded him of why Becca had returned to San Diego in the first place. Had Moyer’s connection to the Harts been strong enough to convince him to misplace evidence? Lena Hart certainly seemed to think she could count on him to put the kibosh on this current investigation. He looked back at Adele, whose fingers were twisting and turning anxiously. “When did Adam leave and where did he go?”

Adele glanced at her mother, her throat trembling as she swallowed. “He left Sunday evening for Miami. I’m certain you can get his itinerary from his secretary at Fontaine Holdings.”

Rio nodded absently. He’d check with Fontaine Properties as soon as he got Becca settled. Adam’s alibi should be easy enough to check out. If he was staying at a hotel, the room’s keycard would give them a timeline for Adam’s presence in the room.

“If that’s all then.” Lena’s tone held a mandate that he leave immediately.

He ignored the demand. “Are you aware that Becca was in town requesting her mother’s case be reopened based off new evidence?” He glanced between Lena and Adele as he spoke. Lena’s eyes widened slightly, only to narrow.

“No. I was not.” Lena pushed the denial through tight lips.

Rio glanced toward Adele, who simply shook her head. But her fingers were laced so tightly her knuckles were white. He frowned slightly as he scanned her face. While he’d received an invitation to her wedding, he hadn’t seen Adele in person in years. He didn’t remember her being so thin, or anxious or subservient to her mother. But then Adele had barely registered back then. Every nerve in his body had been focused exclusively on Becca.

“What’s this new evidence she claims to have found?” Lena asked suddenly, her face tense, a furious glitter in her pale blue eyes.

She knew. There was no doubt of that in Rio’s mind. And she was pissed that he’d had the gall to bring it up.

“She found a fetal ultrasound in her mom’s diary. She believes her mother was pregnant and would never have committed suicide.” He paused before cocking an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? Rachel Blaine’s pregnancy, I mean.”

Lena’s face froze. The muscles so tight it looked like she’d recently received a bad batch of Botox. “Maria?” Her voice emerged raw and hoarse, vibrating with rage. She waited until the woman with the graying hair appeared in the doorway. “Show Mr. Addario out.”

“Detective Addario,” Rio reminded her flatly. “And you didn’t answer my question. Did you know Rachel Blaine was pregnant?”

“No.” She clipped the word out and turned from him, her shoulders rigid. “Any other questions can be handled through my attorney. Please go. You’re no longer welcome in this house.”

Just to be a jackass, he almost asked if he’d been uninvited from the wedding. But hell, he could at least pretend to be a professional, no matter how much he wanted to punish the old witch for her verbal attacks on her stepdaughter.

* * *

Rio closed the back door of Trammel’s Jeep Renegade. The clipped crack as Tag and Tram followed suit, hung in the hushed air. He scanned the street intently, before focusing on the shrubbery surrounding the tiny, Craftsman style house perched on the hill above them.

The neighborhood was an older one. It was hilly, but well maintained, with small houses and large yards full of lush, mature vegetation. From experience, he knew the street lamps were close enough together to light the entire street when the sun went down. The residents, for the most part, were retired and enjoyed the age-old hobby of spying on their neighbors. Their rubbernecking would come in handy over the next few days.

He shook his head wryly as one of the curtains on the boxy blue house across the street twitched. It seemed like just last week that he’d responded to Emma’s—Lucas’s fiancée’s—911 call, although it had been over a year, now. Hell, he was pretty sure he’d even parked his cruiser in the exact same spot Tram had just parked his Jeep.

“Looks like we’re good to go,” Tag said from across the Jeep. His attention shifted from their surroundings to Rio’s face and back out to the street.

“Agreed. Let’s get her out and into the house,” Lucas said from beside the driver’s door.

“I’ll grab her suitcases.” Tag headed to the back of the Jeep,

“Are you sure about this?” Rio asked Trammel as they walked around the hood of the black Renegade toward the passenger seat where Becca sat waiting. “We don’t have to bring her here. I can find another safe house.”

“I’m sure.” Lucas surveyed the closest yards, before turning back to Rio. “This place is perfect. No one will tie it to you. Hell, I’ve made damn sure it can’t be tied to me.”

Rio agreed with the assessment, but he was still surprised. Tram was fanatical about his fiancée’s safety. Obsessed with it. Fuck, he still paid rent at Tag’s condo, so he could claim the place as his permanent address. Only a handful of people knew he lived with Emma. For Tram to bring someone with a target on their back into Emma’s house, while she was living there, well that just didn’t fit with the guy’s protective streak.

So why had he made the offer?

His buddy was right, though. Both women would be safe here. Since Tram had kept his relationship with Emma secret, nobody would trace Rio to Trammel and from there to Emma and Becca.

And they could rule out any possibility that they’d been followed from the ER to Emma’s house. They’d picked up Becca in Rio’s pickup, driven to Tram’s Renegade and swapped vehicles in case someone has slapped a tracker on Rio’s truck. From there, they’d backtracked and randomly drove around, while Russo and Milly, who were following a couple of cars back, kept their eyes peeled for third party interest.

Rio was confident they hadn’t been followed.

“Plus,” Lucas paused to gaze affectionally at the smoke colored dollhouse up on the hill, “this place is perfect. It’s so small we can watch every window and entrance from the living room couch.”

Rio stopped with his hand on the passenger door handle. “Emma’s good with this?”

Tram nodded, his gaze drifting over the neighborhood again. “She’s the one who suggested it. Said Becca would be more comfortable with another woman in the house, considering she doesn’t know me or Tag. Hell, with what happened—” He broke off, frowning heavily, his gaze shifting to Rio’s face.

“Happened?” Rio prompted.

“Look, you need to talk to Becca about—”

The passenger door suddenly jolted open beneath Rio’s hand and Tram stopped talking.

“Were we followed?” Becca asked. “Is that why you’re not letting me out of the car?”

“Nope.” Rio pulled the door all the way open. “Just going over specifics.”

“Specifics?” She snorted beneath her breath and swung her feet to the right. “Like I’m to remain within sight of Tag or Tram at all times. I’m to stay away from windows. I’m not to go outside or answer the door. I’m not to make or accept any phone calls.” She eased her feet to the pavement and stood, then stopped to scowl. “Which is easy to promise since you took my phone.”

“You’ll get it back when this is over.” He’d stashed her cell at his apartment. “If your attacker has the right contacts, he can track you through the GPS on your cell.”

Since there was a chance her attacker was connected to someone in the SDPD, the ability to find her through the phone was potentially there. Better safe than sorry.

Rio hovered, worry mounting as Becca stepped onto the sidewalk. She looked so pale. Exhausted too, although she’d slept huge swaths of the night away.

“Are you sure this poor woman wants me here?” Becca cast an anxious glance up the hill toward the house.

“Emma suggested it,” Tram assured her, his voice surprisingly gentle. “I’m under strict orders to bring you back here.”

Rio cocked his head, eying Tram with curiosity. His buddy’s attitude toward Becca had changed during the past twelve hours. He’d shifted from coldly distant to considerate. Hell, almost personable. He suspected the change had something to do with what Lucas had been about to tell him before Becca had interrupted them. He’d have to pull Tram aside once she was settled and find out what Lucas had been leading up to.

“You never mentioned what you found on the roof where the shooter was,” Becca reminded him as they followed Trammel up the cement sidewalk to the diminutive house above.

“Because we didn’t find anything useful.”

They’d found a couple of .22LR casings. Which meant the bastard wasn’t a professional, otherwise he’d have picked the shells up and taken them with him. But since .22LRs were the most popular rifle cartridge around, it made tracking the guy who’d wielded the weapon close to impossible.

“What about the truck that tried to hit me?” Becca looked up at his face fleetingly before dropping her gaze to the concrete beneath her sneakers.

“It’s been recovered and dusted, but so far all the finger prints we’ve pulled have been cleared.”

Becca’s forehead creased. “He was wearing gloves.”

Rio simply nodded. The gloves had been mentioned in several witness accounts —including Becca’s.

The way things currently stood, they were looking at jackshit when it came to evidence and suspects. He needed to investigate from a different angle. “Did you tell anyone why you were coming to San Diego?”

“I didn’t tell anyone I was coming to San Diego, let alone why.” But then she frowned and shook her head. “Well, that’s not quite true. I did tell my assistant the dates I’d be gone and gave her my hotel information. But she wouldn’t give that info out. And Detective Sheridan from the Olympia Police Department knew I was coming down and why. She’s the one who suggested I come down to San Diego personally and re-request my mom’s case be opened again.”

“Re-request?” Rio repeated, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “You made a request previously?

“Not me personally, but Detective Sheridan did. After I found the ultrasound, I went to the Olympia Police department and showed it to Detective Sheridan. She felt the ultrasound provided enough new evidence to reopen mom’s case.” She paused, directing a pointed glance at Rio. “But she couldn’t do it personally, since the original case wasn’t within her jurisdiction. So, she reached out to the San Diego Police through the interdepartmental liaison, but San Diego refused.” Becca paused to shrug. “Detective Sheridan said that while the refusal was unusual, it wasn’t unheard of.”

This was news to him. Hell, if someone from the precinct was on the take, they could have picked up on the reopen request from Olympia and grabbed the case boxes then. Or…the evidence could have been taken sixteen years ago. There was no way to tell when it had gone missing.

“When did Sheridan contact SDPD?” Rio asked, as they climbed the stairs to the front porch.

“Two weeks ago. Your precinct rejected the request a week ago yesterday.”

He mentally filed that info away. He needed to check with Fuentes and find out who’d handled the interdepartmental request.

They paused behind Tram at the front entrance. He must have told Emma to remain inside, since the door didn’t budge. Rio listened, but no barking came from within. Hell, even now, after what? A year? Emma’s dog still hadn’t learned to bark. Some watchdog she’d turned out to be. Not that Emma or Tram seemed to mind—but then the dog had been instrumental in saving Emma’s life. Even Lucas gave the scruffy creature plenty of slack these days, along with some choice cuts of steak, which had to be blended, thanks to the little rat’s missing teeth. He shook his head in disgust.

What a waste of good meat.

Tram inserted his key into the lock and pushed the door open. “Babe, we’re here.”

“Lucas, thank God,” a throaty feminine voice said from beyond Tram’s thick shoulders. “You’re later than I expected. I was worried something had happened.”

Tram stepped aside, gesturing Becca and Rio forward. “Evasive maneuvers take time. We had to make sure we weren’t followed.”

Rio ushered Becca through the door with a hand to the small of her back. Her tension vibrated against his palm, drawing her spine rigid, and her muscles tight.

“You must be Becca!” Tram’s blond fiancée exclaimed from just past the tiny foyer. Cuddles, her rat of a dog, was tucked beneath her right arm. “I bet you’re exhausted.”

Cuddles’s wiry head, with that ridiculous pom-pom bobbing like some freakish Doctor Seuss creature, locked its misaligned, mismatched eyes on Rio and curled her lips. After a long moment of animosity, the animal’s attention turned toward Lucas and she wiggled in apparent welcome.

“I’m so sorry about the imposition. I promise I won’t be in your way for long,” Becca said, her eyes briefly touching Emma’s face, before settling on Cuddles. “What a cute little dog.”

Cute?

Rio shook his head in disbelief. She had to be playing the polite guest card, like one did with ugly babies. Not one scruffy patch of that damn thing could be labeled cute. And damned if the scruffy creature didn’t read his mind, because that disheveled head swiveled back in his direction with another toothless snarl.

Apparently Becca had known the perfect thing to say though, because Emma beamed back a billion-watt smile. “She is! Isn’t she?” She shot Lucas an I-told-you-so look. “Her name’s Cuddles.”

Becca laughed, and the curve of her spine softened. “I bet she gets lots of those. Cuddles,” she added at Rio’s blank look.

“Let me show you to your room,” Emma said, her smile still in the billion-watt range. “I imagine you’ll want a nap, and then I’ll make us some lunch.”

“Oh, please.” Becca followed Emma down the short hall and around the corner to the left. “Don’t worry about lunch. I hate being an imposition. But Rio wouldn’t let me go back to my hotel.” She shot Rio a disgusted look over her shoulder. “And Lucas insisted on bringing me here.”

“Oh, see, that’s my fault. I’m the one who told them to bring you here,” Emma confided in a cheery tone, before dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “This way I’ll get to see Lucas all weekend, instead of him taking off with his buddies to go hunting, or fishing, or hitting the shooting range.” She glanced at Tram, her eyes sparkling. “Plus, it will be nice to have another woman in the house for a change. To have an actual adult conversation about shoes, and hairstyles, or romantic movies without eyerolling and long-suffering expressions.”

Emma led the way along the wall to the third door on the left. One of the bedrooms, if Rio remembered correctly. A very small bedroom. He followed the two women into the room—which meant one person too many. He had to squeeze past Becca and Emma on his way to the window. Cramped was an understatement.

The room barely fit a double bed, and two bedside tables. But the furniture wasn’t what interested him. Knowing Tram, he doubted the window was a security hazard, but there was no way he was letting Becca sleep in this room, alone, without checking it out for himself. A quick jerk of the blue window covering exposed thick black bars. They weren’t decorative either. He let the curtains fall back into place, noting the material was thick enough to completely obscure the view from outside.

Nobody was accessing the room through that window or lining up a shot through those curtains.

“Every window has identical treatment.” Tram leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and looked pleased with himself.

“Which gives the place such soothing ambience.” Emma directed a scathing glance at her fiancée.

Tram straightened to roll his shoulders. “Sue me. I find it soothing knowing you’re safe when I’m not home.”

Emma scoffed beneath her breath, but her face softened. After a moment, she flapped her hands toward the door in a shooing gesture. “Alright, everyone clear out so Becca can take a nap.”

Becca sighed and looked longingly toward the bed. “A nap does sound wonderful.”

Trammel stepped back from the doorjamb, giving Rio space to exit the room. Emma shut the door behind them. Tag joined them, setting down the two suitcases he’d carried up from the Jeep. While his two buddies ambled toward the kitchen, Rio hesitated near the door. Becca might need help getting into bed. Or she might need a change of clothes, or…

Inside the bedroom, easy conversation flowed, as though the women had been friends forever.

“While it might not be the biggest bed, it’s quite comfortable. Here, let me help you get settled. It must be difficult to maneuver yourself with your arm bound like that.” Emma’s voice drifted through the closed door.

There was the sound of springs squeaking, and raw, pained breathing. Maybe a muffled groan. Rio tensed in concern.

Suddenly the door opened, and Emma appeared, her brown eyes worried. “Did anyone stop by a pharmacy and pick up Becca’s pain pills and antibiotics?”

“Yeah. Here.” Rio dug into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a narrow white pharmacy bag. The bag rattled as he handed it off to Emma. “I’ll get a glass of water.”

“I’ve got it,” Tram called out. A minute or so later he passed a brimming glass to Emma, who promptly shut the door in their faces.

“How ‘bout the grand tour?” Lucas asked, with a hard slap to Rio’s shoulder.

The tour took less than five minutes, the place was that small. But it was enough to assure Rio that security measures were top notch. All the windows were fitted with heavy black bars, and thick curtains. The front entrance and kitchen door were equipped with multiple locks. The home alarm system, which was state-of-the art, was monitored twenty-four/seven.

Becca would be safe here.

With his charge squared away, he turned to other matters.

“What were you going to say back at the car?” He accepted the beer bottle Tram handed him. “Before Becca interrupted you.”

“Yeah, that.” Trammel twisted the cap off his beer and pitched it into the kitchen sink. Frowning, he exchanged an odd glance with Tag.

Whoa. Rio’s Spidey sense started tingling.

“Spill,” he ordered, hardening his tone.

“Fuck.” Tram pulled his shoulders back, looking uncomfortable. “You know I’d rather swim bleeding through a nest of sharks than dig into your love life, but you need to have a talk with your girl.”

Okay…a discussion on his love life was not what he’d been expecting.

“She’s not my girl,” Rio retorted. He paused. Frowned. “About what?” he finally asked reluctantly.

Tag stepped up to the plate. “About whatever happened that broke you two up all those years ago.”

Scowling, Rio took a step back. “That’s ancient history.”

Trammel prowled forward, his face more uncomfortable than ever. “There may have been more to whatever you saw back then. She may not have been cheating on you.”

“Who the fuck said she was cheating on me?” Rio growled. He hadn’t told anyone what had happened. Hell, he hadn’t even told anyone they’d split.

Although, to give his teammates credit, they’d probably put two and two together and arrived at splitsville thanks to his foul mood and the letters he’d tossed in the can without reading.

“You were fucking crazy about her, dude,” Tag said, his face more irritated than uncomfortable. “We all know the signs when a relationship goes sour. And a guy like you? You aren’t going to walk away unless she calls it quits, or you catch her cheating. All those letters you tossed in the bin back then? Yeah, she wasn’t the one who called it quits. Which means you thought she was cheating. Except, she wasn’t.”

“Riiiight.” Rio drew the word out disbelievingly. “And she just happened to offer that information to a couple of complete strangers?”

A tsunami of disappointment crashed through him. He’d thought she’d changed, but this divide and conquer among his buddies was the kind of shit the old Becca had loved to pull.

“She was high from whatever they gave her in the E.R.” Tram shrugged. “She asked why we didn’t like her and the conversation just…” he shrugged again. “Evolved.”

Rio tensed. He didn’t want to know, damnit. He wasn’t going to ask. “What did she say?”

The moment the question was out, he wanted to drag it back. Cancel it. Avoid getting pulled back into her song and dance routine.

“She said they drugged her,” Tram offered carefully.

“And you just walked away, and left her there,” Tag added, his voice challenging.

Rio froze for a second, and then anger exploded. He instantly knew who the they referred to. Becca had always had a hard-on for her Hart siblings, although her antipathy had been focused on Adam, more than Adele.

“Bullshit,” Rio snapped, a mixture of disappointment, frustration and anger warring within him. “She’s lying.”

“My turn to call bullshit.” Tram’s face hardened. His brown eyes chilled. “She was cooked out of her head last night. Incapable of lying. She was in the kind of condition where secrets get spilled. Something happened back when you two broke up. Something she probably tried to explain in those letters you tossed.”

Clenching his jaw so tight, his teeth ached, Rio shook his head. “You don’t know her like I do. She’s playing you.”

“No. You’re playing your fucking self.” Tag set his beer bottle down on the counter hard enough for the glass to clink against the granite. “She’s not lying. She said she was drugged, so she was drugged. She said you couldn’t have loved her, otherwise you’d have known she wouldn’t cheat. Sounds to me like she was right about that, too. You’d rather wallow in your own damn self-deception than find out what really happened? She deserves better than that, dude. Hell, she deserves better than you.”

Shoving Rio aside, Tag stalked the few feet necessary to the living room couch, where he dropped down and reached for the television remote on the coffee table.

“He’s right,” Tram offered after a few seconds of tense silence.

Rio’s fingers tightened around his bottle of beer. “Fuck you.”

Tram shook his head, frustration flashing across his face. “Sticking your head in the sand does you no favors. Talk to her, find out what the hell happened back then. Maybe it’s connected to who’s after her now.”

That brought Rio up short. He scowled and raised the bottle to his mouth, the icy slide of beer down his throat barely registering. He’d assumed Becca’s attacker was connected to her mother’s case. But Tram had a point. If Becca really had been drugged back then…his stomach twisted, bile rushing his throat…and something had happened to her…his hand clenched around his beer bottle…well hell, that could give someone motive to make sure she didn’t call them out on it.

Fuck.

It looked like he needed to talk to her after all.