Prologue
Stay calm, Juliet. This isn't really happening.
Two loud explosions echoed in her ears. It felt real. The family Oldsmobile fishtailed on the rain-slick road. Clutching the armrest of the seat behind the driver, Juliet Rhodes screamed as the car slid into the ditch.
She threw her hands against the driver's seat to brace herself.
"Oh, God!" her father cried as the car's front end started up the ditch's opposite side only to slam into the trunks of trees lining it. At impact, the hood of the car rose up like a dark wave. Her mother flew face-first into the dashboard, and the windshield exploded inward. Shards of glass burst into the car's interior, spangling her mother's slumped body. The car tipped onto its left side as its rear end settled into the trough. Metal crumpled inward, trapping Juliet's hand between her father's seat and her door.
This isn't really happening.
The teenager, her arm pinned tightly, didn't believe the words in her head. It felt real. It looked real.
"Mom!" Anne Rhodes lay slumped across her husband, Gerald, whose inhalations sawed like fingernails on a chalkboard. Juliet had to get her mother off him, but regardless of how hard the girl pulled, she couldn't free herself.
"Mom! Dad!"
Anne's head lolled at an impossible angle. With the engine pushed into the body of the car, Gerald Rhodes sat pinned by the steering wheel. Given his labored breathing, his ribs were broken, possibly perforating his lungs.
It's just a dream, Juliet. Wake up.
But she couldn't wake up any more than she could move. Rain fell through the shattered windows, each cold droplet splatting against her cheek and holding her captive in this nightmare.
Her father's agonizing breaths played quartet to the ticking, steaming vehicle, the patter of raindrops, the peeping of tree frogs.
"Help!" The distraught teen was already aware no one would hear her feeble cries. Somehow, she knew her mother was already dead.
Just wake up.
She blinked furiously, hoping to rouse herself, but all she saw was a face looming at her mother's window. The dimly lit dash illumined a man's large head, broad cheekbones, and pale eyes.
His dispassionate watchfulness warned her to remain silent. For a long time, he studied the front-seat occupants, never once taking his eyes off the man and woman to notice the girl trapped in the dark behind them. Rattling emanated from her father's throat, followed by an exhalation, and then silence.
As suddenly as he'd appeared, the silent observer was gone.
Who the hell was that man?
The memory, long buried and bubbling up from some deep well in Juliet's mind, jolted her awake. She lurched straight up in bed, her heart pounding, mouth dry. The accident was as fresh in her mind as when it happened eleven years ago.
Gooseflesh rippled over her body, raising the hair at her nape and assuring her she hadn't invented the new detail in her recurring dream. If anything, she'd repressed the memory until now—one so crisp and clear she could still picture the man's face. And it changed everything.
Juliet was twenty-seven now, a private investigator living alone in a high-rise apartment in Fairfax, Virginia. And the adult Juliet had the power to do something with this unearthed information.
Kicking off the covers, she vaulted out of bed and plucked up her cell phone. On her way to the bathroom, she glanced at the time and winced. It wasn't yet four in the morning, but she couldn't keep this to herself. She needed to make a composite drawing of the stranger's face and to record every new detail she'd just recalled.
The man in her nightmare had looked into the car, seen her parents dead, and disappeared, making no attempt to call 911. That made him Juliet's primary suspect in a tragedy the authorities had deemed an accident.
Snapping on the bathroom light, Juliet averted her gaze from the mirror. With trembling fingers, she speed-dialed her assistant. No need to disturb Emma, her sister, until Juliet had confirmed her suspicions, or at least clarified them in some way.
The impulse to call Tristan, her one-time Navy SEAL lover, caught her unawares. Since when did she rely on a man for reassurance? So what if he'd held her together the last time her world had imploded? That was six months ago in a different country. This situation was unique. It didn't involve one of Tristan's friends. She could handle it alone.
Forget about him.
Hilary Alcorn, her assistant, answered after three rings.
"What?"
"I need you to meet me at the office in thirty minutes. Please," Juliet added to soften what must sound like an early morning dose of crazy.
Two beats of silence. "Are you OK?" Disgruntlement gave way to concern.
"I don't know. I just remembered something about my parents' accident—a man was there, long before help came. I don't want to forget the details."
"OK." Hilary sounded intrigued. "I'll get there as soon as I can."
"Thanks. Bye." Thumbing the call closed, Juliet released a shaky breath then slowly raised her gaze to her reflection.
Golden hair, tousled from sleep, hung in long layers to her breasts. Wide gray eyes set in a chalk-white face looked back at her. Her nose was straight. Her lips, lush and full, betrayed the tough image she attempted to project. She looked like she'd seen a ghost.
"Who are you?" she demanded, picturing the man's distinct features. A chill skittered up her spine.
Whoever he was, the Mystery Man had neither assisted the crash victims nor called for help. The accident had remained undiscovered until the driver of an eighteen-wheeler glimpsed their Oldsmobile lying in the ditch. Juliet had spent four hours trapped in the dark with her parents' bodies. Little wonder she was claustrophobic.
If Mystery Man hadn't gone for help, that could only mean one thing.
He'd caused the accident.
She had known it. All these years, she'd considered the series of events with skepticism—first the explosion of two tires that caused them to fishtail, her mother's seatbelt giving way, and the airbags failing to deploy. Deep ditches and trees lined both sides of the road right where the crash happened.
The sheer number of unfortunate circumstances was suspicious in itself. Juliet had only been sixteen at the time but, backed by her big sister, she had demanded the authorities investigate the possibility of homicide. She was certain someone had sabotaged her father's car.
Unfortunately, a lengthy investigation had ruled out her suppositions. The tires had been old, in need of replacing. For some unknown reason, her father had turned off the airbag feature, and her mother's seatbelt simply hadn't worked correctly. The police concluded that school teachers Gerald and Anne Rhodes hadn't had the money to keep their vehicle maintained. Officials chalked the accident up to misfortune.
All lies. Juliet's spine quaked with the force of her trembling.
Anne and Gerald were murdered, and Mystery Man was behind it. Too bad for him, she had been there to see him. Worse for him, Juliet had grown up to become a private investigator. She'd worked two years for an established firm before taking over when her mentor retired. In three short years, she'd established a reputation for finding answers.
Her personal life was no exception. She would find the monster who'd killed her parents and make him pay.