Ruby, marry me.

Those words haunted me. I hadn’t been able to get them out of my mind.

And to top that off, I was also out of a job.

My request for vacation time had not gone over well. In the wake of Mark’s death, the department was a mess. They were shorthanded, and they didn’t think they could accommodate any vacation time for me with such short notice, especially since I’d just taken time for the previous trip to Jamaica. Even after I told them the whole story, and I was sure they would see it my way, they didn’t budge.

So I had done the only thing I thought I could. I quit the force.

I had been a member of the Grand Junction Police Department for eleven years, detective for only a few months. These people had been my friends and my family when I had no others until Melanie and the rest of the Steels had come charging into my life.

Maybe it was time for a change. I could marry Ryan Steel and never have to worry about money again in my lifetime. I loved him so much, but his proposal had come in the throes of lovemaking, and neither of us had so much as mentioned it afterward. Did he even remember saying it? I wasn’t sure.

I also wasn’t the type to depend on a man—or anyone else, for that matter—for my support. I’d been making it on my own for the better part of the last two decades. Being dependent on another person didn’t sit well with me.

If I married Ryan Steel, it would be because we both wanted to spend our lives together, not because I needed his money.

Luckily, I’d saved a lot over the years. I’d lived well beneath my means, my only extravagance being my gym membership, which wasn’t much, and the recent trip to Jamaica to celebrate Melanie’s wedding. If I continued living as I had been, I’d be able to make it about a year before I needed to find another job, and that wasn’t including what I’d set aside for retirement.

Yeah, I was in pretty good shape.

Still, it had hurt to leave the force. But they’d given me no choice. I had to go after my father. I had to do what I could to stop him.

And God, I hoped I could finally do it.

Before I’d left, I’d contacted the guys in research about fingerprinting the book and note Ryan had found under my sofa. They were pals of mine, and they promised to call me the minute they had results. They also indicated I could contact them anytime if I needed anything, but now that I was off the force, would that be against policy? I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble.

I sighed. I was giving up more than a job and a family. I was giving up a lot of resources that I might need on this journey.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a choice.

Though I knew Ryan wouldn’t approve, I was now at the door of my apartment. I needed to pack up for the trip. I entered stealthily, armed. I’d had to turn in my department weapon, but I still had my own, which I kept locked up in my car at all times. I did a quick search of the premises. Everything appeared fine, and I felt safe—for the time being at least.

I had grown more and more confident that I had been advised by an anonymous source, most likely my father, to steer clear of my home so the book and paper could be planted. Wendy Madigan hadn’t orchestrated the planting, as the evidence implicated her.

Then again…I knew enough about Wendy to know that she never did what anyone expected. But surely she wouldn’t implicate herself.

No, this had been my father. He was up to something, and I was beginning to wonder if he was helping me in his warped way.

He’d murdered my boss, and while Mark hadn’t deserved to die, he’d clearly been in league with my father, at least for that one small portion of his scheme. Mark was a good cop, so the only thing that could have gotten to him was a threat against his family.

Or money.

It might have all come down to money. I’d seen good people do bad things, all in the name of money.

The Steels had it. Wendy had it. My father had it, though he appeared to be running out.

But money had never been important to me. That’s why I had lived such a modest life, saving most of what I’d earned.

Was money truly the root of all evil? I didn’t think so, but one thing had become increasingly clear. With money, almost anything was possible—good or evil.

I gathered my passport and other travel stuff as quickly as I could, stuffing everything into a large duffel bag. I wasn’t sure exactly where we’d be going. Ryan would take care of that. All I knew was that it would be somewhere in the Caribbean, possibly near Jamaica, possibly not. And I couldn’t neglect the possibility that my father was sending us on a wild-goose chase.

“Damn it,” I said aloud. “If only I knew for sure that you were telling me the truth.”

My bedroom door creaked, and I gasped.

“I assure you”—my father’s voice—“I have told you nothing but the truth. This all ends now.”