Rio felt the strain radiating through Becca’s tense muscles as he guided her through the nursing home’s lobby. This new development had obviously been a shock, one she was still processing.

“Do you think Lena killed my mom?” Becca’s voice was hoarse, thick with shock and the first stirrings of rage. With her good arm, she clasped her mother’s journal tighter to her chest.

“I don’t know.” His glance down was assessing. Her face had regained some of the color it had lost at Hilde’s words. He relaxed slightly. She’d looked almost fragile there for a moment. Breakable. “We can’t afford assumptions. She could have gotten it from your dad. If he did break it off with your mom, as Chief Moyer claims, your mom could have given it back to him.”

A memory flashed through his mind—Becca’s furious face and teary eyes as she threw his ring back in his face. Since it had been his grandmother’s wedding band, he hadn’t felt comfortable tossing it after Becca’s rejection. He’d stashed it away instead. It was somewhere in the back of his sock drawer.

Aaron could have done the same, stashed the necklace somewhere after Rachel gave it back to him. Maybe Lena had found it after his death. Or the coroner could have given it back to him after processing Rachel’s remains. From Moyer’s own account, he’d been aware of Aaron Hart’s relationship with Rachel Blaine; he could have seen to it that the necklace was returned to Hart after processing.

“So how do we find out if Lena took it from Mom?” A frown knit Becca’s forehead.

“I talk to Lena. Ask her how she got it.”

“If she stole it, Lena won’t admit it. She’ll just lie.”

“Probably.” Rio ushered her through the front entrance and into the sunshine. “But I know her tells. I’ll know if she’s lying.”

“Hmmm.” Becca shot him a teasing smile as they stepped through the brick and stucco arch. “Does that apply to me, too? Do you know my tells?”

He smiled slightly at that. “I’m starting to.”

When she suddenly hissed and stumbled, he turned, intending to slide an arm around her waist to steady her. The sight of a man pressed close to Becca’s side stopped him in his tracks. His pulse spiked, even as his skin chilled.

“Adam.” Rio recognized the blonde hair and blue eyes instantly.

Fuck, the bastard must have been hiding behind the brick arch. He’d moved like a ghost too, closed on them without Rio hearing footsteps. But then Adam had always been light on his feet.

“Rio, my man.” White teeth flashed below cold eyes. “Keep walking.”

“He has a gun pressed into my side.” Becca’s breath hitched.

The ice glossing Rio’s flesh sank deeper. His chest tightened around the harsh thud of his heart.

“Indeed, I do, little sis. Can’t pull anything over you.” Adam’s teeth flashed again, but his gaze looked muddy and cold. “And I’ll use it too, if you don’t keep walking.”

“What are you doing, Adam?” Rio kept his tone casual. Non-confrontational.

“I’m cleaning up loose ends.” The blue eyes that latched onto Rio’s were flat. “And I’ll snip the first one now, if you don’t fucking move.”

They were dead whether they moved or not. The cold calculation in the bastard’s eyes announced that loud and clear. Rio’s fingers itched to dive beneath his jacket for his holstered weapon, but he wouldn’t reach it before Adam pulled the trigger. Only the bullet wouldn’t tear through his flesh. It would tear through Becca’s instead.

When Rio didn’t move, Adam jerked Becca flush against his side, using her bound arm for leverage. She hissed, her face blanching.

“FYI, old buddy.” Adam smiled cordially at him. “The gun Becca mentioned earlier? It’s underneath her ballistics vest, pressed against her heart. Two shots, and she’s gone.”

Rio swore mentally.

There was a slight possibility he could draw his weapon and take Hart out before he took a bullet himself. But Becca would take the first hit. A fatal hit.

Fuck.

His hands shook briefly. He forced them still. His best defense was keeping Adam calm and his finger off that trigger, until he figured out how to disarm the asshole without getting Becca killed.

“We’re moving.” He stepped forward, silently urging Becca to follow his lead. He couldn’t slide his arm around her waist to tug her forward. The wrong move could get her killed. He breathed a sigh of relief when she followed his example. Her stride was shaky. Her breathing tight. But she was keeping her shit together, and her feet moving. “Where to?”

“Your ride.” Adam’s voice was calm, detached. No emotion whatsoever. He glanced down at Becca and back up, but the movement was too quick for Rio to react. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to track you down?” He jerked Becca’s arm, smirking at her immediate hiss. “You weren’t at your hotel. Or Rio’s place. And fuck, there Rio was, playing musical cars, so I couldn’t stash a tracker on him.” His voice thickened, turned gloating. “But then I got to thinking. If you were looking into your skank of a mother’s death—” He grinned at Becca’s flinch. “—or if Rio had reopened Rachel’s fucking case, then you’d be talking to witnesses who were around back then. Like personnel at the Hopewell estate. Like the Birkelands. Hell, it was easy enough to locate Hilde Birkeland. But even then, staking out this place was a last resort. Except you actually showed up. Twice. I couldn’t get near you yesterday, not with that fucking horde surrounding you. Couldn’t believe my luck when you showed up again today, minus the extra bodies.”

Hell.

Frustration seethed. Self-recrimination. This was his fucking fault. His mistake. He should have waited to talk to Hilde again until he had another team in place. But no, he’d gotten too damn complacent over the past week. He’d let his guard down. And unless he came up with a counter maneuver fast, Becca would pay the price.

“You were behind the rifle. The hit and run.” They weren’t questions. Rio was certain of it.

Adam snorted. “If you hadn’t leaned over to talk to her, if she hadn’t ducked back into the car—well hell, you wouldn’t be in this pickle now.”

Meaning Becca would be dead, and Rio would be elsewhere. He glanced at Becca’s white face, and his chest loosened. He preferred the current situation, preferred her alive, her warmth beside him, even if that put him in Adam’s crosshairs.

“How’d you manage it?” Rio asked as they closed on the Jeep.

“What?” Adam pulled Becca toward the passenger seat door. “You drive. Little sis and I will share the back…with my gun.”

“I need to grab the keys.” He waited for Adam’s acknowledging nod before sliding his hand into the pocket of his slacks.

Keep him talking. Keep him distracted. Keep his finger off the trigger.

“You were in Florida during the shooting. I have the flight manifest. The keycard log from your hotel. The written statements of people who were at the board meeting Monday morning and afternoon.”

“Ah,” Adam chuckled, his face amused. “I take it Adele never mentioned that her fiancé is a Brentworth? One of the Brentworths?”

“Of Brentworth Groceries?” Hell, the family was on the same scale as the Waltons. “No, she never mentioned it.”

Adam tsked, with a shake of his head. “Preston has his own private jet, which he’s quite generous about loaning out. Bet you never checked for a private flight, under the Brentworth name. As for the keycard—” he shrugged as Rio hit the button to unlock the Jeep’s doors. “I gave the card to Megan, my assistant. Told her to use room service. The board members were easy. A lie here…a bribe there.”

Rio studied the pair beside him. Becca had her mother’s diary clenched to her chest like it was the only thing holding her together. Adam still had Becca sealed against him. He was using her as a shield. But he’d have to let her go when they climbed into the Jeep.

That’s when I move.

Rio forced himself to remain relaxed. To not tense in readiness.

But when Becca reached for the door, Adam yanked her back. The gaze he settled on Rio was knowing.

“You get in first. Hands on the steering wheel. Do not start the car. And remember, it will take a second, tops, to pull this trigger.”

Damnit.

There went that avenue of attack.

His hands sweating, he opened the driver’s door and climbed behind the wheel, feeling like he’d just entered his coffin. There was nothing to stop Adam from putting a bullet into Becca the minute they climbed into the car, and then one into Rio’s head thereafter. He wouldn’t be able to turn around and line up a shot quick enough to stop the bastard.

Quite possibly the only thing that stopped that scenario from playing out was the sedan that pulled up behind them.

“Get in,” Adam snapped, giving Becca a light shove and quickly following her into the back seat.

Car doors slammed. Voices drifted on the light breeze.

Becca scooted over. Adam slammed the passenger door and caught Rio’s gaze in the rear-view mirror. “Drive.”

Looks like they’d gotten a reprieve. Apparently, Adam was reluctant to clip his loose strings with witnesses around. Of course the minute they left these strangers behind, Adam would act. Rio was certain of it.

He needed to come up with something to save them and he needed to do it now.

* * *

“Why are you doing this?” Becca asked Adam as Rio pulled away from the curb.

She locked down the burning agony radiating across her shoulder and down her arm. If she showed pain, if she let him know how much his yanking and jerking hurt, she could expect more of the same.

Adam hadn’t changed in the slightest. At least not psychologically. He was still far too thrilled with hurting her.

“Hey, don’t blame me for this.” The gaze he turned on her was too cold and calculating to match his indignant tone. “If you’d backed off, instead of insisting that your whore of a mother’s case be reopened, if you’d gone back to Olympia, instead of hiring a private detective, if you’d just left well enough alone—well, I wouldn’t have to do this.”

He was blaming her?

A shimmer of rage seeded.

“You killed her, didn’t you? My mom?” It was the only thing that made sense. Why else would he want to stop her from hiring someone to investigate her mother’s death.

For a while it didn’t look like he was going to answer the question. He leaned forward instead, addressing Rio. “Turn here.”

The street Rio turned onto was quiet and lined with huge oak trees and older homes.

“I didn’t mean to kill her,” Adam finally said. “It just happened. I went over to talk to her. To demand she leave dad alone. But things got out of hand.” His voice was hollow, as though he were looking back, and the memories were ugly. “For Christ's sake, that bastard couldn’t even spare the time to come to one of my fucking baseball games, and now he was going to move in with her? With you? With a new fucking family?” His voice gained volume and intensity with each word. “He was leaving Mom for that skank. Leaving Adele for you. Leaving me, for this new baby?” His face twisted. “I just went to tell her to back the fuck off. And you know what she did? What that filthy whore did when I told her she was ruining everything? She tried to comfort me. To fucking hug me. She tried to tell me that everything would turn out fine. That we’d all be one big happy family.” He broke off, breathing heavily.

“So, you killed her,” Rio said from the front seat.

The pressure against Becca’s side had eased, as though Adam had pulled back on the pistol. She forced herself not to look down, in case she reminded him of the gun.

“I guess. I was so fucking mad. I remember wrapping my hands around her throat. I remember squeezing until she stopped moving.” He shook himself and shrugged.

Becca’s stomach knotted as he described her mother’s death. But she forced the horror aside. She couldn’t let his words paralyze her. There was too much at stake.

“And then you moved in with us.” He turned his head to glare at her. “It was like living with a fucking ghost. A constant reminder that we—I—had come second to him. A constant reminder that he’d chosen her, you, over me. That I didn’t matter.”

Becca bit her lip. Stunned by the hatred in his voice.

It wasn’t a guess any longer. He hated the hell out of her. The loathing transformed the planes of his face into something wretched and monstrous.

“Who helped you stage her body?” Rio asked. “You couldn’t have hung her from the railing by yourself."

“I called Mom. She came over and then called Dad.” He turned to Becca. His face seemed to glow, as though he were lit from within by wrath. “He fucking cried when he saw her. Said he was going to turn me in. Was going to have me arrested. The bastard made me do it by tossing me aside, and then he was going to ruin my life? The only reason…the only fucking reason he backed down was because of you.” He paused—drew a deep, ragged breath. When he continued, his voice was tight, but controlled. “Mom reminded the ungrateful bastard that you were an orphan now. That you’d go into the foster system. She said the only way she’d agree to have you move in with us was if he made that whore’s death go away.”

Well that explained why Lena had allowed Becca into her home. She’d never understood that. The animosity her stepmother had felt toward her had been unmistakable. Yet Lena was hardly milquetoast, or subservient. She could have refused Becca’s addition to her family.

“Did Chief Moyer know you killed her?” Rio asked.

“Hell, I don’t know.” Adam’s voice was uninterested. “Dad never told us what he’d said to him.”

The gun suddenly pressed back into her side.

Becca’s skin iced over, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.

They were running out of time. She could sense it, see it in the way he’d started scanning the street, like he was checking for witnesses.

She glanced around for a weapon, anything to use against him.

Nothing.

Her gaze fell on the journal pressed against her tight chest. It was big enough to pack a wallop if she swung it hard enough. But she wouldn’t be able to knock the gun aside, not with his pistol tucked beneath her vest.

She’d have to aim for his face. Try to blind him. Maybe if she hit him hard enough, she could knock him out. At least the book was hard backed, and rigid. And it was better than nothing.

Butterflies took flight in her stomach as she eased her grip on the book and loosened her arms. He’d probably get a shot off. She locked that fear down, accepting the possibility.

If she could distract Adam, maybe Rio would have the opportunity to act. Maybe he’d survive. She’d just have to hope that the consequences to her were survivable.

She wished she could signal Rio somehow, but anything she said or did would alert Adam.

She’d only have one shot at this. She needed to make it count.

* * *

“Pull over,” Adam said.

Rio glanced in the rearview mirror, catching the sudden flatness on Adam’s face, and the tension bulging his muscles. The bastard was gearing up to act. Rio’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. If he pulled over, Becca was dead. So was he.

They were out of time. He needed to do something, and he needed to do it now. Only one thing came to mind. Hell, if he didn’t die in the next few minutes, Trammel was going to kill him.

The irony forced a tight grin.

He gunned the engine and wrenched the wheel to the right, aiming the Jeep for the huge oak tree along the street up ahead. The SUV leapt forward, flinging Rio against the backrest.

“What the fuck are—” Adam’s voice rose, only to splinter back into silence.

A scuffle broke out in the backseat. He glanced in the rearview mirror as movement swam across the glass, but he couldn’t see what was happening.

A masculine Omphhh was followed by a gunshot.

His heart clawed its way up his throat.

“Becca!” he roared, as the tree trunk rushed them.

Someone in the back screamed—a wail of agony and rage. But the voice wasn’t Becca’s.

What the hell?

The Jeep jumped the curb, and for a second Rio felt like he was flying. Then they hit the tree trunk with enough force to embed his rib cage into the steering wheel.

The screaming snapped off.

Glass shattered. Metal screeched. The horn blared. But silence ruled the back seat.

Becca…Becca…Becca

Her name pounded in his head, throbbing to the beat of his heart.

Rio shook off the crash induced lethargy and ducked low, shoving open the door. As he tumbled out of the Jeep, the grass wet and slick beneath his palms, screams erupted again. With the horn at full blast, he couldn’t tell whether the shrieks were male or female, but he doubted they were Becca’s. The woman was forged from grit and fortitude.

He didn’t remember reaching for his gun, but it was out of its holster and steady in his hand. Gaining his feet, he crab walked to the passenger door, keeping his head below the window.

Becca hadn’t responded to his yell.

Was she alive?

I just found her again. I can’t lose her now.

Terror hit. He beat it back, concentrated on getting her out of that back seat, on keeping her alive.

His weapon up and unwavering, he yanked open the passenger door and found Becca crouched over Adam, beating the holy fuck out of his face with the sharp edge of her mother’s diary.

His mouth fell open in shock.

He stared at the staunch ferocity on her face. She’d ditched the sling and was using the edge of the journal like a sledgehammer, swinging it with such effectiveness Adam cowered and shrieked beneath her blows.

Rio's chest expanded, thickened with pride. She was fine. She was better than fine. She was magnificent.

He reached into the backseat and grabbed Adam by his waistband, yanking him from the SUV. The bastard hit the grass with another round of shrieking and his palms locked around his eyes. Blood streamed between the cupped fingers, coating his cheeks and chin. After a few seconds, the screams sputtered and died.

Becca looked up, her eyes wild. Her hair was tousled, speckled with blood. The red of rage and exertion flushed her cheeks. She looked glorious.

He started to reach for her, remembered the gun and the bastard at his feet. He searched Adam’s bloody form and the interior of the SUV.

“Where’s Adam’s gun?” he shouted, his voice competing with the horn.

“I kicked it under the front seat,” she yelled back.

First class thinking, but then that earlier gunshot flashed through Rio’s mind. His skin chilled. Had she been hit?

He needed to find out, ASAP, but the horn was so fucking loud it made conversation impossible. Keeping an eye—and his gun—on Adam, he eased his way to the engine compartment. The hood was popped and crumpled.

Yeah, he definitely owed Tram a new Jeep.

He wrestled the metal up further, reached in and yanked. Blessed silence fell.

His ears were still ringing as he returned to Becca.

“I heard a gunshot.” His voice was hoarse.

“His hand jerked when I hit him. That’s when he let go of the gun. But I don’t think the bullet got me. Nothing hurts.” She was crouched there on the seat, her breath coming in urgent pants.

Without taking his eyes off Adam, who’d curled into a fetal ball with his palms still cupping his eyes, Rio leaned into the backseat and helped Becca from the Jeep. Her shoulder was warm against his hand.

Alive.

He took a deep breath, peace spreading through him.

Thank Christ.

He’d come far too close to losing her…again.

“I can’t see,” Adam moaned, rolling his head against the grass. “That bitch blinded me.”

“Good,” Becca muttered. She glanced up, caught Rio’s gaze and shrugged. “He was going to kill us. I took this defense course and the instructor said to go for the eyes.” She shrugged again. “So, I went for his eyes.”

And won back her life. His too.

“Watch him.” Rio nodded at Adam, as he handed her his weapon. “Shoot him if he tries anything.”

“With pleasure.” A hint of that earlier ferocity touched her face.

It relieved him to find some of that teenage tempestuousness still alive and kicking inside her. The old Becca hadn’t been completely erased.

“What are you doing?” she asked as Rio went to work unbuckling her vest.

“I’m checking you for more holes.” He eased the armor down her arms, carefully sliding it past his pistol. Adrenaline could cloak trauma and her adrenaline was still at full throttle.

The creamy blouse he exposed was rumpled and damp—but not with blood. He scanned her torso intently. There was no evidence she’d taken another bullet.

Thank you, Jesus.

He took back his gun and trained it on Adam.

And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he took her in his arms, breathing in her sweet scent, basking in her damp warmth. She felt so perfect against him. Like she belonged. His chest tightened. Thickened. The sensation emotional rather than physical. It was raw. Uncomfortable. And all too familiar from twelve years ago.

“Uh…Rio. Maybe you should call 911.” But instead of trying to wriggle away, she cuddled closer.

“In a minute,” he murmured, reluctant to let her go long enough to dig for his phone.

As his own adrenaline fell away, a steady burn radiated across his ribcage. No surprise, he’d hit that steering wheel pretty damn hard. But the mushrooming pain didn’t come close to denting the contentment.

He sighed and cuddled her closer.

She wouldn’t be headed back to Olympia anytime soon. Not if he had any say in it.