Three days later, with a bulletproof vest hanging heavy over her shoulders, Becca held her breath, and slowly eased into the passenger seat of Tram’s Jeep. Once settled, the pain dialed back to bearable again and she relaxed with a sigh, absently nudging the vest’s straps closer to her collarbone. They’d found her a size small, but the armor was still too big, virtually swallowing her torso. Not that she was complaining. She’d take the loose, messy fit over a bullet any day.

Rio hovered above her in the open doorway, a frown tugging at his face. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

She forced a smile and looked up. “I’m fine, really.” When his worry didn’t dissipate, she started to shrug. A burst of pain stopped her cold. By the time she started breathing again, Rio’s frown had escalated to a scowl. Obviously, she’d failed to convince him. “Yes, it hurts. But not as bad as it used to, and I took another pain pill just in case. Besides—” She shifted to a more comfortable position. The sling was always digging into something. “You said Hilde wouldn’t talk to you, only me, and it will be wonderful to see her again.”

Although Rio hadn’t told her much, she suspected his investigation was running into walls. He’d returned from his meeting with Father Garcia blank faced, but with frustration rolling through his eyes. At her prodding, he’d finally admitted that Annie Lebronc had moved, and Martha Hugley had died. He didn’t mention what Father Garcia had told him, but considering Rio’s willingness to take her to Hilde, the good father must not have told him anything helpful.

Rio leaned down, grabbed the seatbelt, stretched it out and leaned across her to snap the clip into its clasp. After a startled inhale, Becca held her breath. He smelled too damn good. Some kind of subtly spicy aftershave. Best not to breathe him in. The last thing she needed was more ammunition to fuel this frustrating and unwelcome attraction.

“Where’s Tag?” Becca asked after Rio backed off.

“He’s watching our six.” Rio closed the passenger door and climbed into the backseat.

“Our six?” she repeated absently, concentrating on shallow, careful breathes. His scent still clung to the air and interfered with her thought process.

“He’s following behind.” Tram started the SUV up, cranked the wheel and pulled away from the curb. “Making sure no one tails us.”

They sure took their guard dog duties seriously. With Tag in tow, that meant she’d have three bodyguards at the nursing home.

“Did you tell anyone in your family you were back in town?” Rio asked.

The Harts are not my family.

Before she had a chance to disavow the relationship out loud, she got distracted by his voice. It was the oddest thing. They weren’t alone in the car, but the deep, husky timbre of his voice, floating disembodied from the back seat, cocooned her in a web of intimacy.

“I didn’t. But somebody must have. Adele showed up at my hotel right after I spoke to you at the police station.” The squeak of a body shifting against leather came from behind.

“She knew where you were staying? Did she say where she got that information?”

His voice was much closer. In fact, he was so close the hot brush of his breath tickled her left ear. Goosebumps erupted along her arms and the nape of her neck and she fought the urge to squirm.

“She said Lena told her. I assumed you’d called Adam and he’d passed the information onto Lena.”

“No.” His voice was absent. “I haven’t talked to your brother in years.” His tone suddenly sharpened. “What did Adele want? Did she ask you to drop the request to reopen your mom’s case?”

“No.” Becca turned her head to stare out the window. The colorful blur of buildings and houses streaming past worked like a sedative. Her eyes grew heavy. “She didn’t know why I was in town. But when I told her, she was fine with reopening mom’s case. Even offered to help.”

A pulse of silence echoed in the car before Rio responded. “Did you tell her you suspect Rachel was pregnant and who the father of the child was?”

“Of course. Like I said, she didn’t care.”

Or at least the news hadn’t appeared to impact her. From Adele’s nervous energy, she had other things occupying her mind. Like an unwelcome wedding. Becca mentally groaned. She’d planned to call her half-sister and make sure Lena wasn’t pressuring her into the marriage. But between the drugs they were giving her, which led to hours of missing time, and Rio’s insistence that she stay off the phone, she hadn’t had a chance to contact Adele.

The wedding was the day after tomorrow, so there wasn’t much time left to hunt Adele down and coerce her into talking.

“Then why did she come?” If anything, Rio’s voice was even sharper than before.

Becca hesitated, she didn’t want to get into their personal history. Certainly not here, stuck in a car, with a witness and no place to escape. “Not that it’s any of your business, but she just wanted to apologize for some past pranks.”

“As of four days ago, everything that’s happened in your life is my business,” Rio countered. The flat, inflexible statement echoed through the car. “Have you two kept in touch?”

“I haven’t talked to her since I left town,” Becca admitted.

While Trammel kept his gaze locked studiously ahead, she could sense his interest in the conversation.

“Did she ever try to contact you?” Rio asked, his questions coming fast and hard now.

Her mind flashed back to all those letters she’d sent Rio, the ones he’d never answered. Was that what he meant by tried to contact? Letters that never got answered? Phone calls that never got returned? She almost asked him, but there was too much bitterness inherent in the question.

“Not that I’m aware of,” she said, hoping she’d kept the sudden surge of acrimony from her voice. “She said she would call me. Arrange a dinner while I was in town. Of course, without my phone…”

She let the sentence trail off accusingly.

A soft grunt of acknowledgement came from the backseat.

“She’s getting married in two days,” Becca added, compelled to break the sudden silence. “I need to talk to her before the ceremony.”

“It’s too risky.” Rio’s voice was flat. “We still don’t know who’s involved in the attempt on your life.”

Attempt on your life.

The phrase echoed in Becca’s mind, reminding her yet again that someone had tried to kill her. It still didn’t seem possible.

But Adele? It seemed even more unlikely that her half-sister was behind the attempt. But if not Adele, who? Who was behind the shots? The hit and run? As far as she knew, Rio didn’t have any suspects.

“What about Mom’s diary? Did you find anything useful in there?”

He’d asked her for the journal two days earlier. She’d been inclined to refuse his request, until Emma had reminded her that the diary might contain clues as to who was after her.

“Nothing yet.”

Okay, that was odd considering how often she found him pouring over the book. It seemed like every time she woke from a nap and wandered into the living room, he was engrossed in the journal, at least when he was on guard duty.

They arrived at Hilde’s nursing home and parked along the street before she could question him further. She mentally filed the conversation under more to come and waited for her two brawny companions to decide it was safe to let her out of the car.

“Wait here,” Rio said as he and Tram exited the Jeep. Doors closed, and they slowly pivoted, scanning the neighborhood.

Becca didn’t protest, just sat there like a chastened child. But then she didn’t relish the possibility of another attempt on her life. Being out in public again, after being shot, was messing with her head. Intellectually, she knew she was safe. The men accompanying her had gone to painstaking lengths to make certain of that. But she kept waiting for the crack of a rifle and that awful burst of pain.

Her flight or fight instinct kicked in, until the beat of her heart thudded against her ribs and echoed in her ears. Her breathing constricted to tight and raspy. She fought the tension as Tag joined his two buddies and the three huddled together.

Suddenly the masculine cluster broke apart, and Rio opened her door. Apparently, they’d decided it was safe to head into the building. She stiffened, the urge to cling to the Jeep’s shelter overwhelming.

“Remember to remain between us,” Rio told her.

“I will.” She had no interest in being brave, or foolish. Her breath hitched as she forced her legs to move and cautiously emerged from the car.

Rio had explained their strategy before leaving the house. The three men would form a tight knot, keeping her in the middle—like musk oxen protecting their calves. Whoever was after her wouldn’t be able to line up a shot from the front, back or sides because her bodyguards would block the bullet’s path. Since the three men towered above her, their heads would block an attack from above.

What they hadn’t addressed, even though they had to be aware of it, was the simple fact that three well placed shots could take them all out. While the three men were wearing bullet proof vests, as was she, they had nothing protecting their heads. She cringed at the ugly thought, horror crashing through her. If it came right down to it, she’d rather take another bullet, even if it killed her, rather than cause the deaths of three good men.

Maybe it was time to rethink this bodyguard business.

She grimaced as the men closed around her and herded her up the curb and onto the sidewalk.

Right, Becca. A little late for that.

A huge brick and stucco arch stood guard at the end of the sidewalk her guards rushed her down. The distance between the Jeep and that arch seemed to take forever and passed in snatches of impressions. The constant scan of intent male gazes. The heat radiating from the men crowding her. The oddly pleasant merging of three distinct colognes. Rio’s hand heating the skin of her left elbow.

Then they were through the red arch and converging on the nursing home’s glass doors. The men swept her through the entrance and into the lobby. Instantly, the cluster of men surrounding her slowed and stepped to the side. Tram jogged toward the receptionist desk, which was a waist high blue circle at the back of the room.

After a brief discussion with the woman manning the desk, he jogged back again.

“Room one-eighteen.” Tram started down the hallway in front of them.

Becca followed behind, Rio at her side. His hand was still on her elbow…had he forgotten about it? The warmth of his touch was doing annoying things to her pulse and breathing. Heck even her skin was getting in on the act, sending chills down her spine and perspiration across her palms. Time to nip this crap in the bud. She took a long step to the side, relaxing as his hand fell away.

He shot her a questioning glance, which she ignored.

Luckily, Room 118 was three doors down the hall. Tag and Tram took up positions against the wall, on either side of the door, as Becca and Rio entered the room.

Hilde was a long, shallow lump beneath a baby blue comforter. Her face was deeply lined, with wrinkles bracketing her faded blue eyes and chapped mouth. A halo of crisp, snow white hair turned the pillow case beneath her head a dingy gray.

“Rebecca?” A startled huff of breath escaped the pallid lips, as a fragile, translucent hand rose to clasp Becca’s fingers.

“I’m here, Hilde. It’s so good to see you.” Without letting go of the thin, blue-veined hand, Becca caught the armchair beneath the window with her foot and dragged it forward.

“You look just like your mother…” Hilde’s voice trailed off, but the fragile hand tightened around Becca’s fingers as Becca sank into the chair beside the bed. After a second, the watery gaze dipped to the sling that bound Becca’s arm to her chest. “Oh dear, what happened?”

“A minor mishap, but I’ll be fine.” Becca brushed the question off. She glanced around the room. “Are they treating you well, here, Hilde?”

The room was larger than she’d expected, with twin beds separated by a wide aisle. The side walls held banks of built in closets and drawers. The entire room, from corner to corner, was carpeted with a thick, plush carpet, rather than industrial grade. The window, shielded by a trio of blinds, stretched across the back wall, and allowed the bright, San Diego sunshine to flood in.

“Ah Becky, it’s been so long.” Hilde’s voice quavered slightly, as though emotion tore at her words. “I should have done more. I should have tried harder to reach you.”

Becca’s chest tightened beneath a wave of regret and shame. “No. No. Please don’t blame yourself. I should have reached out to you, visited you. I just…” She swallowed hard. “It’s just…”

The shame burned hotter. Avoiding the old woman because the memories brought so much pain wasn’t an excuse. Not a good one, anyway.

“I should have fought back.” The thin voice quavered and broke. “I shouldn’t have let that horrible woman intimidate me.”

What? Intimidate?

“Wait.” Still holding the old woman’s hand, Becca leaned forward. “What do you mean? Who intimidated you?”

“That horrible, horrible woman your father was married too.” Hilde’s fingers tightened so hard over Becca’s hand, Becca’s knuckles ground together. “I tried to see you, several times. I sent you letters. I called. But I couldn’t get through.”

“I didn’t know,” Becca whispered, lifting the brittle, thin hand to her mouth. The skin felt parchment dry and thin beneath her lips.

“She claimed I was stalking you. Said she’d take out an order of protection against me if I didn’t leave you alone.

“But, why?” The bewilderment flooding her echoed in Becca’s voice. “What could she possibly gain from keeping you away from me?”

“She didn’t want you to find out the truth.” Hilde’s voice wavered and broke.

“About what?”

But the question didn’t come from Becca, it came from Rio, who’d taken a step closer and loomed over the bed.

“Your mother didn’t kill herself.” Hilde’s gaze didn’t budge from Becca’s face, but the thin, blue-veined hand let go and retreated to the bed. “You know that, right? She would never have done that to you. She would never have done that to the child she was carrying”

Silence gripped the room for one heartbeat…two…three before Becca coughed to clear the rasp from her throat. “Mom was pregnant?”

She’d known it, instinctively, since she’d found the ultrasound, but to have it proven so suddenly…it felt surreal. Her chest tightened, and those earlier flight or fight nerves kicked in. How silly, this conversation was the reason she was here. Yet now that the moment was upon her, she wanted to back away, close her ears, ward off the pain.

“Did she say who the father was?”

Once again, the question didn’t come from Becca. The snow-white head shifted on the pillow, as the lined face turned toward Rio’s towering form.

“The mayor. Aaron Hart. Rachel was ecstatic. She said he was going to tell that awful woman he wanted a divorce. She said they were finally going to be a family. Him, her,” the cloudy gaze drifted back to Becca. “You…the new baby.” Grief echoed in shaking voice. “That poor, poor girl. She didn’t kill herself. She would never have killed herself. I tried to tell them that, the detective who came out to do his so-called investigation, the officers at the police station. But no one would listen.”

“You told this to Detective Foster?” Rio’s voice was quiet, but grimness spread across his face.

A frustrated breath huffed out of Hilde. “I told everyone, at least until the Police Chief came out. He said he’d revoke my permanent resident card if I continued making false claims and harassing everyone.”

Another beat of silence fell. Rio was the first to stir.

“Why didn’t you go to Hopewell?” Rio asked quietly.

“I did.” Bewildered disappointment flooded Hilde’s face. “He didn’t believe me. See, Mr. Hopewell had talked to Mayor Hart himself and the mayor told him he’d never intended to ask for a divorce. And then the doctor who did the autopsy told Mr. Hopewell that there had been no baby. And the police chief said she’d left a letter before she hung herself, which made it clear her death was self-inflicted.” She paused to hiccup out a raw breath. “They convinced Mr. Hopewell she’d taken her own life. But he didn’t know Rachel like I did. That poor sweet girl would never have done that to you, Becky. Never.” She choked out a couple more raw breaths, before continuing. “Mr. Hopewell said I would just make things harder on you by filling your head full of conspiracy theories. So, I backed down. But I’ve regretted that decision ever since. I should have stood up to them. I should have stood up for you.”

Becca sat there frozen, Hilde’s run down of events reeling through her mind. The ultrasound couldn’t be faked…could it? But what about the autopsy proving her mother hadn’t been pregnant? And the suicide note…

Hilde had discounted everything the police and Harold had told her, because she’d had faith in her friend, but Rio was trained to judge on evidence. Would the facts Hilde had laid out convince him her mother’s suicide wasn’t worth reinvestigating?

She couldn’t tell from Rio’s flat, distant expression what he was thinking.

“What about that day? Did anything strange happen. Did you see anyone around the estate?” Rio asked, his voice thoughtful.

Hilde shook her head, her platinum hair dragging across the pillow. “Not really. Well, I mean, other than the gate being open when we returned from town.”

Rio frowned. “You weren’t at the estate?”

With a deep sigh, Hilde seemed to sink deeper into the mattress. “No, we’d gone into town. Mathias and I, we picked up groceries for Rachel, and seed and fertilizer and then went to lunch. When we arrived back at the estate, the gate was open.”

“Was that unusual?” Rio asked.

At least he was still asking questions, rather than just accepting his Police Chief’s account.

“Oh, yes, Rachel was paranoid about security. Harold collected many things, much of which was priceless. She was conscientious about making sure the gate was closed and the alarm was armed both night and day.”

“What about the alarm? Was it armed?”

Hilde’s gaze shifted back to Becca, sorrow blurring the faded blue eyes. “No. At least not when we entered the house after Becca started screaming. But she’d just returned from school, perhaps she’d turned it off to enter the house?”

Rio turned to Becca, that distant look still stamped across his face. “Did you turn it off that day?”

Becca cast her mind back, but all she saw was blackness and her mother’s swaying, gyrating body. She flinched, then closed her eyes and practiced deep even breathing until calm and reason returned.

“I don’t think so,” she said as her memory started working again. Not her memory of that day, but of the hundreds of times she’d returned home while she’d lived at the mansion. “I never turned the alarm off. I just opened the door and punched the rearm code into the panel. There was a two-minute timer. If the code was punched in, the alarm would simply cycle back on. I never needed to turn it off.”

Her breath caught as the reason behind Rio’s questions hit home. The gate had been open…the alarm off.

If her mother had been murdered, she must have let her killers inside the mansion.

Which meant she’d known them.