With the television a low drone in the background, Rio took a long pull on his beer bottle and turned another page in Rachel Blaine’s journal. Although really, the book was more sketch pad, than diary—with Becca playing a starring role on the pages.

The next drawing was one of his favorites. Becca must have been around five or six. She sat in a wind-whipped explosion of wildflowers with a dreamy look in her dark eyes and a lopsided crown of dandelions atop her rebellious curls.

The sketch, like the dozens of others among the pages, was so detailed he could almost smell the sweet scent of the wildflowers, feel the wind against his skin. Rachel Blaine had been an incredibly talented woman, every stroke of her pencil demonstrated that. Just as most of the sketches illustrated how much she’d adored her daughter.

Why would the woman who sketched Becca in such loving detail kill herself in the foyer? She must have known Becca would be the one to find her dangling body. Would she really put the daughter she so obviously cherished through that kind of trauma?

Hilde Birkeland said no.

Chief Moyer said yes.

Only one of them could be right.

He continued flipping through the pages until he reached the final entry. Frowning, he paused to study the sketch…again. The illustration was of a pendant, with its stone set in a fragile web, almost like a tiny dreamcatcher. The damn thing was familiar as hell, but he couldn’t place where, or when, he’d seen it.

The creak of a door opening, and the soft fall of footsteps came from behind the couch. Becca had finally awoken. He set the diary and his beer down on the coffee table and rose to his feet, turning to face her. Her cheeks were soft, and slightly flushed, but her eyes were turbulent and raw, like the dreams she’d been immersed in over the past four hours had been dark and sad.

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly, stepping around the corner of the couch.

She’d been quiet on the trip back to Emma’s house. After barely touching the lunch their hostess had provided, she’d cited exhaustion and returned to bed.

“I’m okay.” She looked around the silent house. “Where is everyone?”

“Emma and Tram went out to dinner and a movie. Tag’s back at his place, checking mail and messages.”

“Ah.” The smile she directed at him was wry and maybe a bit suspicious. “In other words, you’re on guard duty. I hope giving Tag and Tram a break didn’t put too much of a crimp in your day.”

“Nothing’s been put off that can’t be handled later.”

He’d called his Captain and passed on everything Hilde Birkeland had told him. His CO had updated him in return. What Harold Hopewell had told Hilde matched perfectly with what Chief Moyer had told Captain Fuentes during their meeting that morning.

Which would have put the fucking investigation to bed, if there had been anything to back up Moyer’s version of events. With the missing autopsy report and missing files, the whole damn case boiled down to he said, she said.

According to Fuentes, Moyer had appeared surprised to hear of the missing evidence and claimed to have no insight into what had happened to it.

Rio wanted to believe him. Hell, Moyer had given him a new career after he’d left the teams. But damnit, there were too many things that didn’t add up. Like the open gate and dead alarm the day Rachel Blaine had died. Like a doting mother killing herself knowing that her daughter would walk in on her body…

…like the two attempts on Becca’s life.

“How’s the pain?” Rio stepped to the side as she headed toward the kitchen. “You’re due for another pill.”

The pain pills were supposed to be taken every six hours, although from what he’d been told, Becca was stretching them out way past that schedule. At least she was religiously sticking to the antibiotic schedule.

“I’m okay,” Becca said, cocking her head to the side and pausing, as though she were assessing her condition. “I’ll take another pain pill before bed.” She shot him a slight smile over her shoulder. “Assuming I can sleep. That nap ran much longer than I’d planned.”

Rio followed her into the kitchen, watching as she filled a glass with water and drained it. “Emma left a casserole. If you’re hungry I can put it in the oven.”

It was barely five, but she hadn’t eaten much breakfast or lunch.

“That sounds good, although I wish Emma wouldn’t wait on me like this. She goes above and beyond.” Turning to face him, Becca leaned a hip against the sink. “Do you think she’d be offended if I left her some money when I return home?”

And there she went again, blowing his perception of her to hell. For someone who was supposed to be so selfish she’d do anything to get her way, she was awfully thoughtful and kind.

“According to Tram, she loves to cook. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“My meals shouldn’t come out of her pocket book,” Becca said absently.

Rio shook his head slightly, trying to reconcile her behavior with what he’d been told through the years.

As Rio pulled the oblong glass dish out of the refrigerator, Becca moved to the stove.

“What temperature is it supposed to bake at?”

“Three fifty.” Rio set the casserole on the counter.

“What happens now?” Becca asked as they waited for the oven to preheat.

At Rio’s glance, she shrugged, her face calm, eyes sharp. “You must have told your Captain what Harold told Hilde. Did he tell you to drop the investigation into my mom’s death?”

It didn’t surprise him how calm and rational the question was. Not now, anyway. It had become increasingly clear through the past four days that her current responses were poles apart from her past reactions. At some point in the intervening years, she’d learned how to process her emotions.

It was too bad he hadn’t been aware of her history twelve years ago. Jesus, within the framework of her mother’s suicide, and the trauma of finding her mother’s body, her neediness and overreactions made sense. Why hadn’t anyone filled him in on what had happened to her? While his grandmother wouldn’t have known Becca’s history, Adam, Lena and Adele sure as hell would have.

Why the fuck hadn’t they told him?

“As of now, your mom’s case is still open.” Rio hesitated…before mentally shrugging. “But my CO talked to Chief Moyer this morning and Moyer cited everything Hopewell told Hilde.”

Becca didn’t look surprised.

“He was police chief back then?” At Rio’s nod, she sighed. “Then of course he corroborated Harold’s account. He’s the one who fed Harold all that bullshit in the first place. But you’re not dumping the case?” Her eyebrows drew together. “Why not? Didn’t your police chief tell you to drop it?”

“Moyer retired a couple years back. He has no say in this case any longer.”

Becca scratched behind her ear, her face conflicted. After a moment she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. “What about you? What do you think happened?”

The old Becca would never have taken the bull by the horns like this. His respect for the woman she’d grown into went up another notch.

“I think there are too many unanswered questions and too much missing evidence. Hell, the fact the case files and autopsy report are missing is shady as hell. Why was the gate open and the alarm off the day your mom died? Why is someone after you?”

She nodded at each of his questions. Her body relaxed and the eyes that held his softened with relief. “Okay. What now?”

“I keep digging. You keep out of sight. We get to the bottom of this.”

She inclined her head again, but then a frown settled over her face. “My time here is almost up. I have appointments scheduled for Monday.”

It was the oddest damn thing. His immediate, visceral reaction to her leaving was resistance.

Strong resistance.

“Can you call your boss? Take more time off.” He fought to keep the scowl from his face.

She chuckled softly, before sighing. “I am the boss. The practice is mine. But I hate canceling on my patients again. Some of them are really struggling and need that weekly ear.”

She owned her own psychiatric practice? Adam sure as hell hadn’t mentioned that. Hell, Adam had claimed that she’d drifted through school, work and life on sexual favors and good timing. But owning her own practice didn’t jive with the kind of parasite Adam had described. To go into business for herself, in such a short span of time after graduating, indicated she’d been driven, a hard worker. There would have been tests to pass, licenses to get, client lists to build.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Becca said, before he had a chance to ask the horde of questions hovering on his tongue. “Harold didn’t just leave me the desk. He left me a boatload of money, too. I wonder if he felt guilty about forcing Hilde to turn away from me? I wonder if he changed his mind about mom’s suicide at some point between when he talked to Hilde and his death?”

Rio’s eyebrows rose. “How much money did he leave you?”

“$500,000.” She frowned a bit harder and cocked her head as though she were thinking. “But it’s not just that $500K. It’s all the money he sent me through the years to cover tuition, books and living expenses while I was at school. He paid for everything. I wonder if his generosity was guilt induced?”

That news caught Rio by surprise. Adam had claimed their father had paid her expenses and had grown increasingly frustrated by her financial and sexual excesses.

“Your dad didn’t pay for your college?”

Becca shrugged, clearly hearing the surprise in his voice. “I’m sure he would have. But I didn’t need his money. He sent a couple of checks in the beginning, which I mailed back. He quit sending them after I returned the third check.”

She’d refused her dad’s assistance? The parasite, who lived for sex and money, according to Adam and Lena, had returned a small fortune because she didn’t need it?

Why would she lie about that? He studied the absent thoughtfulness on her face. She wasn’t lying. He was sure of it.

Which meant Adam had lied.

What else had he lied about?

Tram and Tag had insisted he talk to Becca about the night of the party, about what had happened. They’d been certain that more had happened that night, than he’d been told.

If something had happened, maybe that incident, along with her history, had influenced her career choice.

“What made you go into counseling?” he asked, easing into the questioning carefully.

“Cyndi, my roommate.” She smiled slightly, her expression affectionate. “I had…difficulty…” her face darkened for a moment before she seemed to shrug the somber mood off. “...adjusting to college life. Cyndi was a junior, three years ahead of me and majoring in psychology. She saw I was having trouble and convinced me to see the campus counselor.” She waved a dismissive hand and stepped away from the counter as the preheating buzzer went off. “As they say, the rest was history.”

After shoving the casserole dish into the oven and setting the timer, Rio followed her into the living room. She'd taken off for college immediately after that party. How soon afterwards, he wasn’t sure. But it must have been within days. Her first letter to him, which had arrived a week later, had been postmarked from Seattle. Had the difficulty she mentioned been related to what had happened at the party? Or what had happened between him and her?

For the first time, he questioned her flight from the only home she’d known since her mother’s death. She’d never been back, according to Lena’s account. To totally break from her only support system like that, to abandon the only home she’d had available, to avoid returning to her family during breaks and summers…something must have happened.

He waited for her to settle onto the couch before taking a seat beside her. He could tell from the way she froze, and caught her breath, that she hadn’t expected him to sit so close.

“Becca,” his voice emerged more somber than he’d planned. He shifted until his back was against the arm rest, and he had a good view of her face. Or what he could see of it, which was her profile. “Look at me.” He waited until her cautious face turned toward him. “While you were in the emergency room, you said that you’d been drugged. At that party. That night before I shipped out. You said you’d been drugged. Is that true?”

He watched her face seize, and then go still. Completely blank. “Who told you that?”

“Tag and Tram. You told them. That night in the ER.”

“I did?” she whispered, a frown wrinkling her forehead. Her eyes darkened, going distant, as though she were thinking back. “I don’t remember.”

“They said you were pretty out of it.” When she didn’t respond, he leaned toward her. “Is it true? Were you drugged?”

He could hear his tight breathing in the tense silence that surrounded them. And then she nodded. His heart skipped a couple of beats and then started up again, too heavy, too hard. Too raw. Nausea churned.

She’d been in Kenny Pickering’s arms when he’d arrived at the party. What had that bastard done to her?

You walked away. You left her there.

His gut clenched beneath a wave of horror. He’d investigated far too many sexual assaults that had started with doctored drinks.

“What happened?” He forced the question out.

She took a deep breath, and lifted her head, flinching as her gaze fell on his face. Her eyes widened. “Adam put something in my Pepsi and handed it off to Adele. She gave it to me. Made sure I drank it. I don’t remember much after that. The whole night’s blank. The next thing I remember is waking up the next morning.”

Rio’s throat was so tight it hurt to speak. “You were with Kenny. Kenny Pickering.”

Her exhale shuddered. “I know. Adam took pictures. But I don’t remember anything. What I do know came from Adele. She asked Kenny to come to the party and hook up with me.”

Tension cinched every muscle in Rio’s body tight. Rage shortened his breath. Unable to sit still, he jolted to his feet.

“No, no.” Her voice rose as she sputtered the denial out. “You don’t understand. Adele asked Kenny to come because she knew I’d be safe with him. That he wouldn’t take advantage of me. That he’d protect me from anyone who was…well…less chivalrous.”

Rio’s muscles loosened as her words sank in. The tension in his chest eased, and his next breath came easier.

“Let me get this straight.” Another breath, still too damn shallow and tight. “Adam put something in your drink, but Adele handed you off to her friend Kenny, and he kept the other guys off you?”

“Yeah, I guess. Adam took a bunch of pictures of me in Kenny’s arms, you came and—” She coughed, rushing the next word out “—left. And Adele and Kenny took me home and put me to bed.”

The red haze drained from Rio’s mind, allowing him to think again. From Becca’s account, Adam and Adele had planned the drugging. Hell, Adam had arranged the party. He’d been the one to insist Rio come over. He’d claimed the party was in Rio’s honor and that their friends wanted to send him off properly. Plus, Adam had promised that Becca wouldn’t be there. He’d known that Rio wouldn’t show up to the party if Becca was there—not after she’d tossed his ring in his face. So, Adam had lied to get him into that house. Fuck, he’d lied about everything.

That entire night had been premeditated.

What the fuck had they been thinking?

“What did they hope to accomplish?” he asked tightly.

“They wanted to make sure we stayed broken up. Lena had been pushing Adele to make a play for you. Your grandmother and Lena were hell bent on you two getting married and giving them a bunch of shared grandbabies.”

Rio scowled. Looking back, he could clearly see such a conspiracy brewing between his grandmother and Lena. The two women had continually thrown him and Adele together. Even after he’d started dating Becca, the nudging had continued, along with the constant badmouthing of the girl he’d chosen to share his leave with.

But why had Adam taken part that night?

His onetime buddy had ignored his mother’s wishes more often than not. He’d also been a lazy, selfish bastard. He wouldn’t have gone to the trouble to break Rio and Becca up to help Adele out. No, there must have been something in it for him. As the realization hit, his entire perspective shifted.

Jesus.

Why the hell had he put so much stock in Adam’s so-called-insight into Becca?

Sure, the guy had been fun to hang with, and they’d shared similar interests. Yeah, they’d been friends since kindergarten, and their parents had been tight. But he’d known, even back then, that Adam would throw him under the bus in a hot minute if it suited his needs.

At some level, he’d known Adam couldn’t be trusted. So why the fuck had he listened to the fucker when it came to Becca?

What the hell was I thinking?

“Do you know why Adam drugged you?”

“I don’t know. He was determined to break us up. I mean look at all those tall tales about me he used to pass onto you. But I don’t think it was because his mom wanted you for Adele. It was more like he didn’t want me to have anyone who cared about me, anyone who was on my side.” Becca paused, hesitated, and then closed her mouth.

“What?” When she hesitated again, he swore beneath his breath. “I’m listening this time. Don’t hold back.”

She studied his face, before offering a slight nod.

“Okay, this is going to sound crazy, but I think he hated me. He was mean to Adele. Played some nasty jokes on her, but that was just him being a bully. There wasn’t anything personal in his behavior toward her. But…his actions toward me…they felt different. More personal. Like he had a grudge, and a lot of hatred when it came to me.”

Rio thought that over. “What did he do that makes you think he hated you?”

True, Adam had been a bit of a bully, although he’d stopped that behavior as soon as Rio had stood up for one of his victims. Or maybe he’d just stopped bullying the other kids in front of Rio.

“He did lots of things.” She shuddered. Her face haunted. “But the worst was when he picked the bathroom lock and took a video of me showering. He uploaded the video to the internet and sent the link to a bunch of my classmates, who shared it and shared it and shared it until the entire school was snickering and pointing at me.” She paused, took a deep breath. “I told dad, but Adam denied doing it.”

“Jesus.” Rio shook his head, his skin crawling. “When was this?”

“When I was fifteen. Dad had dead bolts installed on my bedroom and bathroom after that. At least he believed me.” Her face twisted for a moment, before smoothing out. “It was pretty awful there for a while. Dad moved me to a different school, but the link got passed around there too.”

Ah hell, no wonder she’d had such a mercurial personality. The trauma had just kept coming. He’d known she’d gone to a different school than Adele, but Adam had claimed she’d insisted on staying with her old school, no matter what a pain in the ass it had been to get her there and back.

If she’d been fifteen, Rio would have been nineteen, which put him months deep in his first deployment aboard the USS Ronald Reagan. Adam had been sent home on a dishonorable discharge the year before, leaving him free to terrorize his newly arrived, traumatized half-sister.

The timing also put him in town when Rachel Blaine had died. He buckled that realization down…for now.

“Hell, Becca. Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “I tried to. You never believed me.”

“You never told me about the video.” He would have broken a couple of faces and arms over that piece of shit.

“Seriously?” She shot him a get-real look. “You think I was going to bring that up, and chance another run on the video? Particularly when you wouldn’t have believed me anyway? Adam would have convinced you that I took and uploaded the video myself. So, nope—not a chance I was opening that discussion.”

Rio flinched—fuck, if she thought so little of him, why had she gone out with him in the first place? Although, he couldn’t blame her for her lack of trust. He had listened to Adam far too often back then. Not all the time, of course. He’d been aware Adam had resented her. But, hell, he’d even been sympathetic toward his buddy, figuring it couldn’t have been easy to find out that the dad who’d never had time for Adam or Adele had made time for a second family.

But what if Adam’s feeling had gone deeper than resentment? What if he had hated Becca, as she suspected? Hatred was a primal motivator when it came to murder, or attempted murder.

Adam had made it through boot camp, so he knew his way around a rifle. He’d been dishonorably discharged after he’d failed his second drug test—not even his father had been able to make that one go away—so he wasn’t exactly reliable. The abandoned cartridges came to mind. He could picture Adam leaving them behind.

If Lena knew Becca was in town and where she was staying, chances were Adam knew too. He could have waited outside Becca’s hotel and followed her to Wilbanks's office.

He could have been in that truck…or on the roof...or both.

Except, according to Adele and the flight manifest, the bastard had flown to Miami the day before the attack. And according to the keycard log, he’d left his hotel room an hour before someone had shot Becca and reentered the room four hours later—three hours after the shots had rang out.

If the electronic tagging from the keycard was accurate, Adam couldn’t have taken that shot. He wouldn’t have had time. Best case, it took five hours to fly from Miami to San Diego and another five hours to fly back. His key card detailed only a four-hour absence.

So the actual shooter couldn’t be Adam.

Although he sure as hell could have hired someone to take the shot.