"Robbery is one of our working theories." McNamara shifted forward and planted his forearms on the edge of his desk. "A resident called the police to report a woman screaming. A patrol unit was dispatched. Lee and Kate were found on a side street around the corner from an Italian restaurant in town. The restaurant staff said your brother and his wife had finished dinner roughly ten minutes before the call came in. It appears they were walking from the restaurant to their car when someone intercepted them. The cause of death for both was a single shot to the head. Your brother's wallet and keys were missing, and so was Kate's purse. Their car was stolen." The cop hesitated.

"But that's not all?" Grant asked. McNamara's body language projected dissatisfaction. "What else?"

McNamara tossed the pen onto the blotter. His mouth thinned. "Your sister-in-law was still wearing her engagement ring."

Grant followed the cop's logic. "An experienced robber would have looked for obvious jewelry."

"Maybe. Kate was wearing gloves, so I'm not going to make any a.s.sumptions at this time. We're still investigating." The cop rubbed his chin. "Who benefits from their deaths? I didn't see a will in the house. Do you know if they had one?"

"I would imagine he did. He was a lawyer. Dotting i's and crossing t's was his profession." Grant should have expected the police to search the house for clues. His brother had been murdered. Dead people didn't have expectations of privacy, but the thought of McNamara or anyone else rifling through Lee and Kate's personal belongings, discovering intimate secrets about the couple, sparked Grant's fury. This should not have happened.

"The house is big and old. We could have missed something. If you find a safe deposit box key or a will, we'd like to know." McNamara interlaced his fingers. "Both of their phones were stolen, but we recovered their call, contact, and calendar data from the cell phone company. We're still reviewing the information, but we might have some questions regarding abbreviations and notations. Your brother's firm has been less than cooperative about giving us access to his work computer and office. I've asked for a warrant, but they're fighting it, citing client confidentiality."

"Of course." Grant drank more water, the cold liquid settling in his belly and chilling him from the inside out. "I'll call you if I find anything."

"Can you think of another motive for the attack?" McNamara asked. "Did your brother have any enemies?"

Grant shook his head. "My brother was a suburban lawyer and a family man. I can't think of anyone who would want to hurt him."

"But you've been overseas for ten months." McNamara met his gaze.

"Right." Grant shoved his guilt away. Combat had taught him to compartmentalize, to put grief in the backseat until the mission was complete, but that was easier said than done when it was his brother who was dead. "I can't believe someone killed Lee and Kate for their car or wallet. It doesn't make sense. Why kill them? Why risk a murder charge?"

McNamara sighed. "I have no idea. Maybe he resisted." But the cop's eyes weren't satisfied with his own argument. Grant could feel discontent rolling off the detective in waves.

"That doesn't sound like Lee. He wouldn't have taken any chances with Kate's life." Grant screwed the bottle cap on too tightly, cracking it.

"Criminals are sc.u.mbags. Some of them get their rocks off killing people. Drugs make people do crazy things, and addicts will do anything to get money to buy more drugs."

Grant leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and holding the water bottle between his hands. He met McNamara's level brown gaze head-on. "Drug addicts are sloppy. Lee's murder sounds . . . efficient."

"Maybe."

"Do you have any evidence at all?" Grant asked. It had been three days since Lee and Kate were killed. "Murder weapon? Fingerprints? Surveillance video? Anything? Did anyone hear the shots?"

"Unfortunately, there aren't any surveillance cameras in that area. It's a quiet side street." McNamara shook his head. "Their credit cards haven't been used, and we can't pick up a signal on their cell phones, which means the batteries were removed or destroyed. The car's GPS isn't transmitting, so it was likely disabled. I'll try to keep you as informed as possible." The cop stood, signaling their conversation was at an end. "When you decide on a funeral home, you can call the medical examiner's office. They'll call you when your brother and sister-in-law are ready to be released."

Which meant the medical examiner wasn't finished with the autopsies, something else Grant didn't want to think about right now. He was going to have to plan his brother's funeral, and that was bad enough without constantly visualizing the insult to Lee's and Kate's bodies. But how many mental pictures could he suppress? His brain was under a barrage of violent images. He pressed his sweating palms against his jeans. His lungs felt inelastic, each breath painful to draw.

McNamara squinted at him, obviously concerned. "Is there anyone else to help you with all this, Major?"

"My sister should be in town in the next day or so." But until then, Grant was on his own. Kate never spoke about her family, and Lee had mentioned more than once that she and her parents were estranged. How could Grant contact them? Should he even try?

"You should also be aware that the perpetrators likely have a key to your brother's house and the address."

"Right. Changing the locks goes on the top of my list." Grant shook the cop's hand. He needed to get out of there. His body's thermostat was off, and feverish heat was building under his jacket.

McNamara ushered him out to the parking lot. The damp night air coated his skin with moisture.

Grant slid into the driver's seat of the rental car. He started the engine and checked his phone. No return calls from Hannah or Mac. Grant had been playing phone tag with his sister, who was en route to New York from Jakarta. But where the h.e.l.l was Mac?

He drove down the main street and headed toward Lee's house. His hometown of Scarlet Falls was a small suburban community in upstate New York, about an hour north of the state capitol in Albany. With the Appalachian Mountains to the west and Hudson Valley to the east, the town was picturesque, but the economy had been limping along since Grant was a kid. The region wasn't thriving but it wasn't going bankrupt either.

It was, in a word: average.

But in this ordinary slice of American suburbia, Lee and Kate had been brutally murdered. Had it been robbery? Or something even more sinister?

Ten minutes outside of town, Grant entered Lee's neighborhood. For the most part, the residences were large, old homes on oversize lots. No cookie-cutter tract house for Lee. No, a year and a half before, he'd sold the small starter home and moved up to a more prestigious address. Lee must have been doing well at the firm. He'd leased a BMW at about the same time.

Grant turned onto the right street. In the spa.r.s.e light of the occasional streetlamp, the neighborhood looked barren. When he'd been here last May, the valley had been gleaming green. Shrubs had been trimmed and fronted with flowers. Kids rode bikes and played hockey in the street. Moms pushed strollers to the playground on the corner. Now, warming temps had muddied the landscape, thawing in the daytime and refreezing at night. Moonlight gleamed on the layer of frozen muck. Grant hadn't spent much time here since high school. The dreary vista was more depressing than the images in his memory. As a teen, he couldn't wait to get out of town, as if staying here would make him stagnate.

Lee and Kate's old Victorian sat behind a long, narrow front lawn. The Cape Codstyle house on the right was dark, but lights still burned in the two-story Colonial on the left. Streetlights were few and far between out here. Grant turned at the mailbox and parked at the head of the driveway. The big house was dark, almost forbidding. Trees loomed over the roof and cut off any light from the moon. Grant's headlights cut a swath of clarity through the gloom and illuminated the front porch.

He got out of the car and stared up at the house, suddenly realizing he didn't have a key. How was he going to get in? With a sigh, Grant trudged around the property, checking first-floor doors and windows in case one was left unlocked. No luck. He might need to go to a hotel after all, which meant a drive back out to the interstate, but at this point, sleeping in the car was looking good, despite the damp cold. The front seat of a sedan certainly wouldn't be the worst place he'd spent the night. At least Scarlet Falls didn't have enemy forces trying to kill him. He went back to the rental car. His truck, parked in a base storage facility in Texas, had a toolbox and flashlight in the back. Not this vehicle.

He opened the trunk and pulled the tire iron from the spare tire well. He could break a window, but then he'd have to fix the window. Probably not his best option. His gaze strayed to the house next door, and he remembered Lee's pretty brunette neighbor. They'd met a couple of times during his last visit. Even after ten months overseas, a man didn't forget a woman like Ellie Ross.

"Can I help you?"

Reaching for his sidearm, Grant whirled at the feminine voice. His hand hit empty jacket.

A small, older woman stood in the driveway. Darkness obscured her features, but he had no trouble seeing the shotgun in her arms. He froze, the sight of the gun sending his adrenals back into overdrive. He flashed back to the ambush and a figure in digital desert camo pointing a weapon in his direction.

How did she sneak up behind him? Was he that distracted?

"Drop the tire iron," she said. "And don't move."

"Don't worry." He let the tool fall into the trunk and raised his hands as she pointed the twelve-gauge at the dead center of his chest.

Chapter Four.

"Nan!" Ellie squinted into the darkness. Beyond her shotgun-wielding grandmother, the man standing in her neighbor's driveway looked familiar. But her eyes hadn't adjusted to the lack of light, and he was standing in the shadow of his open trunk. "You cannot point a gun at someone."

"Well, he was skulking around the house in the dark. He looked like he was going to break in." Nan tapped a white athletic shoe on the pavement. Frenzied barking emanated from their house. "A girl can't be too careful. Lots of crime around here lately."

"He parked in the driveway, Nan. That's hardly criminal behavior." Ellie gently liberated the gun from her grandmother and let the muzzle tip toward the ground. "That barking is going to wake Julia. Would you please go inside and make the dog stop?" Then Ellie would try to convince the man not to call the police-or a psychiatric ward-on her grandmother.

Nan gave her a pointed look, but she complied, walking toward their house.

The stranger closed the trunk and faced her, and she recognized Lee's brother. "Grant?"

At six foot four, his broad shoulders and wide chest filled out his brown leather jacket.

"h.e.l.lo, Ellie."

Sadness crept up the back of her throat. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." He cleared his throat.

"I apologize for my grandmother," she said. "She's tired of reporters and photographers. Plus, there have been other people who actually were skulking around the place in the dark looking for a way to break in. We called the police a few times. They said once the media releases the victims' names, it isn't uncommon for criminals to target the house. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I don't have a key. I was hoping there was an unlocked window or door. No such luck."

"I have one. Let's go inside, and I'll get it for you."

"I was just thinking about knocking on your door." He sounded grateful. "Don't know why I didn't do it right away."

"I imagine you have a lot on your mind." Now that the crisis had pa.s.sed, she shivered hard. She hadn't taken time to put on a jacket when she saw her grandmother-with her gun-stalking the man out front. But now Ellie's s.p.a.ckle-smeared T-shirt and jeans were no match for the night air.

They crossed the wide, snow-crusted front yards and stomped up her steps. The porch light shone across his face. He had the same blond hair and blue eyes as Lee, but the resemblance stopped there. Tall and thin, Lee had had a Gregory-Peck-as-Atticus-Finch way about him. He'd been una.s.suming and scholarly. Larger and more muscular, Grant was a dominant physical presence, one that she felt along every square inch of her exposed skin. Even if she hadn't known he was a soldier, she would have guessed it from the hardness of his body, readiness in his stance, and wariness in his eye. Despite the grief etched on his face, she was transfixed for a moment. Ten months in the desert had sharpened his Scandinavian features and given him a harder look. Handsome before, his masculinity had amplified tenfold. His posture and body were leaner, edgier, poised to react.

He caught her staring. The slightest smile turned up the corner of his mouth, and a blush heated her face.

She turned away from the light and opened her front door. AnnaBelle pranced out onto the porch. Despite the fierce barks, the golden retriever was all feathery wags and whines for the newcomer.

"Nice dog." He leaned down to stroke her head.

"She belongs to Carson," she said.

Grant stopped midpet. Devastation crossed his face, sadness aging him years in the span of a moment. "I didn't know they had a dog."

"They haven't had her long. Lee picked her up at the animal shelter over the summer. AnnaBelle and Carson are best friends." She stepped into the house and toed off her boots. Turning, she patted her thigh. "Come on, AnnaBelle.

"Are the children coming home?" Ellie asked, tears filling her eyes. "Social services wouldn't let me keep them, and my application as an emergency foster spent the weekend in bureaucratic limbo. Background checks take time, they said." The dog circled her legs, tripping her. Catching her balance, she nudged the overly affectionate retriever out of the way. "They let me have the dog."

"The kids will be home early tomorrow." He wiped his feet on the mat. "They wouldn't call for them tonight. Policy."

"Yes. I learned all about social services policy over the weekend." Ellie swallowed her bitterness.

The dog and man followed her into the house. As she moved through the hall, she broke open the shotgun action, plucked out the sh.e.l.ls, and locked the rifle in a gun case in the hall closet. "You're still in Afghanistan?"

"Yes. I'm on emergency leave."

She led him past her gutted living room.

"How's the remodel going?" he asked, gesturing through the archway, where supplies and tools occupied the s.p.a.ce that should have held a dining room table.

"Slowly." She walked into the kitchen. The cabinets shone with a painful shade of Day-Glo yellow, and the peeling wallpaper featured sunflowers the size of a human head. The faded vinyl tiles underfoot used to be black. The overall effect was nauseating. "I can't wait to do this room. It feels like you're being attacked by b.u.mblebees. The kitchen will be gutted next. Walls have to come down. It's going to get ugly."

"When we talked last, you were working on the master bath."

He remembered. Warmth filled Ellie. They'd met a few, memorable times. Kate had been obvious in her attempts to push them together. She'd invited Ellie to more barbecues during Grant's two-week visit last May than in the whole summer that followed.

Ellie gestured toward the table. "Do you want to sit down? Can I get you some coffee?"

"No," Grant said. The confines of the small room amplified his size. The man was solid. He must spend considerable time training in the Middle East. He had muscles on top of muscles. Not that she was staring. Much. "I'd just like to get settled for the night. It's been a long trip."

"I'll bet. Let me find that key." She opened the drawer and rummaged through bottle openers, pens, and other a.s.sorted junk. "I know it's here. I just used it the other day."

Slippers scuffed in the hall, and Nan walked in, her insatiable curiosity drawing her to their guest like a bee buzzing around a can of Orange Crush. She sized up Grant in the bright kitchen light in one head-to-toe visual sweep. Under her fluffy helmet of dyed brown hair, Nan's gaze changed from suspicious to interested in one blink.

Uh-oh.

Ellie gestured. "Nan, this is Major Grant Barrett. Lee's brother. You were in Florida last spring when he visited."

Nan's gaze softened. She walked closer and took both his hands, her eyes shining with tears. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Major. Your brother was a nice man."

His mouth tightened, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Thank you. Please call me Grant."

"Grant needs the house key." Ellie spied it on a wall hook. AnnaBelle followed her to the key rack and back. "Is there anything else we can do for you?"

"Not tonight," he said, taking the key from her hand. "I might have some questions for you tomorrow, especially when the kids come home. Thank you for taking the dog and for watching the house."

"It was the least I could do." Ellie went to the pantry and hoisted a fifty-pound bag of dog food up onto her hip.

Grant rushed over. "Let me get that." He tucked it under one arm as if it didn't weigh more than a bag of flour. She kept her eyes off the bulges under his sweater. Mostly. This was hardly the appropriate time to appreciate the major's attributes. But she knew they were all sorts of fine. An image popped into her head of Grant playing outside with Carson last May. Carson had turned the hose on his uncle. The vision of Grant stripping off his wet T-shirt, ringing it out, and chasing his giggling nephew across the yard had been imprinted in Ellie's brain for the last ten months. And replayed itself a thousand times like a video on YouTube, usually at very inappropriate and inopportune times. Like now.

She set a coiled leash on top of the bag. "She doesn't wear the leash much. If you call her, she'll come."

"Mom?"

All heads turned toward the doorway. Her daughter, Julia, stood under the arch.

"Do you remember Major Barrett?"

Julia nodded. "I'm real sorry." She sniffed. A tear leaked out of a swollen eye, and she heaved a long, shaky breath. She'd taken the Barretts' deaths hard. In addition to babysitting Carson and Faith, Kate was Julia's figure skating coach. Ellie went to her daughter and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Her s.e.xy thoughts of the hot major faded, adding another layer to her sadness. If things were different, if he wasn't an ambitious military officer constantly moving all over the world, if she wasn't so bound by the betrayal of her past, if their current meeting wasn't mired in grief, then maybe something could happen between them.

But that was way too many ifs, all impossible to change.

Grant shifted his weight toward the front door as if he couldn't escape fast enough. "It's late. I'd better go. Thank you again."

He called the dog, who went willingly, always thrilled to meet a new human. Ellie escorted them outside to the front porch. AnnaBelle followed Grant across the gra.s.s and up onto the stoop of the house next door. Ellie shut the door and locked the deadbolt.

"Night." Rubbing her biceps, Julia went upstairs.

Nan stood in the kitchen, one fist propped on a hip, brows pinched in deep thought. "That man's going to need help."

Ellie crossed her arms over her chest. "If Grant needs help, he'll ask for it. Until he does, we are going to mind our own business."

Nan ignored her, bustling around the kitchen. "Nice-looking man. Fit. Clean-cut. Always did love a man in uniform."

"He wasn't in uniform."