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  If Rose wasn’t here tonight for the execution, Rue didn’t know how she’d be able to go through with it. She laughed quietly to herself at the thought. Like she had a choice. It was an execution. It wasn’t her wedding day or graduation ceremony, or any other milestone moment she would never experience, where an encouraging smile from her big sister could make all the difference.

  If Rue had to face death alone, so be it. She was ready to die. She wouldn’t be scared.

  Right now, prison officials were probably making the midnight call to the state Department of Justice and Department of Corrections headquarters to establish if any last-minute stays had been issued. There would be none. The PI Rose had hired had only succeeded in coming up with more questions than answers. The confusion over Lucas’s clothing. The man whose name had been unfamiliar yet had left a bad feeling Rue couldn’t explain in the pit of her belly.

  Rue heard footsteps on the concrete floor of the corridor outside the cell. The footsteps got louder. They were coming for her.

  It was time.

  “Don’t be scared, Rue,” she whispered to herself.

  She had three final wishes.

  One: For her legs to be strong enough to take her the short distance to the chamber without the indignity of being carried there by prison staff.

  Two: For Rose to be waiting behind the glass of the viewing area.

  Three: For it all to be over quickly.

  The cell door opened, and she saw a pale face peer inside.

  “There’s been a development,” the man said.

  Rue’s heart had begun to pound hard the moment she’d heard the footsteps. Now it felt like it might burst right out of her chest. She didn’t know if it was hope or fear. She reached out a hand to the cell wall to steady herself.

  “What kind of development?” she whispered.

  The man paused a beat, his expression unreadable.

  Then he said, “The execution is off.”

  45

  JESSICA

  Pryce was sitting at the same table outside Bru Coffeebar, two black coffees in front of him, steam rising from the mugs.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Jessica said, dropping into the chair facing him. “I spent all day packing up my things. Then there was the emotional farewell with Sylvia.”

  Pryce smiled. “I ordered for you. Hope you don’t mind. It’s the Ethiopian stuff again.”

  “Great, thanks.” Jessica gulped down a mouthful of coffee and sat back and sighed. “Just what I needed. I’m totally beat.”

  “What’s the latest with Rue Hunter?” Pryce asked, taking a sip from his own drink.

  “After the execution was canceled, she was taken back to Chowchilla. A full review is underway, and a team of lawyers are working the case. Hopefully, she’ll be released soon—weeks if not days—and be able to file a compensation claim. We’re talking millions of dollars if she succeeds.”

  “I hope she does, although all the money in the world can’t give her back all those years she’s lost.”

  “I guess,” Jessica said. “Rose wants Rue to move to Arizona and live with her and her family. It’ll be a huge adjustment, and Rue will probably need one hell of a therapist to help her through it all, but I really hope she makes it.” She met Pryce’s gaze. “What about McDonagh?”

  “He’ll live. He’s still in the hospital under armed guard. He’ll be charged with Charlie Holten’s murder. We’re still working on Tom Lucchese with regards to extortion charges, but he’s reluctant. He’s worried the press will get hold of the details.”

  “Is McDonagh likely to end up on death row for killing another cop?” Jessica asked.

  “It’s possible,” Pryce said.

  Despite the late afternoon sun warming her skin, Jessica shivered when she thought about how close she’d come to being McDonagh’s next victim.

  She’d found out later how the kids she’d paid to make the fake emergency call to the sheriff’s department had also called Michelle to fill her in on Jessica’s shady plan. The teenagers had been more pissed than Jessica had realized about her ending the illicit booze scam. Plus, they knew there was some serious bad blood between the two women and probably hoped to earn a few extra bucks by letting Michelle know Jessica was clearly up to no good.

  Knowing Jessica had been determined to get McDonagh out of his house, Michelle had then alerted the sheriff to what was going on, thinking she finally had some dirt on the woman she blamed for her losing her boyfriend and her job. Possibly a break-in. Definitely something dodgy. Michelle had taken up position across the street from McDonagh’s place, all set to revel in Jessica’s humiliating arrest, cell phone in hand to capture the moment.

  Instead, she’d witnessed McDonagh march Jessica out of his front door at gunpoint.

  Confused, Michelle had followed them to Devil’s Drop, ditching her daddy’s truck partway along the trail so her approach wouldn’t be heard. She’d covered the remaining distance on foot, the hunting rifle that her daddy kept in the back seat gun rack clutched in sweaty hands. The same weapon she’d warned Jessica about during their altercation outside the trailer.

  When she’d reached the clearing, Michelle had overheard McDonagh confessing to Charlie Holten’s murder. The sheriff had his gun pointing at Jessica, who was standing precariously close to the drop. Michelle had stepped on a twig and instinctively ducked behind some California juniper for cover. When she’d emerged from the brush and chanced another look, McDonagh and Jessica were both rolling in the dirt. Michelle had raised the rifle but couldn’t get a clear sight of McDonagh in her crosshairs. Then Jessica was hanging from the ledge, and Michelle knew she had to get closer to the sheriff. She had shot McDonagh just as he was about to send Jessica hurtling a hundred feet to her death.

  Michelle Foster had saved her life.

  “What will happen to Michelle?” Jessica asked Pryce now.

  “She won’t face any charges, not with your statement and the evidence we have against McDonagh.”

  Pryce had taken what he’d discovered about the Hundred Acres sheriff to his bosses, unaware that Jessica was also onto McDonagh and had been in danger.

  “I’m just glad you’re okay, Jessica,” he said. “You mentioned packing. No chance of staying in Hundred Acres?”

  Jessica shook her head. “Ed asked me to stick around, but I can’t. Not after everything that’s happened. I was already dreading the thought of seeing Dylan every day after we broke up. Now, a potentially awkward situation just got a whole lot more difficult. Dylan was so close to his dad. He’s going to have a lot to deal with, and I think it’s best if I’m not around while he does it. In any case, I don’t think Hundred Acres was ever the place for me.”

  “Will you go back to New York?”

  Jessica thought of the two photos she kept in her wallet. One of her and Tony, with Manhattan stretching out behind them. The other of Eleanor and a three-year-old Jessica in Los Angeles on a day she had no memory of. The picture had been printed from an old newspaper article found in Eagle Rock.

  “I thought about it,” she said. “But I’m not ready. Not just yet.”

  Pryce nodded. “I hope you won’t go far. I kind of like having you around.”

  “I have a plan. If it works out, I’ll be around for a while yet. You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

  “Good. I’m glad.”

  Jessica gestured to the flowers on the table. A sunshine mix of roses and chrysanthemums. The bouquet looked expensive, like it’d been bought from a proper florist. Definitely not the cheap crap you’d pick up at the grocery store.

  “Have you had an argument with Angie?”

  Pryce shook his head. “They’re for someone else. I made a promise, and I figure I should keep it.”

  The sun was beginning to set as Jessica strolled along Ocean Front Walk. The salty sea breeze blowing in from the beach carried the faint scent of burgers and surf wax. Venice was already buzzing with the early-evening crowd, a mix of bohemi
an, creative types and ripped guys in tight tees and tourists. She carried on past the markets and tattoo parlors and pizza places until she reached a bar called Larry’s that looked casual and unpretentious.

  Jessica found him inside, sitting at the bar, a Scotch on the rocks on the counter in front of him, watching ESPN on one of the big screens.

  “Is this seat taken?” she asked.

  Matt Connor turned around and grinned at Jessica in a way that made her insides melt faster than the ice in his whiskey. She climbed on the stool next to him, and he signaled to the bartender for another drink.

  “I’d given up hope of ever seeing you again,” he said. “When did you get back to California?”

  “I never left. Well, not really.”

  “You never thought to look me up?”

  “Every single day.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “Nope.”

  “Until now. What’s changed?”

  “I need a job.”

  “And you want to work with me?”

  “I need a California PI license, so it was either you or give up being an investigator and wait tables for a living. It was a close call.”

  Connor smiled. “You always did know how to make a guy feel special.”

  “So what do you say?”

  “When can you start?”

  “Just as soon as I finish this drink.”

  “Good, because I took on a new client today, and the job is perfect for you.”

  “Oh yeah? How so?”

  “It’s a missing persons case.”

  Jessica smiled. “I guess you’d better tell me all about it.”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Some readers will be aware of recent developments affecting the death penalty in California.

  While capital punishment remains a legal penalty in the state, further executions were temporarily halted by an official moratorium ordered by Governor Gavin Newsom in March 2019.

  For clarification, the fictional events in this book take place prior to the moratorium.

  California has the largest death row population in the United States of America. The last execution to take place in the state was in 2006.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A bunch of people played a big part in helping me get this book into the hands of readers.

  Thank you to my fantastic agent, Phil Patterson, and the rest of the team at Marjacq. You took a chance on me, and I’ll always be grateful.

  To my editor, Jack Butler, and the team at Thomas & Mercer—thanks for believing in Jessica Shaw and showing so much enthusiasm for the series. I’m lucky to have such a great publisher. A special mention for developmental editor Charlotte Herscher, whose insight and suggestions made this book so much better.

  A few people helped with factual elements, so thanks to Ian Patrick for police procedure advice and to Kirsty Fowler for answering my Los Angeles–related questions. Scott Gray and Giles Blair were also a big help with car stuff, which I know nothing about. Any errors are entirely my own.

  Some fellow authors took time out of their busy schedules to read my work and say nice things. So a big thanks to Robert Dugoni, T. R. Ragan, Susi Holliday, Steph Broadribb, Craig Robertson, Douglas Skelton, and Victoria Selman.

  A big shout-out to blogger extraordinaire Sharon Bairden, who gave me my first-ever review at her fab Chapter in My Life blog.

  I’m lucky to work with great colleagues in my day job. Thanks to Katrina Tweedie, Jackie McGuigan, Heather Suttie, Alice Hinds, Nicola Smith, Lorraine Howard, and Johnnie Blue for patiently listening to me talk endlessly about my books and for providing loads of encouragement.

  My family means the world to me, so thanks to my mum and to Scott, Alison, Ben, Sam, and Cody for your unending love and support. This book is dedicated to my dad, whom I miss every single day.

  Finally, a huge thanks to my readers for taking the time to read my stories. I hope you enjoyed this book. Please keep in touch at www.lisagraywriter.com or on social media @lisagraywriter.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Lisa Gray has been writing professionally for years, serving as the chief Scottish soccer writer at the Press Association and the books editor at the Daily Record Saturday Magazine. Lisa currently works as a journalist for the Daily Record and Sunday Mail. She is also the author of Thin Air. Learn more at www.lisagraywriter.com.