Everyone won. Except Hatathli.
"I'll stay as long as you need me," Kari said. "But Maria, if this gets ugly—if the pressure gets too intense—I need you to know I'm not backing down. I'm not going to validate a frame job just to make the brass happy."
"I'm counting on that." Maria pushed off from the Jeep. "Come on. Let's get out of here before Gagne comes out and starts another fight."
They walked back toward their vehicles, leaving the bar behind. Inside, the after-work crowd would continue drinking and talking, sharing war stories and complaints, bonding over shared frustrations with the job. Kari had been part of that once, had understood the appeal of that camaraderie.
But she understood something else now: that belonging to a group meant nothing if the group was heading in the wrong direction. That being a good cop sometimes meant standing apart from other cops, trusting your own judgment even when everyone else thought you were wrong.
She'd learned that lesson on the reservation, working cases that no one else cared about, investigating deaths that everyone else had explained away. She'd learned it from her mother's research, from seeing the pattern of murders that seventeen other investigations had missed.
And now she'd apply it here, in Phoenix, to save a man she'd never met from a conviction he didn't deserve.
Kari unlocked her Jeep and climbed in, watching Maria drive away. The lights of Phoenix spread out before her, a vast grid of ambition and compromise, success and sacrifice. She'd been part of that world once. Had thought she wanted to be part of it forever.
Now she was just passing through, chasing truth in a city that preferred convenient lies.
But that was fine. Truth was patient. It waited for someone willing to see it, even when seeing it meant standing alone.
And Kari had learned to stand alone.
CHAPTER NINE
Tessa Crane checked her reflection in the rearview mirror one more time before stepping out of her car. Business casual wearing a fitted blazer over a silk blouse, tailored slacks, minimal jewelry. Nothing flashy, nothing memorable. Just another professional woman visiting Paradise Valley on a weeknight.
That was the agreement with Victor. Always look like you could be anyone. A real estate agent, a financial consultant, someone with a legitimate reason to ring his doorbell at eight o'clock on a Tuesday evening. The neighbors in this part of Phoenix didn't ask questions as long as you looked like you belonged.
She grabbed her leather portfolio—empty except for her phone, keys, and the small canister of pepper spray she never went anywhere without—and walked up the curved driveway to Victor Sheridan's front door. The landscaping was immaculate as always, professionally maintained desert plants and strategically placed lighting that made the sprawling modern home look like something from an architectural magazine.
Victor had bought the house three years ago, around the time his construction company had landed the contract for that controversial resort development. Tessa remembered because he'd been so proud of it during their first meeting, eager to show off the smart home features and the infinity pool that seemed to pour directly into the view of the valley below. She'd smiled and made appropriate comments about the design while privately calculating that this single home cost more than she'd earn in a decade, even with her rates.
Not that she begrudged him the wealth. Victor paid well, was respectful, and never pushed boundaries. In five years of seeinghim twice a month, he'd never once made her feel unsafe or uncomfortable. That was worth more than money in her line of work.
Tessa rang the doorbell twice—their established signal—and waited. Usually Victor answered within seconds, already smiling, sometimes with a glass of wine in hand for each of them.
She waited another thirty seconds, then rang twice again.
A thought flickered through her mind—the bracelet she'd found last week, tucked between the couch cushions in his living room. Delicate silver chain with a small turquoise stone, the kind of thing a woman would wear daily and not realize had slipped off. Tessa had held it for a moment, studying it, before leaving it on Victor's kitchen counter where he'd find it.
She hadn't mentioned it to him. What would she say? There had been no jealousy, no hurt feelings. Victor wasn't hers in any meaningful sense, and she wasn't naive enough to think she was his only visitor. If he was seeing someone else—someone who could be here in daylight, someone who didn't have to dress like a business consultant to protect his reputation—that was fine. That was his right.
Still, standing here waiting, she wondered briefly if maybe he was with someone right now. If that's why he wasn't answering. The thought carried a strange wistfulness she didn't usually allow herself. What would it be like to be that other woman? To show up at someone's door and not worry about neighbors seeing, to have a relationship that existed in normal daylight hours with normal expectations?
Tessa pushed the thought away. She'd made her choices, built her life deliberately, and wondering about alternatives was pointless.
She pulled out her phone and checked for messages. A text from Victor at seven: See you at 8. I might be in the shower, so feel free to let yourself in.
Ah, that explained it. He was in the shower. That was all.
Tessa punched in the numbers and heard the lock click open.
"Victor?" she called, stepping into the foyer. "It's me."
The house was silent except for the subtle hum of the air conditioning. No music playing, no sound of running water, no television in the background. The lights were on in the main living area, bright and welcoming, but something felt off.
Tessa's hand moved instinctively to her purse, her fingers closing around the pepper spray. Five years in this business had taught her to trust her instincts. When something felt wrong, it usually was.
"Victor?" she called again, louder this time. "I'm coming in. Just want to make sure everything's okay."
