And something inside Peyton broke. She lost her sense of self. Her dreams. Even her faith. She felt as if God was punishing her. Church, which had once been a haven, now made her angry. Dawson’s steadfastness, his kindness, and his grace were salt on her wounds. He went back to work, his friends, his family. And she'd hated him for it—hated that he seemed capable of surviving a loss that was destroying her.
She’d ended their marriage at the kitchen table.
I can't do this anymore. I look at you, Dawson, and all I see is everything we lost.
He'd fought her on it, but Peyton was beyond listening. She’d been hollow and so lost in grief she couldn’t see straight.
It’d taken years—and a nearly fatal car accident—before she finally sought help. She found her faith again, and therapy helped her process the mountain of unresolved trauma and grief she’d been carting around. Peyton was proud of the woman she’d become. It’d taken a long time to get here. But there was also regret. Dawson had deserved better. And now? After five years of silence, she was selfishly calling him for help. She prayed he would forgive her for it.
Peyton exhaled, her breath a pale ghost in the moonlight. She shoved the memories back behind the wall where they belonged and focused on the depot. Five minutes had to be nearly up. Where was?—
A scream pierced the night.
High-pitched. Terrified. Female.
Lilia.
Peyton’s hand flew immediately to the weapon holstered at her waist even as her feet moved toward the break in the chain-link fence. Heart pounding, eyes scanning, she slipped into the train depot. Her scarf snagged on a jagged edge of the cut fence, pulling the fabric from her neck. She barely felt the frigid wind slipping down the back of her jacket. Urgency fueled her steps as she maneuvered past train tracks toward the west end of the depot and the sound of the scream. Her combat boots were silent against the gravel. The scent of grease and oil turned her stomach.
Another blood-curdling cry echoed through the night air. Further away this time. Closer to the woods surrounding the far edge of the property. Commonsense urged Peyton to stop, to call Dawson and inform him of her movements, but fear for her cousin kept her in motion. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. She pressed herself against the wall of a railcar. The icy metal bit through her jacket, seeping into her skin, all the way down to her bones. She shuddered.
Movement out of the corner of her eye sent her pulse racing. Peyton raised her weapon, catching a flash of dirty clothes and a bearded face before the homeless man slipped back into the darkness of a rusted shipping container. She exhaled sharply. Loosening the grip on her weapon, Peyton purposefully took three deep breaths to counteract the narrowing of her vision. Then she peeked around the corner. Faint moonlight glimmered on the trees surrounding the far edge of the property.
No sign of Lilia.
A faint whimper reached her ears. Peyton held her breath and strained to listen. It sounded like it was coming from inside the rail car. Was Lilia inside? Hurt and in pain? The entrance to the car was just around the corner, but the moonlight trickling in through the clouds would expose Peyton to anyone watching.She searched the woods and the surrounding area. Nothing stirred. But the pinprick sensation of danger nearby gave her pause. Was the homeless man in the container watching her from the shadows? Or was there someone else?
A shadow drifted across the moon, casting the entire area into darkness. Peyton knew she wouldn’t get a second opportunity. She pivoted around the corner and hurried toward the entrance, pausing at the set of steep stairs leading into the railcar. Impenetrable darkness yawned. Another faint whimper reached Peyton’s ears. The sound was strange, but she couldn’t place why.
“Lilia?”
The harsh whisper went unanswered. Someone was in there though. Peyton couldn’t turn back now, nor could she spend time second-guessing her decisions. Gritting her teeth, she grasped the frigid metal and hauled herself up the first step.
The blow came from behind. Hard. Sudden. Pain exploded across Peyton’s skull as her knees crumbled, bouncing off the unyielding metal stairs before the gravel rushed up to meet her. Instinct sent her rolling. She rammed into a concrete barrier, the impact strong enough to rattle her teeth, but she had the presence of mind to raise her gun.
A dark figure lunged. She squeezed the trigger, but her shot went wide as a massive fist connected with her wrist.
Her weapon clattered across the gravel.
Within seconds, he was on her. She fought back, but whoever the attacker was, he had skills and sheer strength on his side. Darkness hid his face. His body pinned her. Rocks dug into the bare skin at the nape of her neck as he pushed one gloved hand against her throat. Stars danced across her vision as the last of the air in her lungs became trapped.
Then the familiar sensation of a gun barrel pressed against her temple.
TWO
Detective Dawson Graham white-knuckled his steering wheel as he turned onto the rutted road leading to the train depot parking lot. He’d driven most of the way through town with his lights and sirens on, but had killed both about a mile back. If Lilia was hiding out, as Peyton suspected, she might not react well to unexpected police presence.
Of course, Peyton was a cop too. But that was different. She was family.
His headlights swept across a familiar blue truck. Peyton’s. The old Ford still sported a dent on the rear bumper and a Sam Houston State University bumper sticker. Seeing it sent a swirl of emotions through Dawson. He remembered the day she'd bought it. On her eighteenth birthday. She'd saved every penny from working at the local coffee shop, counting and recounting her money until she finally had enough for a down payment. The smile on her face when the salesman handed her the keys had been breathtaking. Pure joy. Unfiltered hope for the future.
He also remembered watching that same truck pull out of the courthouse parking lot five years ago, taillights disappearing into traffic. The day their divorce was finalized. It was so vivid,he could recall the feel of the drizzle on his face and the hollowed-out sensation in his chest.
Dawson shoved the memories aside and killed his engine. Icy air smacked him in the face. Discarded paper and leaves blew across the potholed asphalt, and an itch between his shoulder-blades had him assessing the abandoned service station with suspicion. He wouldn’t be surprised to discover several people were holed up inside, seeking shelter from the cold. Although he’d arrived without his lights and sirens, in his experience, druggies and other petty criminals could smell a cop from miles away.
Most of them would steer clear. A few might like a chance to even a score.
Dawson had no intention of letting that happen. To him, or to Peyton. It’d been reckless of her to agree to meet her cousin here, especially in the dead of night, and more so given Lilia’s penchant for trouble. But Peyton had always had a soft spot for Lilia. The two women had been raised together by their grandmother, Nana Grace, and were more like sisters than cousins. Now that Nana Grace was gone, Lilia was one of the last family members Peyton had left.
