PROLOGUE
Maria Cain wasn’t sure how to feel.
As she hand-washed the plates in the now-darkened kitchen of her West Adams home, the logical part of her felt confident that the event had gone well. Everyone seemed to have a great time. People were engaged. And she’d gotten lots of compliments on both the menu and the mood of the party: light but thoughtful.
But a little piece of her worried that she'd screwed up in some way that would come back to haunt her, or worse, Edward. What if one of the donors didn't like her? What if someone thought the food was gross? Like Edward, these were incredibly rich, powerful people, and if they held a grudge, even a small one, it could have real consequences.
Maybe that’s why Edward had suggested she hire a caterer rather than be both hostess and cook for a dozen people. But she wanted to give the evening a personal touch. That’s why she made all the food herself. It was a risk to make the entire menu Colombian, the food of her home country. But she wanted to personalize the night.
If Edward was going to ask the six couples they’d invited to each pony up half a million dollars to the LAPD Junior Scholarship Program, which he chaired, then the least they could expect was a home-cooked meal. And they’d gotten one, a big one. There was so much tableware used during the dinner that she was only now moving on to cleaning the glasses.
Of course, the food was the easy part. She’d been repeating and reinventing the recipes of her mother and grandmother since she could stand upright at a kitchen table. No, her apprehension was with how the other couples might perceive her.
After all, she was significantly younger than Edward when they’d gotten married two years ago. Some folks might take issue with that. Others might resent how she’d only moved to America four years ago, and was now married to a multi-millionaire real estate investor. Even she thought that was almost too much good luck, and it washerlife.
Maybe that’s why she was down here in the kitchen cleaning dishes when Edward had gone upstairs to bed over an hour ago. Did she feel like she had to punish herself in some way for the good fortune she’d had? Intellectually, she knew that was ridiculous. And yet here she was.
As she dried off one of the wine glasses, she silently scolded herself for her self-flagellation. The night had been a huge success. Four of the six couples had committed to making contributions. And the other two said that after they had a chance to confer with their financial advisers, they likely would too. That meant at least $2 million would be added to the kitty, which would allow multiple additional children of police officers to attend college without going into debt.
Maria still couldn’t believe the cost of attending university in the U.S. Back when she was Maria Delgado, she’d graduated from the well-regarded National University of Colombia in Bogota and all four years, combined, cost her less than $2000. Even a reasonably priced school in this country could cost twenty times that for just one year. She shook her head silently. A system that required millionaires to donate huge amounts of money in order for kids to get an education didn’t seem ideal.
She wondered if she and Edward would ever face these collegiate questions. They’d talked about it. But since she was only 28 and he was a vigorous 44, they agreed they had time to decide.
As she put the finishing touches on the wine glass she was cleaning, she heard a creaking sound nearby and wondered ifEdward might have woken up and started down the stairs to check on her. But the sound was too close to be coming from the stairs.
She blinked in confusion. In the reflection of the glass, she thought she saw a figure behind her. She was just starting to turn around when she felt someone grab a handful of her hair and yank her head back.
The glass slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor. But she didn’t notice.
CHAPTER ONE
Jessie Hunt sat in mid-morning L.A. traffic, trying to stay focused on the choked highway and not on the conflicting emotions bouncing around inside her.
It was less than half an hour ago that she'd said goodbye to Hannah Dorsey, her younger half-sister. Dropping Hannah off for the fall quarter of her sophomore year at UC Irvine, where she was a double major in psychology and criminology, should have been easier than it was freshman year. But it ended up being even harder, with good reason.
After all, it wasn’t every college sophomore that had to transition from being nearly killed by a vengeful hitwoman to prepping to attend her first day of Neuroscience of Perception. Jessie shook her head at the thought of what her little sister had endured over the summer.
It had started when Hannah’s friend and fellow student, Finn Anderton, was stabbed multiple times by a mysterious attacker, leaving him in a coma for weeks. Only later did she learn that the assailant was the very guy she had started dating at school, Dallas Henry.
Dallas was secretly a devoted incel who had made it his mission to crush “uppity” women. He considered Jessie, with her work as a criminal profiler and her history of catching male killers to be a prime target. And his chosen way to punish her was to seduce, then torture and kill Hannah, who had barely escaped him.
But that was only part of her nightmarish summer break. When Jessie thought about what else Hannah had to brave, she had a brief, unhealthy urge to ram the car right in front of her. Instead she took several deep breaths and reminded herself thatthe horrors were over now. Or at least that's what she'd told Hannah when they were setting up her apartment bedroom.
“Dallas is in jail awaiting trial,” she reminded Hannah as she folded several t-shirts and put them in a dresser drawer. “And Ash Pierce is—no longer a problem. You can have a fresh start this year.”
Neither she nor Hannah commented on the specifics of why hitwoman Pierce wasn’t an issue anymore. They both knew.
“I hope so,” Hannah said as she put a Stevie Nicks poster on the wall above her bed. “I feel like I’ve barely been keeping my head above water lately. And then I feel guilty for focusing onmystuff.”
“Why?” Jessie asked.
“I’m still worried about Ryan and Kat,” she said.
Ryan was Ryan Hernandez, Jessie’s husband and an LAPD detective. Kat was Kat Gentry, a private investigator who was also Jessie’s best friend. Both had been badly injured in the brutal home invasion attack executed by Pierce, a former CIA assassin who’d later become a freelance hitwoman. Hannah had also suffered a concussion in the attack. Had Jessie not arrived in time to take Pierce out once and for all, they’d surely all be dead.
“They’re on the mend,” Jessie reminded her. “That’s why I felt comfortable coming to help you move in.”
It was true. Both Ryan and Kat were doing much better now. While Hannah had recovered quickly from her concussion, the other two had taken much longer. Pierce had tortured Ryan before the others arrived, luxuriously slicing deep into his face and body over two dozen times. Then she’d rub lemon juice into the gaping wounds. He would pass out repeatedly, only to be revived by smelling salts so she could carve into him again.
