Maybe I had reached my fill of the Stanzels. I could break away, but it would mean changing my name, my life—everything. It might not be so bad. If Martina didn't get the hint from our latest message, I'd have no choice.

  If only Maurice would agree to take the most logical action and eliminate the actual threat to their family—Anthony. He would never agree, but DeMarco might. DeMarco harbored no affection for Anthony.

  "I know you don't like discussing this, but there's another option to make all this go away."

  "And what's that?" he said, straightening up in his seat.

  "Anthony's the problem. He's who the police really want, the only one who's muddied his hands. We're ghosts."

  Maurice's face turned a shade of red. "I'm not sacrificing my son."

  "You're willing to let go of the entire organization, your legacy, everything for him?"

  "You don't understand," he snapped. "You're not a mother."

  I bit back a sharp retort. It wasn't true, but he didn't know that.

  He didn't know about the brief period all those years ago when I had been a mother. Back when I was working the streets, doing anything I could to survive after the childhood I'd endured, and I found myself with a positive pregnancy test. They told me it was a congenital heart defect, that it wasn't my fault. But deep down, I believed it was God punishing me. That was why he only let me hold her for a few minutes before she faded away. It felt like a cruel joke, a fleeting glimpse into what could have been. But it was because of her that everything changed. My baby girl. I never could bear to give her a name—it didn't seem right. I didn't even know who her father was. Her face was a permanent fixture in my mind, pushing me forward. After my brief moments with her, I listened to the universe's warning.

  When the opportunity arose, I seized it. I stopped selling my body, became sober, and started anew. It was all because of my baby girl that I reinvented myself. Unfortunately, I became someone who had done terrible things—all for what? Designer clothes? Money? If my baby girl had survived, would she be proud or ashamed?

  Starting over would not be as easy as it was thirty-five years ago—with electronic records, microchips, and all the technological advancements. Forged documents were harder to come by, but I knew the ropes. The real challenge would be acquiring them without raising suspicions—especially not from the DeMarcos or the Stanzels. They'd grow wary, and they weren't the sort you wanted doubting your loyalty. I had to play the role, be the team player, all the way until I disappeared.

  "You're right," I conceded. "I won't bring it up again. But just so you know, it is an option."

  His voice was icy. "No, it's not. Bring it up again, and you're done."

  My body shook. How dare he threaten to cast me aside after everything I'd done for him? The things I sacrificed, pieces of my soul I gave away. Yet, I forced a smile and assured him, "It'll never leave my lips again. Forget I brought it up."

  "Give me an update in a few days. Make sure the message was received and that no one's looking into us."

  "Will do, sir."

  I waved and painted on a sickly sweet smile, playing the part of Team Stanzel. How naive I'd been, thinking they'd ever truly protect me. Everything in my being was sending me signals that I needed to stop protecting people who would so easily toss me to the wolves in order to save themselves.

  37

  MARTINA

  The responding officer took down my information and my account of the drive-by shooting at my house. I had worked dangerous cases before, but this hit different. I was shook, but I would be okay. Keeping people safe was one of my specialties. Surely, I could keep myself safe. That meant I had to start treating myself like I'd treat one of my clients or loved ones.

  Zoey and I would have to move in to a safe house until the case was over. She would have to leave school temporarily. I suspected she wouldn't be thrilled about the plan, but with our house being shot at and the fact my daughter was being followed, we couldn't afford to take risks. We would arrange for someone from the police department to pick up schoolwork for her. She was just going to have to be understanding. Fingers crossed.

  Ross came running up. I realized this was the first time I'd ever seen him run. I'd had my doubts he could. He was a large guy but not particularly muscular.

  "Martina, I heard there were shots fired at your house. What happened?" he panted.

  I explained the situation, and he responded, "They've gone too far, way too far. We need to put the screws to Rex Kleinman."

  Feeling overwhelmed, I managed to explain the plan to move Zoey and me to a safe house. Hiding wasn't an option for me in the long run, but Zoey's safety was paramount. If I was buddied up, I'd be fine. All my buddies were armed and could be very dangerous.

  "That's a good plan." He paused and studied my face. "How are you holding up?"

  "I'm hanging in there. Neighbors have been asking if everything's okay. It's not often we get shots fired around here."

  He glanced around my neighborhood. "I wouldn't think so."

  Suddenly, Jayda rushed up the driveway, pulling me into a hug. "I'm so glad you're okay." She stepped back. "What can I do to help?"

  Jayda, forever the one to jump straight to solutions. "Nothing right this second. I need to call Zoey and my mom," I said, fighting back tears.

  "Of course. Just let me know if there is anything you need, Martina."

  I took a deep breath and dialed Hirsch's number, knowing Zoey was at home with him. "Hey, Martina, how's it going?"

  "Not great, Hirsch." I quickly filled him in on the situation.

  He voiced the same concern. "We need to get you and Zoey to a safe house."

  "I've already come to that conclusion," I replied. I'd said it before, and I'd say it again: no case was worth dying for, not even this one. But although they could make me work more discreetly, they couldn't stop me. The investigation would continue.

  Hirsch interrupted my train of thought. "I'll let you talk to Zoey."

  "Thanks." When she came on the line, I said, "Hey, Zoey," my voice thick with emotion.

  "Hey, Mom. I was just about to head out for school. What's up?"

  "Honey, you're not going to school today." I explained, glossing over some of the more frightening details, and told her about the move to the safe house.

  "You're coming with me, right?"

  "Yes, but while we're ironing out details, you'll stay with Uncle August."

  "Okay, Mom. I love you."

  "I love you too, Zoey." Tears welled up in my eyes. Hearing the worry in my daughter's voice, and realizing how quickly she complied, made the weight of the situation truly sink in.

  Next, I called Stavros and told him I was coming into the office for us to discuss the recent events. He assured me he'd have everything prepared by the time I arrived.

  I turned to Jayda and Ross. "I need to head over to the office to talk to Stavros about our accommodations," I explained.

  "Need a lift?" Jayda asked.

  "I'd appreciate that."

  Ross clenched his fists. "Don't worry. Nobody goes after one of ours and gets away with it. We've got your back, Martina."

  His confidence was a relief. I felt reassured that if anyone could get to the bottom of this, it was the investigators from CoCo County.

  Jayda and I soon entered the offices of Drakos Monroe. As usual, Mrs. Pearson was behind the front desk, her magenta lipstick brightening the otherwise muted ambiance. Spotting me, she hurried over, wrapping her arms around me in a tight embrace. "Oh, Martina, I just heard! I'm so glad you're safe."

  "Thank you, Mrs. Pearson."

  "I told Vincent about your situation since I know you're working closely with him. He mentioned he has some new information. He said it could wait, but he seemed to think you'd want to know."

  "Thanks, I'll find him." Chances were it was related to the case. Vincent knew that if I was in the office, I'd want to be updated.

  "Will you be okay from here? Do you want me to stay?" Jayda asked, concern evident in her eyes.

  "I'm good. I have plenty of protection now."

  She hugged me. "Take care," she whispered.

  I walked farther into the office until I spotted Vincent. "Hey, buddy."

  "Martina, good to see you. Are you okay?"

  "I'm managing. We've got the best investigators from CoCo County on the shooting. Stavros is sorting out a safe house for Zoey and me. Hirsch is with her. But I hear you have new info on our case?"

  He nodded with a sparkle in his eyes.

  He had something good.

  "I just got a call from the lab. They finished the testing. We should get Tippin on a call, if you're up for it?"

  Absolutely.

  "Let's find a conference room."

  38

  MARTINA

  The phone rang, its shrill tone echoing my heightened sense of anticipation. It was almost surreal, how quickly I'd shifted focus from the terrifying incident at my home just an hour earlier.

  "Lieutenant Tippin here," a voice announced on the other end.

  "It's Martina Monroe and Vincent Teller. We have an update."

  "What have you got?"

  I glanced at Vincent, who chimed in. "Before we delve into the forensics for the Nicholas Hirsch case, Martina, I think you should brief Tippin on this morning's events."

  Tippin's tone shifted. "What happened, Martina?"

  "As you're aware, we apprehended a PI tailing my daughter. He's currently incarcerated without bail. But today, as I was leaving for work, someone fired six shots at my house."

  There was a pause, then a somber, "Martina, I'm deeply sorry. Is everyone safe?"

  "We're all okay. My daughter was already at Hirsch's for safekeeping, but we'll be relocating to a safe house soon."

  Tippin sighed. "No wonder Nicholas Hirsch's case went unsolved. If they're going to these lengths thirty-five years later to cover it up, I bet they buried every detail back then."

  Vincent smirked. "But nothing stays buried forever, right?"

  "Let's certainly hope not," I responded. "All right, Vincent, let's hear it."

  Vincent leaned in. "The lab analysis of Nicholas Hirsch's belongings revealed, in addition to his own DNA and hair samples, the presence of two other contributors. Both were run through CODIS, but neither returned a match."

  I furrowed my brow. "Two unknown contributors?"

  Vincent nodded. "Yes. The male contributor's DNA was from a blood sample. The third contributor, a female's DNA, was found in blood and a clump of hair that appeared to have been pulled out from the root."

  My pulse quickened as I made the connection. "You're suggesting a possible scenario where someone assaulted a woman and then attacked Nicholas Hirsch, inadvertently transferring the woman's hair to him?"

  "That's the working theory," Vincent confirmed.

  Tippin remarked, "Excellent. If we had a cold case division, perhaps this case would've already been cracked."

  Vincent countered, almost stating the obvious given the depth of their original investigation and the level of resistance they'd met. "Probably not. Not with the current lengths someone is going to to keep it quiet."

  "You're probably right. It likely would take a team that couldn't be bought by the Stanzels—assuming they are behind all of this."

  Vincent was right. The SFPD had likely been compromised all those years ago and likely even today.

  "We need a sample from Victoria's family to see if the hair matches."

  Vincent offered, "Martina, let me handle that. You have other matters to focus on, like staying safe."

  I knew Vincent was right. He could obtain a DNA sample from Shannon or her mother to determine if Victoria was at the scene of Nicholas Hirsch's murder. "What's the theory on the other contributor?"

  "The male contributor," Vincent replied. "It was mixed with the blood from Nicholas's wounds—likely mixed while the attack occurred. The perp probably cut himself on the knife or split his hands during the attack. It has to be from the killer."

  "So, how do we obtain a DNA sample from Anthony Stanzel? I doubt we have grounds for a warrant."

  Tippin suggested, "We could follow Stanzel. If he throws away a soda can or pizza box, we can swipe it and test it. Or we could camp outside his house on garbage day and see if we can get a sample from something discarded from his house."

  Dumpster diving. I was familiar with the activity. It wasn't a pleasant job, but it could bear fruit.

  "That could work. But I don't think I can volunteer for that one." Not because I didn't want to, but because I couldn't be out in the middle of the night when someone was taking shots at me. I silently reminded myself, No case is worth dying for.

  "I could do it," Vincent offered.

  "I'd prefer you don't go alone. Remember the golden rule."

  Vincent nodded. "No case is worth dying for."

  "Exactly. We can ask one of our team to join Vincent for an evening of dumpster diving."

  "Good plan. I'm starting to see how you solved all those old cases," Tippin added.

  "It's always a team effort, and I happened to work with only the best," I said with pride.

  "I can see that. I admit, I'm a little jealous."

  He should be. "Okay, we'll keep you posted."

  "Excellent. Thank you both. And Martina, stay safe."

  "Thank you. Talk soon," I said, ending the call. Turning to Vincent, I said, "This is big, Vincent."

  "I thought you'd want to know," he said with a wry smile.

  "Now let's pray one of the Stanzels throws out some DNA."

  "I'm not sure I've ever prayed for DNA before," Vincent teased.

  Well then, I'd have to pray for all of us. This case needed to end because one, the victims' families deserved answers, and two, mine deserved to be safe.

  39

  MARTINA

  It was bad enough that Zoey and I had to stay in a safe house with limited communication with the outside world. We sent only essential messages to my mother, assuring her we were fine and asking her to keep Barney with her. It had only been a few days, but I already felt like a caged animal. And I wasn't the only one.

  Zoey wasn't allowed to go on the internet, which meant doing all her schoolwork offline on a loaner laptop from the office—to be printed and handed in by one of our team. As for the investigation, I had to conduct all my communications with my burner cell phone which had to be changed each day—so comms were limited. Each time I needed to go somewhere, I was transported in the back of a van. It was all very covert. I had been undercover before, but this was different. This was my life and my daughter's.

  "What do you want for breakfast, Mom?"

  "I was thinking maybe scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit," I said, pretty sure that was about all we had left.

  "Okay. You want me to scramble the eggs and you can do the toast?"

  "Sure." I could have protested, pointing out that my daughter was subtly implying I was only capable of making toast. But I had to admit, Zoey was a far better cook than I ever would be—probably because she actually enjoyed it and had spent so much time with my mom learning how. Don't get me wrong, I could put together a salad with grilled chicken like nobody's business. But when it came to actual cooking, it just wasn't my thing.

  Zoey pulled the carton of eggs from the refrigerator and then began searching for the frying pan. "It's in the dishwasher," I explained, having had to use it for dinner the previous night.

  "You can't put frying pans in the dishwasher, Mom."

  "Why?"

  "It messes with the coating. That's what Grandma said, anyhow."

  You learn something new every day. I pulled bread from the bag and set four pieces into the toaster oven. "So, what are your plans for today, Zoey?"

  "Well, considering my options are to read, watch television, or go to the gym downstairs in disguise, I think I'll read. Maybe bake something."

  "I'm sorry you're having to go through all this, honey."

  "Well, it's better than being dead, right?"

  She had a point. "True. Everyone's working to get this resolved as quickly as possible."

  "I know you are, and as much as I don't like being in captivity, I'm trying to be patient. Because, well, our lives are more important. I do miss little Barney, though, and of course, not being able to see my friends or go anywhere."

  "I hear you."

  Zoey set down the carton of eggs. "But at the end of all this, we'll be safe, and we'll know who killed Uncle August's brother. It'll be worth it, right?"

  Sometimes it took my teenager to remind me of what was really important. "That's true."

  "What time are they picking you up today?"

  I glanced at the digital clock on the microwave. "In about twenty minutes."

  "You're so lucky to get to leave this place, freed from our gilded cage," she said rather dramatically. Every once in a while, behind her teenage exterior, she reminded me of when she was a little girl—when her middle name should have been Drama.

  "Any leads on the case?" she asked, stirring the eggs.

  "Well, Vincent went dumpster diving in the middle of the night. We're hoping to get some DNA off of some trash and maybe catch the guy who killed Nick."

  "Seems like a long shot."

  Sometimes any shot—even a long shot—was enough to break a case open. Could this all be over in a mere forty-eight hours, once the DNA was run on a piece of trash from the Stanzel residence?

  After breakfast, my security team picked me up and brought me into the office through the semi-covert entrance. A new team picked me up each day, on a rotation, to make sure no one was following us or had picked up on the fact I was being transported in and out of the office.

  I spotted Vincent first. "Hey, Vincent, how was your night?"

  "It's still continuing. We've got bags of trash that we're still sifting through. So far, we haven't come up with much."

 

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