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As the seconds passed, Bridget prayed the night’s silence would be broken by approaching sirens. None came.

“Give it to me,” the judge demanded.

Lyle shook his head. “You didn’t think I’d actually bring it here, did you?”

Bridget prayed that was true. If Lyle didn’t have what Judge Thompson wanted, surely that bought him more time.

The judge looked at his accomplice, jerking his head toward Lyle. “Check his pockets.”

Lyle didn’t put up a fight as the bruiser began searching his pockets. Bridget closed her eyes and released a silent curse when the man pulled a flash drive out of Lyle’s right pocket.

“You don’t think that’s the only copy I’ve made, do you?” Lyle’s voice rang out across the vast space, his words clear and welcome.

Yes, Bridget mouthed. Keep them guessing…and talking. Where the fuck were the police?

The judge shrugged as if unconcerned. A malicious smile covered his face and Bridget knew things were about to go as bad as they possibly could. The scene began to unfold in slow motion as the judge lifted his hand and fired one shot directly into the center of Lyle’s chest. There was no warning, no time for Lyle to run or dodge. One minute he was standing there, the next he was lying on the floor.

Bridget sat stunned, motionless. It was as if time simply stood still. She didn’t breathe. Her heart didn’t beat. Ice-cold numbness consumed her.

The judge’s voice broke the spell. “Search the rest of the warehouse. Make sure no one else is here.”

She was dead. Glancing around, she realized she’d placed herself in the worst possible position for escape. She was hiding along a far wall, and the only way to the lone door at the front of the building was by crossing the vast space where the judge stood, where Lyle lay inert on the floor.

Distant sirens pierced the night and all three living occupants jerked. The judge’s henchman gave up his search and the two of them hastily escaped. The sound of a car’s doors slamming, an engine starting, and peeling tires on the pavement told her they’d be long gone before the cavalry arrived.

Bridget picked up her mini-recorder and phone, then rose from her hiding spot. She forced her legs to support her. As if treading through waist-deep mud, she fought her way to the center of the floor. She knew what she’d find there, knew what she’d see. Lyle had been dead the second the judge pulled the trigger, his life extinguished in the blink of an eye.

When she reached her friend, she dropped to her knees by his side. His lifeless eyes were still open, a slight look of surprise covering his frozen features. She studied his face, memorizing it, imprinting it in her mind and on her heart. She’d let him down. He’d trusted her with the information he’d uncovered. Only her. And she’d failed him.

Picking up his hand, she held it gently in hers.

“I’m sorry, Lyle,” she whispered. “So sorry.”

The sirens grew louder, cars pulling up outside the warehouse. She didn’t rise to meet the police. Instead, she remained with Lyle and let them come to her. They entered with their weapons drawn and approached cautiously. Once they determined she wasn’t a threat, they took stock of the scene and called for a coroner.

Calmly, she answered all of their four thousand, two hundred and twenty-two questions. She saw the look of surprise on all the cops’ faces when she named Judge Thompson as the murderer. Finally, a million years later, they let her leave—with a police escort.

Climbing the stairs to her apartment with the rookie cop shadowing her ascent, Bridget made a silent vow to her friend. The judge would pay for tonight’s crime as well as all the others. She wouldn’t rest until justice had been served…for Lyle.

Chapter 1

Six months later…

Bridget stared at the piece of paper in her hands, her eyes no longer focusing on the words she’d committed to memory months ago. Sighing heavily, she glanced out the window at the picturesque, snow-capped mountains in the distance. Sometimes she still found it hard to believe how much her life had changed in such a short span of time. This time a year ago, she was typing up local interest pieces in a four-by-four cubicle at the Reporter’s offices. Her only view back then was of a computer screen. To add some life to the dull cubicle, she had a calendar thumbtacked to the wall with scenes similar to the real-life one she was staring at now. In New York, she pretended like the calendar was her window with a view.

With one pull of a trigger, her life had altered overnight.

“The words in that letter aren’t going to change no matter how many times you read them.”

She grinned, glancing over her shoulder at Rodney. “You say that every time I pull it out.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re looking at it every five minutes like you’re going to see something different. Not sure what you’re hoping to find.” Rodney claimed the comfy armchair opposite hers, stretching his feet out and crossing them at the ankles.

Rodney Jackson had been assigned to protect her after the arrest of Judge Thompson. The murderer hadn’t spent a single night in jail for his crime, making bail almost immediately. Apparently judges—crooked or clean—looked out for each other.

“There has to be something we’re missing.”

Rodney looked around at the small sitting room of the bed and breakfast where they were currently hiding out. “You can say that again. Seems to me we’ve hit a dead end.”