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Hez yawned and a shiver ran through him. A wintry gray drizzle fell outside the Justice Chamber’s drafty window. The chill clung to him despite the hot mug of coffee he held with both hands. Even the space heater in the corner hadn’t warmed him up.

He rose and stared out the window at his view of Legare Hall, the unfinished Gothic-style building that had fallen into decay. It was supposed to be Pierre’s greatest monument to himself, but the domed grand foyer had partially collapsed. The college had vague plans to convert it into student housing, but Hez didn’t see how they could ever afford it.

He shivered again and turned away. The cold wasn’t just external. He had felt it ever since he caught Savannah going through his trash last night. Every last detail had been perfect until that moment—especially the look in her beautiful green eyes when they talked about their future together. Even the weather had been perfect, allowing him to quickly move their dinner out to his balcony five minutes before she arrived. It seemed like the ideal moment to give her the ring he’d had in his pocket all night.

And then he made the mistake of following her into the kitchen.

He hadn’t slept much last night. The same unanswerable questions kept cycling through his mind. Would she always be searching the trash and checking his breath? What—if anything—could he do to make her trust him again? How could they get remarried if she didn’t trust him? He gulped his coffee and the hot liquid slid down his throat, but it did nothing to warm the icy bleakness in his heart.

An energetic young voice broke into his gloom. “Hi, Uncle Hez!”

He turned to see Simon walking in, an excited smile on his face. He carried a TGU thermal mug and a new binder with a carefully lettered label that said Justice Chamber.

Hez couldn’t help smiling too. “Hi, Simon. I’ll make you something hot to go in that mug of yours.”

“Thanks, but Aunt Savannah already got me a hot chocolate at University Grounds. So when do we get started?”

“When the others arrive. Toni and Ed are in the same Civil Procedure class over at the law school, and it just got out a couple of minutes ago. Dominga should be on her way too.”

As he was speaking, female laughter floated in from the hallway.

A moment later, the three students walked in together. Dominga had her hand on Ed’s arm and laughed at something he’d said. Toni trailed behind, wearing a knowing smile. She cast a curious glance at Simon, but she said nothing.

“Great to see everyone.”

Hez gestured to Simon. “As you can see, our merry band has grown. This is my nephew, Simon Legare. His name might sound familiar to you in particular, Toni.”

Her brows went up. “Are you related to Jessica Legare? She was a big help in my investigation of the TGU Extension School.”

Simon beamed with pride. “I’m her son.”

Hez raised his mug to the former accountant. “Toni did an outstanding job. She uncovered a major fraud, which TGU’s management is working to fix. I have a good feeling about how that’s going to turn out.”

Toni smiled at the compliment. “Thanks, Professor Webster. Ms. Legare has already given me leads on three other potential scams. She’s been very supportive of the Justice Chamber.”

It felt strange to have Jess be very supportive of anything Hez did. Even when he defended her in a murder case, she had been so secretive and controlling that he had almost withdrawn. He was surprised at her level of cooperation now, but he shouldn’t be. They both had an interest in cleaning up the university’s finances, and Jess had the extra motivation of killing some of Pierre’s sleazy golden geese in the process. Hez needed to learn to trust her.

“That’s terrific. Open new case files if you haven’t already and load any documents you receive. Simon can help you with scanning.”

Simon opened his binder and wrote down his assignment. Hez turned to the other two. “Ed and Dominga, how’s your investigation going?”

“Not quite as fast as Toni’s.”

Ed nodded to his fellow law student. “But we’re making good progress. Dominga searched gallery listings, and she found five pre-Columbian artifacts with TGU provenance documents—and two of them were previously unknown Huacho wood masks. I suspect they’re currently looting a rich mother lode of items. She checked with Professor Guzman, who confirmed that the documents were forged. One of the forgeries is dated less than a month ago.”

Hez straightened. “So after Beckett Harrison’s arrest and Professor Andersen’s disappearance? Are you sure?”

Ed pressed his lips into a grim line and nodded. “Your hunch was correct. The smuggling is still going on, and it’s ramping up. Valuable items are being lost to the underbelly of the black market.”

Hez bit his lip for a moment. Provenance documents from a respected university dramatically increased an artifact’s value, but they took some expertise to fake. “Did you ask Professor Guzman who might be forging the provenance documents now that Andersen and Harrison are gone?”

Dominga leaned forward. “We asked, but he didn’t have any ideas off the top of his head. He said whoever is doing it is being more careful now.”

“Hmm.”

Hez drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Maybe we should come at this from another angle. The Coast Guard and police have been keeping a close eye on the beaches. Do you have any idea how the smugglers are doing it?”

A wide grin split Ed’s face. “We do indeed. A little birdie told me all about it. We’re still nailing down a few things, but another shipment should be coming soon. We might be able to catch them.”

Hez pumped his fist. “That’s awesome! Who’s the birdie? Our friends over at the DA and U.S. Attorney’s Office will want to know for their warrant applications.”

Ed’s grin faded. “Uh, I promised not to tell. The source is very nervous. Do you think they can get warrants without the identity?”

Hez considered for a moment. “Maybe, but we’ll need to give them as much corroborating detail as possible. When and where the shipment will be delivered, means of delivery, contents of the shipment, and so on.”

Ed nodded. “We can get most of that from the source. We’ll also independently verify whatever we can.”

Simon listened to Ed with rapt attention. “That sounds cool! I can help too.”

Hez cleared his throat. “That . . . might not be the best idea, Simon.”

Defiance sparked in Simon’s eyes and he opened his mouth to object, but Hez hurried on before his nephew could speak. “We need you to work with Toni. She has three new leads, and she’s the only one working on them. Ed and Dominga are both working on a single investigation.”

Taking his cue, Toni nodded. “Yes, I could really use your help—and you’d be working with your mom too.”

Simon’s rebellious look vanished. “I’d like to work with my mom.”

Hez breathed a sigh of relief. Poking around in the university’s finances would be much less dangerous than trying to catch smugglers. Plus, Jess was one of the most formidable people he’d ever met. Standing next to her was probably the safest place in the world for Simon.

* * *

Bookshelves lined the wall behind Pastor Forrest Walsh’s office, and Savannah studied the titles of the theology books while their pastor took his seat at the tidy desk. The tension in her shoulders radiated up her neck. Why was she so nervous? This should have been an easy counseling session, but the betrayal in Hez’s eyes when he found her going through the trash still stung. Maybe Pastor Forrest could straighten out this fear in her head.

The pastor and his wife had dealt with his own addiction before God had called him into the ministry. If anyone knew how to emerge from this kind of situation, he would. Maybe he could help Hez face his problem.

Pastor Forrest’s brown eyes were wise and kind. “So the two of you are about to be remarried. Congratulations. I’ve often done premarital and postdivorce counseling, but never both at the same time.”

He chuckled. “When were you divorced?”

“About six weeks ago,” Hez said.

The pastor’s brows rose. “The ink is barely dry. Why do you think it’s a good idea to remarry so quickly?”

Savannah shot Hez a glance. “The divorce was kind of a misunderstanding. We still love each other, and Hez thought he could show me he wanted what was best for me by filing for divorce. I was about to tell him I didn’t want it any longer, but it was a little too late.”

“I never stopped loving Savannah. We just had a lot of problems to work out.”

The pastor shifted in his leather chair. “It’s not unusual to hear divorced couples say they still love each other. But since it wasn’t enough the first time, what has changed since your marriage fell apart?”

Savannah launched into Ella’s death, Hez’s drinking, and the destruction that followed. “It was a difficult time, and we both want a second chance.”

What had changed for her? She wasn’t able to answer his question, not really.

His attention turned to Hez. “How do you feel about all of this, Hez? What has changed for you?”

Hez shifted in his chair. “I stopped drinking and started attending AA. I realized I was a workaholic, and I left my high-pressure job and came to TGU to start a legal clinic. I wanted to be closer to Savannah and start over. When I realized she wanted her freedom, I gave it to her even though divorce was the last thing I wanted.”

He turned toward Savannah and caught her gaze. “If there are any other changes I need to make, I’ll make them.”

“I can hear the sincerity in your voice, Hez,”

the pastor said. “You’ve already made some huge changes. Congratulations on your hard work. How about you, Savannah? What has changed for you?”

That question again. She wet her lips, and her heart rate accelerated. “I’ve been trying to get better at confronting emotional problems instead of running away.”

What a lame answer. Hez had worked tirelessly on his issues, and she still found it hard to confront hers. Maybe she was the one who needed to change the most. She’d hurt Hez deeply by looking for wine bottles, but how did she get past this fear?

The pastor’s expression went neutral. “Is there anything specific you know you need to work on?”

“The trauma of Ella’s death still hurts, but at least we can talk about it now.”

She darted a glance at Hez. “I-I’m worried he’s started drinking again. He says he hasn’t, but I found an empty wine bottle in his trash, and it’s hard to believe someone else put it there as he claimed.”

Hez twisted in his chair to look at her. “I don’t blame you, Savannah. But how can we think about marriage again if you’re constantly going through the trash and checking my breath? Will you ever trust me again?”

Her eyes blurred at the pain in his voice. “I want to, Hez, but it’s so very hard. Mom always said she was quitting booze and pills, and I trusted her. I believed her every time. And a few days later, I’d find her drunk or drugged out of her mind. And that’s how I’d find you.”

He took her hand. “I know, honey, and I’m sorry. But I’ve changed.”

She was barely aware of her tears spilling over until she felt their heat on her cheeks. “You never knew her, Hez. She was so beautiful and vibrant. She was a gifted poet, and her work was extraordinary. Everyone loved her too, until the booze and pills changed her. She became a pathetic wreck who never got out of bed. That’s why I left you the first time. I couldn’t stand to watch that happen to you. It changed you. And now you seem to be back, really back. But what if you go down that road again? I couldn’t bear it.”

Despair erupted from some dark place where she’d stuffed it. She clutched herself and rocked back and forth in her chair as she sobbed out her fear.

Hez started to leave his chair and move toward her, but she shook her head. “Th-that’s why I was going through the trash. I want to believe you, Hez. Desperately. But my fear is greater right now, and I don’t know how to change that.”

She whispered the last words before shame choked them back. He’d mustered up enough faith to trust her with his heart again, and she’d failed him. How did she get past this terror of seeing him walk her mother’s path?

“That’s a hard spot, Savannah,”

Pastor Forrest said. “Childhood trauma can be difficult to navigate, and it sounds like yours was particularly bad.”

She raised her head and took the tissue he proffered to mop her face. “I’ve blocked out some of it. My sister remembers details I can’t face. I should probably work harder at remembering those details. If I do, maybe I can let them go.”

“I think a qualified Christian counselor might be exactly what you need. This isn’t straightforward premarital counseling, and it’s likely going to take some deeper work to help you. I have someone in mind, an empathetic woman in Pelican Harbor.”

He scribbled on a sticky note and handed it to her. “Here’s her name and number. I think you’ll find her helpful.”

She stared at the note through blurry eyes. “B-but what about the premarital counseling?”

“If you don’t deal with it, your trauma will rear up in ways you aren’t expecting. I’m sorry.”

Shock dried the last of her tears. She hadn’t expected she would be the one with the most problems.