He picked up his phone and speed-dialed Stone’s cell. Not surprisingly, Stone answered on the first ring. His brother didn’t sleep any more than Marcus did.

‘What’s up?’ Stone asked, the television in the background going mute.

‘I have a story I need you to cover.’

‘Where? When?’

‘Now. Here in the office. On your way, can you stop by my place and pick me up some clean clothes?’ He didn’t want to be seen going into his apartment wearing bloody jeans. ‘And walk BB for me?’ He shifted, the bruise on his back a reminder. ‘And get the Kevlar vest from my bureau drawer. Should be second from the bottom.’

Stone was quiet for a moment. ‘Um . . . why?’

‘I’ll tell you when you get here.’ He brought up the threat list on his computer and sighed. ‘You should wear a vest too. Just to be safe.’

Another pause. ‘Safe from what?’

‘I’ll tell you when you get here,’ he repeated. ‘Thanks,’ he added, and hung up before Stone could ask any more questions.

Marcus skimmed Gayle’s list, his eyes going a little blurry, his lack of sleep starting to catch up with him. Coffee, stat. His brain needed to be alert so that he could catch all the threats he didn’t want Scarlett or Deacon to see. If they saw certain information on this list, the two were smart enough to put two and two together and realize he was doing far more than reporting the news. He didn’t want to leave any breadcrumbs leading back to him or his core staff, the handful of men and women he’d trusted enough to bring into his real business – the real reason he’d kept this newspaper alive for years after it should have died a natural death like most other city dailies across the country.

He had a feeling Scarlett would respect his real business on a conceptual level. She might not agree with his tactics, however, and her disapproval could risk the livelihood – and the freedom – of the people who trusted him as much as he trusted them.

Unfortunately, not one of those trusted people was here to make the damn coffee. He pushed to his feet to make it himself, so that he could focus on keeping his promises.

Cincinnati, Ohio

Tuesday 4 August, 4.45 A.M.

That Marcus had another gun was a given in Scarlett’s mind, and the fact of it had gnawed at her all the way home from the crime scene. He’d handed over his knife and his backup pistol, but not his main gun. What else was he hiding? And why?

He makes his living with the news. That explained it all. The press was made up of a bunch of slippery weasels, lying as easily as they breathed, always angling for the big story. She’d never met a newsman or woman who cared who they hurt. Still, she found herself hoping that Marcus was different. That he was the hero she wanted him to be.

You’re setting yourself up for a major disappointment. More than likely he would run Tala’s story, then go on to the next, never looking back.

Scarlett downshifted as she turned on to the narrow road that ended in front of her house, creating a T with her own street. The downside of living at the top of one of the city’s steepest hills was that skilled driving and a four-wheel-drive vehicle were required to make it to the top during the winter. But snow and ice were months away and her little Audi, while rather elderly, was more than ready to take on the climb.

On those rare blizzardy days, she drove her ancient Land Cruiser. Twenty-five years old and affectionately called the Tank by her and her brothers, it had been bequeathed to Scarlett by their late Grandpa Al. Too big to fit in her garage, it sat in her driveway most of the year, unused. It was a pain in the ass to park anywhere in the city and gas mileage was practically zero, but it had plowed straight through six-foot drifts in the past and Scarlett planned to keep it for another twenty-five years. Being unaffected by even the worst weather left her free to fully enjoy the benefits of living at the top of the hill – the most obvious being the killer views of both the city and the river from her upstairs windows.

That those upstairs windows enabled her to see anyone approaching by car or foot was an advantage that hadn’t originally attracted her to the house but that had become something on which she relied. Being able to identify who’d come calling gave her time to transform herself into whichever Scarlett Bishop she needed to be by the time she answered the door – calm, loving, patient Scarlett-Anne for her mother, professional, not-about-to-lose-it Detective Bishop for her father, just-one-of-the-guys Scar for her brothers, or let’s-drink-wine-and-gossip Scarlett for any of the very small circle of girlfriends she’d trusted with her address.

Her mother, of course, presented the most critical challenge. Scarlett had to find a way to hide the aggression and violence that churned within her, shoving it down deep so that she could maintain the calm, collected persona she’d adopted for her mom for nearly a decade. Seeing who her daughter had truly become would break her mother’s heart, and Scarlett would walk over hot coals before she allowed that to happen. Jackie Bishop had suffered enough loss already. Scarlett would be damned before she added to her mother’s pain.

Greeting her father required the same burying of her aggression and rage, but for a very different reason. Her dad, a decorated Cincinnati PD cop, would report her state of mind to her superiors, getting her grounded so fast her head would spin. It would kill him to do it, but he would without hesitation. To protect me from myself. Because I’m not strong enough for the job. Her father had once said that she wasn’t tough enough to survive the stresses of the police force. That she was too emotional, her heart too tender.

So she’d spent the last ten years proving him wrong.

Only to realize that he was right. She was too emotional. She’d been too angry for too long. She was a powder keg ready to blow, a danger to herself and others. Which made her unfit to serve. She knew this, but she didn’t know any other life. So she protected the one she’d built.

Unfortunately her entire family was very perceptive, so Scarlett had spent the last ten years hiding her true self without completely disengaging. It was an exhausting tightrope to walk. But her brother Phin had broken relations with them all, and it was killing her parents, so Scarlett walked the line.

She was a good daughter. A good sister. The favorite auntie. She was even relearning to be a good friend.

Deacon’s sister, Dani, and his fiancée, Faith, had drawn Scarlett in to their circle of friends. Dani was a doctor and Faith a psychologist, and both women saw too much. Spending time with them would have been threatening enough, but their circle also included Meredith Fallon, another shrink – one of the most perceptive Scarlett had ever known.

Girls’ nights were difficult, because they required Scarlett to share confidences and have actual fun while keeping up her guard. Her fledgling friendships with these women often felt like a minefield, but she had not been able to make herself back away. It had been ten long years since she’d had a true friend. Her heart seemed to soak it up, like rain falling on parched earth. She had a sudden urge to call them now and tell them that Marcus had called her tonight.

But I won’t, of course. She’d kept her obsession with Marcus O’Bannion to herself for nine long months. That he’d called tonight meant nothing without that context. It only means something if he’s been obsessing about me too. That the thought made her heart beat faster was pathetic. If he’d been interested, he would have done something about it. He would have called.

But he did call.

Scarlett frowned. Tonight’s call didn’t count. Tonight’s call was about helping Tala. If he’d been interested at all in me, he would have called months ago.