I’m going to die. Her family was going to die. And the man called Marcus . . . he’d only wanted to help her. But now he was going to die too.

One

Cincinnati, Ohio

Tuesday 4 August, 2.49 A.M.

Detective Scarlett Bishop left her jacket in her car on purpose. Partly because it was too damned hot and sticky to even consider wearing a stitch more clothing than was absolutely necessary. But mostly so that the weapon holstered under her arm – the Glock she normally kept concealed under a jacket – would be readily seen.

She wasn’t in the mood for any shit tonight.

Taking a look around, she frowned at the sight of the nearly deserted street. On any given night, this was where dealers and prostitutes peddled their wares. But nobody was peddling anything tonight, which made Scarlett uneasy. Something had sent them scurrying into their hidey-holes, and whatever that something had been, it wasn’t likely to have been good.

There was no evidence of the man who’d called her here – asking her to come alone. Normally she would have been suspicious enough to bring backup. But the man’s voice . . . She would admit this to no one but herself, but hearing his voice again after so many months had shaken her soundly. The number on her cell phone’s caller ID was unfamiliar, but she’d never forget his voice, no matter how long she lived. When she’d heard it again on the phone tonight, it had stirred her from a sound sleep to full alertness. Nine months had passed without a single spoken word between them. And why would there have been? Her presence would bring him and his family only pain, remind them of their loss.

But tonight he’d said, ‘Can you meet me? Alone? Please. As soon as humanly possible.’

‘Why?’ she’d asked.

‘It’s . . . important.’

‘All right,’ she’d said. ‘Where?’ But he’d already hung up. A second later, a text had popped up, specifying this street corner.

The last time he’d called her out of the blue, his information had led her to four dead bodies. So, without hesitation, she’d done as he’d asked. But now he wasn’t here.

The only visible signs of life on the street were the two homeless people eyeing her with unabashed interest from their spot on the stoop of the boarded-up building nearest to where she stood. She took two bottles of water from the trunk of her car, conscious of three other people peeking out from the windows of the building across the street. She handed a bottle to each of the two elderly people tucked up against the building for the night, their belongings in a shared shopping cart. Tommy and Edna were regulars on this corner. She’d known them for years.

‘It’s hot,’ Scarlett said quietly.

‘A real scorcher,’ Tommy agreed, his teeth flashing white against his dark skin as he struggled with the bottle’s cap, crowing when he twisted it off. ‘Whatchu doin’ here this time of night, Miss Scarlett?’ he asked, exaggerating his deep drawl as he said her name.

‘Tommy,’ Scarlett chided gently, glancing up and down the street. Still no sign of her caller. ‘Whatchu doin’ out here in this heat? You know it’s not good for your heart.’

Tommy sighed dramatically. ‘My heart’s done for already. It got all trampled on by you, Miss Scarlett, when I asked you to marry me for the very last time.’

Scarlett’s lips curved. Tommy was a rascal, but she genuinely liked him. ‘If I’d said yes, that really would be bad for your heart. You couldn’t handle me.’

Tommy’s laugh was raspy from a lifetime of smoking. ‘You’re right ’bout that.’ He lifted a finger in warning. ‘And don’t be telling me to go to the Meadow. I been there three times this week. That pretty Dr Dani says I’m right as rain.’

The seventy-year-old woman next to him snorted. Edna had lived on the streets of Cincinnati for as long as Scarlett had been a cop. ‘He’s full of shit, that one is, but he’s telling the truth about the Meadow. He did go this week. Once.’

Scarlett lifted her brows. ‘And did Dr Dani say he was right as rain?’

Edna shrugged. ‘Acid rain, maybe.’

The Meadow was the local shelter, and ‘that pretty Dr Dani’ was Danika Novak, ER doc and sister of Scarlett’s partner, Deacon. Dani volunteered most of her free hours to the shelter, and had roped most of their circle of friends into helping her, Scarlett included.

Scarlett shook her head, but didn’t push. It wouldn’t do any good. She’d found permanent housing for both Edna and Tommy a couple of times over the years, but they always came back to the street. Which was bad for their health but, at times, beneficial to Scarlett’s investigations. The two were a reliable source of information about the neighborhood.

She looked around again, but there was still no sign of the man she’d come to meet. ‘Have you two heard any trouble tonight?’

Edna hid her water bottle in the deep pocket of the smock she never seemed to be without, then pointed to her left. ‘You wanna look maybe three alleys down that way, honey. Gunshots. Three of ’em.’

Scarlett’s heart stuttered. ‘Why didn’t you say so before?’ she demanded.

‘Because you didn’t ask,’ Edna said with a shrug.

‘Gunshots happen ’round here,’ Tommy added. ‘We got to the point where we don’t pay them no nevermind unless they’re shootin’ at us.’

Scarlett shoved her temper down. ‘When was this?’

‘A few minutes ago,’ Tommy said, ‘but I don’t know ’xactly when. Don’t got no watch,’ he added in a yell, because Scarlett had already started to run, her dread building.

Her phone had rung thirteen minutes ago. If he’d been shot, he could be dead by now. He couldn’t be dead. Please don’t let him be dead.

She skidded to a stop when she got to the alley, her vision drawn first to the motionless body on the ground. It isn’t him. The victim was far too small to be him.

She drew her weapon with one hand, holding her Maglite in the other as she cautiously approached. She swept the beam of her light over the victim, a female who appeared to be of Asian descent. Who was she? And where was he? Another sweep of her light up and down the alley revealed no one else.

Scarlett crouched next to the body, her heart sinking. The victim, who appeared to be in her late teens, lay on her back, dark brown eyes staring up at the sky, wide and unseeing. So young, she thought. Setting the Maglite on the asphalt so that it illuminated the victim’s face, she pulled a glove on to her left hand, keeping her weapon firmly gripped in her right.

Pressing her fingers to the victim’s throat, Scarlett found no pulse, which was no surprise. But the young woman hadn’t been dead long. Her skin was still warm.

Her lower torso was bare, her white polo shirt cut away to just below her breasts.

A bullet had entered three inches below her sternum, but based on the amount of blood on and around the body, it had probably not been immediately fatal. Cause of death was far more likely to have been the small hole in the victim’s left temple. The exit wound behind her right ear was the size of Scarlett’s fist.

The girl had been pretty before someone had taken out a chunk of her head.

Not him. It couldn’t have been him. Scarlett couldn’t believe it. You just don’t want to believe it. Which was fair enough, she supposed. Where was he?

Picking up the flashlight, she ran the beam over the body. Blood had been wiped from the exposed skin of the victim’s midriff, the balled-up and blood-soaked remnant of her torn shirt lying on the ground next to her hip. Someone had attempted first aid.

‘He tried to save you,’ Scarlett murmured aloud.

‘Tried. Failed.’

Her head jerked up. He was here. The man who’d dominated her thoughts, her dreams. For months. The man who once again had called her out of the blue to the scene of a homicide.