For a moment, she’d forgotten that she was just living a lie. She’d thought she was living a dream.

Prince Charming.

Then she’d found out that he was the real villain of the tale.

“He’s dead.” Shayne pulled out a typewritten report. One written in Russian. “He was attacked in his cell.”

She grabbed the report. Scanned it. Stephen had been found with a knife in his side. He’d been alive when he went to the infirmary, but he hadn’t survived long after that. His body had been cremated within hours of his death. That recorded death had happened a year ago.

“Not him,” Jennifer said flatly. “He didn’t die—he just escaped.” But at least they had a timeline now. So Stephen couldn’t have killed Brodie’s parents. But...maybe someone he’d hired had? The same person who’d taken that picture of her at the ranch.

“You can read Russian?”

She almost rolled her eyes. “I was a spy. Do you think they would have sent me out to all of those countries if I only spoke English?” She’d had a gift for language and an ability to drop and acquire an accent at will.

His eyes narrowed.

She tapped the file. “Nate got a death certificate, too. It was as fake as Stephen’s.”

But the cop didn’t look convinced. “Maybe he did die in that prison and we’re looking for someone in Stephen’s family...someone who wants to get some payback against you.”

She scanned the file he had. She had to give the cop credit; he’d definitely been digging in the right places. There were multiple reports of injuries, of attacks, on Stephen. He’d been in and out of the prison infirmary almost every week.

I’m going to torture you...

There was a photo in the file. A grainy image of Stephen Brushard, one that must have been taken shortly after his incarceration. His thick black hair was smoothed back from his forehead. His square jaw was clenched, and, even in the picture, she could see the fury in his eyes.

Stephen had been a handsome man, debonair, charming. But beneath that facade, he’d been rotten to the core.

“Just look at the McGuires,” Shayne said quietly. “Sometimes, families want blood for blood.”

She pushed the file back at him. “The McGuires aren’t planning to kill anyone.” She spun away from him. Paced toward the lone window in the room.

He laughed, and the sound held no humor. “Aren’t they? I guess you don’t know Brodie nearly as well as you think.”

The window was covered with a layer of brown grime so thick she could barely see outside.

“They’re going to destroy every person involved in their parents’ deaths. It’s just a matter of time.”

There was something in his voice...almost resignation. Bitterness.

She glanced back at him.

His eyes—flint hard—were on her. “Brodie was helping you only because you were a way to get to Stephen Brushard. You were expendable to him.”

He was wrong. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” There was so much more between her and Brodie. When he held her...she was safe. She could trust him with all her secrets.

With him, there was no longer a need for lies.

“I got you away from Brodie. I did it for your protection. You can’t count on him. But you can count on me.”

Could she? Jennifer wasn’t about to give her trust to him. I trust Brodie.

“I can help you.”

Her instincts were screaming at her again. Something was just...off with him. “How long have you been friends with Brodie?”

“We went to school together. Grew up together. I’ve always known the McGuires.” He didn’t move from his position. A stance that put him right between Jennifer and the apartment’s door. Its only exit. “That’s why I never gave up on his parents’ case. I figured I owed them.”

He shifted his stance a bit, and her gaze dipped to the gun holstered just beneath his left arm.

“Brodie and the others didn’t give up, either. They kept searching. Kept pushing until they found the murder weapons used for the crime.”

Jennifer tried to keep her body relaxed, her hands loose at her sides. And she refused to let any expression show on her face.

“They found the guns...and then they found you.”

Something is wrong. The whole scene felt off for her. He’d separated her from Brodie, taken her away from the police station. Stashed her in this apartment...

“You gave his parents fifty thousand dollars.”

“Did Brodie tell you that?” She deliberately let her words tremble a bit, wanting to look weak right then. If she looked weak, then maybe he wouldn’t see the threat coming from her, not until it was too late.

He inclined his head. “Why did you give them the money?”

The answer was simple enough. “Because Brodie saved my life.”

He stalked across the room. She tensed, and, once more, her gaze fell to his gun.

Why didn’t he keep me at the station?

And where was the other cop? The one who’d ridden over with them? Just how long did it take to do a perimeter search?

“Why did they want the money?”

“I don’t know!”

He grabbed her arms. Shook her. “Liar!”

What? They had just stepped right over into bad cop land.

“You expect me to believe you gave two strangers fifty thousand dollars?”

“They weren’t strangers. They were Brodie’s parents.”

He shoved her back. Her shoulders hit the window. “Stop it!” Jennifer yelled at him.

But lines of fury were stamped onto his face. “I won’t let you ruin everything for me.”

What in the hell? And suddenly Jennifer was very afraid that she’d found the cop who had tipped off Stephen before.

“You can’t ruin it, not when I worked so hard to get my life back on track. I just... I can’t let you destroy it all.”

His hands were hard around her shoulders.

“Maybe it would be better if you just disappeared,” he fired. “Easier for everyone.”

Was he threatening her? Because the chill that had just went down her spine sure said he was.

And if this guy was the one who’d sold her out to Stephen before... Then he’s done it again now.

* * *

THE YOUNG COP was ridiculously obvious.

Just because he’d put on some old torn jeans and a T-shirt, did the kid really think that made him look like he fit in with the neighborhood?

The guy looked as if he was barely twenty-one, and his nervous gaze kept sweeping the scene as he glanced to the left, then the right.

Too easy.

He sauntered toward the run-down building. He’d watched Jennifer go in there less than fifteen minutes before. Time for him to go claim his prize.

“Hey, kid,” he muttered to the boy.

The cop whirled toward him.

He drove his knife right into the boy’s stomach, held the blade there as the cop’s eyes widened in horror.

“Which floor?”

The cop grunted.

“Want me to twist the knife?”

“Th-third...”

Smiling, he twisted the knife anyway. Because he could.

Because he’d never really liked cops anyway.

Chapter Ten

“Brodie, are you sure this is a good idea?” Davis asked as their car pulled to a stop. “She’s in protective custody. The cops have her. The woman is safe.”

If she was safe, then why were his guts in knots?

“How did you even find this damn place?” Davis wanted to know.

“I bribed the right people at the police station.” It wasn’t like Shayne was his only friend there.

Davis swore. “Then let’s just hope that Stephen Brushard doesn’t know those same people or your lady is going to be in serious trouble.” Davis had been brought up to speed—fast—on Brushard. And when he’d met Brodie, the guy had come bearing a gift—a report on Stephen Brushard that Mac had been able to dig up using his contacts.

Thanks to that report, they now had a face to go with the SOB’s name. Stephen Brushard had grown up the only child of a wealthy New York family. He’d gone to all the right schools, knew all the right people...