Chapter One

“Hunter, O’Connor…about time you two get here. The ME beat you to the scene. Again.”

“We were downtown,” Casey supplied. “Eight o’clock traffic kinda hinders a quick buzz through the city, you know.”

Casey looked at Tori and gave a subtle wink. They’d been sitting in a line at a drive thru, waiting on breakfast.

Tori paused at the front door, turning around to survey the street. It was an older neighborhood with equally older homes, all showing their age. For the most part, the yards were well kept and tidy with large shade trees blocking out the April sun. This yard, in particular, seemed to have been meticulously maintained. The lawn, with its bright green grass of spring, looked—and smelled—freshly mowed.

“Hunter?”

Tori turned, nodding at Casey, who was following the officer inside. There were several others there, talking among themselves. Conversation ceased when they walked in. She stopped and looked around, meeting curious eyes. They all seemed to be looking at her, not Casey. She shrugged it off and went into the kitchen, finding Rita Spencer bent over the body.

“Time of death seven-forty-eight,” Rita said without looking up.

“Wow. You’re getting damn good at that, Spencer,” Casey drawled. “Right down to the very minute. Next thing you know, you’ll be adding seconds to your reports.”

Rita looked up then. “The neighbor heard the shots. Found him. Seven-forty-eight this morning.” She arched an eyebrow. “What happened to your hair?”

Casey’s hand automatically went to the hair in question. “Chopped it off. Trying to look like Hunter here.”

“I see. Quit coloring it blond then.”

“Mousey blond is my natural color, thank you very much.”

Tori sighed. “The body?”

“Single shot to the head,” Rita said.

“Where’s Mac and his team?” Casey asked.

“They were finishing up at another scene. Must be a full moon—the crazies are out.”

“What’s with the trash?” Tori asked, pointing at the white plastic bag that had spilled out onto the kitchen floor. An egg carton, a can advertising seasoned black beans, and some soiled paper towels were sprawled across the floor.

“It’s trash day,” Officer Garza supplied. “Looks like he was taking it out when he was hit.” He pointed to the window, which was shattered. “Neighbor heard two shots. One shot to break the glass, another for the hit, I guess.”

Tori nodded. “You talk to the neighbor? The one who found him?”

“Rogers did. Mr. Alton. Steve Alton is his name.”

Casey nudged her. “Come on, Hunter. Let’s chat with him. See what he saw.”

Rita rolled the body over then and Tori found herself staring at it. The man was late sixties, maybe early seventies. His hair appeared thick—an attractive shade of gray. The bullet hole to his temple had done little damage. At least on the outside. As she stared, she felt an odd sense of déjà vu come over her. Casey nudged her again.

“You know him, Hunter?”

Tori blinked several times, then shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“You’re white as a ghost,” Casey said quietly.

“Detectives…you want to take a look at the pictures we found first?” Officer Garza asked. “The neighbor was pretty shook up. Maybe give him time to settle down before you talk to him.”

Tori arched an eyebrow, but it was Casey who spoke.

“Yeah, we kinda like to talk to the witnesses as soon as possible, make sure they don’t forget something, you know.”

It wasn’t Casey he looked at, though. It was her. “I think you’re going to want to see these pictures. They cover a whole wall.”

She glanced at Casey, who shrugged.

“I guess it’s okay with me. Okay with you, Hunter? I don’t suppose the neighbor is going anywhere. We’re parked in his driveway. He’s kinda blocked in.”

Before she followed Garza and Casey out, she asked Rita, “What’s this guy’s name?”

“Charles Griffin. According to his driver’s license, he was seventy-one.”

She nodded. It didn’t ring a bell, yet there was something so familiar about him. She stared at the body a moment longer before leaving. Back into the living room, she raised her eyebrows questioningly. The officers pointed down the hallway. She found Casey staring at, yes, a wall of pictures. Photos. Some black and white. Some color.

“Jesus Christ, Hunter. What the hell do you make of this?”

Tori moved closer, her brow furrowed. Her gaze darted from picture to picture before it finally registered.

They were all of her.