The Detective’s Undoing

Prologue

At six years old, Delia Scanlon knew everything she needed to about control.

Having it was the only way to survive.

As she hung upside down from a low branch on the tree outside the group home where she lived, her long blond hair swept the grass. Next to her hung her two foster sisters, Zoe and Maddie.

Actually, Maddie wasn’t hanging; the quiet, sweet little girl was too timid for that. She sat, gripping the branch for all she was worth, very carefully watching the ground beneath her.

Zoe, who was not quiet or sweet, hung by one leg, calmly inspecting the torn knees of her jeans. Upside down, she popped a huge bubble and casually said, “I’ve got three lollipops under my pillow.”

Delia’s mouth watered and she went all warm and fuzzy inside. She knew Zoe would share-that’s how it was between them. Maddie and Zoe were more than her foster sisters; they were her life.

It wasn’t easy being in the group home with too many kids and too few caretakers, but they were fed and clothed and safe. And they had each other. It was enough for Delia, who just wanted to be with Zoe and Maddie. They were family, no matter what everyone told them.

“When I marry a prince,” she announced, “he’ll take us away on his white horse. We’ll live in a beautiful castle where we can eat all the macaroni and cheese we want.”

“Will you have horses?” Zoe asked, snapping her gum.

“Lots. You’ll come?”

Zoe smiled dreamily. “Yeah.”

“Maddie?”

“I go anywhere you go.”

Delia, with her natural maternal instinct, liked the thought of taking care of her sisters for the rest of her life. “The three of us together.”

Maddie nodded solemnly.

Zoe flipped down from the tree and tossed back her hair. “I get to be in charge of the horses.”

“Sure.” Delia thought horses were dirty and smelled funny, but she wanted Zoe with her, so she’d promise her anything. “What do you want, Maddie?”

“To be a family,” Maddie said softly, her eyes shining with the dream.

“Always,” Delia vowed, as if she had the power to make it so. “Always.”

Content with that, they sat on the grass in the hot Los Angeles sun, holding hands and thinking about their happily-ever-after.

A thousand miles away on a rugged isolated Idaho ranch, Constance Freeman was searching for her stolen granddaughter. Well not stolen exactly-the law didn’t consider it stealing when the baby’s own father, who had custody rights, had done the taking. But Constance didn’t fool herself; her son had no business with a baby, and her heart ached just thinking about what that poor child might have gone through in the past six long years.

Her vengeful son hadn’t so much as written, and Constance yearned to know the fate of her own flesh and blood.

She stared down at a map of the United States, her brow furrowed as she wondered for the thousandth time where they’d gone.

There was the Triple M ranch, her pride and joy, to run but, in Constance ’s mind it had taken a backseat to finding her granddaughter. Everything would take a backseat, until she had the child where she belonged.

On Triple Mountain.