Every time.

  Life wasn’t easy. Human love wasn’t perfect.

  But it was the source of every ounce of strength he was ever going to need. Right there. In Kacey. With Kacey.

  In every new family member—hers and theirs—that came to him.

  And in knowing that the world was filled with people like Kyle Ashland, a man who was trustworthy to the core.

  It wasn’t about being perfect. It was about getting up when you were knocked down, brushing off, and trying some more.

  It was about not giving up.

  Taking the next step.

  That he could do.

  Epilogue

  Kacey sat on the couch in the cabin with Tommy, hanging all over him—fully clothed because of the cameras—as he finally opened her brother’s email later that night.

  Saw him save the folder Kyle had sent to his device, and then open page after page of information. She read with him.

  She didn’t get what it all meant.

  “Who’s Billy Collier?” she asked, feeling the muscles in her lover’s body tense. And not with passion.

  “An army buddy of my father’s. Dad saved his life.”

  She frowned. “I don’t...”

  Tommy read more. She followed as best she could.

  When the pages in the folder came to an end, he sent the file to the man she now knew to be his captain in the Henderson police.

  And shut off his phone.

  He turned, his eyes closed, his mouth hungrily seeking hers.

  “Uh-uh,” she said pushing him back. “Tell me, Tommy.”

  “There’s nothing...”

  “Devon.”

  Just the one word. Torn from her heart...

  He opened his eyes. Stared toward the wall across from them. “Your brother overheard a conversation between Sanders and the manager of his plant, when they were deciding what to do about him. Sanders was being urged to pull out all his stops, use his connections, to make it all go away. And Sanders admitted that he wasn’t the man at the top. So, your brother did some deep digging. Looking at shipping manifests that went back a lot further. Following them to the same destination points. Turns out that Billy Collier is the silent owner, through many shell corporations, of not only all three mills, but all three distribution points, as well as about fifty other companies. He’d been shipping contraband in his logs for thirty years. My father found out about it...”

  She pulled in air so fast she almost choked. “He thought your dad would cover for him.”

  “By that time, Collier had friends in higher places who had friends in lower places...”

  She was putting together pieces of the evidence she’d just seen. Was relieved, truly happy for him, to know that his father was the man he’d thought him to be. His trust in his father had been validated.

  And yet, she worried that what Tommy had just read would put them right back on rocky ground, too. “Did you know this Billy?” she asked.

  And sat with him, making him talk to her, to tell her about the man he’d known intermittently growing up, as Billy’s main residence was on the East Coast. She heard how Billy had been the man to clear his father’s name. To make certain that his mother got his dad’s full pension.

  Then she heard how Billy had tried to start something up with his mother.

  “Mom was gracious, of course, but she’d already had the love of her life and wasn’t settling for second best. We haven’t heard from Billy since...” Tommy’s words drifted off.

  “I’m guessing Billy Collier doesn’t understand the value of true love,” she said.

  Tommy turned to her then, with tears glistening in his eyes. “I get it, Kace. I swear to you. Any mistakes I make, you can count on me to...”

  She put a finger over his lips. “Now’s the time to kiss me,” she said, climbing on top of him and kissing him with her mouth wide open.

  Ready to take him in. All of him.

  Always.

  Because that was what love did.

  * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from A Detective’s Deadly Secrets by Anna J. Stewart.

  WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS BOOK FROM

  Danger. Passion. Drama.

  These heart-racing page-turners will keep you guessing to the very end. Experience the thrill of unexpected plot twists and irresistible chemistry.

  4 NEW BOOKS AVAILABLE EVERY MONTH!

  A Detective’s Deadly Secrets

  by Anna J. Stewart

  Chapter 1

  FBI special agent Eamon Quinn pulled in behind the Brass Eagle, the downtown Sacramento bar that had become his home away from home over the past few years. Bouncing between the state capital and the Bay Area had begun to take its toll, but working out of both branch offices gave him a wider range of focus. More potential cases. More people to connect with. More predators to stop.

  He parked in the back corner, killed the engine and, with a sigh, dropped his head back and closed his eyes.

  The adrenaline and energy that had been coursing through him for the better part of a week finally abated. Exhaustion crept into the void and made his eyes droop even as his stomach growled. Beneath the dim glow of the overhead streetlamp, the city, unaware of the nightmarish scene that had played out just a few hours prior, drifted silently into slumber, something Eamon planned to do just as soon as he dragged himself out of the car and up to the third floor.

  The back door slammed open. Eamon blinked his eyes open, turned his head and spotted Vince Sutton, owner of the Brass Eagle, as he hefted three giant bags of garbage into the dumpster. He dropped the lid closed, brushed his hands on the back of his jeans and, after a quick glance around the parking lot, headed Eamon’s way.

  “Been wondering when you’d get here.” Vince, all six-plus feet of him, rested a hand on the roof of Eamon’s vehicle as Eamon grabbed his duffel out of the back. “Simone called.” While Vince had become one of Sacramento’s premier private investigators in recent years, it was his marriage to Assistant District Attorney Simone Armstrong that would have clued him in on Eamon’s now closed case. Leave it to Simone, who was currently on extended maternity leave, to continue to have both ears perked for information. “Want to talk about it?”

  Vince wasn’t a coddler. He wasn’t a hand-holder. What he was was a realist with a sharp eye for the tough world he and Eamon both inhabited. “Not much to say.” Eamon locked his jaw. “Girl’s back with her parents.” Forever changed, but at least she was alive.

  “You got him,” Vince said simply, although the takedown had been anything but simple.

  The standoff had lasted for almost twelve hours and ended in a hail of bullets.

  “He had her for more than two weeks, Eamon. The odds of him surrendering peacefully—”

  “You know I don’t play the odds.” After more than ten years with a dedicated task force in the Crimes Against Children division of the FBI, Eamon had learned a long time ago that expecting a positive outcome was the shortest route to burnout. He always hoped, but even that fire didn’t burn as brightly as it once did. Cases like this one rarely ended with the victim being recovered alive. Even knowing that, it didn’t stop Eamon from trying to save as many as he could. He really should be considering this one a win.

  He hefted his bag over his shoulder and followed Vince into the bar through the back door. “She couldn’t have been his only victim,” Eamon said. “With this guy dead, we may never know how many there were. Forensics may come up with something, but—”

  “But by the time they do, you’ll already be on to your next case.” Vince finished the frequently spoken thought. “You did good, Eamon. Whatever else happened, that girl is alive partially because of you.”

  Yeah. But how many had died before they’d discovered the pattern? It was a thought that would keep him awake—in the future. But for now?

  “I’m glad to be here for our dinner tomorrow night.” Always anxious to lighten the mood rather than darken it, Eamon ignored the way his heart twisted at what the annual get-together with his friends represented. His sister had been gone for more than twenty years now and yet... “Looks like the sleepless nights are treating you okay, Vince,” he teased. “Come on. Let’s see the latest, Dad.”

  Vince grimaced, but there was a twinkle in his eye. “I really don’t want to be one of those—”

  “As one of Caleb’s honorary uncles, I refuse to let you finish that statement.” Eamon held out his hand for Vince’s phone, which was now displaying the most recent picture of his and Simone’s month-old son. “He definitely got your hairline,” Eamon teased.

  “But his mother’s eyes,” Vince said. “Other than him being healthy, that’s all I wanted. We’re thinking he might have gotten Eden’s attitude.”

  “For both your sakes, I hope that’s not true,” Eamon laughed. Their friend Eden St. Claire had a bit of a reputation of varying degrees, but despite her prickly flaws, her heart was probably bigger than everyone’s combined.

  The noise of the familiar Friday night crowd erupted through the swinging doors into the kitchen, which was buzzing with dinner activity. Eamon took a long, deep breath of stomach-tempting grilled onions, roasting meat and that always-there hint of bacon sizzling on the flattop.

  “Thanks for the use of the apartment again,” Eamon said as Vince stopped to let one of his servers pass. “I wasn’t looking forward to the drive back into the city.”

  “No thanks necessary. Since Jason moved in with Kyla, the place is yours whenever you need it. Besides, you’re family.” Vince’s lips twitched in an uncharacteristic grin. “After the last few years, I’d have thought you’d accepted that. Which reminds me—Jason slipped an invitation to his and Kyla’s wedding under your door. And before you argue, attendance is mandatory.”

  “I thought they were keeping it small.”

  “They are,” Vince said. “But there probably wouldn’t be a wedding if you hadn’t gone out on a limb with the O’Callahan case. My brother and Kyla aren’t ever going to forget you helped save their lives. Neither am I.”

  “Like you said. Family.” Eamon shrugged, not able to voice how much being included in the tight-knit group of ever-growing friends meant to him. He’d spent a lot of years—too many years—alone. Now he had more people in his life than he actually knew what to do with. His contact list had gone from near-empty to blowing up his phone. He readjusted his bag and made his way through the crowd at the bar. “I think I have just enough energy to wait on a burger to take with me upstairs.”

  “You might want to make time for a drink,” Vince suggested and nudged Eamon in the opposite direction of the stairs. “Back corner booth. Pretty brunette with sad eyes. She’s been in the past few nights asking after you.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Eamon wondered if his friend had begun to speak in code. Women didn’t come looking for him, but Vince’s shrug told him otherwise.

  “She stays long enough to finish a club soda and lime. Never orders any food. Normally she’s left by now, but as soon as Simone called about your case, I let her know I was almost sure you’d be here tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “She’s been here a good few hours.”

  Despite being so tired he had to will his eyes to stay open, Eamon’s gaze landed on target. Exhaustion evaporated, replaced by a long-dormant buzzing that accompanied anticipation and, more importantly, long-repressed attraction.

  “Lana.”

  Pretty brunette didn’t come close to describing Detective Lana Tate. Every cell in Eamon’s body shot to attention. Just the sight of her was enough to supercharge his drained system. She always was—to his mind, at least—the personification of a strong, capable, kick-butt female with enough smooth edges to make the smooth bourbon she preferred seem sharp.

  Eamon blew out a small, steadying breath. He hadn’t often met women who ticked all his appeal boxes: independent, athletic, smart, wicked sense of humor, dedicated.

  They’d laughed together, worked together, coasted case highs and lows together. Lana was one of the best cops he’d ever worked with, and the case they’d closed had earned both of them commendations and, in Lana’s case, a promotion.

  There had only been one thing wrong with her.

  Lana Tate had been very, very married.

  “I’m going to take that look on your face to mean Lana is a welcome surprise.” Vince grabbed Eamon’s bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I’ll have the kitchen send out that burger and a double order of fries. In case you want to share. With Lana,” he added with a grin that had Eamon suspecting Vince was going to be making a follow-up call to his wife to fill in the blanks.

  “Thanks, Vince.” Eamon scrubbed his suddenly damp palms down the front of his jeans. No one had ever made him feel quite as nervous as Lana Tate. Clearly the time since he’d last seen her hadn’t done much to temper that sensation. One glimpse of her and he felt as if he’d been shot out of a cannon, straight back to his insecure teenage years crushing on the head cheerleader. Not that Lana...

  She turned her head, dark eyes catching his in the blink of a heartbeat, and in that moment, he forgot to breathe. Her smile, when it curved those amazing, plump, unpainted lips of hers, carried an unfamiliar hint of uncertainty.

  “I’m feeling the urge to quote Bogart,” Eamon said by way of a greeting as he took the final few steps to her table and slid in across from her.

  “I trust you to resist the urge.” One hand clenched into a fist while the other tightened around the half-filled glass in front of her, and she let out a sigh of relief as her eyes softened. “Hope you don’t mind me dropping in on you this way. I know it’s been a while.”

  Eighteen months, twenty-two days, but who’s counting? “Thanks, Travis,” Eamon said to the bartender who set a beer in front of him. “You want another?” he asked Lana, who shook her head.

  “I’m good.”

  “Burger will be out in a few, Eamon,” Travis said before moving off.

  Seeing her close-up now, Eamon couldn’t help but think Lana appeared almost as an apparition of the woman he remembered. She’d lost weight, and not in a way that appeared healthy. She looked gaunt. Fragile, even. At the funeral he’d understood it. But now?

  She sipped her drink, her hand trembling a bit when she set it down. Eamon focused on keeping his expression passive even as concern cycloned inside him. There was a familiar tension tightening her body, from her fingertips all the way down to her toes. She was pulled taut and appeared to be waiting for someone to snap her free. He’d seen this before, a number of times, in his fellow agents. In other cops. In dozens of people with high-stress, demanding jobs.

  The wedding ring she used to wear on her finger now hung suspended on a thin gold chain, along with the familiar key pendant he’d never known her to be without.

  He pulled the bowl of spicy pretzels and peanuts closer, tamping down on his growing worry. “So.” He munched in an effort to keep his nerves at bay. “How long have you been?”

  “Been what?” Lana blinked as if coming out of a fog.

  “Sober.” He inclined his chin toward her glass. “How long have you been sober?”

  “Oh.” She closed her eyes and let out a breath that, when she looked at him again, allowed the Lana he remembered to shine through ever so slightly. She opened her fisted palm to reveal the round plastic chip noting ninety days’ sobriety. “I should have realized you’d... You never miss anything.” She shoved the chip into her front pocket before flipping over her cell phone that had been facedown on the table. “Four months, seventeen days.” Her smile was quick and cursory. “Six hours.”

  “Not counting the minutes, then?” He nodded with approval. “If me drinking will bother you, I can—” He signaled Travis, pushed his beer to the edge of the table, but Lana’s hand whipped out and caught his. Her hold on him was so tight so instantly, every alarm bell in his head went off.

  “It doesn’t. You’re fine.” She hesitated. “I know it’s strange. Me just showing up like this, tracking you down. I’m sorry we fell out of touch. I was a mess after the funeral.” There was an intensity in her voice that didn’t quite seem like Lana. “I should have... I know I said it at the time, but I appreciated you being there. Marcus would have appreciated it as well.”

  His gaze dropped back to the wedding band she still wore. “He was a good man, Lana. And it was a big loss for you. You don’t owe me an apology. The phone works both ways. I could have called and checked in.” Looking at her now, he realized he should have.

  How many times had he stared at his cell phone, looking at her contact information, finger hovered above the “call” button, knowing her voice was only a few seconds away? But that might have given up his deepest secret. That he’d been in love with her almost from the moment they’d first met.

  That he’d have given anything, anything, if she hadn’t been married. And then she hadn’t been and the idea of being near her while she was still grieving... No. The best course of action—for the both of them—had been to put as much distance between them as possible. She’d needed to grieve and move on with her life—without him hovering, waiting, hoping that perhaps someday she’d see him as more than a shoulder to cry on and someone to turn to.

  But as much as he wanted to be a part of her life, he did not want to be the rebound guy. The man who helped her move past her sorrow and on to someone else. Eamon was capable of a lot, but that he was not equipped to deal with.

  When he’d first seen her in the bar tonight, fresh hope had sprung to life, but whatever that hope might have been was now tempered by the cloud of sadness that enveloped her.

  “I’ve spent a couple of nights in here hoping to catch you,” she said quietly, then looked down at their hands as Eamon resisted the overwhelming temptation to slip his fingers between hers. “I meant it. You drinking isn’t going to derail or tempt me. Please, Eamon. Don’t change anything for me.”