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CHAPTER ONE

Autumn's yellow-and-orange-tinged Appalachian Mountains painted a picturesque scene from the highway, but up close, under those trees and alone on the trail, the shadowy woods seemed menacing. Emma pulled her jacket tighter, wishing she was back in DC and her snug apartment, where she could hole up, shut out the rest of the world and wallow in her grief. But her twin brother's death was shrouded in questions, and she needed answers, so she continued to trudge along the trail, dodging roots and branches, until she reached the clearing.

Nothing about the old fishing cabin had changed—the same weathered siding, rusty metal roof and porch shady enough to provide a little reprieve on the hottest of West Virginia summer days. She eyed the wooden rocker tucked in the shadows, and childhood memories surfaced: tree forts and fireflies, lazing the evening away listening to Mama rocking back and forth, and her and Daniel as children tossing and whirling in the crinkly leaves of autumn. She shook her head and kept walking. Memories were a rabbit hole she couldn't afford to go down right now. She needed to stay focused and alert.

She kicked through the leaves to the side of the house and found the key where it always was, under the rock by the woodpile. Gripping it in her fingers, she climbed the steps onto the porch, then paused. The sighing of the wind in the treetops, a bird's sweet chirps, the cracks and pops of small rodents scurrying through fallen leaves—nothing but the sounds of nature, but still something seemed off. Goose bumps pricked her skin. She rubbed them down, told herself that it was nothing, that it was just her imagination, and unlocked the cabin door, pushing it open slowly.

Everything remained as Daniel had left it: a pair of mud-caked boots rested by the door, a fishing pole propped at an angle in the corner, an old shirt tossed over the back of a chair. She felt the fabric, soft and thin from years of use, and pressed it to her face, inhaling a hint of wood smoke and exhaling a jagged breath. Not even thirty, Daniel had had his whole life ahead of him before he was fatally shot. Officially, he'd been one more police officer killed in the line of duty. Unofficially, she suspected more to the story.

She shivered again, an uneasy feeling crawling over her as if she was being watched. Silly, she thought. She was alone, and there was a task to finish, so she shook off her fear and crouched next to the marred wood table. She removed her cell phone and replayed Daniel's last voicemail message to her: Hey, sis. Tried calling a couple times, but... Anyway, I'm at the cabin, just stopped by before my shift, and...well...this may sound weird, but a while ago I stashed some valuable info about a cold case until I needed it. Now things are getting strange here, and I don't know who I can trust. I can't say too much on a message, so call me when you get this, okay? I'll explain everything.

Guilt washed over her. She'd been caught up in a deadline from her editor and had her phone turned off. If only she'd answered, maybe he'd still be alive.

"I'll find the truth, I promise," she half whispered as she removed her pack, took out a small pocketknife and leveraged the blade along the edge of the third floorboard from the wall. Their private childhood "treasure stash," as they called it. If there was any truth to her gut feeling that Daniel's death was more than a random shooting, it would be here.

The board popped loose, and inside was a waterproof bag, and inside that, a leather-bound notebook. She turned it over in her hands and leafed through the pages. Daniel's police notebook. She stood and carried it to the front window for better light, skimming one page, and another. He'd recorded several investigative notes, calls he'd responded to, a couple of incidents involving teens, a domestic call, a drunk driver. She scowled, glancing back at the hiding spot. Nothing unusual in his notes, so why was it hidden?

She turned to leave, and her gaze caught on a small black box mounted near the door. A security camera. Daniel hadn't mentioned getting security cameras. Did he have trouble with break-ins? The cabin was usually unoccupied, and there was nothing here of value to take, but the place wasn't visible from the road, so it'd be easy to... Her head jerked up as a flash of movement outside the window drew her attention. Something wove between the trees at the edge of the clearing. She squinted. A deer? Or a coyote? She'd seen them before. Mangy things. But then a form took shape, not animal, but human, and a man emerged from the tree line, dressed in camo with a gaiter covering his face. He carried a pistol.

Emma crouched and scurried back to her backpack, cramming the notebook inside and fumbling with its zipper. She peered back through the window. The man was moving closer, so she fell to all fours, crawling across the floor, splinters from the rough wood tearing at her jeans until she reached the back door. Her heart hammered in her throat. She could run for cover in the forest behind the cabin, but the span to the tree line seemed impossibly long. She'd be out in the open, exposed and a moving target, but footsteps sounded on the front porch, the doorknob jostled, and she had no choice. She was out of time.