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PROLOGUE
Tabitha Reynoldsdidn’t want to get out of the shower.
Even though thespace heater was on and waiting for her once she opened the door and steppedonto the bathmat, it was warmer inside the cozy confines of the shower. It waslate December and Tabitha’s Venice, California loft was notoriously drafty.Just the thought of leaving the bathroom and returning to the open living spacemade her shiver. Plus, for reasons she couldn’t understand, her muscles feltstrangely achy, and she wanted to give them a little more time to unclench.
She knew that sheshouldn’t complain. After all, things were mostly going her way. Ever since thedivorce two years ago, her professional life had improved dramatically. Shedecided to turn her love of fashion into a career and started her own blogbefore adding YouTube, Instagram, and TikTok channels. In less than eighteenmonths, she’d gained over two million followers across her various platforms.That was how she’d been able to move out of her crappy Mar Vista apartment intothis spacious, if admittedly chilly, loft apartment.
Her personal life,however, had gotten a little messier. Just thinking about it made her chesttighten slightly, forcing her to inhale deeply to get in the necessary air. Fora while, she wasn’t even interested in dating again. And after she struck gold withher fashion commentary, she didn’t feel like she could trust that any of theguys she met were sincere in their interest.
Things with hernine-year-old daughter, Samantha, were also a little iffy of late. The girl haddeveloped a bit of an attitude in recent months, and Tabitha couldn't help butwonder if it was because of the reduction in available mother-daughter time dueto work. Unlike when she was a stay-at-home mom, this fashion thing wassometimes all-consuming, and Sammy often paid the price. Tabitha’s eyes weresuddenly a little blurry as she tried to blink back the tears that had emergedout of nowhere.
She would havefelt guilty about allowing this week’s activities if it hadn’t been on thebooks for weeks. According to the custody schedule, Sammy’s father was supposedto have her next week, after Christmas and through New Year’s Day. But he’dspecifically requested that they change it so he could take her camping andspend Christmas Day in Yosemite. Tabitha had conceded, even though she knewthat Sammy wasn’t super enthused to spend her Christmas in a tent surrounded bysnow and that she would hold on to her resentment for weeks after shereturned.
Since it was outof her hands, Tabitha tried to let it go. She also tried to remember that shewas entitled to some downtime. That's why this evening, her friend Marnie wouldbe coming over for a girls' night, comprised of good white wine and a double billof crappy romantic comedies. She looked at the clock on the wall and saw thatit was 4:36 p.m. Marnie would be here in just under an hour.
What ultimatelymade her turn off the water wasn't any pressure to get ready in time or a senseof guilt at taking a twelve-minute shower. It was the odd feeling she wasexperiencing. It occurred to her that all of the strange sensations she'd beenexperiencing over the last few minutes hadn't gone away. In fact, they seemedto be getting worse.
Her slightlyblurry had escalated to full-on fuzzy. Those achy muscles were now both stiffand weak. The tension in her chest had gotten significantly more pronounced.She found it increasingly difficult to breathe, as if her upper torso muscleswere refusing her instructions to breathe in and out normally.
Even wrapping thetowel around her body and stepping out of the shower was a challenge, as herarms and legs weren't responding properly. She moved over to the bathroomcounter and rested her palms on it for support. She wasn't sure what was goingon. She'd felt fine when she entered the bathroom, but over the course of thelast fifteen minutes, it was like her body had started to shut down.
She blinkedseveral times, trying to focus. That’s when she noticed something on thecounter that she’d missed before. It was a canister—what looked like an aerosolspray can, hidden behind several other cans at the very back of the counter.But it didn’t have any brand markings on it. It was just a silver, metal can.She didn’t remember buying anything like that or getting it as a gift.
Her thoughtsturned away from the can as she realized that it was no longer just difficultto breathe, it was borderline impossible. She reached over to grab her cellphone, which was resting on the counter by the sink. She wasn’t sure if thiswas a heart attack or what, but she felt the urgent need to call 911.
But as sheextended her hand for the phone, she discovered that all her limbs now seemedto be nearly paralyzed. She couldn’t maintain her balance. Her fingers brushedagainst the phone, knocking it to the floor, Then, without warning, her entirebody careened to the left and landed with a thud. It wasn’t as painful as shewould have expected, mostly because everything felt increasingly numb.
As she attemptedto reach out for her phone, she tried to inhale deeply but found that she couldbarely suck in any air at all. Fear began to grip her as she realized she mightnot have the ability to call for help and that if this didn’t get better fast,she wouldn’t be able to breathe at all.
She focused allher attention on two things: reaching her phone and getting air into her lungs.She watched her fingers grip the bathmat, trying to pull her hand closer to thephone, which was only six inches away. She ordered her lips to suck in anothergulp of air to give her strength to tap the phone.
But to her horror,she realized that even they were no longer responding. She could not get anyair into her body. And then, without her even understanding that it washappening, her heart stopped.
Her fingerssettled on top of the phone as her world went dark forever.
CHAPTER ONE
Jessie Hunt addeda hint of soy sauce to the pan, then mixed it in with the slowly caramelizingBrussels sprouts. The smell made her mouth water.
At the butcherblock behind her, her husband Ryan was cutting pieces of chicken thighs intocubes that would be added to the pan momentarily. She silently admired hismuscular forearms, flexing as they cut. Then, she allowed herself to admire therest of him.
She lingered onhis squarejaw and the firm, two-hundred pound, six-foot tall body that strained at hisdress shirt before taking special notice of the features that had firstattracted her to him—his warm brown eyes, shy grin, and adorable dimples.
Just off to theside of him, the red onions and mushrooms were waiting in separate bowls, readyto be included when the time was right. Neither of them were cooks on the levelof her younger half-sister, but considering that Hannah wasn’t here tonight, theywere doing the best they could. Jessie might even allow herself a glass of wineif they were truly satisfied with the results.
She remindedherself not to get too comfortable. Just because it was approaching 6 p.m. on aThursday evening and Christmas was only three days off, that didn’t mean thatshe and Ryan couldn’t get a call at any minute. Considering that Ryan was thedetective in charge of LAPD’s Homicide Special Section, or HSS, and that Jessiewas the unit’s criminal profiler, it was entirely possible that their dinnercould be interrupted. In fact, considering that HSS specialized in cases with high profiles orintense media scrutiny—typically involving multiple victims or serial killers,it was more likely than not to happen.
Nonetheless,Jessie hoped that they wouldn’t get a call tonight. They needed a quiet eveningtogether. So much had happened in the eight months since they’d gotten marriedthat it often felt like they hadn’t gotten a chance to catch their breath.
There were thehuge events, like Jessie having brain surgery after swelling caused by multiplecase-related concussions. In addition, Hannah—as well as Jessie’s best friend,Kat Gentry—had nearly been killed by a professional assassin hired to snuff outthe lives of those closest to Jessie. And to top it all off, a vengeful serialkiller named Mark Haddonfield had tried to murder her as “punishment” for nottaking him under her wing as a profiler-in-training.
As Jessie stirredthe contents of the pan, she almost laughed to herself at the absurdity of it.After all, that was just the big stuff. It didn’t include the fact that Hannah,for whom Jessie had served as guardian the last two years, was now in her freshmanyear at UC Irvine, which was fifty miles and a world away. And it didn’tinclude the ongoing couples therapy that Jessie and Ryan were going through todeal with her residual trust issues after Ryan had held back details about acase in order to protect her. His decision had ultimately put Hannah and Kat inthe cross-hairs of that assassin, a woman named Ash Pierce.
“I was going toadd the mushrooms,” she told Ryan, “unless you think it’s too early.”
“No, that’s good,”he said, his eyes focused intently on making the cubes of meat as symmetricalas possible. “The chicken will be ready to go in too in another minute or so.”
Jessie smiled. Atleast they could agree on dinner prep. That was something considering theirlack of harmony on other issues. One in particular, while not life-threatening,could prove life-altering. That was their ongoing disagreement about whether ornot to have children. Ryan, previously married and without kids, was desperateto have them. Jessie, also once-married, had suffered through a difficultmiscarriage well into her pregnancy, and was far less enthused by the prospectof trying again.
