Chapter One

JESSIE CLINE SLOWED THE PATROL CAR, BRINGING IT TO A stop in front of an early nineteen hundreds row house that was typical to the Sunset area of San Francisco. It was the address where the call for help had originated. She was about to follow her partner, Matt Spence, out of the police cruiser into the foggy late afternoon when the dispatcher's voice crackled over the radio, stopping her.

"Possible gunfire reported at your location."

"Copy that," Jessie said, responding immediately to the transmission. Then she stepped out to the street and unsnapped her holster. Matt's revolver was already in his hand. Another domestic dispute turned deadly? she wondered. Jessie hoped not. But they had to be ready—just in case.

Damn, she thought, glancing at the nearby draped and shuttered houses. She had a bad feeling. It was too quiet, too spooky. Something had scared the neighbors into lying low, out of the line of possible fire. There wasn't a person in sight anywhere, not even the one who'd made the call.

Upon reaching the porch steps, Matt continued up to the door while Jessie headed for the narrow walkway between houses that led to the back. She moved cautiously, her body edging along the side of the building, alert for whatever awaited her in the fenced backyard.

It was an anticlimax. The tiny enclosed patio was an unexpected oasis behind the drab house. It was a miniature paradise of multicolored flowers and overgrown evergreen shrubs, a fountain and a small table with two chairs, all positioned with the perfect balance of an artist about to paint a still life. The drapes on the French doors were closed so that she couldn't see into the residence itself. All was quiet except for the tinkle of water in the fountain.

Surreal, she thought. The brilliant blossoms were subdued by the thickening fog, and the line of cookie-cutter backyards were obscured by high fences. It was like no one existed on the planet, let alone in the Sunset area of San Francisco.

An icy finger seemed to touch her spine.

Jessie quickly checked out the backyard, her senses alert to the shuttered windows. She went to the backdoor and turned the knob. It was unlocked.

And then it suddenly opened to frame Matt in the doorway. "The front door was open but no one is here—except a dead woman," he said, shaking his head. "She's badly beaten and has multiple stab wounds, but death appears to be strangulation. The coroner will make the determination. Backup is on the way."

She nodded, realizing her partner was shaken by what he'd seen. "Everything secure out here," she said.

As in the past she'd wondered why Matt had become a policeman and not a lawyer. His interest was law enforcement but he seemed too sensitive for the grizzly reality of viewing violent death up close and personal.

Like her.

She hated the inhumanity-to-man aspect, the disregard for life. But she knew why Matt wasn't a lawyer and she wasn't an artist, as she'd originally planned. They both needed a steady income. She, like him, had a family to support and monthly bills to pay. And there was never anything left over to pursue dreams that cost money.

He nodded. "Okay. Go on back around to the front and wait for the backup. I'll make sure everything stays secure in the house."

She lifted a hand, acknowledging his request. He closed the door, and the drapes waved in the sudden draft, settling back over the windows. Jessie started toward the corner of the house, the only way out of a backyard that was enclosed by eight-foot fencing.

She'd just entered the narrow corridor between the houses when she caught a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye.

Before she could react it was too late. Someone had an arm around her neck, yanking her backward, someone who must have been hidden in the fog behind an overgrown shrub.

She managed to scream.

"Bitch!"

The man's word was muttered into her ear. Then her air was squeezed off as the arm tightened brutally on her neck. She struggled to raise her gun but a chop to her wrist dropped it from her hand. She was helplessly overcome by a superior strength. Her last thought was of her son, Danny. What would become of him if she weren't there to take care of him?

Jessie felt herself falling as the fog seemed to close in around her, shutting off her mind. She didn't even feel herself hit the sidewalk.

Copyright © 2004 by Donna Anders