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again. Another face from the past. Another step back into unwanted memories.
    She fixed her gaze at the scenery whizzing past the window, grateful for the silence in the vehicle. If someone had told her two days ago that she would be investigating her sister’s death with none other than Travis Gage, she would have scoffed. Yet here they were, doing just that.
    “Your work seems interesting,” Travis remarked, breaking the quiet lull.
    She shot him a sideways glance. “It is.”
    “I remember in high school you liked to draw, but I didn’t know you were into design. Were you a design major in college?”
    His eyes were focused on the road ahead, so he didn’t see the bitter twist of her mouth. How ignorant he was. “I didn’t go to college, Travis.”
    How was college ever an option? she wanted to add. Travis had come from a respectable, wealthy family. He had parents who could afford to send him to college, parents who encouraged him to go. But where did she come from? Her mother blew every dime on alcohol, and because of the time Rachel had spent cleaning up Hattie’s vomit and fighting strange men from their doorstep, her grades hadn’t been good enough to merit a scholarship.
    “I’m sorry, Rachel, I just assumed…” Travis’s voice drifted off, but she hadn’t missed the sharp tinge of pity in his tone.
    Well, she didn’t need his damn pity. “Don’t be sorry,” she said coolly. “I turned out just fine, without college. After high school, I got a job as a fitting model at a fashion house, which led to an apprenticeship.
    It took a few years, but I finally got my own design company off the ground.” Her mouth twisted into a dry smile. Huh, how nice the abridged version of her career struggles sounded. But, between the lines, there was a whole other story. A tale of a young girl with no options, forced to strut around in skimpy clothing for a sleazy, second-rate designer. A man who loved using her ambition against her, a man who took every opportunity to grope her—innocently, of course. And then years of climbing the ladder, years of begging retailers to look at her designs.
    Was it all worth it? Sure, she had two shows in New York and Milan every year. She made enough money to live more than comfortably. She got to see her lingerie and swimsuit designs in stores. Yet a part of her always wondered if her success was worth the shame it had taken to achieve it.
    “Why did you become a detective?” she asked, determined to change the subject. Thinking about the past was too painful, and it seemed that since Travis had walked back into her life, all she was doing was drowning in memories.
    Travis gave her a quick, sideways glance before turning his eyes back to the road. “A college friend of mine was murdered in sophomore year, and the cops investigating did a half-assed job and closed the case prematurely. I was a business major, but when I saw how incompetent those investigators were, I switched to criminology and joined the police academy.” He paused. “The first case I ever solved was my friend’s murder. It was four years later, but I finally offered his family what they’d desperately needed—closure.” He paused. “After that, I convinced the chief we needed a cold case unit. Funded it myself.” Rachel felt a spark of admiration at the passion she heard in Travis’s voice. She knew that passion would work to her advantage. If Travis was as focused on Carrie’s suicide, she might get the closure she also needed.
    “Okay, I think we need to turn right here,” he said absently.
    She looked at the window and saw that they’d reached the town of Woodland. They were driving down a street lined with tall Victorian homes, and the neighborhood looked so wholesome her throat tightened. Such a contrast to the place where she’d grown up. Her childhood home was falling apart.
    Broken shutters, peeling paint, a lawn overgrown with weeds. Hattie had been too intoxicated to tend to their