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there.’
    Alyssa went back to her desk while Clay reread the contents of the file written in Nicki’s precise hand. Evan Reardon had made some stupid choices. The most stupid was cheating on his wife with Margo Winchester, a pole-dancing floozy, but a close runner-up was thinking he’d be able to walk away when he was done with her.
    Margo made good on her threat to expose their affair. Evan’s wife left him, taking their three kids. She was staying with her folks and all she’d told Nicki was that Evan was not the man she’d married. Then she’d shut the door in Nicki’s face.
    Evan still hadn’t married Margo and the woman had become violent. He’d approached the police, but that hadn’t gone so well. Margo’s dad, like Alyssa’s, was a cop. Unlike Alyssa’s dad, Margo’s was not a good cop. Evan had been harassed, followed by the police who seemed to be looking for something to use against him.
    So Evan hadn’t reported the stalking and it had become worse. He’d finally come to Nicki when Margo began threatening his kids. He wanted to draw her away from his children. He wanted Margo to think he was dead. Drastic, but he’d been desperate.
    Helping people start over was what Clay and Nicki did best. New identities were harder in the post-9/11 world, but still possible if one had the right skills. Clay and Nicki had the skills. They always made sure the client was telling the truth, checking out all aspects of the story. This one was stickier as bad cops were involved.
    Bad cops existed, Clay knew. It was the main reason he himself was a former cop. He’d been unable to look the other way and made the wrong bad cop mad.
    He sighed, wishing again that Nic hadn’t picked this week to get away from it all. They’d had some close calls, but had never lost a client. Maybe until now. He closed and locked his briefcase. He needed to find out what happened to Evan Reardon.

Chapter Three

Monday, May 3, 8.30 A.M.
    J D waited behind his car while Stevie parked hers in the garage adjacent to the morgue. The ME’s rig had left the scene an hour before, so hopefully Dr Trask had some new information for them. He and Stevie had spent the time interviewing the neighbors, but no one had seen anything.
    Stevie locked her car. ‘I meant to thank you for covering for me this morning.’
    ‘Not a problem. I may need you to do the same for me some day.’
    They were nearing the morgue door and JD steeled himself. He really hated the morgue. He didn’t know how the MEs stood working here every day.
    ‘I’d say this case is a trial by fire for you,’ Stevie said.
    ‘Don’t worry. I’ve seen worse.’
    ‘The man’s been pounded into pulp, his fingers removed, and his heart cut out. And that’s before we’ve looked under his clothes. And you’ve seen worse.’
    ‘I’ve seen worse,’ he repeated mildly. And he had. Which was sad.
    ‘You ever work a torture case in Narcotics?’ she asked.
    ‘No,’ he said and she rolled her eyes.
    ‘Dammit, JD, are you gonna make me dig this out of you with a grapefruit spoon?’
    His lips twitched, just a little. ‘Sorry. I’m not used to all the questions.’ He was not used to having a partner try to get into his head, but he’d known Stevie would. Getting into minds was her thing.
    ‘You say you’ve seen worse. In Kandahar?’
    JD frowned. She knew where he’d been. And what he’d done. Not many people knew, but her husband – JD’s best friend – had. ‘Yes.’
    ‘Paul said you gave him permission to tell me.’
    He had. Paul never would have said a word if he hadn’t given the okay. ‘Back then I never thought we’d be partners.’
    Stevie smiled sadly. ‘I can forget. Pretend I never knew.’
    ‘No, it’s okay.’
    ‘You do know you have nothing to be ashamed of, right? You served your country, JD. You did right.’
    JD thought of all those lonely days and nights, sitting alone, his sight trained on the spot through which his target would