For the First Time

JoJo closed her eyes and struggled to think about what happened. The sound of the tires screeching. The vague shape of the body behind the wheel. The back of the van moving away from her as she screamed and screamed and ran so hard after them.

She couldn’t remember one stupid letter of the license plate. She didn’t think she even looked at it.

CHAPTER ONE

MARK SHARPE LOOKED across his desk at the latest job candidate. Her hair was slicked into a tight ponytail, with a straight heavy band of dark hair falling down her back. The nose stud she obviously sported had been removed for the interview. She wore a black turtleneck blouse that looked as if it was strangling the life out of her under her suit jacket.

Occasionally, when she fidgeted with the collar, he could see the hint of ink peeking out.

A nose stud and a neck tattoo. Who knew what else she was hiding?

“I wanted to let you know how impressed I was with your work on the Anderson case,” she said.

Josephine Hatcher was the second investigator he’d interviewed. The previous one had wanted to talk about the Anderson case, too. Interviewing 101, he supposed—compliment the boss on his work. Some days, though, that case didn’t feel like an accomplishment. It felt like a family ripped to shreds starting with the murder of a daughter by her own father.

“First getting the coroner’s ruling of suicide overturned and then learning her father was behind the poisoning had to be shocking. He’d been free for thirteen years until you uncovered the truth.”

The other candidate had said almost the same thing. Mark was a genius, a detecting marvel, a hero for justice. Blah, blah, blah...

“It took you a little long, though.”

“Excuse me?” The other candidate hadn’t said that.

“After you exhumed the body and were able to confirm the girl had been poisoned, the number of suspects was limited to her family and her boyfriend. Few others would have had sufficient access to her over the prolonged period of time it took to her kill her. Once you knew the method, how hard was it to eliminate suspects?”

“Not hard.”

Her lips twitched. “Just saying. Can I ask why you opened the case?”

“Anonymous tip.”

“Probably someone who knew her, knew the family dynamic.”

“Probably,” he grumbled. Who the hell was interviewing whom?

“Did you find the source of the tip?”

“No.”

“Did you look?”

Yes, but he wasn’t about to admit that to her. Anonymous tips were tricky. Sometimes they panned out. Sometimes they didn’t. Mark always preferred identifying the source of an anonymous tip as a way of evaluating the reliability of the information. But he hadn’t been able to locate the person who had sent him the copy of the coroner’s report along with the plainly typed note that simply read, She didn’t do it.

It had been enough to pique his interest. Especially when he read the report and the police file. Suicide had been a stretch, he thought. When people chose to kill themselves they wanted it done immediately.

This girl had been dying for months.

“That doesn’t matter now—the case is closed. So, I should tell you I’m looking for someone with several years’ experience.” It was a prelude, he thought. A way to cushion the blow he was preparing to deliver.

“I’ve been working in the field independently for four years, and apprenticed with another investigator two years before that while earning my master’s in criminology.”

He sighed. He should have figured she would be the type to put up a fight. Couldn’t she pick up on all the subtle no signs he was throwing out? It wasn’t that she wasn’t qualified—of course she was qualified or she wouldn’t have gotten as far as this interview.

The problem was her. There was something about her that made him want to squirm in his chair. It was completely irrational. He had no idea why he felt this way. But he was a man who relied on his gut. His gut said no. His gut said she was trouble.

Mark really hoped that gut feeling wasn’t based on the fact that when he looked her in the eyes, he had a suspicion she was smarter than he was. Because that would probably make him an ass.

“I’m targeting a certain type of clientele.” Hell, that made him sound like a snob. Now he was a snob and an ass.

“I imagine paying ones.”

There was no point in prolonging the inevitable. He’d made his decision almost instantly. The moment he’d shaken her hand and it fit so securely in his. A knee-jerk reaction that told him to run.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Hatcher, but I’m not sure you’re the right fit.”

He watched her shoulders slump. Only for a second, though, then she straightened. “Can I ask why? You have my résumé. You know I’m more than capable.”

It was a ridiculously impressive résumé. A bachelor’s in psychology from New York University, and that master’s of criminology from Columbia—graduated top of her class in both. She’d worked for a medium-size private investigator firm for the six years since. She was changing jobs only because the firm’s owner had decided to retire and she wasn’t happy with the new ownership. Her former boss, Tom Reid, happened to know Ben Tyler—Mark’s former boss and adversary from their days in the CIA together.

That Tom knew Ben wasn’t a surprise. It seemed everybody, at some point in their life, knew Ben Tyler, who headed up the Tyler Group—a small troubleshooting firm located in Philadelphia. Ben employed a few detectives so Reid had forwarded him Josephine’s résumé. Ben—recognizing that he had deprived Mark of his assistant, Anna, by knocking her up and marrying her—had sent Josephine’s résumé to Mark instead.

On paper, she was exactly what he was looking for. He’d already found someone to replace Anna’s duties from an administrative aspect, but his business was gaining a solid reputation and with that came more cases. Trying to make his schedule work with his daughter’s was becoming a challenge. Adding a trained, licensed investigator—one recommended by someone Ben trusted—was like a godsend.

But she wasn’t going to fit. Her eyes were too blue. A deep color that made him think they could see through anything—probably a great quality in an investigator but not such a great quality in a colleague.

“Can I ask you a question?” It was probably unfair to drag out the interview, especially since he’d decided not to hire her. He was curious and wanted to confirm his suspicions that she was, in fact, trouble.

“I think that’s what I’m here for.” She half smiled and again fiddled with the cloth around her neck.

“You’ve got a really impressive résumé. Did you ever consider applying for the FBI?”

“Not really my thing.”

“What about your local police force?”

“Also not my thing.”

Right. Trouble. Just like he suspected.

“Yet according to your list of special skills, you’ve spent months at several law enforcement training camps specializing in firearms and hand-to-hand combat. I guess I’m curious why you wanted to train like an agent, but didn’t want to be an agent.”

He watched her crack her neck as she seemed to search for an answer that was accurate, honest and didn’t cost her the job—even though it was already too late.

Almost too late.

“While law enforcement—either as a police officer or a federal agent—is an honorable career path for many, I was concerned that the confines of the hierarchal structure would be too limiting. Especially for someone in the minority sex.”

She didn’t like authority or sexist pigs.