Innocent Target. Elisabeth Rees

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      Chief Deputy Ryan Lawrence surveyed the quiet street outside the station. When he’d taken the job as the chief deputy at the Bethesda station one week ago, nobody had warned him it would be so quiet. His hometown of Lawton, with its almost one hundred thousand residents, was huge in comparison to this little town of barely three thousand. He’d agreed to transfer to the small satellite office in order to take a promotion that would put him in line for the sheriff’s election in a few months’ time. He just hoped that landing his dream job as county sheriff was worth the endless monotony of this sleepy town.

      The radio clipped to his belt crackled to life: “We’ve got a report from Kitty Linklater of an intruder at 62 Lakeside Drive. Immediate assistance required.”

      He grabbed the radio and spoke into it as he retrieved the truck keys from the hook. “I’m on it.”

      Ryan raced along the road that led to the Linklater home—the former residence of the murderer Harry Linklater. It was the place where Harry’s daughter had dreamed up ridiculous notions of proving her father’s innocence and freeing him from prison. Ryan had hoped he’d be able to steer clear of this misguided woman, but she apparently needed his help, so his personal feelings would have to be put to one side.

      He knew that Kitty was deeply unpopular in these parts, reviled for her unwavering support of her father and regarded as sullying the memory of the murdered girl through her newspaper articles questioning the jury’s verdict. Molly Thomas had been a gifted musician and a straight A student, a girl whose only mistake had been to accept a lift from Harry Linklater when hitchhiking to a party. Molly’s last known words were a text to a friend: Catching a ride with Mr. Linklater, see you in ten minutes. But she never made it to the party and was found dead a few hours later. Molly’s untimely death had shattered the whole county, and now perhaps someone wanted vengeance.

      He turned onto the lane that led to the lake, instantly seeing a woman who he assumed was Kitty sprinting in his direction, covered in leaves and twigs, blood trickling down her face. And behind her was a man dressed in jeans and a hoodie, a ski mask covering his face. Ryan slammed on his brakes to avoid hitting Kitty, jumped from the truck and raised his gun at the suspect.

      “Stop right there,” he commanded, pointing his weapon. “You’re under arrest.”

      Kitty stood in the lane, her eyes wide with fear, her hands trembling at her sides. The masked man stopped dead, looking between Ryan and the lake, as if assessing his escape routes. Then he turned and ran toward the water, a blade glinting in his hand.

      Ryan gave immediate chase.

      He was gaining ground on the suspect, but not enough to buy him the time he needed. When the man reached the jetty, he jumped into a small wooden boat and used the blade in his hand to quickly cut the mooring rope. He then activated the motor and pushed it to maximum throttle, sending a wash of water cascading onto the pebbles along the shoreline. Ryan came to a halt and could do nothing but watch as the intruder made his escape over the glittering lake.

      Ryan holstered his weapon and walked back to Kitty, finding her sitting in the passenger seat of his truck, staring straight ahead, shock written across her face. He slid into the driver’s seat.

      “I’m Chief Deputy Ryan Lawrence from the sheriff’s office in Bethesda,” he said. “Are you Kitty Linklater?”

      She nodded.

      “I’m sorry to say that your intruder escaped across the lake,” he continued. “Can you tell me exactly what happened here?”

      Her voice shook with emotion. “Somebody is trying to kill me.”

      “Did he hurt you? Do you need medical attention?”

      “I’m not hurt,” Kitty replied. “At least not physically, anyway.”

      He studied her face. Her eyes were the darkest brown, a perfect match for her hair, and set in an exotic and striking face. It was a cliché, but she had movie-star looks, reminding him of a young Sophia Loren. Yet her clothes were anything but glamorous. She wore threadbare old jeans and an oversize shirt, both of which appeared to be torn from a scuffle or a fall.

      “Why do think that this man is trying to kill you?” he asked, flipping open his notepad. “Try to stay calm and tell me all the relevant details.”

      “I’ve been investigating the murder of Molly Thomas in an effort to prove that my father couldn’t possibly have done it,” she said. “And now that I’m getting closer to the truth, the real killer wants me dead.”

      He nodded silently, pushing down a sudden rush of anger. Murderers like Harry Linklater always denied their crimes. Ryan had seen it all before. The monster who’d killed his sister, Gina, when she was only nine years of age had protested his innocence for almost twenty years. Despite overwhelming forensic evidence against him, Cody Jones had repeatedly tried to appeal his conviction, with no success. It was only twelve months ago that Jones had finally admitted his guilt in the hope of securing a successful parole hearing. Men like this were liars, manipulators and tricksters. And Harry Linklater was no different.

      Ryan’s distaste must have shown on his face, giving his feelings away.

      “You don’t believe me, do you?” she said, a note of resignation in her voice. “You think my father’s guilty, just like the rest of this town does.”

      Ryan recalled being drafted from Lawton two years earlier to assist with the forensic sweep of the area where Molly had been found dead. He had arrived before the body was moved and it was a sight that would haunt him forever. Harry had attempted to burn Molly’s remains to destroy the evidence, but it wasn’t quite enough to cover his tracks.

      “It doesn’t much matter what I think,” he replied, reaching for a first aid box in the glove compartment. “Because a jury found your father guilty and he’s now serving his time. I’m not interested in protecting your father, Miss. Linklater. I’m interested in protecting you. So let’s stick to the facts of the matter, okay?”

      He took a wad of tissue from the first aid box and held it to her forehead, where a small cut was bleeding.

      “The fact of the matter is that this man wants me dead,” she said, taking the tissue from his hand and applying her own pressure instead. “Because he wants to hide the truth about Molly’s death. It’s proof that my dad is innocent.”

      Ryan didn’t buy this one bit. Proof involved actual evidence—evidence like traces of Molly’s blood on the seats of Harry’s car and his total lack of verifiable alibi. Harry was guilty. Everyone but Kitty knew it.

      She stared him down. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but I know I’m onto something, and when I finally prove that my father was wrongfully imprisoned, I’ll happily accept an apology from you, Chief Deputy Lawrence.”

      With the blood drying on her face and her eyes blazing, she had the appearance of a soldier straight from the battlefield. And he was quietly impressed by her resolve. But he had no desire to indulge her fantasies of her father’s victimhood. There was only one victim in this scenario and she was buried in Bethesda town cemetery.

      “I can promise you that I’ll thoroughly investigate this attack and do all I can to bring the perpetrator to justice,” he said, starting up the truck. “So why don’t we drive on down to your house, where I can take a full statement from you. Are you okay with that?”

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