Silent Night Suspect. Sharee Stover

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      Slade flinched at the verbal attack. Deserved, but painful nonetheless. The venomous words stabbed his heart, a vicious reminder of his failures. His guilt. And he couldn’t agree with Asia more.

      She’d never forgive him. And she’d never understand that turning in Zander had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. Maybe to some degree, she was right to blame him for Zander’s death. But he hadn’t complied with Zander’s unfathomable request to arrest him for the pleasure of earning a promotion, or anything else self-serving.

      Zander’s plan should’ve been simple. Slade would publicly arrest him so Quenten would believe his insider had been compromised. Then Zander would compile whatever evidence he’d assured Slade he had, ferret out the mole within the Nebraska State Patrol, turn state’s evidence and go into WITSEC. Zander had refused to share the details with Slade, wanting to protect him by not dragging him into the mire.

      Except everything went horribly wrong, and within twenty-four hours of being arrested, processed and released on bail, Zander was murdered. Slade had no evidence of corruption, no proof of a mole, and he’d been marked a backstabbing cop for turning in his partner. He bore Asia’s blame and anger and was left in an impossible situation of keeping Zander’s secret even after his death.

      “A good partner would’ve helped him instead of taking the first opportunity to prove your disloyalty for a lousy promotion.”

      Slade didn’t refute her words, but if she only knew the truth... Zander always got everything he wanted, including Asia. Slade had respected her decision all those years ago, tucking his own feelings far away where they couldn’t hurt either of them. He inhaled and replied with stale facts. “He was a drug-addicted thief working with that guy.” He pointed at Quenten’s body. “Which brings me back to what you’re doing here with a gun and a dead man. The circumstances, such as they are, aren’t looking good for you.”

      “I’m fully aware of how this looks. Contrary to yours and the entire state patrol’s beliefs, I’m not stupid.”

      His radio squawked, halting their conversation.

      “Go ahead,” he answered.

      “Multivehicle injury accident with confirmed fatality on Highway 275. Backup is delayed. Will dispatch next closest ambulance,” the dispatcher rattled on.

      Just another night in rural Nebraska. Never enough responders, and everything happened at once. “Ten-four,” he acknowledged. “Guess it’ll be a bit before they get here. So how about if we start over? First, your injury appears to be a through-and-through gunshot wound, from the little I can see. May I take a closer look?”

      She glanced down and removed the cloth. “Fine.”

      Slade examined her bleeding shoulder then pressed the fabric tighter against the injury. “Yep, looks like the bullet went clean through.” A blood-matted section on the back of her head caught his eye. “You’ve got a head injury too.”

      “What?”

      When he reached out to examine her, she flinched at his touch. He retracted his hand, the sting of her rejection piercing his heart. They used to be friends. “I won’t hurt you.” I’ve done enough damage already to last a lifetime. “I only want to check the injury.”

      “Okay.”

      He withdrew his flashlight, then separated her raven shoulder-length hair clotted with dried blood to reveal a goose egg.

      “Ouch!” Asia dodged to the side.

      He jerked back his hand and replaced the light in his gun belt. “Sorry. Any idea where you got that knot?”

      “No.”

      “Do you have any other injuries?”

      She narrowed her eyes. “If I weren’t handcuffed, I might be able to answer your question.”

      The department-issued restraints latched on her wrists tore at him. Never in his wildest imagination had he considered the possibility of arresting Asia. “It’s protocol.”

      “Right—I forgot you never break the rules.” Her uncharacteristic sarcasm sliced through his heart.

      When had she grown so cold toward him? The sweet girl he’d known all his life had morphed into an angry woman, but he saw fear in her dark eyes masked behind the facade of her bitter tone.

      “I’ll remove the handcuffs, but don’t try anything stupid.”

      “You’re joking, right?”

      Joking was the furthest thing from his mind. This whole situation was beyond his comprehension. He knelt in front of her and removed the cuffs. Asia was the last person he’d thought capable of murder. Almost fifteen years in law enforcement had awakened him to a lot of unbelievable realities. Still, his gut said she wasn’t guilty. Or was it his heart?

      Asia lifted her hand and rubbed her wrists, then gingerly fingered the head wound and winced. “That solves the mystery behind my headache and the internal bullhorn amplifying every word you speak.”

      Slade stilled her with a raised palm. It was too quiet.

      “I—”

      “Shh.”

      She glared at him but remained silent.

      He stepped into the hallway and scanned the two bedrooms again. He entered the back bedroom, stepping around the king-size mattress and knee-high junk piles to the window. Slade peered out of the broken blinds into the darkness.

      The trailer was located in the middle of an abandoned farm away from the road. A large dilapidated shed surrounded by mounds of jalopy cars sat two hundred feet from the mobile and close to the neglected cornfields. Slade lifted the window and scanned the area with his flashlight, illuminating the ominous shadows.

      Nothing but the wind whipping over the land and trees greeted him. He slid the window closed and repeated his surveillance in the bedroom facing the front of the property. Trash bags and boxes stacked high obscured the window, forcing Slade to move around the mess. He shifted between the towering displays of clutter and glanced out the dirty glass. A glimmering light flickered in the distance.

      A shiver writhed up his spine. The light faded. A passing car on the county road?

      He returned to the small living room. The home had to be at least thirty years old. Deserted and in the middle of nowhere. Not a place he’d expect to find Asia. So why had she texted him to meet her here?

      A sense of foreboding hung heavy in the air like the putrid atmosphere. Maybe he should just arrest her and get out of here. The isolated locale left them exposed and too far from help. Whatever her situation, they’d work out the details at the patrol office. He closed the space between them, determined. “I think we’d better—”

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