Final Chance (A Maggie Flight Suspense Thriller—Book Two) E-Book

Kate Bold

• Herausgeber: Lukeman Literary Management
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: A Maggie Flight Suspense Thriller
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 265

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

"This is an excellent book… When you start reading, be sure you don't have to wake up early!" —Reader review for The Killing Game ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ CBI Agent Maggie Flight confronts a sinister force in Silicon Valley as tech moguls fall prey to their own creations. In a deadly game of innovation and retribution, can Maggie crack the killer's algorithm before they choose their next target? This is BOOK #2 in a new series by #1 bestselling mystery and suspense author Kate Bold, whose bestsellers have received over 600 five star ratings and reviews. This gripping crime series navigates through unexpected turns, heart-pounding action, and startling twists and turns. With its addictive storytelling and intricate plot, this page-turner will have you burning the midnight oil, unable to put it down until you've unraveled every last clue. Fans of Lee Child, Kendra Elliot, and Robert Dugoni are sure to fall in love. Future books in the series are also available. "This book moved very fast and every page was exciting. Plenty of dialogue, you absolutely love the characters, and you were rooting for the good guy throughout the whole story… I look forward to reading the next in the series." —Reader review for The Killing Game ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Kate did an amazing job on this book and I was hooked from the first chapter!" —Reader review for The Killing Game ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "I really enjoyed this book. The characters were authentic, and I see the bad guys as something we hear about daily on the news... Looking forward to book 2." —Reader review for The Killing Game ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "This was a really good book. The main characters were real, flawed and human. The story went along quickly and wasn't mired in too many unnecessary details. I really enjoyed it." —Reader review for The Killing Game ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Alexa Chase is headstrong, impatient, but most of all brave with a capital B. She never, repeat never, backs down until the bad guys are put where they belong. Clearly five stars!" —Reader review for The Killing Game ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Captivating and riveting serial murder with a twist of the macabre… Very well done." —Reader review for The Killing Game ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "WOW what a great read! Talk about a diabolical killer! Really enjoyed this book. Looking forward to reading others by this author as well." —Reader review for The Killing Game ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Page turner for sure. Great characters and relationships. I got into the middle of this story and couldn't put it down. Looking forward to more from Kate Bold." —Reader review for The Killing Game ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Hard to put down. It has an excellent plot and has the right amount of suspense. I really enjoyed this book." —Reader review for The Killing Game ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Extremely well written, and well worth buying and reading. I can't wait to read book two!" —Reader review for The Killing Game ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Leseprobe

F I N A L

C H A N C E

(A Maggie Flight Suspense Thriller—Book Two)

K a t e   B o l d

Kate Bold

Bestselling author Kate Bold is author of the ALEXA CHASE SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books (and counting); the ASHLEY HOPE SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books (and counting); the CAMILLE GRACE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising eight books (and counting); the HARLEY COLE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising eleven books (and counting); the KAYLIE BROOKS PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books (and counting); the EVE HOPE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising seven books (and counting); the DYLAN FIRST FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books (and counting);  the LAUREN LAMB FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books (and counting); the KELSEY HAWK SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising nine books (and counting); the NORA PRICE SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books (and counting); the NINA VEIL FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising ten books (and counting); OF the BARREN PINES PSYCHOLIGICAL SUSPENSE series, comprising seven books (and counting); and of the ADDISON SHINE SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising seven books (and counting).

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Kate loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.kateboldauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.

BOOKS BY KATE BOLD

ADDISON SHINE SUSPENSE THRILLER

FIND ME (Book #1)

FIND HER (Book #2)

FIND HELP (Book #3)

FIND HOME (Book #4)

FIND HIM (Book #5)

FIND YOU (Book #6)

FIND HOPE (Book #7)

BARREN PINES

THE UNSEEN NEIGHBOR (Book #1)

THE UNSEEN WIFE (Book #2)

THE UNSEEN KILLER (Book #3)

THE UNSEEN WOMAN (Book #4)

THE UNSEEN PAST (Book #5)

THE UNSEEN GUEST (Book #6)

THE UNSEEN FACE (Book #7)

NINA VEIL SUSPENSE THRILLER

AWAY FROM HERE (Book #1)

AWAY FROM HIM (Book #2)

AWAY FROM HOPE (Book #3)

AWAY FROM HOME (Book #4)

AWAY FROM HUMANITY (Book #5)

AWAY FROM MERCY (Book #6)

AWAY FROM SIGHT (Book #7)

AWAY FROM YOU (Book #8)

AWAY FROM SANITY (Book #9)

AWAY FROM INNOCENCE (Book #10)

NORA PRICE MYSTERY

CAN’T RUN (Book #1)

CAN’T HIDE (Book #2)

CAN’T ESCAPE (Book #3)

CAN’T SLEEP (Book #4)

CAN’T FORGET (Book #5)

KELSEY HAWK MYSTERY

DEAD INSIDE (Book #1)

DEAD RECKONING (Book #2)

DEAD TO ME (Book #3)

DEAD SILENCE (Book #4)

DEAD TO DAWN (Book #5)

DEAD END (Book #6)

DEAD OF NIGHT (Book #7)

DEAD CALM (Book #8)

DEAD AND GONE (Book #9)

DEAD WRONG (Book #10)

DEAD COLD (Book #11)

DEAD QUIET (Book #12)

ALEXA CHASE SUSPENSE THRILLER

THE KILLING GAME (Book #1)

THE KILLING TIDE (Book #2)

THE KILLING HOUR (Book #3)

THE KILLING POINT (Book #4)

THE KILLING FOG (Book #5)

THE KILLING PLACE (Book #6)

ASHLEY HOPE SUSPENSE THRILLER

LET ME GO (Book #1)

LET ME OUT (Book #2)

LET ME LIVE (Book #3)

LET ME BREATHE (Book #4)

LET ME FORGET (Book #5)

LET ME ESCAPE (Book #6)

CAMILLE GRACE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

NOT ME (Book #1)

NOT NOW (Book #2)

NOT WELL (Book #3)

NOT HER (Book #4)

NOT NORMAL (Book #5)

NOT AGAIN (Book #6)

NOT SAFE (Book #7)

NOT TODAY (Book #8)

HARLEY COLE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

NOWHERE SAFE (Book #1)

NOWHERE LEFT (Book #2)

NOWHERE TO RUN (Book #3)

NOWHERE LIKE THIS (Book #4)

NOWHERE GIRL (Book #5)

NOWHERE TO HIDE (Book #6)

NOWHERE CERTAIN (Book #7)

NOWHERE PURE (Book #8)

NOWHERE SOUND (Book #9)

NOWHERE SANE (Book #10)

NOWHERE TRUE (Book #11)

KAYLIE BROOKS PYSCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE THRILLER

LAST BREATH (Book #1)

LAST CHANCE (Book #2)

LAST WISH (Book #3)

LAST SHOT (Book #4)

LAST MISTAKE (Book #5)

EVE HOPE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

IN HIS BLOOD (Book #1)

IN HIS SIGHTS (Book #2)

IN HIS REACH (Book #3)

IN HIS MIND (Book #4)

IN HIS WAY (Book #5)

IN HIS THOUGHTS (Book #6)

IN HIS DREAMS (Book #7)

DYLAN FIRST FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

OUT OF REACH (Book #1)

OUT OF TOUCH (Book #2)

OUT OF TIME (Book #3)

OUT OF BOUNDS (Book #4)

OUT OF LUCK (Book #5)

LAUREN LAMB FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

SOMETHING KNOCKING (Book #1)

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

“Yeah, we can definitely do something together on the weekend.”

Confident as his words were, Victor Patel couldn’t help wondering if they were truth or a lie. He was way overdue to visit his sister and her family. She lived an hour from Silicon Valley, where he worked, but it might as well have been in another country, thanks to his workload which was showing no sign of lessening, with new projects lined up, and changes to existing ones snowballing.

Only the second week of February, and he was halfway through two projects that had been expanded, there was a new one proposed, and what this all meant was hours and hours of nonstop coding, but also testing, and meetings, and adjustments, and debugging, and more meetings.

As the team leader, he had to be hands-on with everything. Every facet of the project was his responsibility. The rewards were substantial – hence, his fancy home, with a spacious yard and an incredible view over a sweeping valley – but the risks were equally high. This was a cutthroat industry.

He didn’t want his head to roll. That was the problem with success. Lifestyle, spending, expectations – all those followed in short order, creating a pile of commitments. When he thought about what the mortgage was on his luxury home – well, it was better not to think about that amount, and how he’d afford it if he fell out of favor with his employers, or a project went horribly wrong.

“This weekend?” His sister’s voice held a clear note of doubt. “But you said the same last weekend, and the one before, and both those arrangements were actually to make up for missing Mom’s birthday function in November.”

Raking his fingers through his dark hair, Victor leaned his elbows on his home office’s spotless desk, facing a wall of screens. He tugged gently at his hair before letting out a sigh and straightening up again. His ergonomic chair smoothly adjusted to the movement.

“I know, Sandi. I really feel bad about that, but there was nothing I could do about the birthday. Zero. I was at a conference in New York that whole week, and when I say I didn’t see the outside of the hotel, it’s the truth. I went from boardroom to bedroom, and back, five solid days.”

That wasn't quite true. He'd made one detour to the hotel lobby to be interviewed by a journalist from Techweb, the tech industry’s most prestigious news site. He’d been featured as a rising star in their latest edition.

“You don’t feel you’re working too hard? You’re going to burn yourself out,” she warned.

“I won’t burn myself out,” he argued back.

“When’s the last time you took a weekend off?”

“Just the other day,” he mumbled, knowing it was untrue, but his sister on the warpath was a force to be reckoned with, and once she got an idea into her head, it was very difficult to dislodge that idea.

“I’m sure you’re at your desk right now,” she accurately guessed.

“I’m finishing off a few things,” he agreed.

“It’s ten p.m.” she reminded him. “My kids are in bed asleep. Even I’m in my dressing gown and slippers. And you told me you haven’t been in the office later than seven a.m. for weeks, so when are you sleeping? When are you resting?”

Victor sighed. She wasn’t his mother, but there was no point in arguing that. She’d simply say that even though he was thirty years old, his mother would still be worried if she knew how much he was pushing himself, and the reason that she didn’t know was that Sandi wasn’t telling her.

 “Look, next week will really be better,” he said.

“Alright.” She was finally relenting. “But I worry about you. Remember that.”

“I will.” He needed to wrap up this conversation, because although he wasn’t letting Sandi know, he still had a couple of hours’ work to do tonight. And that wasn’t even catching up on the backlog he had to get through before Monday. Today was Friday. It was going to be a long, tough weekend. He foresaw food deliveries, and not going further than his front gate.

And now, of course, he picked up a faint alarm coming from somewhere. In the silence that fell after his words, he could hear it from downstairs. It wasn’t the house alarm, which he always armed before going to bed or going out, because the array of electronics he had in the house was worth a fortune. Gadgets, big screens, expensive laptops that were sleek and speedy. It wouldn’t just cost him money, but time, if anything was stolen.

This wasn’t the house alarm, though, he hadn’t armed that yet, and in any case, the smart home would notify him if there was any activity at the front door. He had cameras outside that were programmed to sound an alert, and if the front door was forced, then a much louder alarm would sound.

This was a quieter one, the faint beep-beep taking a while to seep into his awareness. Now that it was there, of course, he couldn’t unhear it.

Beep… Beep… Beep. What was it?

“Well, we’ll speak during next week.” Sandi finally wrapped up the conversation, allowing him to say a distracted goodnight.

As soon as he’d hung up, he grabbed his phone, left the study, and headed downstairs, listening out for the noise. Walking into the entrance hall, he automatically checked the front door. Locked. That was all good. But the sound was coming from beyond the archway that led to his open plan entertainment area – an indoor living room and an outdoor covered area that led to the pool and the garden, with big glass doors that could slide aside at the touch of a keypad. Closed now, the doors were dark, with only a glimmer of the outside lights beyond.

This was further ahead. The kitchen?

Victor didn’t use it to the extent of its capabilities. He’d barely touched the enormous oven, that had hundreds of complex settings to ensure the perfect baking or roasting of dishes. He’d programmed the giant coffee machine, which wouldn’t have been out of place in a top Italian restaurant, so that it had his favorite brew ready in the mornings, and he used the microwave a lot.

But the beeping was coming from beyond the kitchen, where the thick glass door protected the walk-in freezer.

This was also overspecified for his needs. He’d bought a lot of frozen meals, which were stacked on the shelves at the back – enough to last him a couple of months. He also kept a few bottles of vodka in there because at night, he often added a tot to the energy drinks. It worked better than you’d think it would.

And there were a couple of packs of ice cream there, too, another of his weaknesses.

The empty shelves always felt as if they were filled with potential when he walked in there to grab a chocolate ice cream cone – as if in a few months, when his workload lessened, he could fill this space with gourmet ingredients and actual raw materials for cookery.

He pressed the button to open the door, and it slid aside, letting out a blast of frigid air. It was definitely working. In fact, it was even colder than he remembered it being. As he walked in, he felt more than just the usual goosebumps on his arms, clothed in only a plain T-shirt. This cold bit to his bones, causing him to shudder.

Maybe that was the problem – it was exceeding its capacity and warning him to adjust it. Perhaps he'd had finger trouble when programming something else in the house, and he'd accidentally turned it down.

He headed to the control panel at the back while simultaneously opening his phone.

The panel looked fine. But his phone was a problem. It wasn’t opening the smart home’s controls at all. What the hell? Why wasn’t it cooperating?

Why was the screen totally blank? It was like it had gone offline. Was its battery dead? During the frantic couple of hours he’d spent wrestling with a tricky piece of code, he had meant to put it on the charger, but he’d thought it had had enough battery level left not to have to panic.

And after all, he’d only just spoken to Sandi, and it had given him no warnings.

The freezer itself might be damping down signal, that was it. In this insulated space, his phone wasn’t connecting properly, although that still didn’t explain why the screen was refusing to activate.

He’d go back up, plug the damned thing in, and see if he could fix the issue remotely, now that he knew where it was coming from.

Shivering again, he turned, striding over to the door, and pressing the button to open it. He shuddered again. Just a few seconds in this room was enough to chill his blood.

But the door didn’t open.

He drew in a sharp breath, which clouded out again, the mist almost blinding in the icy air.

Trying again, he pressed the button.

Nothing.

There was a manual override, and he stabbed that button now, feeling the beginnings of panic looming.

Why wouldn’t it work? Why was nothing working?

He couldn’t be trapped in his own walk-in freezer. That was utterly ridiculous.

But he was, and he felt his stomach twist as he realized that there was no way out, because the manual override wasn’t working, and the door wouldn’t open, and the temperature in here was lethal. Already his hands and arms were going numb, he couldn’t feel his face or his feet, although his heart was hammering at full speed.

He tried again to activate his phone. A 911 call might save him now.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Incredulity surged in his mind, and he let out a panicked yell, hammering on the hard, sealed glass so hard his fists hurt. He couldn’t get out. He’d been innocently working upstairs five minutes ago, and now, his damned freezer room that he’d never wanted or needed was killing him.

Could he break the door? He doubted it. Words from the realtor who’d shown him the home now filtered back into his mind.

“Double strength, double thickness, shatterproof, tempered glass.”

He’d even made a joke about not getting caught inside it and the realtor had tossed her hair back, laughing.

“The manual override button prevents that. It works, even if there’s no power to the house.”

But it wasn’t working now.

How the hell had this happened? His fist lashed out and struck the door, doing nothing more than hurting his hand, and leaving a smear on the frosty later that had formed on the glass.

No time to get mad, his logical brain reminded him. It wasn’t working. He was stuck in an enclosed room at a temperature that felt like minus sixty.

He wasn’t giving up, he was going to fight to get out.

Teeth chattering from the cold, his whole body shaking, Victor turned to the shelves.

Maybe he could find a way to break the door, or rip the wiring out, or find some kind of override switch that would stop the freezing temperature and give him a chance.

He tugged at the shelves, fear chilling him even further as he realized they were lodged in place, his hands already too cold to move them.

A matter of life and death. He wanted so badly to survive.

But he was cold.

So cold.

CHAPTER TWO

What had gotten into her head? Why exactly was she doing this?

Maggie Flight drew in a deep breath as she stood outside the door of the small, elderly house, about twenty miles outside of Los Angeles. A humble neighborhood, a rented house. That scenario was familiar to her, because she and her family had moved around a few times when she’d been younger.

Never for good reasons. Maggie remembered herself and Cole, her twin brother, hiding away in their bedroom while her mother argued with landlords at the front door. She’d been a terrible tenant. Maggie had been used to seeing eviction notices on the front door when she got home from school.

Inevitably, there would be raised voices, recriminations, tearful promises and disbelieving rebuttals as the landlord issued the family with their marching orders for late payment and non payment, for damages and breakages.

A couple of times, the landlord would angrily point out the ranks of wine bottles at the door.

“You can afford this, but you say you can’t afford a roof over your kids’ heads? I feel sorry for them, but I’m not supporting freeloaders. You need to sort yourself out.”

Now, raising her hand to the doorbell, Maggie wondered if this attempt at reuniting with her mother would end the same way – in a fight.

She wouldn’t be surprised if it did.

Footsteps came to the door, and it opened.Her mother stood framed in the doorway.

Her hair had been the same dark red as Maggie’s and Cole’s, once, long ago. Now, it was mostly gray, her skin dull, so that the family freckles didn’t stand out the same way they did on her children’s.

She was a few inches shorter than Maggie remembered, even though when she’d had her fits of temper, Maggie had always pictured her as tall, domineering, scary.

Now, in what must be her late fifties, she was shrunken beyond her years. But there was a light in her blue-green eyes as she stared at her daughter.

“I didn’t know if you’d come,” she said.

“Why wouldn’t I have come?” The question burst incredulously from Maggie’s mouth. Then, she realized that straight off the bat, she was heading for an argument.

Really, Maggie?

She’d intended this to be a cordial meeting. After all, it had been her suggestion to reconnect. She’d made the call, and she’d resolved that this was not going to degenerate into conflict.

Quickly, she added, “If I’d been late or delayed, I’d have called.”

Stepping forward, she gave her mother a tentative hug, and felt her hands briefly clasp around her own back in turn.

She was five minutes early. In fact, she would have been even earlier, only she’d sat outside in her car, with misgivings surging inside her, counting down the minutes so that she wasn’t too early.

“Well, come on in.”

Her mother sounded normal, but even so, Maggie found her nose twitching as she walked in, looking to pick up the telltale aroma of spilled wine, the sour smell of it when it soaked into woodwork or carpeting.

The home’s small entrance hall was home to a wooden table and a square mirror and a pretty, blue and white patterned rug, and all it smelled of was furniture polish.

In the living room, her mother had already set a tray with a coffee pot, cream, sugar, and a plate of cookies.

No sign of any glass bottles, even though Maggie found herself peering through the D-shaped archway into the kitchen beyond. Nothing there, either.

She sat down on one of the floral couches, which was clean and also didn’t smell like anything had spilled.

“It’s been so long,” her mother said, shaking her head. “I don’t know where the time has gone to, and I wish it hadn’t passed so fast. You’re not with the police anymore, are you?”

Maggie shook her head. “I applied for a job as a special agent with the Bureau of Investigation and Intelligence, which is part of the Department of Justice, and they took me on as a profiler. I’ve been there a few months now.”

She was touched to see the pride that warmed her mother’s face.

“You always were smart. I think they made a good decision.”

“I hope so. My boss is hardcore, and she is more of an evidence person than a facts and intuition person. I feel like I’m having to prove myself every day.”

Director Ellen Simmons’ stern face came into Maggie’s mind as she said the name. But her mother smiled.

“You’re always at your best when you have to prove yourself. Are you still boxing? You mentioned that, when – when we last spoke, quite a while ago.”

“It’s my favorite sport now,” Maggie agreed.

“A tough sport for a strong woman,” her mother said.

Touched by the praise, Maggie’s first reaction was to change the subject.

“And how are you doing?”

“I’m doing well.” Her mother’s words were quiet, and Maggie didn’t think they sounded sure. “It’s been a journey, though. I’ve had to hit rock bottom, as the cliché goes. I’m trying again now, trying to beat it. I’m going to meetings regularly. I have support, I have people I can call, my sponsor is on speed dial, and I’m not going to wait if I need to make that call. So far, so good.”

“I’m happy to hear that, and I think it’s all credit to you.”

Maggie had never realized until this moment, looking at her mother’s intense face, and the heartfelt way she spoke the words, how much she’d wanted to stave off the demons of her addiction. Maggie had always thought that she’d capitulated willingly each time. But she guessed that being caught in a vicious cycle of addiction was never going to be anything but hateful.

“I’m taking it a day at a time, which is all I can do. Just a day at a time. And today’s a good day.”

Maggie hoped so. She didn't want her own appearance here to cause any problems or interfere with the fragile balance her mother had achieved. That was another reason to keep things low-key. No arguments, no inflammatory topics. No mention of her twin brother Cole, the family member who wasn’t there.

“Who’s your sponsor?” she asked.

“Bertha, a neighbor down the road from where I lived – the last place I lived, not here. This is a step up.” That wry smile showed a flash of humor. Maggie hadn’t seen that in her mother for years. Her harsh life, her cares, and her addiction had eroded it.

“So she helped you?”

Her mother shook her head. “She was there for me, and she still is, but what I’ve come to realize, Maggie, is that I had to help myself. Nobody was going to do it for me. Nobody could. It was a long, hard struggle. I wish I’d never gotten to the point where it had to be that way. So many times, I’ve wished I could be a better person, that I had the strength to avoid doing what I did. It’s like climbing out of a pit. I’m at the top, but I still feel as if one slip might send me tumbling down.”

No, Maggie thought, recoiling from the idea. She couldn't imagine how bad that fall would be or what it would take for her to struggle up again. If she even could. She couldn’t be there for her immediately if she did. She worried that her mother was very alone.

“Do you think that owning a pet would help you?” she asked.

Her mother looked surprised. “A pet?”

Maggie nodded. "I've been walking shelter dogs on the weekends in my new hometown. They're great company, and there are always dogs that need homes. Maybe that's an idea. I could help you find one and pay for the food and the veterinary care, too."

“That’s something to think about. It might be a good idea.” Her mother paused. “Your new hometown? So, you’re working permanently in San Jose now?”

“Yes. I came back to LA on a case recently.”

Her mother nodded. “I heard about that. The Hollywood murders, they called them? I didn’t see you on the television, but I heard your name mentioned. It sounds as if you were pivotal in solving it.”

“I did my best. It was tough.”

Those dark and precarious moments flashed back to her. For a while, she’d felt hopeless on that case, stalled. Then, for another, shorter while, things had gotten dangerous.

Remembering her mother’s question, and knowing she needed to be honest in the broad strokes, if not the details, she said, “And I’ve been back once since then, but only for a day, basically. And now, I’m here again.”

Her mother looked at her questioningly, as if wondering what had brought her here for such a short time.

“It was just to see a friend,” she said, which wasn’t true, but there was no way she could tell her mother this truth.

Maggie had taken the whole weekend, leaving San Jose early Saturday morning, getting to LA before lunch time, and then, she’d picked an area near the place where she’d used to police. A rundown area, including a tenement waiting to be condemned, its windows shattered, its walls crumbling, its state of dilapidation affecting the other apartment buildings and factories nearby, like a disease.

She knew where to find these places, and she hoped she was able to approach them safely when she was alone, even though she knew it was risky.

Before joining the Bureau, she’d worked as a detective in one of the toughest, busiest, inner city precincts. She knew the areas where the crime hotspots were, where drugs were dealt, where gangs were based.

From time to time, when she'd had free weekends while living here, she'd done the same. Gone around, working place by place, checking out the areas where the gang members moved, where deals were done, where crimes – and bodies – were hidden. And she had quietly asked the same question to the people there, over and over again, patiently.

“Have you seen somebody with the same color hair as me here? Redheaded man, my age? Name of Cole Flight? Have you seen him around? This is his photo. He’s a few years older now. Maybe ten years older. But I know he was around five years ago. Have you seen him?”

She knew she had to be careful.

After all, she was an officer of the law, and she didn’t want any misunderstandings about why she was engaging with people like this while she was off duty.

And she also had to be careful because Cole himself had warned her not to try to track him down. He hadn’t warned her in a nice way. It had been more of a threat. She worried that her brother had changed, and become someone different, if he was even still alive, but she was determined to keep trying.

A recent lead that she’d stumbled across during the Hollywood case had reignited her determination, and she’d found herself heading back on the same mission a couple of weeks later, doing it again, walking the area and asking the questions, staying overnight in a cheap hotel and sleeping a few hours, then getting up and doing it all over again.

Trying, asking, pushing on even though she feared it was futile. The questions wouldn’t stop burning in her mind.

Why did you go over to the dark side, Cole? Why did you get involved with gangs? And how deep did your involvement go? What did you do? Did they chew you up and spit you out, did you survive, did you manage to get away?

Are you a gang boss now, or are you dead, faceless and anonymous, dumped somewhere untraceable with a double tap to the head?

Now, sipping her coffee and nibbling on a cookie that she didn’t really want, but she knew that her mother had specially prepared the plate for her, Maggie reminded herself that this meeting was one small step on the road to repairing a broken relationship. Her mother was bravely fighting an addiction that had gripped her for well over half her life. She needed all the help and encouragement she could get right now while she was clean and sober and determined to remain that way

There was no need to talk about the past, about the bitterness she still felt.

And it would be better not to talk about Cole at all – perhaps forever.

But she knew she was never going to stop looking for him. Not until she found answers, no matter how dark they were.

CHAPTER THREE

Monday morning, and the Bureau of Investigation’s offices were quiet as Maggie walked in. She was always one of the first at work. She liked to be ahead of the game, to be prepared, and to know what cases had landed.

Walking out of the elevator, she heard voices coming from Director Simmons’ office, at the end of the corridor, as she headed to the open plan work area that she shared with a few other agents.

Simmons was either on the phone or in a meeting, but there was a sharp note of urgency in her voice that Maggie instantly picked up on.

Something was up. The tone of Simmons' voice told her so from behind the office door that was ajar. Simmons had an open-door policy, and except for very private meetings, she was always available to her team. Maggie thought this was a contradiction, because nobody was going to walk into the stern and intimidating director's office unless there was an urgent reason.

Now, she headed to her desk in the corner of the room, got her laptop out of her bag, and switched on the coffee machine. If her instincts were right, there wouldn’t be long to wait before she found out more.

Now, she heard the sound of Simmons’ smart boots on the tiles, and sat straight, tugging at the lapels of her jacket, as the director appeared from out of her office.