Chapter One
Cursing under his breath, Mitch Bradford yanked his
collar up against the bitter Colorado wind. Where was Emily
Went-worth going? He stalked across Colfax, on a stretch of
the street known as a candy store for illicit drugs and
prostitution. He could've been home alone in front of the
fireplace, his bum leg propped up, nursing a stiff drink
and a double dose of ibuprofen. The irony didn't amuse him.
He'd been tapped for the Wentworth case because of his
injury. One more reason to kill the guy who'd shot up his
leg during his last SWAT operation.
Mitch ducked his head and plunged forward into the
night, ignoring the exchange of money on the corner. He
would've busted the dealer any other time, but he refused
to let his suspect out of sight. When she approached a
group of gang-bangers, he tensed and reached for his weapon.
They circled her.
Two murders last night in the neighborhood. No time to
be subtle.
He broke into a run, disregarding the twinge in his leg.
He'd pay for it later, but they could shoot or stab her in
seconds. Before he reached her, she tilted her head at the
assailants like she was flirting and skirted through the
wall of thugs. They let her go.
Mitch pulled back. Crazy woman. He tucked his Glock into
the shoulder holster. He'd had enough of these cat-and-
mouse games. He sped up and followed her across an alley.
The scent of vomit and urine, and God knew what else,
soured the night.
She stopped in front of a darkened building. After a
furtive glance right, then left, she knocked. The door
cracked open, then squeaked wider. Before he reached the
entrance, she vanished behind the worn oak.
"Figures." Why would anything about this case be easy?
Cold seeped through his jeans as he searched the front of
the building for a sign. Nothing. No indication of what
took place inside. That didn't bode well. His guess: drugs,
sex, who knew what else.