CHAPTER ONE
Dr. Alison Payne donned her wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses and stepped out onto the yard overlooking Oakland.
She was high up in the hills, the large windows of her square home offering a wonderful view of the city, especially at night when the area was lit up—the twinkling lights in the darkness mirrored the sky above.
Alison took a large breath in. It was another hot day, and there was a sticky sweetness in the air that came along with it.
Still, within the sweet aroma was the herbiness of her new herb garden.
She’d planted it as a way to reduce stress, and getting outside to tend to it had become one of the highlights of her daily routine.
Alison took a small pair of gardening scissors out of her pocket and approached the herb garden, ready to make the first small cut. She didn't need to trim the small branches to promote growth; she needed to bring more leaves inside to dry them out and add them to the spice cabinet.
It had been there for months since the Michael Reese case.
Michael was a former colleague of Alison’s, disgraced after his research was shown to be falsified.
He lost his family, job, and everything.
In response, he’d targeted Alison by murdering young women in a style similar to how Alison’s sister, Emma, had been murdered twenty years ago.
His ultimate target had been Alison, luring her into a trap after kidnapping a young woman as bait.
Still, she’d stopped him with a little help from the woman Michael abducted and Special Agent Derek Sullivan from the California Bureau of Investigation (CBI).
Michael was now behind bars, and she wouldn’t ever hear from him again.
She walked over to the small patch in her yard that she’d set aside for herbal cultivation. She had a large lawn that she watered frequently so it almost glowed emerald, and on each side were flowerbeds cut into the lawn in wavy lines to break up the angular look of the house.
Most of the flower beds were filled with roses, marigolds, irises, and other colorful flowers that mostly bloomed and flowered in the spring and summer months.
In fall and winter, there was a pine tree and a few bushes that still provided color.
A paving stone pathway led from the back door to the small shed at the back where she kept gardening tools.
There were no immediate neighbors, but if she walked to the edge of the yard, she could see other houses a hundred or so yards away.
Alison crouched down beside the small herb garden. She’d started with only basil and chives, but as the weeks passed, she’d added more herbs, taking the time to give each variety the time and dedication it needed.
She pulled out a small ceramic container and held it below each plant as she snipped a few leaves and stalks.
Alison wanted to expand into plants she could use to make tea, such as peppermint and chamomile.
The leaves dropped into the container as they were cut, and between each plant, she brought the container to her nose to inhale the aromas as they mixed together.
She even rubbed a leaf of basil between her fingers and smelled the fresh, green, peppery, and herbal notes.
Alison Payne was a forensic psychologist. Her work in the California penal and Rehabilitation system had helped to determine whether violent offenders should be released.
She worked in a small office for Victoria Canton, a forensic psychiatrist who ran her own consulting firm.
A lot of work was connected to the penal system, but more recently, Alison had found work consulting for the CBI and working with Special Agent Sullivan.
Some people described her as a stern woman, and she often gave that first impression, but it was only because of how dedicated she was to her work. She met most people through her work, preferring to be alone after a long day, and now, with her herb garden.
Her eyes were the most noticeable thing about her.
They were a rich green and captivating. Yet, the more someone looked into them, the more tired and weary they looked, worn down by years of working with the worst prisoners in the state.
Her skin was pale, though not through any sickness or tiredness.
It was just untouched by the sun, colorless.
Her sallow skin and piercing, yet tired eyes, were in stark contrast to her hair.
It was jet black, full of life, and not a hint of grey despite the stress of her job.
Alison had a lithe, flexible body and often covered it with professional outfits, mainly for her job but also when not working. The exception was what she wore while tending to the garden: a pair of pale blue shorts and a long-sleeved, breathable cotton shirt that provided adequate sun protection.
She stood back up when her phone rang, walking back to the table and chairs by the house where her phone sat beside a glass of lemonade. She saw her father was calling, and sank down into one of the patio chairs, taking up the glass of lemonade and drinking from it before answering the phone.
"Hi, Dad," she answered.
"How are you doing, Alison?" her father answered.
"Oh, you know, all right," she replied. "I was just out in the garden tending to the herbs."
"Did you plant them as I suggested?" he asked.
"I did," she replied. "In clusters by how much water they need, and not only by how much sunlight they need."
"Good, good," he replied. "It’s a beautiful day for it."
"It really is," she replied.
Alison could hear the tension in his voice, and waited for him to ask the question he’d asked almost once a week since the morning they visited the cemetery together almost three months ago.
"Are there any new developments?" he asked.
Her father, James Payne, was a retired police officer, and he’d investigated Emma’s death when he was still active.
Multiple people had investigated the case, some of whom had done so long after it had gone cold.
Special Agent Sullivan was doing all he could to further the case, but there was nothing new.
No matter which way Alison looked at it, she couldn’t see anything they’d missed or how to approach it from a different angle.
"Dad, you don't need to keep asking me that or calling to ask me that," Alison told him. "If you want to call me to talk to your daughter, then I’m more than happy to talk to you, but if that’s the only reason to call, then that makes me sad."
"Alison, you know that’s not the case," James informed her. "What? Because I want to know if Emma’s killer will ever be brought to justice, I’m somehow a selfish father?"
"I never called you selfish," Alison corrected.
"I just want to know what happened," James said. Rex, his dog and former partner in the K9-Unit, barked in the background.
"I know," Alison replied. "That’s all I want, too."
Rex had slowed down a lot over the years, especially since retirement, but her father showed no signs of that. He was still extremely active, fit as a fiddle, according to his physician. His mind was not what it once was, but that was expected at his age.
"I know it is, and I really did call to talk to you, Alison," James said. "I know the Reese case took a toll on you. I was a cop for years, and I never had anyone do that to me. If you weren’t so tough and brilliant, we might not be having this conversation."
Alison was glad she couldn’t see her father as they spoke. She could hear the emotion in his voice, and if she had to look him in the eye as the tears came, she would break down in tears, too.
"I learned it all from you," she told him. "You showed Emma and me how to take care of ourselves, and before you say it, I know that didn’t help her, but if that didn't help her, then nothing would have. My life’s been saved multiple times because of what you taught me."
A silence grew between them. She knew her father loved her, but also knew that he couldn't be at peace until Emma's killer was found.
She'd learned that from her father as well—Alison couldn't be at peace, either, not fully.
The horrible thing about that was that they might never find peace, twenty years and no closer to an answer.
"It’s because of your resilience and dedication," James told her. "I’m so proud of who you’ve become, but please stop putting yourself in the firing line."
"I don't plan to." Alison didn't want to put herself in any danger, but she had a habit of doing so in pursuit of justice.
"And you still carry your gun around?" James asked.
"Always," Alison assured him. She carried it in her bag when she went out, but it was not currently on her. There was little danger from the herbs.
"Hey, Dad," Alison stated after hearing the beep. "I have someone else trying to call me. Can I call you back?"
"Go do what you need to do," James said.
"I love you, Dad," Alison said.
"I love you, too."
Alison hung up and hit the button in time to answer the other call from Special Agent Sullivan.
"Hey," she said.
"How are you?" Derek asked.
"I’m good. It’s been a while since we spoke."
"Yeah, too long," Derek said. "I wish I were calling under better circumstances, but I need your help again."
Alison felt disappointment that the call wasn’t about her sister, but excitement to dive into another case with the CBI and Derek.
"What are we looking at?" Alison asked, accepting immediately.
Derek’s voice was tense. "A home invasion—looks to be targeted. One victim was found dead in the home. The only problem is that we don’t know how the killer bypassed the security system, meaning it’s likely someone she knew and let in. I could really use you on this one."
"I’m on my way," Alison told him