As Melina stared out the large glass window that overlooked the parking lot and the rolling land beyond it, she pulled in a couple of deep breaths. What she would not give for a few rounds in the ring right now. She just wanted to pound something.

The autopsy suite door opened behind her, and she heard Ramsey’s steady, methodical footsteps. If she had to wager, she would bet the guy had ice water in his veins. He studied everything with such an exquisite detachment that she found herself envying him.

“Were you ever in foster care?” he asked.

That one-two punch of a question brought her thoughts into sharp focus. “Where’d that come from?”

“I’ll take that as a yes?”

“It’s a none-of-your-damned-business kind of response.”

“A yes.”

She readied a couple of verbal jabs but caught herself. Agent Ramsey was the senior officer, and the last thing she needed was a pissing match with him. “I was only in for a couple of days, but that was enough.”

“How old were you?”

“I was five.”

“Almost the same age as Elena.”

“Yeah.”

“Where were your biological parents?”

He had the good sense not to refer to whomever had brought her into this world as Mom and Dad. Those titles she reserved exclusively for the Shepards.

“I have no idea. My mother left me on the side of a dirt road about twenty miles outside of Nashville in the middle of November.”

“Who found you?”

“Local sheriff.”

“What are the chances?”

“Pretty damn slim. But he found me.” She remembered the cold and the fear burrowing into her bones. She’d hated crying, even then, but she could not stop bawling as she’d stared up and down that dark road. And then there had been the sight of headlights. All in the space of a second, hope had collided with terror. What if it hadn’t been her mother coming back for her? Even then, she’d understood not to trust everyone.

She often looked back and wondered how she could have missed that monster who had given birth to her. But a child, alone and afraid, would have given anything to be back with the devil she knew.

“And he turned you over to foster care.”

“Yeah. What I didn’t realize was that he went home and told his wife about me, and the next day the two were at the courthouse petitioning the judge to release me into their custody. A day later, they picked me up.”

“Elena’s case touches a nerve.”

“You could say that.” She managed a slight grin. “But don’t worry. I’m dialed in. I’ll find BB, the killer obsessed with fingers, and the Key Killer, even if it means turning over every rock in Nashville.”

It was nine thirty when BB arrived at the East Nashville bar. She was glad for its stale, smoky air and the scent of booze. Her body ached as she angled her lean frame around the tables and sat in a back corner booth. A sigh leaked over her lips as she relaxed back against the worn red leather. She had been lying in her motel room for the last several hours and could no longer stand the four walls. They were starting to remind her of prison.

She raised her hand, motioning to the gray-haired, tatted bartender with a smile. She adjusted her silk top and reached for lipstick in her purse.

He looked her way as he finished wiping down the bar and then signaled a waitress to the table.

“What’ll it be?” the woman asked.

“Bourbon. Neat, sugar,” she said. “Your bartender is going to be pouring a lot tonight.”

“You got it.”

She glanced in a small compact mirror and smoothed on fresh pink lipstick. She had screwed up, but that did not mean she had to look the part. Smoothing her blond hair back with manicured fingers, she pressed her lips together.

Aching ribs told her the damn airbag had left her chest bruised and battered. She fished out a bottle of aspirin from her purse as the bartender set her bourbon in front of her. “Thanks, doll. Might as well get me another round.”

“That kind of day?” It was a halfhearted attempt at conversation that she had heard one too many times.

“You have no idea.” She winked, popped the aspirin in her mouth, and chased it with a gulp of bourbon. The blend burned her throat, and she would have coughed if her damn ribs hadn’t hurt so bad. But as the fire subsided, soothing warmth began to spread through her body.

“Sonny, what the hell have you been doing?” she muttered.

She gulped down what remained in the glass. The second glass arrived right on its heels. This time she sipped. She stared into the amber liquid. Neon lights from the front window sign reflected in the tawny drink as she tipped the glass slowly from side to side.

Hitting that stump had been a stupid mistake. She’d had no idea it and a dozen of its friends were hiding in the tall grass, waiting to pounce on the dumbass who thought she could run the gauntlet. But she had been rattled. Images of the pickle jar flashed in her mind. What the hell kind of monster had Sonny turned into?

BB’s hand trembled slightly as she raised the edge of her blouse. The initial redness on her belly was turning blue. Fucking stump.

“Shit.” BB pulled out a packet of smokes from her purse. Lighting the tip of one, she inhaled deeply, savoring the burn in her lungs.

When she had seen him face to face a couple of days ago, she had been startled by how big he had become. He had always been tall, but now he was muscular, and any hints of the boy she had known were gone.

“I told you when you called last week that I didn’t want to see you,” Sonny said.

“Honey, that hurts. After all we’ve been through.” She had always been able to sweet-talk him. “I want to make things right between us.”

“Get out. I don’t ever want to see you again. And stop calling me.” He looked as if he was going to hit her, but Elena called out from the car. He looked past her to the child and stilled.

“I want us to be a family.”

He blinked and shook his head. “Go!”

Irritated, she spoke before she really thought. “I’m not giving up on you, Sonny. You and me and the kid can be a family.”

That seemed to piss him off. “You’re not my family.”

“We are family. Give me the key so I can get the money out of the safety-deposit box. Once we have that, we can do anything.”

He shook his head, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “You came for the money.”

“I came for you.”

“Really? Well, I threw out the key.”

A smile tugged the edge of her lips. “You never throw out anything. Especially stuff I give you. Still have that gold key chain I bought you in Reno the night you got your cherry popped?”

Hints of color rose in his cheeks, and he shoved her back. “Fuck off, BB.”

“BB!” Elena shouted.

The kid had gotten out of the car and followed her. “I’m right here, baby.”

As Elena came closer, Sonny looked as if he’d seen a ghost. “Who the hell is that?”

BB smiled. The kid was the trump card she would play next. She wrapped her arms around the girl’s thin shoulders. “Elena.”

“Elena?” he said softly.

“Looks just like the other little girl we both loved. Remember?”

Sonny stumbled back, his gaze locking on the child. “Go away.”

“My key, please.”

He slammed the door in her face.

BB and the kid had found a motel and cooled their heels for a couple of days. That gave her time to figure out Sonny’s habits and schedules. On the third day, when he left for work, she broke into his house.

As a kid, Sonny had had a habit of hiding his money in his shoes. She went straight to his closet and searched among the high-dollar country-western boots. She quickly found a few hundred bucks rubber banded around several credit cards shoved in a boot. Shuffling through the cards, she realized none had his name on them. Ol’ Sonny was stealing just like Mama BB had taught him. It made her proud.

She’d been pocketing the cards when she had spotted the jar. One look at the grisly contents, and she’d known Sonny was far more dangerous than she had realized.

She ground her cigarette into an ashtray. The bartender brought over another drink, and she gulped it down in one swallow. “I like your style, baby. I’ll take another.”

“I’ll need a card to keep this tab running.”

She handed him a credit card. “There you go, doll.”

As the booze soothed her nerves, her thoughts slowed so that she could process them.

She had wiped the car clean of her prints, so the chances of a cop identifying her quickly were slim to none. She had wiped the jar down as soon as she’d placed it in her trunk. And if she had not been in such a damned panic after the crash, she would have taken it with her. The little trinkets were her path back to the key.

Leaving Elena behind had not been a choice but a necessity. There was no way she could drag her own battered body away from the wreck and have a kid in tow.

Jesus, that kid could scream.