Hard to Come By Read Free Page A

second file was more of the same—the guy had served in Vietnam. “Fuck me running,” Marz said as he tossed more papers to the messy piles on the desk. If they didn’t find Garza here, that left a hack into the Veterans Affairs records, or a potentially lengthy and equally dangerous dive into the Deep Web—the dark, hidden, and much larger part of the internet not indexed by standard search engines, which provided a haven for all kinds of criminal activity.
    “Tell me he didn’t manage to have his service records erased, too,” Nick said, crossing his arms.
    Marz’s gaze scanned over the beginning of the third file. And then a slow smile crept up his face.
    This Manny Garza was the right age and had served in the SF in Afghanistan as recently as two years ago, which fit their guy’s profile to a T. Even better? The file didn’t list a current address for Garza but did list two next of kin—a mother in Northern Virginia and a sister who lived in Annapolis, Maryland.
    “How the hell far away is Annapolis?” Marz asked. Being from Atlanta and having had no time to see anything here unrelated to their mission, he had no idea.
    “Forty minutes, maybe. Depending on traffic,” Nick said, stepping closer and peering over the top of the page. “Why?”
    “Got you, Garza,” Marz said, smacking the papers against his hand and grinning at Nick, Beckett, and Charlie in turn. “Who wants to take a ride to Annapolis?”

Chapter 2
    E milie Garza eased her car up to her bright red mailbox and rolled down the window. Recently, her daily stop here had delivered more and more evidence of how her life had changed. Each new bill, solicitation, or letter brought with it a dose of healing and a twinge of hurt in equal measure. What would today bring?
    Reaching out of her window, she lowered the mailbox’s door and retrieved the thick stack of envelopes and advertisements. One by one, she flipped through them. More than half read, “Emilie Garza,” but a fair number were still addressed to “Mr. and Mrs. Jack Saunders” or “Emilie Saunders.” But she wasn’t Mrs. Saunders anymore. Legally, not for the past five months. Emotionally, not for the past two years.
    Not since she’d learned that her ex-husband had been playing house with another family, lying aboutfrequent travel for work to facilitate the time away from their home . . . and their bed. And Emilie had believed every last lie until the day the other woman had shown up at her door.
    Now Emilie didn’t know who Jack Saunders actually was. Maybe she’d never known. Worse, his betrayal left her wondering who she was, too. And how she could’ve missed all the signs.
    Enough, Em . It’s over. And you’re figuring it all out one day at a time .
    “Yeah,” she whispered to herself as she tossed the mail on the passenger seat and pulled up the long drive surrounded by leafy green woods on both sides. As she came around the bend that led up to her small cottage, her gaze settled on a squat black Hummer parked right in front of her porch. “Shit,” she said. Manny had a key to her house that she’d given him once when he’d offered to help with a repair, and he’d been using it a lot lately, showing up at odd times. With the string of emotionally difficult cases she’d had today, her brother was the last thing she wanted to deal with. Guilt curled through her gut.
    Once, the knowledge that her older brother had come to visit would’ve brightened every dark corner of her day. But since he’d come back from Afghanistan, he’d changed. And Emilie never knew which version of Manny she’d find. She parked, grabbed her purse, the mail, and the three bags of groceries, and made for the porch.
    As her foot landed on the first step, she slowed, then froze. Her gaze drew across the little white house from right to left. All the plantation shutters were closed—and they hadn’t been when she’d left for work this morning. Her shoulders sagged and her stomach