Two people trying to escape their pasts find each other. But one of them has danger lingering in the shadows.

To escape the scandal surrounding her father’s murder conviction, Tracey Boyd moved away from her hometown with her young son. When her dad falls ill behind bars, his lawyer, Emmett Craig, reaches out to her. Tracey returns with some trepidation to South Carolina and finds herself being drawn more and more to Emmett’s warmth and sincerity.

Emmett is a struggling defense lawyer seeking redemption after he let a man get away with murder. He’s unsure why he’s feeling led to help a convicted murderer until he meets the man’s daughter and grandson.

When bad things start to happen Emmett isn’t sure if his past mistakes are coming back to haunt him. Or is Tracey’s dad’s insistence of his wrongful guilty sentence really true? Did someone get away with murder? And are they trying to keep it that way?

Chapter 1

Panama City, Florida Thursday, May 8 at 3:13 p.m. CST

“This is absolutely unacceptable.”

Tracey Boyd pressed her fingers against her temple. The words sliced through her making the world spin as her emotions warred inside. All her hard work and this was how she was being treated. Despite her desire to tell this woman where she could go, Tracey willed her voice to remain steady and attempted to explain to her boss, “My son had a 102-degree fever. He can’t go to school or daycare until he’s better.”

Regina Morrison’s high-pitched voice cut through the phone, piercing Tracey’s throbbing head. “We’re pitching to Southeast Banking Association on Monday, and you’ve been out of the office for two days. Can’t you find someone to help you?”

Tracey squeezed her free hand into a fist and pressed it firmly against her lips to prevent the retort that threatened to spill from her mouth. She desperately wanted to beat on the pillow that lay beside her on the couch, but she remained still, almost frozen in place.

It was one thing dealing with a woman who was clearly not qualified for her position, always leaning on Tracey for help. But this lack of empathy was about to push her over the edge. She’d always been aware of the stark differences in her life compared to her boss’s. Being raised and married into wealth, Regina’s high-strung personality demanded that everything go her way. The woman had a nanny to take care of her three children so she could be a pretend superwoman.

Though Tracey couldn’t see her on the phone, she imagined the tall, slender woman with her perfectly coiffed, golden blonde hair pacing her office. During their face-to-face confrontations in Regina’s oceanfront office, Tracey often stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the endless horizon, longing to escape. Right now, she wanted to escape this conversation and get off this phone.

Proving how tone-deaf she really was, Regina droned on. “Everyone has personal problems. My Joey had a bug a few weeks ago too, but I had to go to Atlanta. It couldn’t be avoided. Do you think the hurricane cared about our personal problems? Do you think our competitors care? The Morrison needs this convention to stay afloat.”

The Morrison, Regina’s family’s hotel, had been limping along since Hurricane Dora slammed into Panama City Beach last August. The luxury boutique hotel wasn’t a stranger to storms, but this last one wreaked considerable damage, leaving the oceanfront wing still hidden behind construction barriers and temporary supports. With Memorial Day weekend less than three weeks away, this executive retreat could mean the difference between sinking or swimming.

The hurricane had been scary, but Tracey wasn’t a stranger to these types of storms. Growing up in Beaufort, South Carolina, she had vivid memories of extensive damage caused by strong winds and flooding. But this year-round storm system causing havoc in her life, Hurricane Regina, had started to take a toll. When her old boss, Lauren Morrison, announced her retirement, appointing her niece as her replacement, Tracey instinctively knew that Regina would be trouble. Her only qualifications were the fact that she grew up around the hotel her family owned.

Tracey unclenched her fist and shook her hand to loosen the tension. She knew what was at stake here. But life had been ‘lifing,’ with one thing after the other. Despite her own frustrations, Tracey tried to allay her boss’s concern. Again. That task had become a permanent part of her job description. “Regina, I understand that, and I have —”​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“You realize the east wing renovations depend on securing these bookings,” Regina steamrolled into her next gripe. “If we lose Southeast Banking, we’ll lose credibility with being able to sell our upscale, premier destination.”

Tracey rolled her eyes. Lord, deliver me from overdramatic women. This heffa was using her words. Words she’d crafted as the marketing coordinator for the website and marketing brochures. Tracey tried again to ease her boss’s anxiety. “I’ve been working remotely, Regina. The presentation is nearly—”

Regina snapped. “Send it to me. I need to see what you’ve been working on. And, Tracey, tomorrow is Friday. I expect you in the office. We have to be ready on Monday. Jasper Cunningham is flying in from Miami on Sunday. My father and I will wine and dine the bank’s vice-president. But Monday morning, you need to do what we pay you to do.”

“I will—” The call ended abruptly leaving Tracey staring at her phone.

I know she didn’t just hang up on me!

Tracey threw her phone onto the couch and placed her trembling hands on the sides of her face. Before she could stop herself, a long moan slipped from her throat. Her neck and shoulder muscles ached as if she’d just finished a rigorous workout. Regina knew she’d been working nonstop outside of the office. With her toxic boss breathing down her neck, Tracey had no choice but to answer work emails and calls.

This job had not always been like this. When she first accepted the position five years ago, it had been a godsend. Back then, her boss had been a ray of sunshine. But she’d retired and now Tracey was always working after hours, burning the midnight oil. She was stressed out of her mind, trying to entice visitors to come to the Morrison to relax and unwind on their vacations and retreats.

Lord, when am I going to get a break?

The presentation wasn’t as perfect as she liked it to be, but Tracey saved the PowerPoint. It would have to do. She attached the slides to an email to Regina and thumped the enter key on her laptop a bit too hard. She really didn’t need this kind of pressure. In the last few months, she’d perused open positions online, something she wouldn’t have fathomed doing until a year ago.

Tracey had built a life in this town for her and her son after leaving a painful past. The ordeal of picking up and moving made her click away from other possibilities. But how long could she continue to endure? Tracey loved working at the Morrison, but Regina had become increasingly worse. No one liked the woman and only tolerated her because she was a Morrison.

Tracey stood from the couch and stretched. She had a few hours before the workday officially ended but wanted to check on her son. Jayden’s fever had lingered this morning, leaving her no choice but to keep him home one more day. He’d eaten the chicken soup and soup crackers for lunch, and she was relieved to see his appetite return. She hoped he would fully recover enough to return to school tomorrow.

She’d left Jayden’s bedroom door slightly ajar so she could hear him if he awoke. Peeking through the bedroom door, she could see Jayden sleeping soundly. His stuffed Snoopy was wrapped in one arm and his toy Spiderman lay by his side. That first night, the fever had brought the young boy vivid nightmares.

Tracey had to face her own waking nightmare, a boss she despised. Still too riled up to return to her laptop, she decided on a cup of mint tea. While she waited for the water in the electric kettle to boil, she washed the dirty dishes in the sink instead of sticking them in the dishwasher. The almost too warm soapy water felt good on her skin. By the time she finished with the dishes, the kettle clicked off and the hot water settled.

While the tea bag steeped, she glanced over at the pile of mail on the kitchen table. For the past few days, she’d brought it in, but hadn’t bothered to look through it. Tracey picked up her mug and shuffled over to sort through the pile. Most of it could be shredded or thrown in the trash. All her bills were paid online, so there were no paper invoices or statements.

One piece of mail stood out, even though it was a plain white envelope. Maybe because it didn’t scream, “You’ve been pre-selected to go deeper into debt with a shiny new credit card.” Or even more insulting, entice her with consolidating all her debt with a high interest loan offer.

Tracey frowned at the return address. Then, the anger she’d felt a few moments ago stirred. This time, the rekindled fury brought memories of pain and shame she’d left behind. She thought she’d buried these emotions and had moved on. Her hand trembled as she touched the envelope.

Darrell Boyd #149587.

Lieber Correctional Institution.

Why would he reach out now?

The backlash of his conviction had shattered her life. Folks she’d never dreamed would turn on her, had shown their true colors.

Could she blame them?

She was the daughter of a murderer.

They say forgiveness is for yourself, not the other person. But Tracey could not accept what her father had done. He’d crushed her, and her life had never been the same. There was nothing he could ever say, no amount of explaining. He deserved to be locked inside that cell for the rest of his life.

Tracey had packed up what was left of her life, a life that included a young son she needed to protect. After losing Jayden’s father, Jordan, in a car accident, and then having her own father charged with murder just a few months later, Tracey had no choice but to start fresh somewhere else. Jayden had been too young to understand what happened to his father or grandfather. So for the past five years, Tracey had made this place home.

For her father to reach out after all this time, she was pretty sure her Aunt Edna had something to do with that. Her aunt had promised to never share Tracey’s address. Why did she break that promise? Tracey could avoid her father, but she couldn’t ignore her father’s older sister. Aunt Edna had become the mother figure in her life after Tracey’s mama died.

Mama had been the glue of the family. Tracey often wondered if her mama was still alive would her father have resorted to violence.

She drank her now tepid tea as past memories invaded her thoughts. There was a time when she loved her father and would never have thought him capable of hurting a fly. Definitely not another human being. She’d long since stopped trying to understand and just settled for not caring, pushing the past behind her.

She rinsed out the mug and placed it in the sink. On the way out of the kitchen, she reached for the letter and took it to her bedroom. Tracey had no intention of opening the letter, although something in the back of her mind urged her not to ignore it. Instead, she laid it on her dresser and headed back to the living room.

She had work to do. The past would have to wait.