Page 15 of Marked for Danger

She studied the picture again. Her earliest memories of Olly are of him as a young boy. Short brown hair, big round eyes. Dimples and the biggest, sweetest smile. The most contagious laugh…

Just like Mom’s.

But that was before.

Before a drunk driver shattered their perfect, all-American world by stealing two of the most amazing, loving parents who’d ever existed. Before Izzy and her older brother were thrown into a system that was so overcrowded and understaffed, it was all too easy for kids like them to fall through the cracks.

For reasons she still didn’t fully understand, Izzy somehow made it through to the other side. Not totally unscathed—she still carried scars from that time in her life. But she’d survived.

By the grace of God, she’d survived and had come out the other side with a fierce need to understand the human psyche. To make sense as to what drove humans to make this choice versus that, to grow up to be inherently good while others…

So many others don’t.

Izzy’s craving for answers the point, she’d worked her ass off and put herself through school in hopes of helping others.

Olly, however…

If a kid gets knocked down by life too often, he’ll eventually start punching back.

Her brother’s face came back into focus. Not the same one she remembered as a child, or even from the last time she saw him. This Olly seemed to have aged two times that, at least.

He was still handsome, of course. Her brother had always been a looker, as her mom had called him. But this version of her brother was man with too much life behind him. Too much pain.

His broad shoulders appeared almost hunched, as if they carried the weight of the world, and his weathered skin marked by dark shadows. New sprigs of silver already starting to sprout at his temples.

But it was the look of defeat in her brother’s eyes that left unshed tears in Izzy’s. As if he’d given up on life, just as life had given up on him.

Preventing an embarrassing show of emotions in front of her colleagues, she blinked away the moisture and studied the entire picture, not just Olly.

In it, he was carrying a box toward the opened back of a cargo van, his impressive biceps stretching the short sleeves of his T. Behind him was a loading dock connected to a building made of tan bricks with light gray mortar, and there was an open side door to the far right.

That was it. There was no illegal activity going on that she could see. Nothing nefarious or glaringly obvious.

In fact, the only thing Izzywasclear on was that, at the time the picture was taken, her brother had no idea he was being watched. Let alone photographed.

Izzy pulled it free from the paperclip holding it in place. When she did, all the papers in the file shifted, revealing a handful of additional loose photos fanning out behind them.

Izzy gathered them up and went through them. One by one, she studied several more pictures of Olly. His clothing was different in each of them, the lighting and time of day changing with each flip of the stack.

The authorities—presumably the FBI, since SAC Hunt was here—had obviously been watching her brother over what appeared to be a course of several days. Possibly weeks or even months.

What the hell?

“Dr. Garcia—”

“Izzy,” she muttered the correction to SAC Hunt while once again staring intently at the glossy five-by-sevens still in her hands.

Her heart ached knowing Olly was back in Denver and he hadn’t bothered to call or come by. Or even shoot her a text.

You ruined his life. Can you blame him?

“Izzy, have you ever heard of a man named Dante Valdez?”

“No.” She shook her head, her eyes refusing to leave the frozen image of her only living relative. “Should I have?”

“Dante Valdez is a well-known businessman here in town,” Sgt. Riedell explained. “He owns La Cocina—”

“The restaurant?” Izzy cut him off as she met the man’s stare. “I’ve eaten there several times. It’s quite good.”

---