CHAPTER 1

PRESENT TIME

Boston, Massachusetts

Moakley Federal Courthouse

She needed air.

Lisa Waldren's quick footsteps were lost in the noise filling themarble corridor as she slung her satchel over her shoulder and wovethrough huddled groups of jurors, family members, and legal teams.She didn't turn toward the elevators that led to her office, but insteadfocused her steps toward the fresh ocean air waiting outside the building.

"Lisa, wait," someone called behind her as the glass rotunda entrancecame into view.

She didn't slow until she'd pushed out the glass doors into thecurved courtyard of Moakley Federal Courthouse. The scent of the seafilled her lungs and cooled her face, a welcome relief from the recycledair of the courtroom. But in her hurry to escape, Lisa had forgottenthat the press would be waiting. They recognized her as the lead federalprosecutor and hurried toward her.

"Ms. Waldren, are you pleased with the sentencing?"

"What did Radcliffe say to you? Did he show any remorse?"

The faces, cameras, and microphones pressed around her.

"We have an official press conference at two o'clock." Lisa pushedthrough the net that circled and squeezed in. Someone grabbed her arm,but as she protested, Lisa recognized a familiar face pushing around andleading her through the mob.

"That's all for now. Sorry, folks, more in a few hours," DrewHarman said with a commanding tone that brought a smile to the edgeof Lisa's lips.

"Hey, Drew, you got an exclusive with her or what?" The reportergave him a sly expression as a few others broke into laughter.

"You'd like to know," Drew said. As they moved beyond the gathering,he shook his head as if disgusted. "Sharks."

Lisa couldn't help but laugh, given that Drew was a former newsmanhimself.

"I'd say thank you, but that wasn't necessary. I have plenty of experienceshoving past the press."

"Don't I know," Drew said with a wicked grin.

Lisa ignored the remark. "Do you have time for lunch? I'm starving."

"Sentencing bad guys to thirty years in prison works up an appetite,I'm sure."

The breeze wafting through the landscaped courtyard carried thescent from a Sicilian restaurant, teasing her grumbling stomach withvisions of homemade linguini and fresh seafood.

"Today was good news," Drew said, and Lisa realized he'd beenstudying her expression.

He was right. A bad guy was going to prison, and that should makeher feel good. But for the past three years, Lisa had spent countlesshours with the victims of the multistate extortion case. A hundredand forty-three victims had been taken by a swindler—that's whatit came down to. They were humiliated and disillusioned, but evenworse, most had lost nearly everything they had. Lisa could see thefaces and hear their stories: the Huffs had to move in with theirmarried children after losing the home they'd had for forty years;elderly Maryann Brown was scouring the job market after losing herentire life savings; Blaze Hampton survived being a POW in Vietnambut had lost his finances to a man claiming to be another veteran . . .the stories went on and on.

Sending Gerald Radcliffe to prison for thirty years didn't help thevictims.

"Yes, good news. At least it's over." Lisa tried to muster up someacceptable enthusiasm.

They walked toward the blue waters of Boston Harbor that gleamedbeneath the noonday sun. A large catamaran cut through the choppywaves, reminding Lisa of days when her husband was alive and he'dcoax her and their young son out for a day at sea. The memory no longerstung but served to soften her mood and remind her of how time passedand healed. And tonight was one of her two regular weekly video chatswith her now college-aged son from his dorm in London.

"It is actually over. That is a relief." Lisa glanced at Drew as theweight finally began to lift.

"You need to take that vacation now. Celebrate this and don't justhop on the next case. It's a huge victory. I know one thing—Radcliffethought he was getting away with this, but he didn't expect FederalProsecutor Lisa Waldren. You did good, so be proud of yourself." Drew'swhite smile beamed against the darkness of his skin.

Lisa nearly brushed away his words by saying that she'd been part ofa great team and all the usual things people were supposed to say. ButDrew knew the hours she'd put in and how determined she was to getthe last nail hammered into Radcliffe's coffin. She'd followed a papertrail after it virtually disappeared, found family members that Radcliffehad thought he'd left behind and a partner in exile he wanted dead.Without her determination fueled by the victims' stories, Radcliffewould have never gone to trial, let alone been found guilty.

"I guess I did do all right," she said, breaking into a smile of her own.

As they stepped onto the harbor walkway, Lisa's phone rang. Thename on the screen stopped her.

"My father?" She held up the phone as if to confirm that her eyesweren't tricking her.

"You should answer it."

Lisa hesitated a moment longer.

"Dad?"

"There you are. I didn't know if you'd be in court." The voice struckher as so familiar that the time since she had last seen her father disappearedin a moment. They spoke in short greetings on holidays andbirthdays, though Dad had forgotten most of Lisa's. They were family,yet neither of them knew the details of the other's life.

"I just left a sentencing and am going to lunch. How are you? Iseverything okay?"

"I want to talk to you about something. Time is critical with this."

"What's it about?" Lisa braced herself for the news she was aboutto receive.

"There's too much to go over right now. But do you remember whenyou were little, really little, I took you to a civil rights rally?"

Lisa frowned, trying to gauge where this was going.

"It was in Fort Worth. There was a shooting?"

"Do you mean the rally where that civil rights leader was killed?"Years ago, after her mother had brought up how upset she'd been that aman was killed so close to her daughter, Lisa had researched the event.

"Yes, exactly. His name was Benjamin Gray."

Lisa caught the rise of excitement in Dad's tone. She shifted fromone leg to the next as Drew took the heavy satchel from her shoulderand motioned toward a bench near the water's edge. Lisa followed himand leaned on the thick chain railing.

"Didn't the shooter get the death penalty?" she asked.

"Yes, but he didn't do the crime. The wrong man has spent morethan four decades in prison for the Gray killing."

"And?" A headache was growing in her temples, and she wanted toask what this had to do with her, with them, with his abrupt phone callout of the blue.

"I want to right that wrong."

"That's admirable of you."

This was not like her father at all. Special Agent James Waldrenhad retired with accolades from the FBI over a decade earlier. He fit theG-man role naturally. He didn't share his feelings with anyone, he'd nevergo to therapy, and he wouldn't see the point of losing sleep questioninglife decisions. Yet now Lisa detected the tone of someone impassionedby a cause.

Had he become obsessed with this case? Was he losing his mind?Words like dementia and Alzheimer's made her pulse race.

"It's not admirable; it's what should have been done long ago. AndI need your help."

"Me? What can I do?"

"I don't know what you remember from that day, but the real...