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better of her.
    â€œI’ll go up and see him later.” Lesley visited her father every morning, so there was no reason to mention it, but she had so little to say to her mother. Her father’s condition didn’t change significantly from day to day. He was attended to by a rotating crew of private-duty nurses and physical and speech therapists. Six years after his stroke, he’d made little progress. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t walk or feed himself. Lesley often thought it must be hell on earth to be trapped in a body one had so little control over. But money was no object. Richard Robinson received the best care available, and with the help of the latest in high-tech computer interface assistance, he was slowly writing his memoir.
    â€œI don’t know why you spend so much time with him,” Mitzi said with a sigh as she gazed out the window. “Some days I don’t think he appreciates it.”
    â€œYou don’t know that.” Lesley had been a daddy’s girl her whole life, and she supposed she still was. It was Richard who had encouraged her, Richard she’d spent time with as a child, although in truth much of their quality time together had occurred in his office. She’d listened and learned even while she’d colored or read or worked on puzzles. A part of her had absorbed his business sense. It was no surprise she had an MBA and had been ready to take over when he’d been unable to continue as CEO of the Robinson Group.
    He’d already been shifting himself into the role of chairman of the board before the stroke, leaving the day-to-day operations to his hand-picked executive staff. Lesley had taken over his role and worked mostly from her home office. She traveled to board meetings a few times a year and also oversaw the charitable foundation.
    Some days she could almost convince herself it was enough. But late at night, she felt the emptiness of her life.

Chapter Three
    Niko unlocked his front door and stepped inside. His gaze swept the space before him. A living room opened into a dining area and the kitchen beyond. Niko Morales, homeowner. In his wildest dreams he’d never thought he might one day have a place of his own. It wasn’t much of a place, a fixer-upper he’d been lucky to snatch up from the foreclosure vultures six months ago. Fixer-upper was putting it kindly. The place was a dump. But the structure was solid and it had potential. That’s what Niko told himself. Not that he’d had the money or the time to work much on it. Instead he settled for painting and patching and keeping it clean.
    It was his and that’s what he cared about. The aesthetics weren’t important at the moment. He unbuckled his belt, removed his weapon and locked it in the gun safe he kept on the top shelf of the tiny closet near the front door.
    He yanked off his uniform shirt and the tee underneath as he headed toward the bathroom, tossing them into the laundry basket. He turned on the shower before he shed the rest of his clothes. Stepping under the warm spray brought nothing but relief. His shift was over and he wasn’t on duty again for two days. His stomach growled. He thought about going to Señor Tequilas for dinner. The beer was cheap, chips and salsa were free and the enchiladas were some of the best he’d ever had. He did a quick mental calculation about the state of his finances until payday and decided he could afford a meal out.
    He wrapped a towel around his waist and went into the bedroom. His cell phone signaled an incoming call. Luckily for him, his place was small. He made it down the hallway to the phone before it went to voice mail.
    â€œMorales.”
    â€œDeputy Morales, it’s Lesley Robinson.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œAm I catching you at a bad time?”
    â€œNo. It’s fine.”
    â€œI’d like to set up a meeting for you with the foundation’s board. But there are a few things