Runaway Heiress. Jennifer Morey

       Prologue

      Sadie Moreno sat across from Steven Truscott at a downtown Jackson Hole twenty-four-hour diner. In his sleek black suit and tie with pristine white dress shirt and medium brown hair brushed back to hide signs of recession, he made a handsome picture. Once upon a time she might have attempted to break through his staunch wall of professionalism for a more personal relationship. Life had intervened.

      “Do you have news for me?” He usually didn’t come to see her unless he did.

      In the next instant, her spirits dimmed along with his grim mouth line.

      “The last lead didn’t produce anything, Sadie. Bernie’s case has gone cold.”

      He’d been keeping tabs on the progress of the investigation so she wouldn’t have to. So that was why he’d come all this way. He knew how this would devastate her. “But it was so promising.”

      “I’m sorry. They’ve got nothing now. No evidence. No witnesses. Not a single shred of anything.”

      Disappointment crushed her. “What are they going to do now?” There had to be something they could do.

      “We’ll just have to wait for something new to come up.”

      The injustice soured and rotted hope.

      She tapped her sunglasses on the table. Turning away from Steven’s sympathetic, silver gaze, she saw nothing as she thought of Bernie King. He didn’t deserve to die the way he had. The first homeless person she’d helped, he had become her close friend. He’d spent the longest in her program, but only because she wanted to help him as much as she could, giving him a place to live while he got back on his feet.

      She bobbed her crossed leg, jeans tucked into a pair of calf-high leather boots. How could she endure yet another tragedy she was powerless to avenge?

      A waitress came with water and Steven’s coffee.

      She was too upset to ingest anything.

      “The case has gone cold, that’s all.” He sipped his coffee. “The police won’t give up. We will just have to be patient.”

      Sadie didn’t do patience very well, especially when someone close to her had been brutally killed. It could be years—or never—before any more leads emerged.

      “I can’t sit around and wait.” She had to do something. “The location of the body should tell them something, shouldn’t it?”

      Bernie had been shot and his body moved to Warren Park, far from downtown San Francisco. Too far to walk anyway. Bernie had recently moved to the new facility she’d constructed, well on his way to rebuilding his life, transitioning from homeless to home. He had planned to buy a car the next day, and had been within weeks of moving to his own apartment. She couldn’t stand it that he’d been ambushed, that his life had been stolen, his new life. Slaughtered dreams.

      Steven sipped his coffee again. She sensed his doubt in police finding new leads anytime soon. That was why he’d come all this way. He had to meet her in person to deliver the bad news.

      “Just because he was homeless doesn’t mean his life mattered less.” She almost spoke to herself. So many people lacked awareness about the homeless. The homeless weren’t parasites to be cleansed from the community. They were live, breathing human beings who once had a life not much different than those who passed them on the streets with barely a glance. Out of sight out of mind, right?

      “Don’t forget about him, Steven,” she said.

      With a resigned look, he put down his cup. “His case isn’t being treated any differently than someone who had a home. The killer did a good job of hiding evidence. It’s going to take some smart detective work to catch him.”

      She knew that. Bernie’s killer hadn’t left any evidence, no trace evidence. While she debated whether his case was treated any differently than if he’d been a contributing figure in his community, she had to acknowledge the prowess of his killer. But damn it, why did he have to die on the brink of getting his life back on track? The injustice choked her up.

      “Bernie was like family to me.” Many of her clients were, but Bernie was special. He was the reason she started the Revive Center. When she met him on the street, she had taken him to the hotel where she was staying, not knowing then what she’d do. Give him money, but he needed more than money. He needed help.

      Born, the Revive Center.

      She and Bernie had become very close since then. After a long rehabilitation, he’d gone to college and got a job. Success. She wouldn’t say he was as happy as he could be. He still felt his tragic losses, but he’d been well on his way to a good life.

      “What you do is an inspiration to humanity, Sadie. You put your whole heart into your organization. You’ve come a long way in rebuilding your own life, too. Hell, no wonder why you gravitated to them. Even with all your money, you’re not much different than them.”

      She laughed despite her sadness. Sometimes she forgot how well Steven knew her.

      “Don’t jeopardize your new beginning by involving yourself in Bernie’s case,” Steven said. “That’s my job.”

      “I have to do something.” She could not stand by and let him do all the work, especially now.

      “Sadie...” His voice trailed off on a warning tone.

      “Don’t try to talk me out of it. You always do that. You’re too cautious. No one will recognize me.”

      He cocked his head that gave his eyes a sardonic look. “The car?”

      “It’s a gray sedan.” But she knew he had her there. “Money is the one thing I have in common with my father,” she said ruefully. “I kept the car because if I need money, I can sell it.”

      “Fine, leave it in the garage.”

      She felt safe here. No one knew her. Aside from the fun of it—and the defiance of her situation, she drove the car to keep the oil from pooling in the engine, but she could have her staff do that. “I don’t drive it that much, Steven. I’m careful with that. But for you I won’t drive it until my ex is either dead or in jail.” Small chance of that happening. He’d evaded both Steven’s secret investigating and the police. He’d likely be killed by one of his own enemies before law enforcement caught him, given the type of activities he practiced.

      Steven smiled softly, fondly at her easy obedience. She always listened to him.

      “You enjoy money for much different reasons than your father. Don’t compare yourself to him.” He’d always been sympathetic to her plight. She was lucky to have him as a friend. “I do have to say, though, he’d implode if he saw you in flannel.”

      She returned his fond smile. “I spent a lot of years repressing who I really was just to please him.” She’d been a peacekeeper, allowing her father to mold her into his corporate minion, his clone—at great expense to her soul. She looked down at her flannel shirt. “This is my rebellion.”

      His regard warmed. “You wear it well.”

      “I wear