The sedan's death rattle echoes through Verdant Row's manicured silence, leaving Detective Stella Lockhart stranded among houses that cost more than her annual salary. Bruises still bloom purple beneath her freckled skin, souvenirs from when the mob decided she'd learned too much. Now she needs help from strangers in a neighborhood where even the mailboxes judge her wrinkled shirt and chain-worn badge.

Twenty-seven and already broken once, Stella Lockhart wears her detective shield like armor that failed her once before. Her red curls catch streetlight the same way blood caught hospital fluorescents three months ago.

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