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booted off the force in Ventura. All I have to do is make a few phone calls, and you’ll spend the rest of your lives in prison. Of course, if you turn your back on me and walk out that door, you may not live long enough to go to prison.”
    Pete Cordova had feared all along that it might end this way. He had a wonderful wife and two darling daughters. The underworld people they dealt with couldn’t afford to be exposed, and Harrison had nothing to lose and everything to gain. “Come on, Boyd,” he said, tugging on his sleeve. “We’re not talking to a rational person anymore. You’re on your own, Chief.”
    â€œYou’ll be back,” Harrison told them, bending over at the waist as his face contorted in pain. “Even if you don’t, someone else will take me up on my offer.”
    Once the two men left the house, Boyd said, “I wanted to take out Metroix the night he killed Tim. Greenly was chicken. Would have saved everyone a lot of grief if he’d listened to me.”
    Pete Cordova kept his mouth shut and walked ahead to the car. The time had come for him to turn his life around. He owed it to his family. One of the first people he needed to distance himself from was Boyd Chandler. He doubted if Harrison would follow through on his threats and report their illegal activities to the authorities, but Boyd might go behind his back and take the chief up on his offer. Two hundred grand was a sizable sum of money, and Boyd was a habitual gambler.

Chapter 4
    C arolyn resided in a modest three-bedroom home located near Ventura College. Before she began attending law school, she’d spent her weekends gardening in the California sunshine. The walkway leading to the front door was lined with blooming rosebushes, and the beds along the exterior of the house were filled with rows of vibrantly colored perennials.
    Pulling her white Infiniti into the driveway at ten-thirty that night, Carolyn rushed into the house, hoping her son was awake. Because John cooked dinner and helped Rebecca with her homework on Mondays and Wednesdays when she attended classes, Carolyn had given him permission to convert the garage into his own private apartment. All three of the bedrooms were located on the same side of the small house, and at fifteen, John needed privacy.
    Rebecca was a rambunctious, popular twelve-year-old. She played her stereo at deafening levels, constantly had one girlfriend or the other over visiting, and only cleaned her room when her mother threatened to ground her. Unlike most teenage boys, John was fastidiously neat. He spent his time reading and studying, and detested any type of noise whatsoever. Outrageously handsome, he stood over six feet and had thick dark hair and luminous green eyes. At present, though, the opposite sex played an insignificant role in her son’s life. He would occasionally take a girl to a school dance or a movie. Afterward, the girl would call or drop by the house, but John was too busy to put up with the demands of a steady girlfriend.
    Carolyn’s son aspired to go to MIT and major in physics. Providing for her children’s needs was not easy. She certainly couldn’t depend on her ex-husband. Frank had been a compulsive liar, and had cheated on her repeatedly. When he’d started using drugs, Carolyn had finally put an end to the marriage.
    She found John in the kitchen stacking the dishes in the dishwasher. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a white tank top. His skin was tan and his body taut and muscular.
    Carolyn walked over and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re looking good, kid,” she told him, knowing he worked out every day now in his new garage apartment. Lifting weights, John told his mother, helped him to sleep at night. Like herself, her son found it hard to quiet his constantly churning mind. After years of sleepless nights, Carolyn had finally resorted to medication. She hoped her son didn’t end up