The young woman walked along the street, holding the bag close to her chest. She couldn't lose it. After everything she'd done to protect it, she was so close to her goal. "Only a little longer now," she whispered to the pocketbook. Only a little longer to safety. To her long journey finally coming to an end. Finally ...

"Hey!" The shout caught her attention, and she swung around, blonde locks bouncing. No ... "Stop!"

Instead of obeying the voice, she clutched the bag even closer and sprinted away. How could they have found her? She was always so careful! A shot rang out, flying past her and nearly hitting her. The girl whimpered in fear. Why hadn't she taken any of it for herself? But she knew it was too dangerous, especially for her.

But now she was going to die because of it.

Once she had the thought, it calmed her, for some reason. If she was going to die, she had to keep it out of their hands. Keep her duty to the very end. But who could she give it to? Who could she trust with something so valuable? Nobody came to mind.

If she couldn't think of anybody, then she would have to leave it to chance—and to God. Cocking her arm, she hurled the pocketbook onto a random lawn and ran in a different direction. No matter what happened to her, she had to put as much distance as possible between her and the bag.

"There she is!" The shout was accompanied by a gunshot. For a moment, she dared to hope that they had missed again. But a sudden pain flared in her chest, and she cried out as she fell to the ground. Sticky blood made her shirt stick to her skin.

One of her shooters came up and ruthlessly shoved her onto her back. She groaned, a tear lurking at the edge of her eye at the pain. The man moved her again and snarled in frustration. "She doesn't have it!"

One of the men grabbed her by the throat and lifted her off the ground a little. "Where is it?" he snarled.

She allowed herself a tiny smile. "You'll never find it," she rasped, and fell back, no more breath coming from her lungs.

She'd protected it for a little longer.

. . . . . . . . . .

Julius Barnum sighed as he sat up in bed. His alarm clock was beeping insistently, and try as he might, his long arm refused to reach it. Groaning, he rolled out of bed and onto the floor with a painful thud. Why had he set his clock for five in the morning? It was way too early to be getting up.

With another big sigh, Julius hit the button and turned off the alarm. He stood up and stretched, his fingers just touching the ceiling. "Urg," he muttered. The worst part of the day was waking up, in his opinion. It was something he was never able to get around to doing, actually. It felt like he walked through life in a mental fog.

Something was going off—again. Julius really hated technology, he decided. Fumbling through his belongings, he finally found his cellphone buried underneath a pile of clothes near his bed. The phone had gone to voicemail, and heaving yet another sigh, Julius called the number back. "Mr. Barnum?" came the answer.

"Umm, yeah," Julius said, rubbing his eyes. "Who is this?"

"Officer Kowalski," the man said. "I need you to come to 19 Pickette Lane, Mr. Barnum."

"Uhh, why?" Julius asked.

Kowalski hesitated. "Just get over here. There's been trouble, and your name's been found at the crime scene."

Crime scene? Uh-oh. Even if Julius was a private investigator—a small-time investigator—getting called to crime scenes and having one's name at a crime scene usually wasn't a good thing. Could his day really get any worse? And he'd just woken up, too. Sighing yet again, Julius dug through his pile of clothes to uncover some clean pants and a shirt. They were incredibly wrinkled, but they would probably just fit the rest of his rumpled appearance.

Once Julius had gotten dressed, he grabbed his cellphone and wallet and shoved them in his pocket. Probably better not to let the police wait, in his opinion. After a moment, he grabbed the keys to his little car as well. He'd rather drive than walk, particularly since he'd forgotten to include shoes in his haste.

The cool spring air bit into Julius's bare arms as he hurried down his stone path to the driveway. Little rocks jabbed his feet as he ran, but he kept going. Right up until something caught on his bare foot and sent him sprawling. Somehow he managed to avoid cracking his skull open on the hard ground, but only just. Flinching, he stood up to look for whatever it was he'd tripped on.

It was a woman's pocketbook. Plain, black, and made of leather. With a frown, Julius considered it, wondering how such a thing had come to be on his pathway. Then he shrugged and grabbed it. If somebody came looking for it later, he'd give it to them. For the moment, he had more important things to worry about.

With the bag in hand, Julius unlocked his car and jumped in. Once inside, he cranked up the heat and drove off.

It only took him a few minutes to reach the appointed meeting place and get stopped at a police barricade. One of the officers knocked on Julius's window, and he obligingly lowered it. "This street is closed," the officer told him.

"Sorry," Julius apologized, "but I was told to come by an Officer Kowalski. Unless he's changed his mind ...?"

"Oh! Are you Julius Barnum?"

Julius nodded and dug into his pocket, producing his wallet and license. Once the officer had checked it out, he motioned for Julius to step out of the car. "You'll have to go on foot," he said. "I'll watch your car for you, kid."

Kid? Julius was twenty years old. Trying not to take offense, he nodded and walked past the man. The whole street was buzzing with police officers and their cruisers kept crackling with the radios. Some of them gave the rumpled Julius weird looks, but most of them ignored him and went about their business.

When Julius asked one of them where Kowalski was, he was pointed out to a tall, rotund man probably about ten years older than he was. Julius strolled up to the man, noting his enormous black eyebrows. Kowalski's attention was riveted on a large circle of officers surrounding something. "Officer Kowalski?" Julius said with a yawn. He really should have slept in. "I'm Julius Barnum. Is there something you wanted?"

Kowalski turned, stroking the stubble on his chin. "Mr. Barnum?" he guessed, looking a little uncertain about calling the younger Julius "Mr. Barnum". Julius nodded in response to the man's question. "I'm Officer Kowalski. I'm sorry to drag you from your bed so early, but there's something you need to know. A woman was murdered here last night."

"Murder?" Julius never dealt with murder. Lost cats, missing wallets and glasses that had usually been dropped at a pew in church, maybe, but never murder. "Do you think I did it?"

Kowalski hesitated. "Your name was on this." He produced a business card for Julius's small private investigating company and held it out to him.

Julius shook his head. "I know what my business cards look like," he said. "Where'd you find it?"

"On the victim's body."

Julius stared at Kowalski, unblinking. For some reason, it made little impact on him. He knew he hadn't done it. So, in Julius's opinion, they couldn't accuse him of it. "Can I see what she looks like?" he asked.

Kowalski motioned some of the officers aside and pointed. "Have a look, Mr. Barnum."

After glancing at the officer for a moment, Julius moved forward and went to the body beneath the white sheet. Tentatively, he lifted it up to look at the girl's face. She looked like she'd been about Julius's age. Her blonde curls were sprawled around her face, her dark brown eyes open and unseeing. A tear lingered at the corner of her eye, caught in her dark, curled lashes. The china-doll pale skin was ashen in death. Julius could clearly see the blood on her chest. "Shot?" he guessed. It didn't exactly take a genius to see that she'd either been shot or stabbed.

"Shot, then moved. She probably fell face-forward and somebody moved her. Like they were looking for something."

For some reason, Julius's mind flashed to the bag that had been thrown on his lawn. There was no way that had anything to do with this. Still, his business card had somehow been on the victim's body, meaning somebody either had it in for him or just really wanted him involved.

Kowalski rubbed his upper lip thoughtfully. "Mr. Barnum, seeing as you're a private investigator, I wonder if you'd be willing to take on this case. Maybe it's a little ... biased, but I don't think you killed this girl. And, to be honest, we're stumped."

"So you ask someone who's under suspicion to solve the crime?" Julius made a face. "Not the best idea, in my opinion."

"I've been given permission," Kowalski insisted. "In fact, you've been specifically asked."

"I have been?" Julius blinked. "By who?" He really didn't know anybody.

"By the victim's sister, Yuri."