The baby could arrive before then. And if it was a boy…
She pressed both hands to her belly as the child moved again. “I won’t let Richard hurt you,” she whispered. “I don’t care if your father thinks I’m hysterical. I know what I heard.”
A robin landed on the garden wall, its song piercing the quiet morning. Eleanor watched it through blurred vision, her thoughts spiraling. Infants succumbed to natural causes all the time. A pillow pressed too firmly during a fit of crying. Medicine mixed incorrectly. A fall from the arms of a well-meaning cousin.
Accidents happened.
And she would never be able to prove malicious intent.
If there were no male heir, Richard would inherit everything on his eighteenth birthday. She would rather see him named heir now—even if she bore a son—if it meant her child would be safe.
Eleanor wiped her tears with the back of her hand and straightened despite the ache in her spine. If Thomas wouldn’t protect this child, then she would. If God chose to give her a son, she would need proof of Richard’s guilt should anything happen to Thomas Jr.
Or she could wait for the trap she had already set in motion—one that would reveal Richard’s treachery to her husband.
She closed her fingers around the locket resting against her chest and drew in a steadying breath.
Either way, today her silent suffering would end.
Chapter 1
Present Day
Fairview, Tennessee
She’d never come so close to death.
It had been only two days since the accident with the black SUV—a hit-and-run. Annie Whitaker had been driving home from the Blackwood estate sale, barely keeping control of her old Honda, when the SUV growled as it pulled alongside her. Before she could react, it swerved and shoved her car onto the narrow shoulder. The sudden impact nearly sent her over the guardrail. She would have plummeted down the mountainside if she hadn’t slammed on the brakes in time.
Her thoughts circled the what-ifs for what felt like the three hundredth time. What if the guardrail hadn’t been there? What if she hadn’t bought new tires two days earlier? What if she’dbeen driving just a little faster? The questions made her shiver, her stomach tightening. Uncle Eric had insisted she take a few days to rest, but that wasn’t an option.
She forced the thoughts away. This wasn’t the time. She was safe now—and she had work to do.
The glow from her laptop cast eerie shadows across the cluttered studio apartment as Annie rubbed her tired eyes. Boxes and storage bins crowded nearly every surface, each one holding fragments of someone else’s life.
The grand opening of her antique shop was less than a week away, and she still had several Victorian pieces to research and price. She’d spent most of the past week consumed by stress—unpacking, cataloging, arranging displays—trying to impose order on chaos. Yet the mess hadn’t dampened the familiar thrill that bloomed in her chest each time she uncovered an item she hadn’t known she possessed.
She loved that feeling. It was what kept her going.
Exhaustion tugged at her eyelids. She stretched and rolled her desk chair side to side, trying to ease the ache in her back and stiff muscles. How long had she been doing this?
She glanced at the clock in the corner of her screen. Eleven fifteen.
The research on the Victorian jewelry was taking longer than expected. Some pieces were rare, likely to bring a solid profit. Others turned out to be worthless fakes. Frustration had crept in as the evening wore on. She should have spotted them. She knew Victorian jewelry. Rookie mistakes like this weren’t an option—not when this shop represented everything she’d worked for over the last three years.
One piece, in particular, held her attention.
A large oval locket set with small green gemstones. On closer inspection, delicate etchings scored the gold surface, aligning the stones with the points of a compass rose.
It felt different from the others—heavier, more significant. She’d noticed it immediately while sorting through a jewelry box from the Blackwood estate sale, tucked beneath tangled costume pearls and brooches. The clasp had stuck when she tried to open it, but she’d managed a brief glimpse of what looked like a small key and a folded slip of paper inside.
Opening it properly without damaging it would take time. That could wait until morning.
She yawned. Definitely time to stop. Today had turned out far crazier than she’d anticipated.
The small wooden cross at the edge of her desk caught her eye—a gift from Uncle Eric when she’d told him about the antique shop.
“Guide me, Lord.” she whispered, the same prayer she’d said every night since her parents died.
