“Let me go,” she moans. “Let me go, Dane!”
I grasp her closer. “I can’t.”
A sharp knock on the penthouse door shatters the awful moment. I want to ignore it. I don’t want to put an inch of space between my body and hers.
Another knock, harder this time. “North Yorkshire Police.”
Fuck.
How are they here already? What clue did I leave behind that would so obviously lead to me?
I smooth my hair into a neater style and climb off the bed. I’m already dressed, ready to head to London the moment Abigail was prepared.
I can deal with the police. I just have to remember how to put on my charming mask.
They have nothing concrete connecting me to the crime. They can’t.
Even if they did have forensic evidence that raised suspicion, there’s no way it’s been processed this quickly.
I take a breath, summon up an expression of confusion and mild concern, then open the door.
“What’s this about?” I ask, affable but bewildered.
The uniformed woman peers past me, looking for something. Or someone.
“Is Abigail Foster here?” she asks, her voice clipped and official.
Abigail.
Why would they want to talk to her?
“I’m here,” she says from behind me, and I bite back a curse. “What do you need?”
For a moment, fear swamps me. She’s going to turn me in. She’s going to tell them that I killed Stephen.
But she doesn’t say anything else. She steps up beside me and takes my hand in hers, just like when she defended me in front of my family.
I stare down at her with open awe.
She’s frightened of my murderous capabilities, but she’s still standing by me. She’s still choosing me.
“Abigail Foster, you are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Stephen Lansing.”
“No!” I bark, angling my body between the officer and Abigail.
There’s another officer at the end of the hall. He fixes me with a grim stare and comes to join his partner.
“Step aside,” he warns me.
Horror crashes down on me, heavy enough that my knees threaten to buckle.
Abigail was Stephen’s last appointment yesterday. There will be a written record of it. The police might’ve already found some sort of drugs in his office. His time of death will align with the time she was in the gallery.
I killed Stephen to save her, but I condemned her.
“Sir, I need you to step aside. Now,” the woman insists.
“I’m the one you want.” My voice is cold, utterly unfeeling.
