I feel the blood drain from my face. That’s where the cabin is and where Marcus died.
"That's unfortunate," Phoenix says. His voice betrays nothing. "I hope you find him."
"The car is being processed by forensics now." Detective Nowak looks up from his notebook, and his sharp eyes land on me. I feel pinned, exposed, like a butterfly mounted on a board. "The area is pretty remote. Lots of hiking trails. Dangerous terrain if you don't know what you're doing."
"Marcus wasn't much of an outdoorsman," Phoenix offers. "He preferred city life. I'm surprised he was up there at all."
"Do you have any idea what he might have been doing in that area?"
"None."
The questioning continues for another twenty minutes. They ask about Marcus's business dealings, his personal life, whether he had any enemies. Phoenix answers everything calmly, painting a picture of a man who was difficult but harmless, ambitious but not dangerous. A man who simply disappeared one day without explanation.
He doesn't mention that Marcus was a predator. That he'd been watching me for who knows how long and that he broke into our cabin with intent to hurt and destroy me.
He doesn't mention the blood on the floor or the body in the ground or the nightmares that wake me screaming in the middle of the night.
Finally, the detectives stand to leave. Detective Reeves hands each of us a business card, the cheap card stock rough against my fingers.
"We may want you to come down to the station for a formal interview," he says. "Just to get everything on the record. Standard procedure in cases like this."
"Of course." Phoenix walks them to the door, his hand brushing mine as he passes. A brief touch, a reassurance. We're in this together. "Whatever we can do to help."
"One more thing." Detective Nowak pauses in the doorway, turning back to look at us. His eyes move between Phoenix and me, and I can see him taking everything in. What does he think of us? Of this house? Of what we might have done. "Don't leave town. Either of you."
"We have plans to visit my parents tonight," Phoenix says smoothly. "A dinner party at their estate in Pacific Palisades."
"That should be fine. Just don't take any trips out of the area until we get this sorted."
"Understood."
The door closes behind them. The sound of their car starting and pulling away fades into silence. The house feels too quiet without them, too empty, like all the air has been sucked out of the room.
Phoenix turns to look at me. His dark eyes are unreadable in the fading light.
"They know," I whisper. The words feel like broken glass in my throat. "They know something."
"They don't know anything." He crosses the room and takes my face in his hands. His palms are warm against my cheeks. His fingers are gentle despite the tension I can feel radiating through his body. "They're fishing. That's what cops do. They ask questions and watch reactions and hope someone slips up."
"What if I slipped up? What if I said something wrong?"
"You didn't. You were perfect."
"I was terrified."
"So was I." He presses his forehead against mine, and for a moment we just breathe together. "But we can't let them see that. We can't give them anything to work with."
I pull back to look at him, really look at him. Days ago, this man killed someone for me. Beat him to death with his bare hands and a metal poker and never hesitated, never flinched, never looked back. He drove the body up into the mountains and buried it in frozen ground while I slept in his bed and pretended the world hadn't just changed forever.
I should be horrified by him. I should be running, screaming, calling the police myself.
Instead, I love him more than I've ever loved anyone.
"What about the dinner party?" I ask. "Your parents are expecting us."
Phoenix glances at his watch. We're already late.
"I'll call them," he says. "Tell them something came up.”
