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“Turn around,” he said. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you. Do you understand these rights?”

He was doing it. This was happening. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t feel. The blood on my hands seemed to burn. I closed my eyes, trying to steady myself. But behind them, all I could see was that body bag and my heart rolling out the front door.

“You sure you wanna do it this way, Roy?” Deputy Lennon asked, speaking through gritted teeth. “There’s already a crowd.”

I opened my eyes. She was right. I’d always felt secluded here. My prince charming had rescued me from my tower of solitude and brought me here to his magnificent castle, high atop a bluff overlooking the pristine waters of the lake so big it looked like the ocean. Safe. Protected. Loved. I was all alone now. That stark reality hit me. Choked me. I could feel fingers closing around my throat once more, leaving bruises that might never heal.

The gates were open to the street. My affluent neighbors came out of their own smaller castles to gawk. To see if their king was dead. To see if his queen had fallen. In their place, I might have done the same. They stood open-mouthed, pale-faced. Two of them even had their phones out, ready to record the whole thing. I’d be on the internet in seconds. They wouldn’t be able to help themselves.

Then I felt the cold metal of the handcuffs as Roy snapped them around my wrists. He tightened them to the point where I felt tingling run all the way up to my shoulders.

“You did this, Mina,” he said into my left ear. “I could have helped you, you know? But this is what you did instead. And this is what you’re forcing me to do.”

He was right, of course. He pushed me gently forward, then put a hand on my head as he put me in the back of the patrol car and slammed the door.

ONE

Two Months Earlier

“Which one, the blue or the white?” I stood at the edge of the bed holding two button-down silk blouses, identical save for the color.

Still in bed, Lock propped himself up on his side, resting his jaw on his fist. I thrust the hangers out, shaking the shirts.

“Neither,” he said, yawning. “Come back here. You don’t have to be there until nine.” He patted the space on the bed between us.

“I want to be perfect,” I said.

Lock scooted forward, then reached out and snaked his arms around my waist, pulling me toward him. He pressed his cheek against my stomach. I managed to pick out a black pencil skirt and a peach lace bra, but the blouse choice stumped me.

His day-old stubble tickled my bare skin. He ran his hands down my hips. When he looked up at me with those laser-sharp brown eyes beneath lashes so thick it was criminal, it was hard not to melt and do exactly as he commanded. I did have another hour before I had to leave for work.

I half-heartedly squirmed away, which only made him hold me tighter. This time, he let out an almost predatory growl that nearly undid me.

He was beautiful, my Lock. Six foot three of hard-cut muscles from his religious fitness routine. Thick sable-colored hair worn just long enough for me to run my fingers through. He had a cowlick in the back that drove him crazy. It sprang up—at its most unruly in the morning like this. I smoothed it down but loved it. It lent him a youthful charm that gave me a glimpse into the shattered boy he used to be. A boy I longed to go back in time and hold tight when his bad days came.

He looked up at me, a devilish smirk on his face that sent waves of heat straight down to my core.

“I can’t,” I said, lightly protesting. “You’re being cruel.”

He let out a sinful laugh. He kept me in that embrace, his arms around my hips, his face against my stomach. He kissed me there and then looked back up at me.

“When can we test?” he asked.

I stiffened. A shiver of dread went through me. Lock sensed it and let me go. He rose and grabbed his boxer shorts off the floor. I stepped back as he slipped them on. He followed me into the bathroom.

I turned and looked at myself in the mirror. Lock came behind me, put his hands on my shoulders. I leaned against him. He kissed me gently in the crook of my neck, making all the tiny hairs there stand on end.

“Sorry,” he said. “We don’t need to think about baby-making today.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “This is important to both of us. I could have tested yesterday. But let’s wait a few days this time. The doctor said testing too early can lead to false negatives.”

“I know,” he said. He let me go and moved beside me, grabbing his toothbrush out of the drawer. I smoothed my makeup and ran a round brush through my hair one more time. Lock liked it this way. Long, down, hanging to the middle of my back. After he rinsed his mouth, he reached for me and tucked the loose strands behind my ear neatly.

“Mina, don’t worry,” he said. “It’s going to happen. The doctor said give it a few more months. Then we can see what’s what. There’s no rush. We’re both young. Healthy. Besides, I do love to practice.”

He let out that growl, and I turned to him. “You made that very clear last night, Mr. Manning.”

“And once again this morning,” he teased, leaning in to kiss me. “Practice makes perfect, my little dove. I’m going to have you ready for the Olympics by summer.” He playfully swatted my ass, and that flare of heat came back.