She shrugs. “I’m sure it’s nothing. He increased his own too. Maybe he’s compensating for inflation.” A weak joke.
“Maybe,” I say. “Or maybe…”
My eyes flick up to hers.
“Stop.” She holds up a hand, laughing—but not really. “I’m sure I’m just being paranoid.”
I glance down at the journals between us.
“Right,” I say, flipping a page. “Paranoid.”
I look back at her.
“With good reason.”
Whitney meets my gaze. Something settles between us—quiet, immediate, understood.
We don’t say it.
We don’t have to.
We’re thinking about the same thing.
The last time death came looking for us.
Chapter Two
“You’ll never guess what Whitney told me today.” I toss my Chloe crossbody onto the kitchen island before crossing to my husband and wrapping him in a hug.
His arms come around me instantly. I nuzzle into his neck, grounding myself in the familiar warmth of him. “What now, babe?”
I laugh. He knows us too well. “She thinks Phillip is planning to kill her for the insurance money.”
Bennett’s laugh bursts from his chest, echoing off the cathedral ceiling. “She’s got quite the imagination. Can you imagine? The most successful businessman in Tigertail Beach offing his wife to pocket more cash?”
“I can’t.” I shake my head, though something in me lingers on the thought longer than it should.
Bennett has been in my life almost as long as Whitney. We met my fourth year at Miami University, when he was finishing his master’s in business. For as long as I can remember, it’s been the two of them in my corner. I’ve never needed anyone else.
That’s why, after we married, we bought here—TigertailBeach Estates, the most exclusive neighborhood on Marco Island. Within six months, Whitney and Phillip purchased the estate next door. And now here we are, ten years later.
Thick as thieves.
“In fact,” Bennett continues, turning back to the counter, “if you told me you and Whitney were plotting Phillip’s end, I’d find that more believable. The Dangerous Duo is downright diabolical.”
He chuckles, pats my ass, and kisses me. Easy. Automatic. We’ve always been good like this—physical, connected. Even after a fight, we don’t stay apart long. It’s always been easier to come back together than to stay angry.
“Maybe you should talk to him,” I say. “Just… poke around a little.”
“No thanks.” Bennett pulls away and returns to the smoked salmon he’s assembling for lunch. “Men don’t do that.”
“Do what? Talk business?” I roll my eyes.
“Talk personal business,” he corrects. “Just tell Whit to sleep with one eye open. She’ll be fine. She could probably take him out with one swipe of those pointy fake nails anyway. He’s two decades older—she could beat him in an arm-wrestling match if she wanted.”
I laugh. “True, but he’s still strong?—”
“Well.” Bennett glances back at me, eyes glinting, and lifts his arm to flex. “He’s not built like a Marvel superhero like your man.”
