“You don’t know who she’s working with. If she killed Murphy, she has a partner. She’s not sawing through bone on her own. I’m starting to think it wasn’t about cutting up the body to make it easier to move. It was about disposing of it, and the boathouse is a good location. It would have power for tools and shelter to hide under while you did the task.”
“I wouldn’t have gone with her to her room.”
I turn to look at her.
“When I saw you were gone,” I say, my voice quieter now, “when I saw where you were going, I couldn’t...” I stop and swallow. “I thought something happened to you. I thought I’d find you hurt. Or worse.” My voice cracks. “I can’t lose you, Madeline. I can’t.”
Madeline gives me reason to wake up every morning. She gives me a drive, breathing life back into me I didn’t know was missing. I know it sounds sappy, but it’s like I’ve locked up so much shit that I’ve emotionally shut down, not letting anything close. She’s taken a sledgehammer to that door without even trying. Now that it’s open, I can never let it fucking close, and that means having her.
Her expression changes. The anger fades, replaced by something softer. She reaches up and touches my jaw.
“You were really scared,” she whispers.
She leans in and kisses me. It’s soft at first, then deeper and hungry. The fear turns into something else—heat, relief, and need. I pull her across the center console, hands on her waist, lifting her onto my lap. The seat creaks. Her knees settle on either side of my hips, her weight pressing down, and I groan against her mouth.
She pulls back a little, breathless, her hands on my shoulders. “Thank you for telling me that. I like seeing that side of you. I also like that you realized your anger came from fear. A lot of men can’t process that.”
“I’m not sure I’m fully processing anything.” I shake my head, and Madeline smiles at me.
“Can you process what I found out?”
“Can you promise not to do that to me again?” Her teeth sink into her lower lip. “I know you’re used to calling your own shots, but we’re a team, Buttercup.” She releases her lips.
“Okay, I agree.”
I lean in and press my mouth to hers again. “Thank you. I really didn’t want to have to toss you into the basement and keep you captive.”
“Shut up.” She laughs and smacks my shoulder. It wasn’t a joke. I’ll do what I need to keep her little ass safe.
“Now tell me what you found out.”
“Emily’s been there for three days,” she says, voice low. “Keeps to herself. Breakfast at the bakery and dinner in her room; goes out for walks and comes back. The innkeeper thinks she’s sad. Writes in some journal all the time.” Madeline’s thumb traces my collarbone. “She didn’t mention anyone visiting. Didn’t mention Murphy.”
I kiss her throat, her jaw, and back to her mouth. “You got all that?”
“I’m good at listening.” She rocks slightly and deliberately, and I grip her hips tighter. “People like to talk to me.”
“Yeah,” I mutter against her lips. “I noticed.”
She smiles, then it’s lost in another kiss, deeper. The car feels too small and exactly right. For now, the danger outside is forgotten. It’s just her and me and the heat between us.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
MADELINE
The door sticks before finally opening with a groan. Luke catches it with his shoulder and holds it open for me.
“You have keys to everywhere,” I say, stepping past him into the dark. “Let me guess. My room too?”
He shrugs, a half-smile on his lips. I can’t tell if he’s joking, but I laugh anyway. My voice echoes off the empty bleachers.
The rink glows faintly as emergency lights cast long shadows across the ice. He flips a switch, and the boards light up with a soft blue glow, just enough to see.
We decided to skate to burn off some energy. I love that we both enjoy this.
I sit on the bench and start to unlace my shoes, but Luke kneels in front of me and gently moves my hands aside.
“Let me.”
