Page 80 of A Secret In The Garden

A witness statement.

“Female matching description seen by employee near the cliffs morning after disappearance. Pale coat. Disoriented.”

My fingers trembled across the pages. There was a map with the cliffs circled in red with a bold X.

A police report caught my eye as the locket heated to a painful temperature.

“Blood recovered from Jasper Blackwood’s shirt. Matched to Hester Blackwood. No remains found. Presumed voluntary departure or accident.”

Then at the bottom:

“Estate searched. Garden grounds cleared. Cadaver dogs negative.”

I read it again. Then again. It didn’t make sense.

My hands were trembling so fiercely it was hard to read. The locket at my chest suddenly flared cold. I dropped the file in my lap and snapped the locket open—pale limbs beneath a red rose.

The door clicked open in the darkness in front of me.

I froze, unable to see anything. Every nerve in my body screamed to run. The file was still on my lap. The door I’d come through was still shut. I’d locked it.

Run.

But I couldn’t move. Could hardly breathe.

Jasper’s voice was soft: “Find what you’re looking for?”

I turned slowly. Caught like an animal in a trap, about to beg for my life. Of course he had a key to his own office.

He stood in the shadows, watching me with unreadable eyes, his hands at his sides. No rage. No shock. Just calm, terrifying stillness.

“Breaking into my office?” he asked. “Looking for what? Proof I’m dangerous?” His voice moved closer. I could barely see him cloaked in darkness. “Or hoping I’d catch you? Punish you?”

I opened my mouth but only strangled, breathy sounds came out.

He reached me, coming into the soft amber glow of light. His hand removed the file from my lap with cold, casual precision. He set it on the desk and turned his gaze on me. My legs were trembling. I couldn’t have run even if I’d tried. Was he going to hurt me?

He stepped between my legs, pushing them open, hands still at his sides. No threat, but his body filled the space like one.

“You think I killed her?” he asked, voice so low the hair on the back of my neck rose.

I shook my head.

“Liar.” His tone darkened. “You read that file and panicked. Thought maybe you were next.”

I swallowed, eyes wide. Something about him screamed danger, like a thread was about to snap in him.

He smiled. Slowly. Filthily. And then his hand was between my legs.

Oh god.

I gasped. His hand brushed the skin under my shorts, and he pressed through my underwear. He dragged two fingers over the heat of me and paused. Smirked.

“You’re soaked.” He pushed inside of me without warning—deep, sure, and deliberate.

I whimpered, legs parting instinctively at his touch. The fear and lust swirled together, fueling my reaction in a terrifying, thrilling mix.

“Worried I’m a killer,” he murmured, “and still letting me inside you.” He moved his fingers slow and hard, curling against me just right. “You like it, don’t you? The not knowing.”