The yellow cab came to a stop outside the limestone building, and I checked the address that I’d noted down in my phone. 740 Park Avenue. This was the place, alright. I leaned into the window and stared up… and up and up… to where the fourteenth floor had to be, and took a deep breath, trying to settle the nervous flutter that had begun in my stomach earlier that morning when I’d first contacted Sabrina Fowler.

This is not a big deal, Haven. Get your shit together.

The address was swanky, sure, and I wasn’t quite sure who I was going to meet when I got upstairs, but that had nothing to do with my nerves. As a defense attorney, I’d done much more intimidating things on behalf of a client. I wanted to believe it was just worry for my client making me anxious, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t the issue either. In truth, I’d developed a sixth sense over the years—a little tightness in my belly that sometimes warned me when something major was about to happen. I couldn’t deny that I was getting that feeling right now—like the universe was about to throw me a gigantic curveball.

The cab driver cleared his throat, and I turned my head with an apologetic smile. I swiped my card through the reader and added a generous tip, a little more than I could comfortably afford on my salary, especially given the bills that were due this month, but that wasn’t Montrose, the cabbie’s fault. I thanked him politely and slung my briefcase over my shoulder as I stepped onto the sidewalk into the noise and bustle of a Manhattan evening in early September.

It was warm—Jesus, was it warm—with the sun low in the sky, and not a breath of autumn in the air to justify my structured A-line skirt and suit jacket. I was glad I’d sprung for Montrose’s air-conditioned cab instead of walking here from the office. Within seconds, my thin blouse was sticking to the back of my neck, and my feet were on fire inside my new heels—half a size too small, but shiny red and on sale, so naturally I’d had to have them anyway, comfort be damned.

My office attire was a little bit like a weapon, albeit a defensive one. Graduating at the top of my class in law school and making a name for myself in the courtroom meant jack-shit if people didn’t take me seriously, which they absolutely would not, if I arrived limping and sweaty.

Appearances were more important than the truth. It was a sad truth I’d learned from Tad Warner, the master of illusions himself, nine years ago.

I gritted my teeth and crossed the sidewalk to the imposing front door, which was opened by a uniformed doorman before I could even reach for the handle.

“Can I help you, miss?”

“Haven Wright to see Ms. Fowler, on the fourteenth floor?”

I cursed myself for framing the simple statement as a question. Somehow, even the most fleeting thought of Tad Warner, the lying, sneaky bastard who’d duped me nearly a decade ago, was apparently enough to call forth the sweet, naïve, needy girl I thought I’d buried the day he left town.

No way would I allow that.

As the doorman moved back behind the podium, apparently calling upstairs to get authorization to let me in, I straightened my shoulders. I’d come a long way from the idiot teenager who’d let a handsome face worm his way into her bed and her heart. When Tad and his friend had disappeared, he hadn’t just taken my parents’ life savings, but my naivety and innocence too.

God. It had been months since I’d even thought of the guy, and now that his name had surfaced in my thoughts, it was stuck there like a burr. This was the last thing I needed today. Not when Max was counting on me.

“Ms. Wright?” the doorman said. “You can go right up.”

I nodded and smiled, then stepped onto the elevator he indicated. When the mirrored doors closed, I straightened my shirt, tugged down the hem of my jacket until it hung perfectly straight, and ran a hand over the thick, chestnut-colored hair I’d straightened to within an inch of its life earlier this morning. My makeup hadn’t completely sweated off, but I really wished I’d popped in my contacts instead of wearing my glasses; it’d be one less thing to fuss with, and I didn’t need another distraction.

I had a job to do, a client to defend—one who was looking at life in prison on a murder rap, if he lived long enough to testify—and a deal to make on his behalf. Max Pederson was scared to death, and he’d implored me for help. I could save his life, he’d said, with the help of Masters’ Security. And that’s what I would do.

The elevator doors slid open as noiselessly as they’d closed, and a beautiful, smiling redhead greeted me with an outstretched hand.

“Ms. Wright?”

If I were a fanciful person, I might think I’d somehow taken an elevator to heaven. There was white marble everywhere, and late-day sunlight—searingly gold and plentiful—shone down from high windows.

Even the redhead was wearing a long, gauzy, loose-fitting white sundress, and I had to blink my eyes and grip the strap of my briefcase tightly for a second, remembering who I was and why I was here, before I could return her handshake.

“Yes. Thank you for meeting with me. BeeBee Fowler?” I asked in return.

The redhead grimaced just a tiny bit. “I generally go by Sabrina,” she said, and I blushed.

“Of course,” I said quickly. “I’m sorry. Mr. Pederson so often calls you by your nickname…”

“Oh, I know.” She raised an eyebrow and dropped her voice just slightly. “And I don’t mind, truly. It’s just a little bit of a touchy subject for certain people,” she said.

I frowned. Her childhood nickname was a touchy subject?

“She means me.” A voice to my right startled me, and I turned to see a man standing in a doorway. He had black hair, an ironic mouth, and dark eyes lit with devilish humor. He walked toward me, holding out a hand, and every movement of his body was like a dance. “Anson. Anson Daly.”

He wrapped his arm around Sabrina’s waist in a proprietary way that left no doubt who they were to one another, and Sabrina’s lips twitched as she leaned against him.

“Max has known me for years,” Sabrina explained. “But he’s rather… flirtatious. Anson doesn’t like it.”

“Ah,” I said, as though I understood, and I was pretty sure I did. Mr. Daly was one of those chest-beating Neanderthal types, all possessive and territorial. I gave Sabrina a pitying glance. I’d gone for that type myself, once upon a time. Trusted and believed in it, like a fool. I hoped for her sake that her trust was better placed than mine had been.

“How is Max?” Sabrina asked, frowning in concern. “I was absolutely shocked when I heard about his wife. And then when I heard he’d been arrested! God. I wanted to visit him, but…”

She looked up at Daly, who shook his head slightly, confirming my earlier opinion about their relationship.

“But I didn’t think it was safe, babe,” Daly filled in for her. “Pederson wouldn’t want you to put yourself on anyone’s radar just for the sake of a half-hour convo through safety glass. And seeing him would only upset you.” Daly turned to look at me, with something like warning in his eyes. “And I still believe that.”

“No, I agree,” I told him. “Mr. Pederson sent me because he felt you might have facts and resources that could help him clear his name.” Then turning to Sabrina, I added, “In fact, Mr. Pederson was extremely vocal about not wanting you anywhere near the prison.” I bit my lip, debating how much to tell her, and how fast. “It’s not… a happy place. And he’s changed, even in the past month.”

Sabrina swallowed hard, and Anson held her more firmly. “Let’s take this inside,” he said, sweeping a hand toward the room he’d come from. “Pederson helped us out, getting us info when we were trying to find the people responsible for my mom’s death. We’re prepared to return the favor.”

I nodded and tightened my hand on the strap of my bag once again, reflexively, then walked into the room he’d indicated.

If the foyer had been heaven, this room was like a scene from a period-drama—something English, with breeches and hunting. The furnishings were dark wood and dark leather, and every available wall seemed lined with books. If Mr. Darcy had been parked on a settee inside, I wouldn’t have been surprised, but instead, there were two gentlemen who looked decidedly out of place in their surroundings.

“Guys,” Daly said, as he and Sabrina stepped in behind me. “This is Pederson’s attorney, Ms…”

“Wright,” I supplied.

“Yeah. Ms. Wright,” he repeated, guiding Sabrina to a sofa. “This is Caelan.” He pointed to a giant of a man—bald and built, like a bouncer at a particularly rowdy nightclub—who was sitting sedately in one of the leather club chairs, drinking a cup of tea.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said, and although his voice was low and rumbling, he had the demeanor of a man who was used to frightening people unintentionally and was therefore determined to set me at ease. It worked.

“Hi,” I returned.

“And the one with his head buried in his tablet is Walker,” Anson said, pointing to the man closest to me, whose face was obscured by a mane of longish black hair. “Walker!” he said more loudly when this introduction got no response.

“Huh?” Walker looked up from his device and seemed to do a double-take, like he wasn’t sure how I had gotten in the room, or maybe how he had gotten there. “Oh, sorry. You’re the lawyer?”

“Haven,” I said, leaning forward to shake his hand. “Haven Wright.”

He smiled, flashing even, white teeth, and his voice was a low, accented purr. “Well, now. Might be worthwhile going to prison, if I had you to defend me, Haven Wright.”

I blushed, but Anson snorted derisively. “Right. Go back to your dark realm, or whatever the fuck you were doing.”

“Dark… realm?” Walker shook his head. “You mean dark web? Jesus. I try and try to teach you shit, and it’s like you deliberately try to hurt me with your ignorance.”

Anson’s unrepentant grin said he did, indeed, do it deliberately, and I felt myself release a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. These men were like brothers, of a sort, and I found myself instinctively wanting to trust them—a feeling I wasn’t accustomed to anymore. Trust wasn’t something I easily gave.

I took a seat in the chair Anson indicated, directly across from Caelan. He perched himself next to Sabrina on the couch to my left, and I set my briefcase on the low table before me.

“As you all know,” I began, “Max Pederson is my client…”

“Hang on just one second,” Caelan said, holding up a palm. He turned his calm blue eyes to Walker. “Where are the others?”

I glanced at Sabrina. There were more?

“X is down the hall, on a call that should be ending any minute,” Walker said. He typed something on his tablet. “I let him know Ms. Wright was here. But Ethan’s still out with Randi. I messaged him an hour ago, and sent him three emergency texts since then, but he hasn’t replied.”

“He’s out with Randi? Still?” This was from Sabrina, in a tone that was both fond and disapproving.

“You know he’s meeting her because she used to work at Silver,” Anson said. “She worked until three and it’s only five now.”

“And they’ve just been meeting all this time?” Sabrina said with a smirk. “Two hours over a cup of coffee?”

“Ethan has his job just as we have ours,” Caelan chided her. “He does what he does to get the assets we need. That doesn’t mean he likes it.”

“Yeah, but sometimes he does,” Walker said with a broad grin. “And Randi’s a hell of a dancer.” He held out his hands in front of his chest and made a curving motion I hadn’t seen since junior high school. “She’s got a lot of assets for him to…”

“I dare you to finish that sentence, Walker,” a voice from behind me said. A blond Adonis of a man stepped into the room, shooting Walker a killing glare. Walker’s mouth pursed, and he sighed.

The Greek god paused by my chair to shake my hand. “Xavier Malone, Ms. Wright.”

“Of the Madison Avenue Malones?” I asked, blinking up at him in surprise.

The men in the room chuckled, like this was some kind of inside joke, and one corner of Xavier’s mouth twitched. “More recently of Masters’ Security.” He made a shooing motion with his hand and Walker rolled his eyes as he obediently shifted to the other end of the sofa, giving Xavier his seat. “I understand you need our help.”

I adjusted my glasses and nodded. “Not for myself, but for my client, Max Pederson.”

I looked to Sabrina, who tilted her head in acknowledgement. “My late father’s close friend and business associate,” she confirmed.

I nodded again. “He asked me to get in touch with you. He believes his cellmate has information that might be pertinent to one of your past investigations? And… well, not to put too fine a point on it, he needs your help quite badly in return. The situation doesn’t look good.”

“Ugh.” Sabrina pushed her red curls off her face in frustration. “His wife was such a bitch, but there’s no way he killed her. I want to help him, if we can.”

I found myself wanting to smile at the straightforward description of Emma Pederson. By all accounts, the woman had been nasty and conniving, but everyone seemed to be afraid to say so, now that the woman was dead. I liked Sabrina all the better for telling the truth.

“Indeed,” Xavier said. “And more than that, I’m curious to know what information he has that might help us. Please, Ms. Wright, tell us what you know and what he needs.” To Caelan, he said, “We can fill Ethan in when he gets back.” Caelan nodded his agreement reluctantly.

I licked my lips, trying to organize my thoughts, reading down the list of bullet points in my mind.

This was the hard part. I needed them not to simply buy the possibility of Max’s innocence, but to have enough faith in Max’s side of the story that they would go out on a limb and help him. Since I was pretty sure I didn’t have a strong enough case to convince a jury not to sentence the man to life in prison, I didn’t expect this to be easy. But there was no one to plead for him except me.

I opened my mouth to speak, when the elevator dinged in the foyer and a voice called out behind me, “Christ alive, Walker, is the penthouse on fire? Has the zombie apocalypse finally begun, and you’re patient zero? Did we acquire a cat and lose it up a tree while I was gone?”

“Ah. Ethan’s home,” Caelan said with a satisfied smile, and Sabrina snickered.

I smothered my own answering grin by wriggling my size-eight feet inside my size seven-and-a-half shoes until the throb of resumed blood flow sufficiently distracted me.

“I was just keeping you updated,” Walker defended lazily. “I knew you’d want to be here for this meeting.”

“Yeah, yeah. But a man can only get a certain number of 9-1-1 texts before he starts to ignore them entirely, my friend,” the newcomer said, the proximity of his voice telling me he’d entered the room at last.

“Ethan, meet the latest client of Masters’ Security,” Xavier said, cutting through their good-natured ribbing. “Max Pederson’s defense attorney, Haven Wright.”

I smiled as I stood on my aching feet, extending my hand in friendly greeting before the man’s features had fully registered—the dark, auburn hair with the carefully styled wave in front, the guileless summer-blue eyes I’d stared into a thousand times, the lightly-stubbled cheeks that had only ever been smooth when I knew him, the perfectly pressed button-down and tailored slacks that gave him an air of quiet competence.

When it did register, with the devastating force of a fragment bomb eradicating every logical thought, I felt my entire body freeze, going ice-cold and locked-down just as I’d been on that April day nine years ago when I’d waited and waited and waited for him to come, to make good on his promise… and had realized in one shocking instant that he wouldn’t and had never intended to.

I was ashamed to admit that, despite the way I’d tried to erase every memory of Tad Warner from my mind, I could recall every detail of that day, every emotion I’d felt, with stunning clarity. I would never forget that face. I would never forget those eyes. I would never forget what he’d stolen from me.

Even if, for one second, I’d been uncertain that the man I was looking at—this person they all knew as Ethan—was my Tad, the way he looked at me would have confirmed it. The quiver of his throat as he swallowed, the false-brightness of his smile, the way he hesitated for a second before shaking my hand heartily would have told the tale. I’d learned a lot from Tad Warner about how to spot a fraud. And I knew without a doubt that I was looking at one right now.

“Ms. Wright,” Tad said. “Pleased to meet you. I’m, uh, sorry I was late. Unavoidable.”

Unavoidable. Of course. Because he’d been out with Randi… and her assets. Charming her out of whatever information or money or favors he needed, heedless of what she needed or wanted or believed.

But in a larger sense, maybe he was right, and this had been unavoidable. Maybe the universe had been warning me about this reckoning all day.

Keep it together, Haven. For Pederson’s sake.

I smiled, and I knew it was a brittle, fake thing, but it was the best I could do in that moment.

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Warner,” I told him, and I meant it. I’d longed to find him, to bring him to justice, for years.

“Ethan, Ms. Wright says Max Pederson has information that could be useful to us,” Xavier said, his voice like a blade. I saw him glancing between us with narrowed eyes, reading the currents of tension but not knowing where they originated.

Tad, or whoever he was pretending to be now, watched me like I was a landmine he’d recently discovered in his living room, ready to explode at any moment and give him away.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the tiny buzz of power that gave me.

“Ms. Wright,” he said, and only when his grip tightened around my fingers did I realize that he still held my hand. “You look like you could use a drink. Some water. Or tea.”

“I’m fine, actually.”

“Nonsense,” he said, smiling to the others as he tried to pull me towards the door. “You look overly warm. I’d be a terrible host if I didn’t get you something cold.”

Jesus. I was overly warm. Trust this asshole to realize it.

“No, I…” I protested again, but his grip would not budge, and I realized that I had the choice of being yanked off-balance or maintaining my dignity and going with him.

How the hell did this man always, always put me in this position?

“A nice cool glass of water. Anyone else need anything? No?” he answered his own question before anyone could get over their shock quickly enough to respond. “We’ll be back in a flash.”

“Did she just call him Warner?” I heard Caelan ask as I was yanked from the room. “We never mentioned his last name.”

And I could swear I heard Walker reply, “Oh, fuck,” which seemed to sum up the situation quite appropriately.

Tad—Ethan, I corrected myself—pulled me down the hall into a spacious, homey kitchen with a large farmhouse table on one side and a variety of high-end appliances on the other.

The entire first floor of my parents’ house in Barnstable could fit inside this room, I realized. And still, they couldn’t pay their mortgage without my help every month. All because of this man.

And that was when my icy calm turned to red-hot rage.

“Let go of me,” I hissed, pulling back on my arm hard enough to yank him sideways.

He turned suddenly, grabbed both of my wrists, and pinned me against the refrigerator with my hands above my head. The door handle dug into my back as he plastered his chest to mine.

I was stunned. In all the months we’d spent together, despite all his caveman protectiveness, he’d never once been rough with me.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded, and I had the sense that finally, in his temper, I was seeing the real man behind the façade.

I felt a frisson of excitement flare in my belly before I ruthlessly suppressed it.

Too bad the real man was an asshole, too.

“Me? What am I doing here? Are you delusional, as well as a scum-sucking criminal fraud?” I was so angry—about his lies, about the way he made me feel—that I was practically hissing the words. Where, oh where, was professional, competent Haven? I thought for a second of calling the others, seeing if Caelan or Walker would come to my rescue, but I was determined to fight this battle myself. “The better question is what are you doing here? What are you doing breathing free air anywhere after all you’ve done?”

His nostrils flared for just one instant before he blanked his expression, but I knew that if this guy had a tender spot anywhere inside him, I’d just hit it. One point to Haven.

“What I mean to say is, what are you planning to do? About us?” He held my wrists tighter, his familiar blue eyes staring down into mine.

I laughed. “Us? My God, there is no us. There never was. Are you afraid I’m going to tell your new friends that you’re a liar? That you befriended me, slept with me, pretended to fall in love with me, and got my parents to hand over every penny of their savings, then ghosted?”

“No,” he said. “I’m not afraid you’ll tell them that.” His grip changed, and he rubbed his thumbs over the insides of my wrists. His skin shouldn’t have felt familiar. His warm breath on my cheek shouldn’t have felt so right. My heart sped, and I felt my panties dampen beneath the fabric of my oh-so-professional skirt.

Under other circumstances, with another, more trustworthy man looming over me, arousal might have been understandable, but right now it was just another thing I blamed Ethan for.

The fake-tenderness had somehow slipped beneath my defenses, and the knowledge of my own weakness made me want to kick him.

“Then you definitely are delusional,” I informed him. “Because I have no need to keep your secrets.”

“I didn’t suppose you would. I’m not worried because they already know.”

My mouth fell open in shock. There was no way, no way, that kind-eyed Caelan and frat-boy Walker knew what this man had done to me. They’d been open and friendly, and I was positive I would have spotted a deception like that.

“You lie, which is no surprise. They had no idea who I was.”

“They don’t know you by name,” he agreed. “But they know who I was then. And they know who I am now.”

He said it like those were two separate people, and I made a disbelieving noise.

“Who you are,” I said knowingly. “Right. They know who you’re pretending to be, Tad. Or is it Ethan?”

He seemed to consider something for a moment—I swear, I could read the thoughts flashing across his eyes as he discarded one story and another, trying to read me, trying to manipulate me, and I could only be glad that I knew better than to believe a word that came out of his mouth.

“Ethan Warner is my real name,” he said finally. “The name I was born with. My legal name.”

I squinted my eyes at him. The words had a certain weariness to them that gave them the air of truth, as unbelievable as that was.

“The other Masters know that I’ve been a salesperson. An unscrupulous one,” he said, and I snorted.

“The words you’re looking for are scum-sucking criminal fraud. Say it with me.”

He shook his head, gripping my wrists tighter. “Don’t be a brat. They know that I’ve conned people in the past,” he said instead. “Hell, that’s why I’m on their team. What I want to know is who else you’re going to tell now that you know my identity. Now that you know where I live. Who are you going to tell, Haven?”

I swallowed. He meant, was I going to tell the police? Was I going to tell the other people he’d defrauded? Was I going to get revenge?

Oh, but it was tempting.

And yet, right now Max Pederson was sitting in a jail cell, likely with his back pressed against the wall and fear in his eyes, because there was no safety for him as long as he was in prison. The only people, he’d told me, who had a snowball’s chance in hell of saving him, were Masters’ Security. “They know who I’m dealing with, Ms. Wright,” Max had said. “And they know how to stop them.”

I’d buried my hurt and anger at Tad Warner for nine long years. I could bury it for a little while longer.

“I’m not planning on telling anyone,” I told him, adding a silent right now to the end of that sentence. “I’m here to get help for my client.”

“Promise?” The word was a taunt.

“Cross my heart.”

He lifted one eyebrow, but after a pause, he released my hands. “Well, I’ll say this: you’re a better liar than you used to be.”

“And you’re dumber than you used to be, if you told me your real name,” I shot back, rubbing feeling back into my wrists.

I pushed my hands against his chest, and he moved back half a pace, leaving no doubt that he moved because he chose to and not because I’d moved him.

Everything with Ethan was on his terms. The bastard.

“Maybe I figured you’d play nicely if you felt like you had a little power,” he said with a smile, and for half a second, I thought he was talking about me pushing him, before I realized he meant that was why he’d given me his real name. Smug, conceited ass, being so overt about his manipulation. “Animals don’t bite unless they’re cornered, right?”

“They sure as hell do if you make them mad enough,” I retorted. Then I gave in to the impulse that had been riding me since we stepped into the kitchen and kicked his shin. Hard.

He gave a gasp of surprise, and I enjoyed a single, beautiful moment of gratification… before my poor toes screamed in outrage and I learned another painful lesson courtesy of Ethan Warner. Never, never kick a man’s rock-hard shin with your too-small, pointy-toed, patent leather shoes.

I blamed Ethan for this, too.

Tears sprang to my eyes, but I held them back. In fact, I doubled-down, ready to kick him again. But he stepped closer at the last minute and wrapped his leg around mine, forcing my foot off the floor and removing my leverage. He looked down at me, and his expression morphed from anger to concern when he saw the tears in my eyes.

“Enough,” he said. “Jesus, Haven. Enough. You hurt yourself, didn’t you? I won’t let you hurt yourself, even to hurt me.”

I struggled against his hold. “That’s not for you to decide, Ethan!” Not now. Not ever again.

He grabbed my chin roughly, forcing me to look at him. His red-brown hair had fallen down over his forehead in our tussle, and some stupid, stupid part of me wanted to push it back.

Christ, I was an idiot.

“You have no reason to trust me, I get it. I’m an asshole, I get that too. And I hurt you. I’ve known that for a long time, but I’m not the man I used to be, and I...” He shook his head. “You know what? I’m not even going to say I’m sorry. Because that would be worthless to you right now, and I know it. But I’ll make it up to you. I will. I’ll give your parents back every penny they lost and then some.”

“Every penny you took,” I corrected him. “They didn’t lose it, Ethan. You took it.” And he’d taken even more than that—my trust, my faith, my innocence—things that could never be redeemed.

“I did. Yes, God, I know I did. And I don’t expect you to believe that I’ve changed. But work with me on this. Work with the Masters. And when this is done…” He looked me in the eye. “When this is done, I will apologize to you, I will make restitution to everyone I stole from… and then if it still means nothing to you, you can turn me in.”

I huffed out a laugh and wrenched my chin from his grip. I didn’t believe for a single second that he’d do any of the things he said, but I’d already decided I’d go along with the Masters, for Max’s sake. And I would decide when I was ready to turn him in.

“Fine,” I lied. “I agree to your terms.” After all, I told myself, animals are less inclined to bite when they’re not cornered.

He inhaled sharply, stepping away from me. “We should probably come up with a story,” he said. “The others are going to get that we have a history.”

I shook my head in disgust. “You tell them whatever you want to tell them. You’re the expert liar, after all.”

He nodded once, and we made our way back to the library. I refused to let him help me, even though every step was painful.

The others were all stationed exactly as we had left them, and all eyes turned our way when we walked in the room. It seemed like most of the glances my way were curious, while those aimed at Ethan were decidedly annoyed. They wanted to know the connection between us, of course.

Good. He could spin them whatever tale he wanted, but I wouldn’t help him.

“You’re all… refreshed?” Walker asked as I took my seat. There was real concern in his dark eyes, partially obscured by the swath of hair that fell on his brow.

“Oh, yeah. I’m doing just peachy,” I said with a smile. I had no idea who any of these guys were, really, or why they’d associate with a man like Ethan, but I appreciated Walker’s kindness.

My eyes strayed up to where Ethan had perched on the arm of the sofa next to Walker, arms folded over his chest. He wasn’t bothering with his friendly, innocent act anymore, and he positively glowered at me and, weirdly, down at Walker.

That honest, unscripted emotion sent a thrill through me, and I thought back to the way he’d pinned me against the refrigerator.

“You were about to tell us what you know about Max Pederson,” Xavier reminded me solicitously, his eyes sharply moving from me to Ethan. He called the shots here, it seemed.

“Right. Of course.”

Jesus, Haven, smarten up. Ethan Warner is your enemy.

I cleared my throat and channeled my lingering anger into a cogent recitation. “I’ll tell you everything he’s authorized me to tell you. You probably know from the media that Emma Pederson was found shot to death in the Pedersons’ apartment just over a month ago. It was their housekeeper, Gwendolyn’s, evening off, and according to Mr. Pederson, his wife was supposed to be having a spa night with some of her friends. He returned home from a late business dinner around ten o’clock, and went directly to his office, where he drank whiskey and watched videos, as he did every night. He didn’t wonder where his wife was since they weren’t on speaking terms at that time. He fell asleep on the couch in his office, which he says was not unusual for him, and didn’t wake up until early the next morning, when he heard Gwendolyn screaming for someone to get an ambulance.”

Xavier frowned. “But Emma Pederson was already dead then.”

I nodded. “For several hours. But Gwendolyn didn’t know that.”

“What evidence do they have against Mr. Pederson?” Caelan asked, leaning forward. I noticed his empty tea cup had been placed neatly on the table—on a coaster, no less—and there was something so sweet about that, I couldn’t help but give him a friendly smile.

“I won’t lie,” I said. “They’ve got a lot. The Pedersons’ security shows no one leaving or entering the apartment from the time Max came home until Gwendolyn got back from an overnight visit to her sister on Long Island. Anyone else would have had to be inside the house with Emma Pederson before her husband came home. The investigators think that’s highly unlikely. So Max is the only suspect with opportunity. And as for motive, Max had recently found out his wife was having an affair with a criminal named Robby Fletcher.”

Several looks were exchanged around the room, and no one seemed surprised.

“Go on,” Ethan prompted. “Who else have they looked at?”

“No one. Well, Fletcher might have been a suspect, but he was sent to jail on Federal weapons charges just a week before Mrs. Pederson’s death, so we know he wasn’t involved. And, to make matters worse, Mr. Pederson had also spoken to many friends about having consulted his attorney to move forward with divorce proceedings against her.”

“Yeah, but if he was divorcing her, why would he have killed her? He’d known about the affair for a while,” Sabrina said, widening her eyes significantly. “This was no crime of passion.”

“Money,” I told her simply. “The fact is, Mr. Pederson did begin divorce proceedings in a fit of anger after learning about the affair. But their prenup agreement didn’t have a cheating clause.”

“That was stupid,” Ethan remarked, and I had to agree.

“More like criminally irresponsible, given that he was a lawyer, himself. But then, we’re all fools for love, aren’t we?” I asked sweetly.

Ethan held my glance for a moment, before I collected myself and continued.

“Unfortunately for Mr. Pederson, he’d made some long-term investments over the past year. It would have been extremely difficult—not impossible, mind you, but difficult—for him to liquidate his assets and get cash together quickly. It might have required selling off his business.”

Caelan whistled through his teeth. “That’s a heck of a motive.”

“It is. If I were prosecuting this case, I’d have opened a bottle of champagne already,” I said glumly. And then I told them the kicker. “When he ran out of his office that morning at Gwendolyn’s scream, his hands were covered in blood. His wife’s blood. And his prints were found on the murder weapon.”

“What?” Sabrina’s eyes were wide, and she looked to Anson for confirmation. “His prints? Were on the gun?”

Anson wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder, but he turned to me. “So, what the hell makes you think he didn’t do it? I hate to think it about the guy, but the physical evidence, the motive, they all point to him.”

“They do,” I sighed. “But I believe he’s telling the truth. And you can trust me when I tell you, I’m pretty hard to fool these days.”

I didn’t glance at Ethan, but I hoped he knew my words were directed at him.

Xavier studied me for a second, like he was assessing the truth of my statement, but I didn’t flinch. I got the sense that he would be nearly impossible to manipulate, himself. Finally, he nodded.

“I believe that you believe that,” he said. “But…”

“But it’s not enough to go on,” I said. “I know. There’s more. Do you believe in conspiracies?”

Once again, they all exchanged looks, and a frisson of awareness passed through the group, but Walker was the one to break the silence.

“Oh, Haven. Honey. You have no idea,” he said. “Spill the tea.”

I blinked, then arched one eyebrow. Walker’s the kind of guy my mom would call a rascal—cute and devious, sexy and sweet, all at the same time. I found myself warming to him even more. “The tea? Did you hear that term in the dark realm?”

Anson hooted appreciatively, and Caelan grinned. Walker’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and his eyes lit with genuine humor as he admitted, “Nah. YouTube.”

I found myself laughing, despite the seriousness of the topic, then I sighed as I caught Ethan’s scowl. Did he not like me laughing with his friends? Did he feel left out, since he’d missed the joke? Too damn bad. The laughs in my life were few and far between these days.

“Max Pederson has had not one, but three attempts on his life while in prison.” I looked around the circle and found all traces of merriment had disappeared. “Most recently, a couple of men were able to get into his cell while he slept, and if his cellmate hadn’t woken up and scared them off, he’d already be dead. Neither of the men involved have been caught, because they threatened to kill his cellmate’s family if Luis identified them.” I looked around the circle. “Given that they had enough pull to get into Max’s locked cell, it’s no wonder Luis believed they have enough connections to pull strings on the outside.”

“Luis?” Walker asked.

“Luis Rivera,” I confirmed. “His cellmate at the time.”

Walker began typing on his tablet. “I’m running a check now.”

“Luis has a mother at home,” I told them. “He’s petrified. He told Max the men involved were somehow connected to the people who got him sent down for a rape he didn’t commit.”

“Lots of innocent men in this prison of yours,” Ethan remarked. “God save us from do-good reformers.”

Caelan reached over and thumped him on the knee, like a sign of solidarity, and Ethan gave him a sad smile. I was dying to know what that whole exchange was about and frustrated beyond belief that I didn’t even know who I could trust to tell me.

“Bonneville is not my prison,” I replied shortly. “And I don’t know Luis from Adam. But you’d be surprised how often it happens. Especially when you get on someone’s bad side.”

“Once again,” Walker said grimly. “You have no idea how hard we can understand that.”

I frowned, but before I could follow up, Xavier interrupted me. “Did this Luis person identify the people who set him up?”

“Nope. And I’ve never talked to him. I’m not his attorney, so it’s beyond my purview,” I said. I hesitated for a second. “I offered to represent him. After Max told me all of this, I told him to tell Luis that I’d take his case pro bono. I mean, if Luis could give me all this information on the record, I could start looking into it. But Luis flew off the handle. Was pissed Max had even mentioned this to me. Said something about how the last guy he trusted had gotten killed, and he didn’t want another soul on his conscience, or something.”

“His last attorney got killed?” Ethan was sitting up straight now and looking at me with a fire in his eyes I didn’t know how to interpret. “And you’re volunteering yourself? No fucking way are you getting tangled in that mess.”

“Yeah? Says who?” I demanded.

Ethan crossed his arms again. “Me.” He looked around the group and added after a pause, “And every sane person in this room.”

I looked at Caelan, and he shrugged sheepishly. “He’s right. It definitely wouldn’t be my first choice.”

I grimaced at this betrayal from my newfound friend.

“In any case, it wasn’t his attorney who got killed, it was a guard, if you can believe it.” I shrugged. “I mean, in my experience, prison guards aren’t particularly sensitive to inmates’ sob stories, but apparently this guard believed Luis. Claimed he had connections and would check things out quietly. He died before he got anything, though. And I don’t even know if he started to search.”

“A guard?” Ethan demanded in a fierce whisper, and I blinked. I’d never heard him—or anyone—use quite that tone of voice in my life, like he was broken-hearted and hopeful all at once. “At Bonneville? What was his name?”

At this, the entire room seemed to be holding its breath, every eye focused on me.

“Th-the guard, you mean? I don’t remember,” I stammered, shaking my head. I had no idea what was going on, but this suddenly seemed to be of the utmost importance right now. “I’ll check my notes, but I don’t think Max ever said.”

I grabbed a folder from my briefcase and started sorting through the papers. “It might all have been a coincidence, anyway,” I blathered on to fill the utter and complete silence. “Max thinks Luis might be connecting dots that shouldn’t be connected because he’s scared, you know? I mean, the guard wasn’t murdered, he was killed in a prison riot a few months back.”

Sabrina made a little, distressed noise, but I ignored her, skimming the pages in front of me. “Oh! Wait! It is here. His name was…”

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuckity fuck.

I looked up at Ethan, at those summer-blue eyes now wide with grief and anger. No matter what had happened between us, no matter how badly he’d hurt me or how much I’d thought I wanted to hurt him, I’d have given anything not to deliver this blow.

“His name was Warner,” I whispered. “Eli Warner.”