DARIO

The study, which had felt crowded with Hawk and his two men—was now quickly filled with police officers. “Mr. Capece, if you could come with us.” One of the policemen stepped forward and put a hand on Dario’s shoulder before cuffing his hands behind him.

Robert Hawk straightened to his full height. “Why are you arresting him?”

“May we speak to you in private, Mr. Hawk? I’m afraid we have some news to share with you.”

Hawk’s gaze popped from Dario to the detective, and indecision broke the rigidity of his features.

“It’s about your daughter.”

The knot in the middle of Hawk’s throat bobbed, and Dario watched as he ran both hands over the top of his hair, smoothing down the thick silver strands. “Go on.”

“Mr. Capece?” The second uniform gestured to the door, and Dario flexed his hands, not appreciating the feel of the handcuffs, biting into the muscle of his wrists. It had been a long time since he had been in handcuffs. The last time had been twenty years ago, when he had been caught crawling in Mandi Breitlen’s bedroom window. Her father had chosen to call the authorities rather than face the fact that his daughter wasn’t the angel he thought she was.

“Let’s go. We’ll read you your rights outside.”

Dario followed the man through the door. He stepped out of the house, his eyes drifting over the trio of police cars. They’d certainly cut things close. Another thirty seconds, and he’d be dead. He was brought to a stop next to one of Hawk’s men.

“Dario Capece, you are being arrested for the murder of Gwen Capece. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can…”

He stared at the pebbled drive, tuning out the Miranda warning, and prayed like hell all of this would work.

BELL

I was only a dead woman for a short time.

I hugged my knees to my chest and watched the small box television, watching as Dario was led through a crowd of reporters and into the jail. Even in handcuffs, he was powerful. Those broad shoulders straight, his head high, his stride confident. But in his face, I saw the strain. In those fierce features, the scowl across those delicious lips… his eyes looked weary. He looked away from the cameras, and I noticed the rough mess of his hair, the limp crease of his expensive collar.

“He looks bad.” The comment came from Laurent’s sister, a six-foot-tall Amazon with wild curly hair and green eyes that matched her brother’s. Septime had all but barreled into the house several hours ago, shoved me aside on the couch, and gave me a look that screamed to toughen the hell up.

We hadn’t, in the hours since, become any better friends. A headline appeared below Dario’s image, one that matched the broadcasters’ chatter.

“You don’t think they’re going to bring up—” Septime’s words fell off abruptly, and I turned just in time to see a look passed between her and her brother. He shook his head minutely, and I straightened up off the couch.

“What? You don’t think they’re going to bring up … what?”

“Nothing.” Laurent’s sister leaned forward, watching the news, and didn’t look my way. I turned to Laurent, who met my gaze in the bored manner of a man with a secret. I sank back against the cushion and tried to control my anger. This wasn’t fair. They were arresting Dario who wasn’t—couldn’t be—guilty. I had been there. I had seen his reaction. And now, these two were keeping something from me. Everyone seemed to be keeping something from me.

I crossed my arms tightly over my chest and watched as Dario stopped just before the door to the police station. He turned his head, the camera zooming in as his eyes connected with the lens.

There.

I was sure he was staring at me. I had to believe that there was a promise of security in those eyes. For us. I wanted to believe in that connection. He had told me to trust him. He had told me everything would be okay.

It was a momentary moment, potentially an imagined promise, but I believed it.

“He didn’t do it. You know that.”

I ignored Septime’s comment, holding Dario’s gaze until a navy suit pushed at his shoulder, and Dario turned and passed through the door. Out of sight, but fully protected. Surely, he’d be safe in there. Surely, with all of the uniforms, the guns, the security … he wouldn’t get hurt.

“Don’t you be worried ‘bout him.” Laurent heaved to his feet and reached for the remote, turning the television off. “Our boy has a plan. He always do.”

If he’d had a plan, Gwen wouldn’t be dead, and I wouldn’t be in this dank shack in the middle of the swamp. I swallowed the thought and looked down at the hem of my new shirt, pulling at the cotton.

A timer went off in the kitchen, and Septime lifted her head, pushing to her feet and moving toward the sound. I looked at Laurent, and he tilted his head toward the porch. “Let’s go for a walk.”

I hadn’t walked through the woods in years, not since I was a little girl exploring the forest on the edge of our trailer park. I mentioned this and Laurent laughed.

“Not much else to do but explore. It’s probably why we all end up with so many kids.”

I had to blush at the thought, though he and Septime were both, as far as I could tell, single. I said that and he shrugged, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“Yeah, well. We da picky ones.”

He nodded toward a dirt path through the trees, one large enough for a car. Everything was wet from this morning’s rain and I pulled my hair into a knotted ponytail, the summer humidity thick in the air.

“A girl died once. At Dario’s casino, over in Biloxi.” Laurent glanced sideways at me. “That’s what Septime was trying to bring up.”

My heart fell at the same time that my body did, my foot sinking into a soft spot and causing me to tilt forward, my arms windmilling through the air as I attempted to stay upright. Laurent reached out, catching me, and I fell against his chest, my hands hooking into the fabric of his jacket as I sagged in his arms. “Shit.”

“It’s okay, chere.”

He lifted me clear off the ground and stepped to the side, eyeing the soft dirt, then set me down, watching as I tested my ankle. It wasn’t injured, but my tennis shoe was covered in dark mud. When I took a forward step, things squished around my sock. I made a face. “Crap. There’s mud in my shoe.”

“That a problem?”

A day ago, I wouldn’t have been able to understand him, but I picked through the Louisiana accent without trouble.

“Let me just take it off.”

I found a sturdy looking tree and leaned against it, working off my shoe and hitting it against the trunk, wet mud splattering off it.

Laurent made a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh. “Water will do a betta job.”

I broke a stick off the closest branch and tried to scrape a clump out of the sole.

“I’ll just carry you.”

“No, I’m—” I grunted when he lifted me, fireman style, and flung me over his shoulder. “STOP.” I pushed at his shoulder. “Put me down!”

“Hold onto ya britches. I’m just taking you to the creek.”

I struggled another moment, then gave up, hanging like a limp rag over his massive shoulders, my arms bouncing against him. I held the muddy shoe in one hand and watched the muddy path sway before me. A girl died once. At Dario’s casino, over in Biloxi. Had there always been so much death everywhere? Or did it just follow Dario? I spoke to him over his shoulder. “How did the girl die?”

He veered to the right, moving off the road and down a trail. He didn’t slow, and I watched his steps, my upside-down angle giving me a front-row view of the carnage his boots made across the fallen leaves.

“She jumped outta the window of one of the suites. Her daddy tried to say that it was from a broken heart.”

My stomach rolled, an uneasy movement that could have been caused by my position or his words. “She was dating Dario?”

He shifted me as if I was a bag of flour, putting me in a new position on his shoulder, and I wheezed a little in protest.

“She was dating a lot of men. Dario had been one of them. And he had stopped with her due to the Vegas woman coming into town.”

The Vegas woman. Gwen. I pushed against his back just to raise my head, the blood rushing back into place, the woods bobbing around us. I could hear the faint sound of water, and I turned my head, saw the glint of a reflection through the trees. He took another ten paces and stopped, depositing me down with enough care that I thanked him.

“The water’s clean, but it’s cold.”

I carefully hopped to the side, sitting on the edge of the stream and pulling off my dirty sock. As I rinsed it, and my shoe, I thought over what he’d said.

“Do you think she killed herself over Dario?”

“Who knows. Da media, they was all over him for it. Would have probably said he pushed her, but he’d been at dinner with da Hawk girl when it happened. And the security footage showed that there’d been nobody in that suite with her. Suicide, that’s what it’d been. And you can’t blame nobody for dat.”

I watched the water swirl around the shoe and thought about Dario. Thought about how I’d feel if Gwen had come to town, and Dario had dropped me. What had it been like? Had she been a fling of his?

I thought of his dancer and his mistress—the way he’d ended things with them when he had started dating me. I had never considered their reactions, had never thought about how cold my world would suddenly feel if Dario turned his attention away.

In his light, under his attention, everything felt warm and alive and sexually free.

But in this sweaty Louisiana town, with this strange hulk of a man beside me, and Dario in jail … I was starting to feel the chill of being without him.