Page 2

ONE

PRESENT DAY

Josie Quinn steadied herself on the ladder and dipped her brush into the can of primer sitting on top of it. With a slow, careful stroke, she cut in from the ceiling, white barely covering the emerald green of the wall. From the floor her husband, Noah Fraley, used a roller to coat the part of the wall she’d already cut in. Music played from an app on Josie’s phone, which sat on a nearby windowsill. Noah hummed along with the current song while he worked. He wore jeans and a threadbare black T-shirt and naturally, he didn’t have a drop of primer on him. She had had a streak straight down her shirt and white flecks in her black hair within minutes of starting.

She should have let him cut in.

Reading her mind—which he seemed to do often and with ease—Noah said, “You should have let me cut in.”

Josie went to coat another section, but she was momentarily distracted by the way the muscles in his arms flexed when he leaned into the roller. “Why didn’t you say something?”

He paused, grinning wickedly, and looked pointedly at her ass. “Because the view from down here is so much better.”

She didn’t even care about the primer dripping from the end of her brush all over the ladder. “Is it really?”

Noah laughed, coating the roller brush again, and covering more of the green. “Stop looking at me like that. We don’t have any clean drop cloths left.”

Josie arched a brow. “Whose fault is that?”

Noah shook his head, but a playful smile remained on his lips as he moved further down the wall, rapidly covering the old color. “Not mine,” he said, feigning innocence. “I was just minding my business, trying to finish the last wall. Now I’ve got primer in…places.”

So did Josie but she wasn’t complaining.

From the doorway, their Boston terrier, Trout, whined mournfully. They’d borrowed an old baby gate from their friend, Misty Derossi, to keep him out of the room while they worked. It wasn’t going over well. He always wanted to be wherever they were and as close to one or both of them as physically possible. The hall wasn’t cutting it. Even though he’d been staring at them intently without blinking for hours, Trout was having major FOMO.

“We’re in the home stretch,” Noah reminded her. “Let’s get this finished.”

Josie didn’t protest. This guest room had already taken far too long to prime thanks to their inability to focus on anything but one another. They hadn’t even picked out a color yet. Josie had bought the house several years ago, when she separated from her first husband, the late Ray Quinn, and she’d never bothered to paint the guest rooms, which was why this one was still green. Even after Noah moved in, there hadn’t really been a reason to redecorate the rooms they barely used, but now, they were planning to adopt a baby.

A new song from Josie’s playlist came on. Noah didn’t know the lyrics. “I’m still thinking beige.”

“Boring,” said Josie.

“We agreed neutral,” he said. “Since we won’t know if our baby is a boy or a girl.”

“Yeah, but there has to be something better than beige.”

After a grueling, months-long application and vetting process, they’d finally been approved to adopt. Two months ago, they’d completed their adoptive parent profile and now, it was just a matter of waiting for the call from the agency that a birth mother had reviewed their file and was willing to give them her child to raise. This particular part of the adoption journey was both exhilarating and nerve-racking. They were as close as they’d ever been to having a child and yet, there was no guarantee that a birth mother would choose them.

They both worked for their city police department as part of its four-person investigative team. Josie was a detective and Noah was a lieutenant. They often worked long, unpredictable hours and danger was built into their jobs. The small city of Denton was located in central Pennsylvania. It was an idyllic college town that sat on the banks of one of the branches of the Susquehanna River. The city limits stretched far into the surrounding mountains. Its scenic views were in stark contrast to some of the crimes that occurred within its confines, especially as the population grew year after year. On more than one occasion, said crimes had personally affected them both in the most tragic of ways.

Josie sometimes wondered at the wisdom of trying to adopt a child while they were employed by the Denton PD, but Noah always said there would never be a right time to become parents. Plenty of couples who both had full-time jobs made it work and being in law enforcement had never stopped anyone from having children before. Whenever she worried, he reminded her that if they had to make adjustments when the baby came, they would. Josie wasn’t keen on figuring it out as they went but there was no choice. The call that they’d matched with a child could come in the next five minutes or it could come in the next five years.

“What if we did some kind of theme?” she suggested.

“Like what?”

Carefully, she stepped down off the ladder and moved it a few feet over, then climbed back up. “I don’t know. Animals. Like a zoo or a farm. Maybe a forest or something underwater with colorful fish and sea creatures. Or hot-air balloons. Each wall could be a mural painted in that theme.”

From the hallway, Trout gave a heavy sigh. He was probably team beige, too. Anything to get them back to his very strict routine of snuggles, walks, Kong-throwing, and over-snacking.

Noah followed the ladder with his roller. “Hmmm. I like the idea of hot-air balloons and the sea creature thing, but Josie, who’s going to paint these murals?”

Shit. Neither one of them was particularly artistic. They drew about as well as they cooked, which was to say badly. Sure, Misty had been giving them cooking lessons in anticipation of them adopting a baby—and they had improved—but drawing and painting weren’t the same as making a meal. The kind of artistic ability that Josie envisioned gracing the walls of their future child’s bedroom wasn’t something that could be taught.

She finished cutting in and brought the brush and can of primer down the ladder with her, only splashing a few more drops on her already splattered purple T-shirt. Then she got the ladder out of the way so Noah could complete the final wall. She racked her brain, trying to think of anyone in their lives who might be up to the task.

“How do we not know a single person with artistic skills?”

Noah gave a half-shrug as he primed over more patches of green. “Maybe we should ask around. Someone might know someone.”

The next selection on her playlist began. As the first strains of their wedding song filled the room, Noah went rigid. Slowly, he set the roller onto the floor. Without a word, he went to the windowsill and picked up her phone. The music cut off as his fingers flew across the screen. Seconds later, Coldplay’s “All My Love” started to play.

“What are you doing?” Josie asked.

Instead of answering, he walked over and pulled her to him. A gasp escaped her lips. One of his large hands splayed across her lower back, while the other brought her sticky palm to his chest. She let him lead, looping her free arm around his neck as they swayed to the soft notes. After all this time, his hazel eyes still had the power to make her heart race.

Trout gave a loud, indignant cry of protest. When neither of them looked his way, he huffed for good measure.

“You love this song, right?” said Noah.

“Yes, but you turned off?—”

“We never got to dance at our wedding.”

That was true. Their wedding, which they’d planned in such detail and spent so much money on, had been hijacked by a murderer. Instead of exchanging vows and dancing the night away with all their loved ones, Josie had spent the day pursuing a suspect in her wedding dress while Noah ran down other leads. They’d forfeited everything to bring justice to a little girl who’d lost her mother and sister in one horrific act of violence. A few days later, they’d wed in Denton Memorial Hospital, at the bedside of Josie’s grandmother, Lisette, with only their closest family members and colleagues present. It had been a somber affair since Lisette was only hours away from her last breath. The killer had taken her, too.

Josie leaned in and rested her cheek against Noah’s broad chest. The happiest day of her life was also the worst day of her life.

“We never danced to the song we chose,” Noah added, his warm breath caressing her forehead. “Ever.”

Oddly enough, they’d roller-skated to it, but he was right. They’d never danced to their own wedding song.

“We should change it,” he said. “The first one has a lot of trauma attached to it.”

Josie let him guide her around the small room as they spun slowly over dirty drop cloths, content to listen to his heartbeat while the memories of her grandmother’s death washed over her. It had been Lisette’s final request that they get married. She knew Josie well enough to foresee that if they didn’t do it before her death, Josie would never feel right doing it. Lisette also knew that Noah was—more than any other person on the planet—Josie’s North Star.

“All My Love” was a perfect fit for their relationship, without the painful reminders of their tragic wedding day. Lisette would never want Josie to associate her marriage to Noah with one of the most horrific memories of her life.

“Let’s do it,” Josie agreed. “This song is perfect.”

“Good.” He kissed the top of her head. “I had another idea.”

“You’re just full of them.” She laughed. “Let’s hear it.”

“We should renew our vows.”

Josie lifted her face and met his eyes. “What?”

He gave her a little smile before dipping her, quite gracefully given their surroundings, and bringing her back, flush against him. “Renew our vows. Our fifth wedding anniversary is coming up this spring. Plenty of time to plan something. Nothing big. Just the usual suspects.”

“Isn’t renewing vows for couples who’ve been together for decades?” Josie asked but she was already warming to the idea. A lot.

Noah kissed her lightly, continuing to lead her in a slow dance. “I’m pretty sure it’s for anyone who wants to do it. Five years is a good milestone. We can make it whatever we want. I think it would be fun.”

“The wedding we never had,” Josie murmured. “Sort of.”

“Exactly.”

Their new wedding song concluded. A more up-tempo tune came on, but Noah held her close, their bodies still slow dancing. Trout pawed at the baby gate.

“Was it Trinity’s engagement that made you think of this?” Josie asked. “Because I don’t want to steal her thunder.”

Josie’s twin sister, Trinity Payne, a famous television journalist, had just gotten engaged to her FBI boyfriend, Drake Nally. The elaborate proposal that Drake had planned and pulled off—with a lot of help from them and the rest of Josie’s family—had gotten under Noah’s skin. Though thrilled for Trinity and Drake, he’d expressed regret that he hadn’t given Josie something so thoughtful or beautiful. His own planned proposal had taken a back seat to a series of homicides. He’d almost died during that case. Afterward, while in the hospital recovering, he’d declared that plans were stupid and proposed to her while they were both crammed into his bed. Their Chief had held off the aggressive nursing staff long enough for Josie to say yes.

Josie hadn’t cared all that much about their plans continually being thwarted in the worst possible ways. She’d gotten what she wanted. Noah was hers forever.

“Trinity and Drake aren’t getting married for eighteen months,” he said. “There’s no way we’d be stealing their thunder. The real issue is going to be stopping your sister from taking over planning every detail.”

Josie laughed again. Her sneakered foot slid on a still-wet streak of primer, and she almost fell but Noah caught her expertly.

“Is that a yes?” he asked.

The song on her phone went silent as the ring tone took over. She was close enough to see Detective Gretchen Palmer’s name and face flash across the screen. Of all the days to be on call, it had to be the day her husband asked her to marry him again.

Josie looked meaningfully into his eyes. “Yes. Let’s renew our vows.”

Another quick kiss and he released her. A joyful buzz filled her body as she stabbed at the answer icon on her phone, not even caring about the sticky white fingerprint she left behind.

“Shouldn’t Douchebag be on right now?” Josie said without preamble.

Douchebag was Josie’s personal nickname for Detective Kyle Turner who had joined their team roughly nine months ago. He’d replaced their beloved colleague, Detective Finn Mettner, who had been killed in the line of duty nearly two years earlier.

“I can’t get hold of him,” Gretchen grumbled. “As usual.”

Turner’s blatant disregard for their calls and texts when he was needed, despite the fact that his phone was permanently attached to his palm, as well as his chronic lateness, might have been the two things he was best at. They also had to contend with his bad attitude, sexist remarks, total lack of a filter, and inappropriate comments. Not to mention his shitty reports, always filed late. A smorgasbord of bad qualities.

Working with him had been an adjustment, to say the least.

“It’s fine,” said Josie. “I’m supposed to be on two hours from now. I’ll just come in early.”

She didn’t miss Noah’s scowl. Their jobs didn’t allow for much free time with one another, particularly when they had a stretch where they worked opposite shifts. Josie was due home at midnight, so they’d at least get to sleep together before Noah went in the next morning, but starting then, for the next week, their schedule would change again. They’d be coming and going at different times, making it nearly impossible to enjoy their time off together. As if in solidarity, Trout whimpered unhappily.

“I just caught a shooting under the East Bridge,” Gretchen said. “Gonna be here awhile. Apparently, there’s been an incident at the children’s hospital site. Someone needs to get over there ASAP.”

Trepidation turned her stomach. “Another one?”

Months ago, developers had started building a children’s hospital in southwest Denton. It was meant to rival the larger children’s hospitals in Philadelphia and Pittsburgh. City council had been salivating over the idea for nearly a year before the project began, dollar signs flashing obscenely in their eyes at the thought of the new jobs and thousands of visitors it would bring to the area.

Everything had been going well until about three weeks ago when a group of teenage boys snuck into the site during the night hoping to get drunk away from the prying eyes of adults. Naturally, they’d gone to the highest point in the place—what was meant to be the northern wing of the hospital. Seven stories of subfloors and steel beams. No walls. The two security guards on duty had discovered the boys and given chase. Three of them were caught but the fourth fell, plummeting to his death in one of the more gruesome scenes Josie had witnessed during her career. The memory still made her a little nauseated.

Gretchen sighed. “Yes, another one. Some kind of fight. But from what I’m told, this happened out front. Where the protestors were gathered.”

The boy who’d died, Nick Gates, happened to be Denton East High School’s star football player. He was the top-ranked quarterback among his class in all of Pennsylvania, twenty-seventh in the country, according to his parents, coaches, and everyone who followed his storied high school football career. He’d already secured a full ride to one of the most prestigious universities in the nation. The tragedy had hit the city hard. With nowhere to put their grief, parents and Denton East students had started protesting outside the construction site, demanding that it be shut down altogether. City council had hoped the uproar would die down after a few days but that hadn’t happened. The protestors had been loud and persistent but not violent.

“What am I walking into, Gretchen?”

“There’s a fatality.”

“Shit.”

Although Josie had been on-scene the night Nick Gates died, she’d gotten called away to investigate a stabbing near the Denton University campus. Turner had taken the lead on the Gates case. His familiarity with the site and the staff would be useful right about now.

“That’s all I know,” Gretchen added. “Believe me, I’d be there already if I could. The Chief wants this dealt with immediately.”

Josie took one last look at her husband. He’d picked up the roller again, working with easy efficiency. Splotches of wet paint gleamed where he’d held her hand over his heart.

“I’ll be there in twenty.”