Page 162 of Snowbound Threat

I cup her face now, using my thumbs to brush the tears from her cheeks. “Listen to me, Beckett. Him keeping the truth fromyou hadnothingto do with you. Do you hear me? He was likely trying to cover up his own guilt for not knowing she existed. No, I’m not going to pretend I understand his logic because I don’t. He had no right to keep her from you. Just like he didn’t have the right to tell her it was because you couldn’t have children. None of this is your fault.”

She covers her mouth with a trembling hand. “It was me. The whole time. I’m why we couldn’t—” Her eyes fill. “That’s why he didn’t want to keep trying. Because he knew.”

My heart shatters as I bear witness to her pain.

“Breathe, Beckett,” I tell her as I bring her in and rest my forehead against hers. “None of his decisions were your fault.”God, how do I make her see? How do I help her, Lord? Please wrap her in Your arms. Please, God. She’s spiraling, and she needs You. In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen.

Beckett’s sobs tear at me, but I hold her through them, wishing I could do something—anything—to take away her pain.

“Lord, help me,” she whispers so quietly I can barely hear it.

“He’s with you,” I remind her softly. “Here, now.” Guiding her over toward the couch, I take a seat first, then pull her down beside me. She curls against me, kicking off her heels and bringing her feet up as she leans against me.

I wrap my arm around her, loving that I get to hold her even though I hate that this opportunity comes in a moment of her pain.

What kind of man would keep such a secret from his wife?

And, given what I know about this place, I’d say we’re only hitting the tip of the iceberg he left behind.

What else was he into?

I became a cop to find the truth. But if it keeps breaking Beckett, do I really want to find it for her?

A knock at the door pulls my attention, and Beckett withdraws. Without a word, she gets to her feet and heads intothe bedroom, closing the door while I cross the living room and peer outside.

If it’s Lauren, I’m prepared to handle it the way I should have out on that airstrip.

Instead, the guard who was stationed at the door is just outside. I glance around for a weapon of any kind, hating the fact that all I can grab is a heavy paperweight from the desk near the door.

Heart pounding, I keep it out of view as I answer the door. “Can I help you?”

“You and your wife have been invited to dinner. I’m here to escort you down.” His tone is emotionless, his gaze intense.

“We’re not hungry. It’s been a long day, but thank you?—”

“It’s not an option,” he replies, shoving back his jacket and revealing the weapon holstered there. “I’ll give you a few minutes to get ready.” Reaching forward, he closes the door, and I pause a moment, my heart hammering.

Did Lauren get so angry she told them who we are?

The bedroom doors remain closed, and I scan the room for any other way out. We’re high enough up that escaping through the window isn’t possible. Even if we did make it out, they’d catch us before we ever left the property.

We’re trapped.

Sardines in a can.

As the anxiety begins to take root, I bow my head and close my eyes. Turning to God in moments of trouble is something I’m still getting used to. It used to be that I’d try to face it all alone. Until I realized that I’mnothingwithout Him.

“Lord, we need You. Please be with us tonight and keep us safe. Please, Lord. I pray this in the name of Jesus, Amen.”

17.Beckett

Shawn’s hand is on my back as he guides me off the elevator and toward the lavish club before us. The contact is warm, but the blood in my veins is ice cold.

I can barely feel my fingers, and it’s a miracle I’m still standing. Without much time to process the spiral that Lauren and her cold confession threw me in, I’ve since bottled it up—because it’s that or we die.

Who knows, maybe we’re dead anyway.

“You okay?” Shawn asks me, keeping his voice low as we make our way toward the hostess stand, an armed guard not far behind.