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JOANNA

I checked my phone, but there was still no reply from West. It was unlike him to go so long without responding. Then again, his shift at Henry’s, a bar frequented by Chicago’s finest, had begun thirty minutes ago, so it was possible he was busy.

“Everything okay?” Hanson asked from behind his computer. Our desks fronted onto each other, but I hadn’t realized he’d been paying me any attention.

“Just waiting for a message,” I told him, not keen to disclose that I was hoping to hear from my husband.

Hanson and I were too different to be friends, but we’d always treated each other politely. Something in our interactions had changed since I’d married West. It was as if he approved of me finally behaving like a woman “ought to” by getting a husband.

While he meant well, it made me feel a little icky. There was nothing wrong with being a single career woman.

My phone rang, and I answered without looking, hoping it might be West.

“Lee,” the voice on the other end said .

I deflated. It was my boss.

“Yes, sir?”

“I want you and Hanson to report to my office immediately.”

“We’ll be there in a minute, sir.” I ended the call and turned to Hanson. “Thackery wants us in his office.”

Hanson grunted, and his bulldog-like face scrunched with displeasure. I got it. We were supposed to be half an hour from the end of our shift. Getting called in to talk to the boss now couldn’t be good. Unfortunately, that was just how policing rolled. Criminals didn’t wait for the most convenient times to commit crimes.

I stood, pocketed my phone and grabbed a notebook. Hanson shot the notebook a glare. He was a decent cop, but he was part of the old guard and believed that the police wasted too much time writing reports and covering our asses when we should have boots on the ground.

He liked to skirt the rules. I was known for being by-the-book. We weren’t exactly a partnership made in heaven.

We strode down the corridor that separated the Homicide Department from Missing Persons. The captain’s office was halfway along, on the right. The door was ajar, so I knocked and opened it.

“Sir?”

“Come in.”

I entered and stepped aside so Hanson could join me. Captain Thackery didn’t motion for us to sit. Instead, he tapped a few keys on the computer before raising his gray-flecked head.

“I need you to report to a crime scene near the lakefront. There’s been a woman found murdered in her apartment.”

I frowned. “You wouldn’t rather Neal take the lead?”

Detective Neal, who would be arriving anytime now to start his shift, had made it clear he liked taking on the cases in that area, and he could get nasty if other detectives encroached on his territory.

Thackery shook his head. “Neal won’t be in tonight. Bad prawns, apparently.”

Hanson and I both grimaced. Even though I didn’t like Neal, I wouldn’t wish a bout of food poisoning on anyone.

“We’ll drive over now,” I told him. “Who’s already at the scene?”

“The medical examiner is on the way, as are a team of crime scene techs. There’s a pair of beat cops keeping lookie-loos away until reinforcements arrive.”

Hanson and I took our leave. Hanson muttered under his breath as we packed our bags and hastened to the car.

“Deborah will have my head,” he said as he climbed behind the wheel—because God forbid he should allow a woman to drive. “She’s been cooking all afternoon. She’s testing a new recipe.”

“She’ll understand.” After more than thirty years married to a cop, Deborah Hanson undoubtedly understood the demands of the job more than most.

“I’m sure you had plans with your man too,” Hanson said, pulling out of the parking garage and onto the street.

“I’m supposed to bring him dinner at Henry’s,” I admitted, taking my phone out to send West a quick message explaining that I’d be late.

We didn’t speak much as Hanson navigated the city streets. That was all right with me. I wasn’t much of a talker. We drove past the apartment building that Thackery had directed us to, but there were no parking spots available, so we had to park a block away and walk back.

As we passed a coffee shop, I glanced inside, and my heart nearly stopped.

I jolted to a halt, nearly tripping over my feet.

No.

No, no, no. It couldn’t be.

A chill stole over me and my chest squeezed painfully. Seated in a booth at the coffee shop, holding hands with a beautiful blond woman, was my husband.

My stomach lurched. I shut my eyes and opened them again, praying I’d been mistaken and that the man in the coffee shop only resembled West. But no, it was definitely him.

A wave of nausea washed over me, and I clapped my hand to my mouth, unable to tear my gaze from them. The blonde was leaning toward West, her hair spilling over her shoulders, framing cleavage that a Playboy bunny would be proud of. She was all curves and creamy skin, the complete opposite of me with my slim build, dark hair, and olive complexion.

“Why’d you stop?” Hanson asked, jolting me out of my reverie. He followed my gaze through the window, and his eyebrows inched up his forehead. “That’s your man, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It is.” I jerked into motion, forcing my legs to carry me past the coffee shop, toward the crime scene that awaited us.

I couldn’t handle it if West saw me here. I needed time to get my thoughts straight before I faced him. A little quiet, so I could piece together what I’d seen.

“Slow down, Lee,” Hanson wheezed, struggling to keep up. “Maybe it wasn’t how it looked.”

“You’re probably right.” My voice seemed to come from somewhere outside of myself. I felt like I was hovering above my body, watching everything from a distance.

You’re detaching, my brain helpfully supplied. It often happens to victims of crime or—

Nope. Not going there.

Perhaps Hanson was right and there was a reasonable explanation. God, I hoped there was. My throat ached and I blinked back tears as we turned into the apartment building. Hanson pressed the button for the elevator.

Don’t fall apart now.

I drew in a shuddering breath. Hanson glanced at me, but I ignored him. I was strong. I was practical. I wouldn’t leap to conclusions or let my personal life interfere with the job. Right now, I had to focus. A woman was depending on me to figure out what happened to her. I couldn’t afford to break down.

We took the elevator to the third floor. There were four apartments on the floor, and it was immediately obvious which one we were here for because of the young male officer stationed at the door.

He nodded to us deferentially. “Detectives.”

“Officer Jackson, what do we have?” I asked.

Hanson always lets me liaise with the younger officers, probably because he never bothered to learn their names.

Jackson cleared his throat. “The victim appears to be a Miss Sasha Sloane. At least, I’m assuming as much because this is Miss Sloane’s apartment and the building manager described her as a brunette in her late twenties, which fits with what I’ve seen of the vic. Dr. Kelly is there now, along with a crime scene team. I’m sure they can tell you more.”

“Thank you, Officer Jackson.”

“No problem, ma’am.” He smiled, his teeth bright against his darker skin. He moved out of the way so we could enter the apartment. Almost immediately, the sickly-sweet scent of death filled my nostrils.

Breathing through my mouth to avoid the worst of it, I looked around. Miss Sloane’s apartment had a spacious living area, a kitchen tucked away in the corner, and a view of the water through the window. There was a vase of real flowers on the coffee table and very little in the way of clutter .

The victim, possibly Miss Sloane, lay on her back in front of the windows, as if she’d been gazing out of them when she’d been attacked. Her eyes were wide and as green as West’s—nope, not thinking of him. Dark, lush curls fanned over the floor around her head, and her lips were parted, as if in surprise.

A woman in coveralls knelt over the victim, studying the slash across her neck, stretching from ear to ear.

“Cause of death?” I asked.

“Most likely exsanguination caused by sharp force trauma,” Dr. Kelly said, straightening and turning toward us. Her expression softened slightly as we made eye contact. Perhaps she was relieved not to have to deal with Detective Neal. The man was a worse misogynist than Hanson and always treated her as if she were incapable.

Hanson snorted. “No surprise there.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “As for time of death, we won’t know for sure until I’ve done the autopsy, but I would estimate it to be between twelve and twenty-four hours because she’s in full rigor.”

“So, she was probably killed sometime between yesterday evening and this morning,” I mused. Perhaps she’d had a fight with a lover. Although the lack of disturbance to her surroundings didn’t bear that out. If she’d been in an altercation, I would expect things to be knocked over or broken, but nothing seemed amiss.

“Perhaps a boyfriend or husband did it,” Hanson said, his mind traveling down the same road as mine.

Dr. Kelly huffed. “That’s for you to determine. I’ll be sure to confirm whether she had intercourse prior to her death.”

“Of course. Thank you,” I said, then scanned the victim again, noting what I hadn’t before. She wore a black silk robe that was cinched tightly at her waist. Her makeup was perfectly done, her lips painted red, and she had a fresh manicure. A quick glance at her feet revealed a matching pedicure. “By the looks of it, she indeed might have been meeting a lover.”

I’d only dress like this if I wanted to impress someone, but it was possible she’d just wanted to feel nice, and it had nothing to do with romance. Not everyone was as mission-oriented as me.

We spent an hour looking around the apartment but found no obvious leads as to who may have killed her, or why, so we headed back to the station. I should have been mulling over the case, but instead, all I could think about was the way West had held that woman’s hand in the coffee shop.

“I can hear your gears grinding,” Hanson said reluctantly, as if he’d rather not have this conversation but didn’t think he could avoid it.

I looked out the window, so I wouldn’t have to see his facial expression. “If I’m to believe that West wasn’t doing anything wrong, then what else do you think could have been happening?”

“Maybe she was an old friend, or someone he knows who is having a bad day. Holding someone’s hand doesn’t always mean you’re screwing them,” Hanson said.

A puff of breath escaped me. “I know, but it doesn’t sit well with me.”

West wasn’t the type of guy to hide a female friend from me. At least, I hadn’t thought he was. But then, I also hadn’t thought I’d see him holding some woman’s hand in a coffee shop when he was supposed to be at work, so maybe I didn’t know my husband as well as I’d thought.

“Talk to him about it before you do something crazy,” Hanson grumbled, lacking tact as usual. I was sure that, in his eyes, having any kind of emotional response to a man’s bad behavior made a woman “crazy.”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t fair. He wasn’t a bad person, he just had some old-fashioned perspectives.

When I didn’t respond, he continued with, “Want me to notify the next of kin?”

I straightened and turned to him. “No, we should do that together.”

It wasn’t fair of me to dump that job on him just because I was wallowing in hurt and confusion.

He scoffed. “Your heart won’t be in it. What kind of message will it send the family if the detectives who deliver the news are distracted?”

I deflated. He had a good point. “Okay. Thank you, Denny.”

“You’re welcome, kid.”

That almost made me smile. We’d been partners for three years and he still called me that. But I suppose when you’ve been on the force as long as him, anyone younger than forty could be considered a “kid.”

My phone vibrated and I checked the screen. Immediately, my gut tightened.

West: Order anything you like. I’m not feeling choosy.

Hanson glanced at me. “Is that him?”

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Did he say anything about… you know?”

“No.” I pursed my lips. “Nothing.”

Somehow, the silence felt significant.

I sent back a message.

Joanna: I’ll bring sushi to the bar?

A reply arrived less than a minute later.

West: Sounds good.

Huh. So, whatever he’d been up to, he really was at work now.

We arrived at the police station, and I went inside to finish up a few things, then walked to Henry’s, stopping by a sushi place on the way.

When I arrived with a chicken roll for him and an avocado roll for me, West was behind the bar, looking for all the world as if he’d been there for hours. I knew better though.

I sidled up to the end of the bar and waited for him to finish serving a couple of rookie cops. When they had their drinks, he sauntered over, leaned across the bar and kissed me. I turned my face at the last moment, so his lips landed on my cheek rather than my mouth. I just couldn’t kiss him when I didn’t yet know whether he’d been betraying me.

His eyebrows drew together, but then he smiled so quickly, I might have imagined it. He took the paper bag from me and slid out the chicken roll, knowing it was for him.

“How was your day?” I asked as he opened the container and doused his sushi with soy sauce. “Do anything interesting?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” He smeared wasabi onto a piece of sushi and raised it to his lips. “How about you?”

“We got a new case,” I said. He didn’t ask for details. He knew that I wouldn’t share them here, where anyone could overhear.

“Open and shut?” He ate the sushi in two bites.

I tore open a soy sauce packet and spread it across my own sushi roll, even though I wasn’t really hungry anymore. “I doubt it. So, you spent today at home?”

He shrugged and nodded to a customer to indicate he’d be with them in a moment. “Home, the gym, and here.”

Liar.

I watched as he wiped his fingers on a napkin and took the customer’s drink order. Another pair of rookie cops formed a line behind them, keeping him busy for several minutes. I ate as much as I could stomach and tucked the rest of my meal inside the paper bag, so West wouldn’t notice I had no appetite.

The line for drinks only grew longer.

“I’m going to go home,” I called to West. “Want me to put your sushi in the fridge so you can finish it later?”

“Yes, thanks, Jo.”

I packed his meal into the small refrigerator in the back room and left through the rear exit so I wouldn’t have to see him again. I walked home, grateful for the extra time to work through everything that was going on inside my head. When I arrived at our apartment building, I took the stairs, delaying my arrival for as long as possible.

I neededto clear my mind, but I also didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts. It was a bad combination.

I let myself in and locked the door behind me. Once inside, I went to the bathroom, stripped out of my clothes, and showered. I always felt the need to clean myself after attending the scene of a homicide. The stench of death clung to me otherwise.

I dried, dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, and put on a load of laundry.

Then I paced.

How were you supposed to confirm whether your husband was cheating on you? Some people might recommend asking him to his face, but I didn’t want to confront him with any doubts if they were unfounded.

What would I do if this was one of my cases?

I’d search for evidence.

Guilt churning inside me, I padded into our bedroom and halted in front of his nightstand. I reached for the drawer but then stopped. I shouldn’t. It would be wrong of me to break West’s trust by going through his belongings.

He lied to you .

Okay, so that was true. But maybe there was a good reason for it.

Damn it.

I opened the drawer. Nothing looked out of place. I quickly checked through the items inside and then searched the two drawers beneath. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure I was still alone, I went to the dresser and sifted through his clothing. Except for the wad of emergency money I already knew he kept in a sock, everything was in order.

I sat on the bed and wracked my mind. If I were unfaithful, what evidence might I leave behind? The financial trail would be obvious, but we didn’t share a bank account. What else? A second phone, perhaps? Had I ever seen him with one? I didn’t think so. But perhaps he’d just hidden it well.

I sighed and allowed myself to consider a more important question: What would I do if he had been unfaithful?

Divorce him?

The idea left a sour taste in my mouth, but it was the only option. If he was running around behind my back with another woman, I couldn’t get over that. Maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal to some people, but I’d been raised on fairy tales and happily-ever-afters. I wouldn’t bounce back from a betrayal like that.

But what if Hanson was right and I’d read too much into what I’d seen?

I buried my face in my hands. There was no way around it. If I wanted to keep myself from losing my mind, I’d have to ask him about it.

Decision made, I went to pour myself another glass of wine and settle in to wait for him to return home. His shift ended at midnight, so I put a true crime documentary on the TV and half-watched it while I counted down the minutes.

Finally, a little before one in the morning, a key scraped in the lock and the door swung open. West stepped inside and shut the door behind himself. When he turned and saw me sitting on the couch, his forehead furrowed with concern.

“What’s wrong?”