I’m suddenly extremely self-conscious about my body. Although Britta goaded me into becoming loyal to gym down the block from my apartment, my C cups could use improvement. The designer one-piece I’d purchased on a whim before coming to Minnesota feels too plain.

  Once the man is a few feet away and our gazes meet, all warmth drains from my face.

  “Hi, Noah,” Britta sings, her greeting going unnoticed.

  I’m suddenly 15 again, gazing into the beautiful brown eyes of the boy who once had my heart.

  Memories of the 16-year-old who stood up to my bullies blur with the handsome man before me. I never guessed he’d still be living in the area. He always dreamed of moving to a big city.

  Struggling to remain upright, I ask in a trembling voice, “Noah?”

  “No way.” His eyes shine with nostalgia. “Max? Is it really you?”

  I shake my head in disbelief, unable to form any words.

  “I can’t…after all this time,” he sputters, bending to deposit his thermos in the sand. He stands tall, arms spread wide as a bright grin sets on his lips. “Come here, you!”

  Despite my reservations, I fall into his strong embrace. My body reacts with appreciation faster than my brain. I almost moan.

  “I never thought you’d come back to me,” he whispers into my ear, his voice crackling with emotion.

  Remorse and regret burn through my cheeks. “Neither did I.”

  With a final squeeze, he sets me down on the sludgy lake floor and steps back. “You look good, Max. Damn good.”

  I don’t know what to do with the bold compliment. I’m unsure how to process my reaction to seeing him again. I want to tell him he looks better than anything I could’ve imagined. I want to tell him I’m sorry for leaving things like I did.

  Britta dramatically slaps her hand over her tan chest. “Oh my god, I totally forgot you two knew each other back in the day!”

  “How could you forget?” Noah replies, his tone on the edge of annoyance. “I only met you because of Max.”

  “You’re right.” With a “silly me” shake of her head, Britta slides a hand over his bicep in a possessive move. “Noah lives right across the bay from me in that impressive house with the massive windows.”

  My lips tighten. It’s odd she “failed” to mention he lived that close until now, especially after I had specifically commented on his house.

  “That’s quite the place,” I say once I’ve recovered from the shocking news. Something of the mansion’s caliber would be worth several million in the Chicago area. He's done well for himself.

  “He does something or other in computer engineering with cyber security,” Britta explains, still clinging to his arm. “Don’t ask me any specifics because it goes way over my head.”

  “You stuck to your plan,” I say, offering a little smile. “Good for you.”

  Noah’s modest grin does a number on my belly. I can’t decide if the connection we made as teenagers is still active or if it’s all in my head. “I’d love to give you a tour of my house sometime.” His thick eyebrows shoot upward. “How long are you here?”

  I balk at his question. Merely engaging in conversation with him is a colossal mistake. We share a complicated history that would be best left in the past. As much as he knows, there’s even more I’m not ready to share.

  “She’s here until Saturday,” Britta replies on my behalf, turning into him in a way that brushes the bare skin on the tops of her breasts across his arm. “What do you have going on Friday night?”

  “I could do Friday,” he decides, still addressing me as if Britta isn’t falling all over him. “Do you like sushi?”

  “It’s my favorite,” I admit with an electrifying thrill. Despite the long list of reservations filling my head, a part of me wants to catch up with him.

  The brilliant stretch of his lips sends a tsunami-sized rush of tingles down to the souls of my feet. “Then it’s settled. I’ll have my chef come out and prepare enough for three. We can go for a moonlight cruise in my boat after⁠—”

  “As fabulous as your idea sounds,” Britta interrupts, pulling away from him to spread her fingers across her chest, “I just remembered I have a deadline to meet by Saturday. I’d work on it sooner, but I promised to spend uninterrupted time with Max while she’s here. Why don’t you two plan to meet up without me? It would work out perfectly. I wouldn’t feel guilty for neglecting her one night if you were together, and I’m sure you have so much catching up to do. I’d only get in the way.”

  Panic rises in my throat. I can’t be alone with him. As I open my mouth to protest, she nudges me with a mischievous grin and leans close. “You can’t turn him down,” she whispers. “I think he really missed you.”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper back. “I’m⁠—”

  “I’ll swing over in my boat around six on Friday, Max,” he announces, pausing again until he can catch my eye. “Does that sound alright?”

  “Looking forward to it,” I manage, my lips twitching from the unsettled nerves wiggling throughout my body.

  “Then it’s a date. But I hope to see you around again before then. The three of us could meet at Pelican later tonight if you're free.” He nods at Britta as if confirming the idea, then throws me a charming wink before retrieving his tumbler. He swaggers down the beach at a leisurely pace, bumping knuckles with several of the drunk minors along the way.

  I spin my heels through the wet send to face Britta head-on. “I can’t believe you just handed me off to him.”

  Sniggering, her eyes flicker to the bright blue sky. “Seriously, Max. It’s not like he’s a stranger. You two clearly have a history.”

  “Why isn’t he wearing a wedding ring?” I demand. How is someone like him single?

  “He’s been married…a couple of times. But it never sticks. I think he tends to pick women who aren’t right for him.”

  Hearing Britta share intimate facts about the boy I once cared about more than anyone sends shocks of jealousy to war with my growing panic. “Have you slept with him?”

  “Why would you ask such a thing?” she answers, her voice clipped.

  “You couldn’t stop touching him.”

  “Well, Noah and I have never been anything more than friends,” she insists, tugging at my swimsuit tie behind my neck with one of her flirty little grins. “You two, however, are vibing. It must be some history you share. Not that you’ve ever told me anything about your love life before.” With a huff, she rolls her eyes. “We can meet up with him like he suggested. Pelican Cove is his favorite bar—he’s there a bunch in the summertime. If you’re still undecided about going out with him on Friday, you can claim you aren’t feeling well.”

  My eyes track Noah as he continues to engage with other beach dwellers. He’s changed. The sweet boy I once knew now portrays an air of arrogance in the way he struts.

  Most importantly, he’s too informed of my past. After everything we went through together, how we left things…

  Nothing about coming back to Lake Shetek was wise.

  3

  PRESENT DAY

  Detective Josephine Kelly

  While snuggled beneath my fluffy comforter in my Chaska townhouse, my loyal Australian Shepherd tucked in at my side, the Murray County Sheriff calls.

  “Would you be able to assist me in solving a high-profile murder case?”

  I first met Sheriff Jaros a few years back when he requested my expertise on the disappearance of an 8-year-old girl who had been abducted from her own backyard. He was nearing retirement age and sometimes bent the laws for the locals, but I appreciated his honesty and determination.

  Together, we managed to catch the man responsible for kidnapping and then murdering little Lizzy Tanner. We also ensured the pedophile would spend the rest of his life in prison without parole.

  Just moments before, I had been weighing the pros and cons of early retirement. If I’m being honest, however, I take too much pride in maintaining a close to impeccable record. It would be almost impossible to leave it behind. I’m known for having a keen eye and laser-sharp instincts that seldom steer me wrong. I’ve spent over two decades solving murders in the Midwest.

  In that time, I’ve seen it all. Some of the more grisly things—like the spoiled teenager who had taken an axe to his parents when they had failed to buy the gaming system he wanted or the wife who had tried dissolving her cheating husband’s slain body with the wrong type of acid—I wish I could purge from my memory.

  My demanding and often exhausting career has made me hesitant to invest in a relationship since finishing the academy. Instead, I adopted Henry from the shelter as a companion. Knowing I’ll have to leave him behind if I accept the assignment, I sink my fingers into my sweet dog’s thick hair and sigh.

  There have been several eligible suitors over the years. I almost agreed to marry a fellow cadet in the academy long before he was fired from his first assigned station for accepting a bribe. And I’m constantly being asked out on dates. I stay in shape, and I’m blessed with big chocolate-colored eyes and a headful of strawberry blond hair. The pistol strapped to my hip also seems to bring out men’s secret desires to be dominated.

  But my schedule tends to be chaotic, especially as I’m often deputized in other counties to help solve more complicated murders.

  Without hesitation, I tell Sheriff Jaros, “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

  While packing my trusty duffel bag for whatever time I’ll be spending on the shores of Lake Shetek, I remind myself it’s better to be alone. The hassle of finding someone to watch Henry is distressing enough.

  Hours later, I take a final look at the pale corpse with a Y-incision over its chest cavity on the medical examiner’s table. The victim, aged 40, was in excellent physical shape. Although fish and turtles nibbled at her flesh in the short time her body was submerged beneath the shallow lake, I instantly recognized the fitness instructor.

  I had played Britta Baxter’s DVD every morning for six straight months after my mother passed away unexpectedly. I needed an outlet for my pent-up energy when dealing with the family drama that followed. Associating the vivacious woman from the video with the lifeless body on the metal table proves disheartening.

  Without question, Britta Baxter had been murdered. The medical examiner had explained in detail how she had been stabbed twelve times in the back before drowning. The ligature mark around her ankle was from a rope tied to an anchor in an attempt to keep her submerged.

  Fortunately, the wind had picked up the night before, and the body had floated into shallow waters. One of the area residents had spotted her while fishing in a canoe. The murder weapon, however, was still unaccounted for.

  “Someone from the B.C.A. will be coming down from St. Paul,” Dr. Schreier, the medical examiner, tells me. Her hazel eyes become heavy with sympathy when she glances down on the body. “They’ll help identify the type of knife used and write up a profile of the attacker. Unfortunately, it could be another week or two before they’re able to fit her in.”

  My smartphone buzzes against my hip. “Thank you,” I say to the doctor while pulling my phone from its holster. “I’ll be in touch.”

  As I start for the hallway to answer the incoming call, I suddenly wish I hadn’t quit smoking two years prior. I could use a shot of nicotine to take the edge off. “Detective Kelly.”

  “The husband voluntarily came in to see me,” Sheriff Jaros’s baritone voice replies. “Not sure how long I can keep him here because he said he has a flight to catch, but I think you should talk with him…see if you think he’s good for it.”

  “What does your gut tell you, Sheriff?”

  “He could be our man. My deputies are searching the Baxter property and knocking on the neighbors’ doors to see if they’re missing an anchor. One of my men cut the rope off her ankle before they recovered her body from the water, so no one knows it was used in the murder except us and our perp.”

  I cringe. While I can appreciate the small community mentality, with murder cases far and few between, the deputy had disturbed substantial evidence. “Did they at least get a picture of the knot before they cut it off?”

  The sheriff grunts. “My deputy was too upset about the state of Miss Baxter’s body to think it through. You have to remember, Detective, she was a big-time celebrity to the locals. And Deputy Willis is still a bit green behind the ears. He’s only been out of the academy for a handful of months.”

  “You mean Mrs. Baxter,” I amend.

  “Most folks around here forget she’s married. The way rumors around here go, I suppose she forgot, too. She made her way around town if you get my drift.”

  With a dissatisfied grunt, I acknowledge the list of potential suspects is about to grow. “I’m on my way, Sheriff.”

  In a matter of minutes, I’ve parked outside the brick building in downtown Slayton. I join Sheriff Jaros outside the interrogation room in the heart of the station, passing on the cup of coffee he offers.

  I usually avoid judging a potential suspect until I’ve spoken with them in detail. But upon first seeing Oliver Baxter waiting behind the two-way mirror, I struggle not to label the new widower as an arrogant prick.

  Sitting rigid in the plastic chair, he checks the gold Rolex on his left wrist with unrestrained irritation. One would think he was being stood up by a patient rather than mourning the tragic death of his wife.

  Judging by the crease of skin around his eyes and flecks of light gray at the temples of his wavy chestnut hair, I guess him to be between forty-eight and fifty-five. He has the long, lean body of a marathon runner and the remarkably smooth hands expected of a surgeon. With a defined jaw and alluring gray eyes, I suspect he would be rather handsome if he were to smile.

  “I’ve never met the man before today,” Sheriff Jaros comments from beside me, “but I’d say he’s the classic definition of a narcissist.”

  Huffing in agreement, I breeze into the room. “Dr. Baxter? I’m Detective Josephine Kelly. I was brought in by Sheriff Jaros to help investigate your wife’s death.”

  His thin upper lip lifts to reveal piano-key-straight teeth bleached bright white. “And you consider me to be a suspect.” The deep bass of his voice booms in the small space, clipped with anger.

  “At this stage, I’m merely interested in extracting as much information as possible.” I sit across from him and rest my folded hands on the table. Since the sheriff was confident no one had seen the stab wounds when the victim was first brought to shore, I decide to test the husband. “Was your wife an avid swimmer?”

  His expression darkens. “My wife despised swimming in lakes. She was a pool rat when she lived in Minneapolis but refused to submerge herself in the same space fish defecated.” His voice oozes with disdain as he continues, “It’s part of the reason I thought she had lost her mind when she announced she was relocating to this wasteland.”

  “You’re implying she planned to move here without you. Were you separated at the time?”

  “Not officially. We merely had an…arrangement.”

  “You mean an open marriage?”

  “I mean, not every marriage functions in the traditional sense. My wife and I were in the same social circle as many couples who choose to reside in separate homes, and lead separate lives. Sometimes couples are happier that way.” His gaze hones onto my left hand. “Are you married, Detective?”

  Struggling not to roll my eyes in response, I ignore the question. “What’s the benefit of that arrangement?”

  “It was never Britta’s intention to settle down and start a family. She fell pregnant with our daughter while on antibiotics during her sophomore year of college. I did the noble thing and asked her to marry me. She spent the next decade traveling the country under the guise of promoting her brand, usually with our daughter and nannies in tow. Once Taylor graduated high school and left for N.Y.U., Britta decided her obligation to me had ended.”

  “Why not get a divorce?” I ask.

  His nostrils flare with irritation. “After twenty years, our finances have become deeply intertwined. Instead of spending hundreds of thousands on lawyers and wasting precious time in courtrooms, we decided to proceed with the status quo.”

  Sounds like quite the love affair. It’s another reason to believe I’ve dodged a bullet by staying single. “I have yet to delve into your wife’s financial affairs for myself, but according to a quick search on the internet, her net worth is estimated to be in the tens of millions. That’s a substantial amount compared to a surgeon’s salary.”

  “And you think that would be my motive?” He shakes his head, sniggering. “Good try, Detective. My wife set up a trust after our daughter was born, ensuring her empire would pass along to Taylor in this situation. I’ll only receive Britta’s share of the penthouse we owned in downtown Minneapolis.”

  “Are you in touch with your daughter?” Are you close enough to manipulate her into sharing her inheritance? I really wonder.

  “What kind of question is that? I’m her father.”

  “I’m assuming you’ve informed her by now that her mother died?”

  “Of course. I couldn’t tell her in person since her flight arrives late this evening.”

  My eyebrows lift. Although I’ve never been close with my family, it must be unusual for a father not to support his child in such a crisis. “You’re not sticking around to comfort your grieving daughter?”

  “I’ve already rescheduled three entire days’ worth of surgeries. I can’t afford to stay in this shithole one minute longer. Taylor’s friend is picking up her at the airport and bringing her home. Taylor’s godmother will be around to take care of her. Max is like a second mother to Taylor.”

  Sheriff Jaros had only glossed over the facts of the case on my drive from Chaska to Slayton, but I’m pretty sure the name Max had come up before. I make a mental note to ask this Max person about the relationship between the doctor and Taylor. “And who is Max? A family friend?”