He’s exceptionally handsome, with a faint sliver of moonlight providin' a silhouette of his sculptured jaw, intense nose, and generously curved lips. Although he always sleeps in the nude, the shadows from the trees outside hide his lower half from my hungry eyes. I could stand here until the sun rises, drinkin’ him in and revelin’ in the fact that I have this beautiful man wrapped around my little finger.

  At first, he was reluctant to engage in anythin' beyond vanilla sex. With time, he become ravenous, unable to control the dark urges I extracted from the darkest corners of his desires.

  He pretends to portray the image of a good, loyal husband.

  Everyone in the community believes it to be true.

  Amusement curls my lips. The naiveté of some people never fails to astonish me.

  A loose plank of floorin' creaks beneath my weight, and he stirs awake. He shifts around in the king-sized bed, squintin' against the darkness.

  “Hey there, darlin’,” I whisper in my most seductive of voices, twirlin' a lock of my blond hair. “Did you miss me?”

  Rotatin' to his side, he reaches out to turn on the lamp beside the bed. The soft glow highlights his rich brown eyes, glowin' with approval as they skim across the lace details coverin' my naughty bits. “Beth?” he calls out, his voice ragged with sleep. “What’s this? What are you doing?”

  “Were you expectin’ someone else, sugar?” I tease.

  He scoots into a sittin' position, eyes alight with caution. “No, I just thought…it’s been a while. I thought you were…gone.”

  “That’s not the kind of greetin’ I was hopin’ for. Do you want me to leave?”

  Annoyance sharpens his tone when he says, “I’m not in the mood for your games. I took a sleeping pill—you know those make me crazy.”

  “That’s funny because you always seem to thoroughly enjoy yourself when we’re playin’ games,” I reply with a flirty giggle. “Besides, I love it when you’re crazy. It brings out your kink.”

  With a seductive lick of my fire-red lips, I yank on the strings holdin' the skimpy nightie in place. “I thought you might want some company.”

  His eyes darken as the silky material tumbles down to my belly, exposin' my bare breasts to the cool air.

  “Oh hell,” he grunts. “How am I supposed to say no to those?” With a resolved groan, he pats the empty side of the bed. “Get in here, beautiful.”

  Grinnin', I let the nightie fall around my feet before slinkin' down beside him. His lips are ravenous, his hands graspin' for purchase. He’s a man starved for pleasure, desperate for passion.

  His wife deserves better than this womanizer.

  She’s naive to think he’s ever been a loyal husband.

  I’m doin' this to protect her.

  In time, I plan to expose the real Noah Huisman to the world.

  13

  28 YEARS EARLIER

  Noah

  In the two and a half months since Max somewhat reluctantly agreed to become my girlfriend, I’ve struggled how to tell her what I learned about her past. Or at least what Britta told me. It might be time to bring my parents into the situation if everything her little cousin said was true.

  I’m not sure how to approach the subject. Aside from my dad’s stories of working with the dead, I come from a boring family. I was raised by loving parents who would do anything to keep me safe.

  At least Max is safe as long as she’s in Minnesota.

  I haven’t seen Britta again since New Year’s Eve when she got stupid drunk on a bottle of my mom’s white wine, and Max woke with no idea of what had gone down.

  My ass was saved when Max and Britta’s grandma called to check in, and my intoxicated aunt told her the girls were sound asleep in our guest bedroom. I almost wish I had answered so I could confirm with Max’s grandma all the nasty things Britta had to say about Max’s childhood were true.

  One night, as we’re hanging out on my bed, browsing through the catalog of classes for our upcoming junior year, Max glances up at me while nibbling on her bottom lip. She wears a white T-shirt underneath a green dress that draws out the green in her hazel eyes, and her long brown hair is pulled back with a scrunchie. Taking in every delicate feature on her face and the sweet little flower earrings in her ears, I’ve never wanted to kiss her so badly.

  “What?” I ask. She only chews her lip that way when nervous about something. “What’s wrong?”

  “I might have to return to my mother’s place for the summer,” she says. Her eyes all at once shine with tears. “I don’t want to go,” she adds. ‘But⁠—”

  “No,” I bark out. I can’t think beyond the surge of red-hot anger rising in my chest. “No way in hell.”

  Her eyes narrow with suspicion. “Why?”

  “Because I’d miss you,” I amend, remembering I’m supposed to be clueless about her home life. I soften my tone and attempt to smile. “What would I do by myself?”

  A tear slips over her cheek when she glances down. “You’re a lifeguard,” she mutters. “You’d spend the summer impressing the girls at the pool.”

  “Not when I have a girlfriend.”

  When she glances back up, her cheeks flush a dark red. “Still…you’d survive without me around.”

  She has no idea what this innocent, vulnerable side of her does to me. I’d do anything to keep her from returning to her mother’s. I hook my arm around her narrow waist and drag her close, wanting to protect her in any way possible. Her eyes pop wide with surprise.

  “You just finally agreed to be my girl,” I say, briefly eyeing her lips. I’ve taken things slower than I’d like only because I get the sense she’s not ready for anything beyond holding hands and cuddling. Now that I finally have an idea why she’s so emotional, I’m definitely not going to push her into anything.

  Still, I’m dying to find out once and for all if her lips are as soft as I imagine. “Can’t you tell your mom you want to stay here?”

  “My grandma’s health hasn’t been great. They don’t know what’s wrong yet, so she has a ton of doctor’s appointments scheduled. I think she’s worried her insurance won’t cover everything. Even though I offered to find a job⁠—”

  “You can stay here,” I blurt, my mind racing. “You could have the guest bedroom. My parents and Shelly adore you. I’m sure they’d be fine with it.”

  Her lips part with a quiet gasp. “I can’t ask your parents to take me in.”

  “You don’t have to. I'll do it for you.”

  A little laugh bubbles from her throat, sounding more like a cry. “Noah…” She drops her chin and shakes her head. “It would be better if I wasn’t around anyway.”

  “That’s not true.” Frustration sparks through my core. How do I express what I’m feeling? How can I explain the raw fear roaring through my veins?

  She can’t go back to her mom’s. I won’t let it happen. And I don’t know how to tell her without hurting her feelings.

  “I think…I mean, I might be…” Heart pounding, I suck in a huge breath. “I’m in love with you, Max.”

  The words hang in the air between us for a moment. Especially when I think she looks mad for a minute. More tears slip from her eyes when our eyes lock.

  “You can’t say that,” she whispers. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not?” I challenge, lightly squeezing my grip around her. “It’s the truth.”

  Her eyes close, and she becomes still.

  I feel like a complete asshole, even though I don’t understand. How could telling her I love her make her this upset? “Max⁠—”

  Her eyelids flip open. “Don’t call me that.”

  I open my mouth to reply, clueless as what to say. If she would rather be called “Maxine," why didn’t she tell me months ago?

  Watching me with a sexy expression, her tongue wets her lips. She lifts her fingers to dust them back and forth right above the waistband of my jeans. They’re shockingly cold against my warm skin.

  I jump. She’s never done anything beyond holding my hand. I try like hell not to react in any way, but I’m a guy. Some things can’t be helped.

  “You like that, huh?” she asks, her voice deeper than usual.

  Hell yeah, I like it. I don’t like the way she’s acting. I try to swallow, but my throat has become paper-dry. “I think we should talk about the real reason I don’t want you to go back to your mom’s.”

  Her lips curl with a teasing smile. “Oh, I know why you want me around.” She winks before working on releasing the top button on my jeans. “I’m not stupid.”

  “Wait.” I grab her hand before she can start on the next button. “What are you doing?”

  “I know what guys like you want.”

  “No,” I say, my voice firm. “This isn’t like you. Can we talk about your mom’s boyfriend?”

  She yanks her hand from my grip and snarls, “Why would you think that evil witch has a boyfriend?”

  “On New Year’s, when Britta came here with you…she said some things.”

  “About the boyfriend?” With a brutal laugh, she slides off the bed and folds her arms, barely controlling her anger. “You and Britta had a private conversation about somethin’ you know nothin’ about and have no business discussin’? What else did you two do together?”

  My face turns ice cold. “Nothing. Holy shit, Max. You think I’d do something like that to you? Besides, she’s just a kid.”

  “She’s also a big fat liar.” She snags her backpack from my desk and slings it over one shoulder. My gut drops with the hateful glare she throws me. “What other secrets are you keepin’?”

  “That’s it, I swear.” I wish I could take back everything I said. I hate seeing her this way. “I was scared to say anything because I didn’t want to upset you.”

  “Well, it’s too late for that, isn’t it?” she snaps before heading for my bedroom door.

  “Max, wait.”

  She doesn’t wait.

  The following day, my mom’s cleaning the kitchen appliances as I’m hunched over a bowl of Oreo O’s and milk, trying to wake up. I didn’t sleep much after Max stormed out of my bedroom. I was too busy planning a solution to our problem. I won’t ask if Max can come live with us unless she agrees to the idea. I also can’t let Max put herself in that kind of danger by returning to Georgia.

  Maybe my mom can help me figure out what’s happening with Max. She’s always saying she witnesses a lot of eye-opening mental health things while on the night shift.

  “Hey, Mom? Can I ask you something?”

  She tosses the cleaning rag over her shoulder and turns to me with one eyebrow raised. The only trait we have in common is our thick, dark hair. She’s shorter than average, with pretty green eyes, and a narrow face. My buddies often tell me she’s hot, which totally grosses me out.

  I have to admit she’s pretty compared to a bunch of other moms. More importantly, she’s cool and easy to talk to about stuff.

  “You need money for the spring dance,” she assumes, grinning. “Your dad and I already talked it over. We’ll cover the cost of a suit and some nice dress shoes. You probably should have a suit on hand anyway. Whatever flowers and whatnot you want for Maxine needs to come out of your pocket, but we’ll loan you whatever you need to cover it until your first paycheck comes.”

  “Thanks,” I say, realizing I haven’t asked Max about going. I doubt she would be interested, especially when I doubt she could afford a dress. And it’s not like there’s anyone she would want to hang out with. I’m pretty sure me and Shelly are her only friends.

  My mom’s eyebrows shoot upward. “Did you want to ask something else?”

  I hesitate to answer right away. I don’t want her thinking any less of Max. Besides, I’m not sure what’s going on. Maybe she’s just upset about the things Britta claims have been done to her, and she doesn’t know how to deal with her anger. I wouldn’t blame her.

  Had she confirmed her mom’s boyfriend had molested her, I don’t know how I would’ve stopped myself from driving down to Georgia and kicking that son-of-a-bitch’s ass.

  “No, that was it,” I finally tell my mom while scooping more cereal onto my spoon. “Thanks for being cool about Max hanging around all the time.”

  “She’s a sweet girl. It sounds like she doesn’t have an ideal family situation, so I’m glad she gets to spend time with ours.”

  You don’t know the half of it, I think with a silent grunt.

  14

  PRESENT DAY

  Maxine

  Noah snores heavily at my side—a sure sign that the glass of whiskey I spiked with a benzo with his dinner helped him slip into a solid, undisturbed sleep. We haven’t had much to say to each other since our fight after the memorial service.

  I can’t stop thinking about that damn text and wonder what he’s hiding. Luckily, he put in a long day locked in his office, only coming out to eat before turning in hours ahead of me.

  The half-moon beaming through the wall of bedroom windows makes it effortless to creep around our bed to his side, where his cell phone is plugged into a charger. The sudden urge to wrap the chord around his neck and pull until he stops breathing overwhelms me for a disturbing moment.

  I suck in a trembling breath. I’m no killer, I tell myself.

  Once I’ve recovered from the ridiculous idea, I remove the charger from the phone’s port and lower the screen to his face. When it makes a distinct clicking noise, signaling it’s unlocked, I’m struck with a satisfying thrill. I’d been messing around with my phone earlier and was pleased to discover a person’s eyes didn’t have to be open for the facial recognition to work.

  Slipping out of the bedroom on the pads of my bare feet, I silence the phone’s ringer before removing all locks in the settings. I head outside to the first patio, settling into one of the couches before beginning my search on Noah’s phone. I recognize every contact who has sent him a text in the last twenty-four hours, and I don’t find anything that would be considered upsetting.

  I browse the dozens of apps, hoping something unusual will catch my eye. I suspect there’s an app that would allow him to hide any conversations he wouldn’t want his wife to accidentally see.

  But after he’d fallen asleep, I’d done some research and learned any recently deleted pictures would still be stored in his phone’s folder for up to 30 days. Considering he works in cyber security, it surprising that he’s not vigilant with his electronics, and often asks me how to perform certain operations on his phone or laptop. Then again, as CEO of his corporation, he mostly maintains a positive representation of the company and closes multi-million-dollar deals with clients.

  Within seconds, I’m staring at the obscene image of a blue-eyed, topless blonde. She’s a stunning beauty with flawless skin and spiral curls spilling past her armpits. The symmetrical curves of her abnormally large breasts on her petite frame make me believe she has implants. From the angle of her outstretched arm, it’s clearly a selfie. She’s standing in front of a bed with a purple comforter and a flatscreen television mounted to a wall behind it.

  I wait for tears to sting my eyes or a sense of utter betrayal to punch me in the stomach.

  But the logical side of my brain urges me to hold off on any gut reactions. Noah could have an explanation for why this was on his phone. Maybe he was upset because the woman is stalking him, and the picture was unsolicited.

  Who are you kidding? a voice ridicules me from a dark corner of my mind. He’s a womanizer, just like you always suspected.

  As my heart sinks with the thought, I silently scold myself for not making an effort to reach out to either of his ex-wives before agreeing to become his third. My mother was right—I’ve always been a coward. Most of all, I’m incredibly naive.

  Martin, my mom’s boyfriend, sits beside me, holding my hand. Surrounded by strangers and headstones, the dull voice of a pastor reading from a hymnal saturates the air. Martin’s fingernails dig into my skin until blood trickles down, forming a spot on the thigh of my white dress.

  “We must repent, Maxine,” he tells me. “Repent for our sins.”

  I turn to discover Noah sitting on my other side. I beg for his help, but I don’t think he can hear me because he doesn’t react to my cries.

  Face soaked with tears, my husband stares at the elegant white ivory casket adorned in blood-red flowers.

  Britta’s corpse lays inside the casket. Her face is sickly pale as if caked in white makeup, and her lifeless eyes glisten like marbles.

  They’re fixated on me.

  A baby wails in the distance.

  With the chime of a doorbell, I gasp for air and bolt upright. My skin and the sheets beneath me are both covered in a sheen of sweat.

  It was only a dream.

  The doorbell chimes again. I scramble from our bed in search of my robe, relieved to see the suit and dress shoes Noah laid out the night before are gone. He’d mentioned he had a meeting in Bloomington today and would possibly return if everything went as planned. I’m just grateful I don’t have to figure out how to confront him about the picture. At least not yet.

  Once I’ve secured my robe around my waist, I glance at the security app on my phone while starting for the front doors. Detective Kelly waits on our front step, impatiently shifting her weight from one foot to another. I haven’t seen her since Britta’s service. I hoped it meant she was busy arresting someone.

  Tight bands of pain grip my chest as I swing open the door. I force past the uncomfortable sensation with a smile.

  “Good morning, Detective. Are you here with news on Britta’s case?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” She steps inside, apparently past the point of niceties. Her expression is grave when she says, “I’m sure you’ve heard by now about the second body they found floating at the north end of your bay yesterday morning.”