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  “The fact is, lying is a necessity. We lie to ourselves because the truth, the truth freaking hurts. No matter how hard we try to ignore or deny it, eventually, the lies fall away, whether we like it or not. But here's the truth about the truth: It hurts. So we lie."

  From Grey’s Anatomy

  Prologue

  Washington, D.C.

  They only ever fought when they were drunk. Mindy Lynn and Tuck Bowman had been together for a little more than seven years now and were known among their friends as the stable couple, the ones who never fought, who agreed on almost everything. And that was the truth, at least for the most part—until they both had a little more than they should to drink. Then it took nothing to set both of them off, and as they were driving home from the Grillfish, where they had been drinking at the bar for hours after finishing dinner, they were at each other’s throats.

  “Don’t give me that,” Tuck said, accelerating to rush through a yellow light. “I saw how you looked at him when he came over to you.”

  Mindy threw out her arms. “I don’t even know who you’re talking about, for crying out loud.”

  Tuck turned his head and stared at her, his blue eyes growing narrow and angry. Mindy worried that he wasn’t looking at the road ahead.

  “Do you love me?”

  “Please, keep your eyes on the road,” she said, placing her hands nervously on the glove compartment.

  “I’ll darn well keep my eyes where I want them,” he hissed, then glared briefly ahead of them before looking at her again. He clasped her thigh hard. Pain shot through her body. Tuck had never laid a hand on her like that before. His eyes were glossy, staring blankly at her, his lips growing into a tight line. Mindy felt dizzy. She really shouldn’t have taken those last two shots. She could still taste the tequila and would be so sick tomorrow. It was her problem. When they reached a certain level of drunkenness, it was like she couldn’t stop. She wanted more and more. It wasn’t often she allowed herself to go this far, and typically, she would have stopped a lot earlier before she reached that point of no return. But since Tuck got laid off from his construction job, things hadn’t been good. They had struggled financially, and Tuck had found it hard not to be able to provide as he ought to. Not that they had any children yet, but they wanted to. They had been trying for years and struggling to face the fact that the pregnancy hadn’t happened yet. Mindy often talked about seeing someone—a professional—about it but hadn’t dared to mention it to Tuck yet. If something was wrong with him, it would break his heart. It would simply crush him.

  “It’ll come. You just need to give it time,” her mom had said. “Who knows? Maybe you’re worrying too much about it. It’ll come when you least expect it. Heaven knows you were a huge surprise to your father and me. It’s easier when you don’t have any expectations.”

  So that’s what Mindy tried not to have. Expectations. It was harder said than done, for sure. After three years of trying, it was getting difficult to ignore the facts. And tonight, she had brought it up, stupid as she was, over the fried fish platter, the same dish she always ordered in that place.

  “It’s been three years, Tuck. Do you think maybe something is off?”

  Those were her words. That was all she had said. But it was enough. Tuck’s eyes grew distant, and he barely blinked.

  Before she could say anything else, he had downed his beer and asked for another one, which he drank without speaking a word to her. Mindy had cursed herself for bringing it up. It was supposed to have been a night of celebration for them because Tuck had finally landed a new job—one that paid well for once. They had been so happy up until that moment when she asked that dimwitted silly question when there was no reason to. Why did she have to ruin everything?

  He had taken the drinking to the bar, and she had followed him, trying to put him in a better mood. After a couple of shots, he had finally eased up on her, and they had talked normally again. It wasn’t until they made it to the car that the fighting began. Now, Tuck was accusing her of flirting with some guy she didn’t even remember talking to. As always, they were avoiding what was really bothering them. They kept fighting as he turned onto Wisconsin Avenue, the car swerving on the road.

  “I can’t believe you,” he said. “But I guess you don’t love me anymore. If you loved me, you wouldn’t cheat on me.”

  Mindy scoffed. “Cheat on you? Where is this coming from?”

  “Oh, come on. How stupid do you think I am?” Tuck yelled, tapping a finger on his temple. “I know you. You’ve been acting so strange lately, and the other day you wouldn’t let me look at your phone. You don’t think I notice the signs, huh? But this is so typically you. You…”

  “Please, keep your eyes on the road, Tuck!” Mindy yelled as a truck came rushing toward them, blaring its horn, blinking its headlights. Tuck pulled the wheel and turned away from it just in time. Mindy clasped her chest and breathed heavily as the truck blasted by them.

  “There it is again,” he said, looking at her angrily. “You thought I’d hit that truck, didn’t you? You don’t trust me.”

  That was the worst thing in Tuck’s eyes—when Mindy didn’t trust him to protect her. He always pulled that card when he was drunk. He would gather episodes in his mind and then rattle them off when he’d had too much. Starting with the time she asked him about the letters from the IRS that kept coming in the mail. Mindy closed her eyes with a sigh. Her head was spinning, and she felt a headache approaching behind her eyes.

  “Of course, I trust you, Tuck,” she lied, trying to calm him down, to make him feel better. She had done that a lot these past few years when he got like this. It usually worked, but she wasn’t sure it would this time. “I was just scared. You know how nervous I get when driving after….”

  Mindy trailed off when thinking about her best friend, Amy. She had been in a car crash when they were still in high school, and a car slammed head-on into hers. She had been killed on the spot.

  Mindy looked out the front as a set of headlights hit them and almost blinded her.

  “That car is coming toward us really fast,” she said, her voice trembling.

  Tuck turned to look and saw the car rushing toward them, swerving from side to side. “Oh sh….” Tuck said, turning the wheel abruptly as the car whooshed by them.

  “Whoa!” Mindy exclaimed, and they both looked in the rearview mirror, following its path as it continued, then crashed into a tree on the side of the road.

  Part I

  Six years later

  Chapter 1

  I paused for a second as I showed the uniformed woman behind the glass my badge. It was still so shiny that it was hard to hide how new it was.

  “Eva Rae Wilson? Agent Wilson?”

  Her eyes lifted and met mine through the glass. The sound of my name made me wince slightly. After being married five years and changing my maiden name—Thomas—out with Wilson, I still hadn’t gotten used to being called that. I had discussed it intensely with my husband, Chad. I had wanted to keep Thomas because I loved that name, but he got very offended that I didn’t want to carry his name, so in the end, I caved. I just liked the sound of Agent Thomas better than Agent Wilson. Don’t ask me why. I guess I wasn’t prepared for losing my identity like that. In my mind, I was still Eva Rae Thomas as I had been my entire life.

  “I don’t think I’ve met you before. You new?”

  I nodded, blushing slightly. “Yes. Got with the bureau just recently.”

  She gave me an annoyed look, then lifted her eyebrows. “And you’re here to see Frank Woods?”

  “Yes. I’ve filled out all the paperwork.”

  “Okay, looking fine…” she said, looking at the papers I had handed her when arriving. “You got the signature there, and on the back as well… and your initials on page three, yes. I guess you’re good to go.”

  She leaned over and pressed the button to open the locks on the double doors leading inside the prison. This bunker-like building only housed the worst of the criminals in the D.C. area. It was my first time there, and I wasn’t without jitters. I walked through and showed my badge once again, just lifting it so the guard could see it. I enjoyed showing it still, as it was something I had worked really hard to achieve. Becoming an FBI profiler with the BAU, Behavioral Analysis Unit, was a lifelong dream of mine, and it had finally come true. I had taken four years of psychology in college, then gone through training at the FBI Academy before being stationed at a field office in D.C. for three years before applying for the BAU. I couldn’t believe that I had been selected for training, and after two and a half years, I was a fully functioning FBI profiler. Now, it was time for me to show them my skills. And I knew exactly how to impress them all. The solution was standing right in front of me a few seconds later when I sat down in the interview room, and the door was opened.

  “Frank Woods,” I said to the guy in the orange jumpsuit. His hands and feet were chained together as he was guided inside, flanked by two guards with stern looks on their faces. He wasn’t as handsome as in the pictures I had in my file in front of me, but he was still a good-looking guy. The salt and pep
per on the sides of his hair suited him, and it was clear he had spent the last six years on the inside working out. He was a lot more muscular now than he had been when convicted for murdering his wife.

  I pointed at the chair in front of me, smiling politely, trying my best to hide just how nervous I was.

  “Have a seat. You and I have a lot to talk about.”

  Chapter 2

  THEN:

  Online dating was more challenging than she had expected it to be. Mary Ellen Garton scrolled through yet another profile on MillionairesMatch.com. She could hear her sister Frances’ voice in the back of her head, telling her it was a scam, that there were not actually millionaires on this dating site.

  “I mean, if you were really a millionaire, why would you need to look for a date on a website? All you’d get would be gold diggers.”

  Mary Ellen disagreed. It was true that most of the guys who had written to her had turned out not to be worth her time, but at some point, she was certain she would find Mr. Right. It wasn’t that he needed to be a millionaire; it would just be a nice addition—like a bonus. Even though Mary Ellen was a single mom with four children, she wasn’t exactly struggling. She was doing okay for herself and had taken care of them by herself for three years now while climbing the career ladder at her company. She was actually quite the businesswoman herself, and money was tight some months, but not severely. And she had finally been able to buy the house she had rented for the past five years, and with the house skyrocketing in value this past year, she had learned she now had a positive net worth.

  Yes, Mary Ellen could take care of herself and her children just fine, even though her sister never believed she could. There was a lot more to Mary Ellen than her sister gave her credit for.

  “I’ll find the perfect match, and you’ll be so jealous, Frances, while eating your own words,” she mumbled to herself, scrolling through the profiles, looking at the pictures. Mary Ellen paused at one, then clicked the profile. This guy’s photo showed him playing golf in those awful pants they always wore. He had a cute face, but she couldn’t really deal with the fact that he was a golfer. That usually took up a lot of a man’s time, and she would never see him when he was off work. That could be both good and bad. It was good to have time apart—to miss one another and not rub elbows all the time, but then again, she’d end up sitting alone with the kids all weekend and have to drive them alone to all their activities while grumbling about him being on the golf course, again. Mary Ellen’s friend Jennifer had that problem with her husband, and it drove her nuts. Nope, there was no way she was going down that road. Mary Ellen shook her head, then deleted this guy’s request to connect. She wasn’t taking any chances. This time, the guy had to be absolutely perfect for her. And she just knew he would be. He was there somewhere, waiting for her to find him. She knew it in her soul.

  “Where are you, my future husband?” she said with an expectant smile as she scrolled further down, looking at pictures, discarding the men one after another. “I know you’re in here somewhere.”

  She sighed as she looked at a guy she liked but then realized that he lived in France. She wasn’t up for a long-distance relationship. Not that he needed to live in her backyard or even in the same county. She didn’t mind driving a few hours, but she couldn’t do a whole other country. She simply didn’t want to.

  “Nope,” she said and left his profile, slightly sad that he wasn’t the one since she really liked his deep blue eyes.

  “It’s gotta be just right. And I know it will be once I….”

  Mary Ellen paused when seeing the picture of a man who had already requested to connect with her. She stared at the picture, then took a deep breath and clicked his profile, expecting to find something wrong at first glance, as she had done with the rest of them. But to her surprise, it didn’t happen this time. This guy lived only three hours away, and he was about the same age as Mary Ellen, older by two years, which was perfect. He had no children and hadn’t been married before, only been in a long-term relationship with a woman who didn’t want to get married. They split because of different interests.

  And he was actually a millionaire. He wrote that he had his own house with a pool and had made money on investments that made it possible for him to retire last year at the age of only forty-eight.

  This means I will have plenty of time for a new partner in my life. And I will do my utmost to keep you happy.

  Mary Ellen stared at the picture of him standing by a willow tree, leaning against it in his black jeans and blue shirt, smiling handsomely.

  She leaned back in the chair, sighing comfortably, feeling a few butterflies appear in her stomach.

  “There you are, Mr. Perfect. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

  Chapter 3

  “Let me get this straight. You want to reopen my case?”

  Frank Woods looked at me from behind his bangs that had grown long and fell into his eyes. Being in his mid-fifties, he was almost twenty-five years older than me, yet I couldn’t help but find him attractive. His smile and his eyes bore a secret in them that drew me in. He had been described as a womanizer and a player in the media, but that wasn’t what I saw. He was charming, yes, but not in a bad way. He wasn’t flirting with me, and sitting across from him didn’t make me feel as uncomfortable as I had expected. The media had painted an ugly picture of him back then, and I was beginning to think it was quite unfair.

  He leaned forward, and his chains rattled.

  “Do you mind elaborating?”

  I smiled. “I understand why you’re confused.”

  He scoffed. “Confused is quite the understatement. Do you have anything to base this request on? I’ve admitted to killing her. What can you possibly have that will prove I didn’t?”

  I looked down at my file, then shook my head before lifting my gaze again. “I don’t have anything solid, and that’s why I came to you first. I need you to give me access to your wife’s things. I think they might have missed something important when going through it all six years ago, but I can’t prove it. I assume you still have all your old stuff from the house? Maybe in boxes somewhere?”

  He cleared his throat. “Well, my sister-in-law lives in the house with the kids now. She takes care of them. You’ll have to ask her. I guess.”

  “I thought that maybe if I got you to give me permission, then it might be easier. I’m assuming she’s not interested in helping you?”

  That made him laugh. “Oh, no. She hates my guts. I can’t blame her. I would hate me too.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping to be able to change,” I said. “I hope to clear your name and give you your life back. I think you’re innocent.”

  That made him laugh again. “You think I’m innocent?”

  I nodded nervously. “Yes.”

  “You’re crazy, do you know that?”

  “I’ll have to get used to being called that. I have a feeling I’ll hear that a lot if I pursue this further.”

  He leaned back and gave me a suspicious look. “Are you even a real agent? You’re pretty young.”

  I showed him my badge and photo ID. “But I am. A profiler.”

  “That looks brand new; how long have you had it?”

  I blushed. “That’s beside the point.”

  “Ah, I see. Young and eager to prove our worth, are we?”

  “Maybe, but that shouldn’t….”

  “Tell me, why should I trust you?”

  “Do you have a choice?” I asked, fighting to sound as confident as possible. “I don’t see anyone else here trying to help you.”

  He shrugged. “I can say no.”

  “That’s your choice, yes, of course. But then you’ll have to rot in here for the rest of your life while sticking to your little lie that you killed your own wife.”

  Frank Woods paused. His smile went stiff, and he leaned back in his chair again. He stared at me for a few seconds, biting the inside of his cheek.