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WELCOME TO HAMLET BOOKS I-III JESSICA LYNCH CONTENTS Don't Trust Me Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Execution Foreword Execution Ophelia Foreword Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Let Nothing You Dismay Foreword Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Stay in Touch Available Now I'll Never Stop About the Author Also by Jessica Lynch Copyright © 2017 by Jessica Lynch All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Cover by Jessica Lynch For Suzanne. You always said I could, so I did. Miss you. 1 The cars ahead skated on a skim of water. The vivid red of countless tail lights, brake lights bobbed in the pitch-black night that stretched endlessly in front of them, the only sign that they weren't alone in this storm. Sheets of rain fell sideways as it hammered down on the roof, a persistent drumbeat that even the radio couldn't quite drown out. Despite the late hour, despite the treacherous conditions, going somewhere special made it worth the risk of travel. For Tessa Sullivan, it was an upscale spa and resort two states over from the simple suburban center she called home. She'd been looking forward to this trip for ages. The rain wasn't going to stop her now. It just made her a little worried. Okay. Maybe more than a little. As she prayed she would survive her husband's driv; ing, she was reminded again that there was one thing she couldn't control: everybody else. It was a hard-earned lesson, going back fifteen years to when she was ten and her father was sideswiped in a storm just like this. Even if he'd been wearing a seatbelt, it wouldn't have saved him. The SUV to their right suddenly cut over into their lane, spitting water up at the windshield, blinding her. Tess gulped, fervently wishing she hadn't let that last thought cross her mind. She fidgeted restlessly in her seat, tugging on the strap by her neck as she checked its fit one more time. They had already been driving for close to seven hours without anything more than an early supper and a bathroom break. Jack wasn't showing any signs of tiring, and his lead foot, heavy against the gas pedal, did nothing to help her nerves. Not that he noticed. Or that she bothered to complain. With the exception of the radio, he preferred silence when he drove if they were going somewhere new. She learned about that quirk on their honeymoon last year, where she struggled to keep quiet. It was a sad state of their marriage that she found it much easier this time around. There wasn't much she wanted to say to him. Squeaky wipers slid across the windshield, but the rain fell so hard and so fast, there was always a constant river streaking down the glass. She made a note to get them replaced after she returned home. The horrible scraping sound was grating on her already frayed nerves. The music didn't help. Jack kept the dial tuned to whatever classic rock station he could find. If she heard one more power ballad with the crooner shrieking about lost love, she thought she might open the car door and pitch herself out into the storm. She looked around, trying to find something else to occupy her. There. On the opposite side of the highway, Tess could just make out a car sluicing its way through the rain. It had one wide white eye. The other headlight was blown. Her response was automatic, ingrained in her from when she was a child and she played this game with her mother. Without even thinking, she leaned over and punched Jack in his upper arm. "Padiddle!" She knew right away that she made a mistake. With all of his concentration on the road, he wasn't expecting the hit. His arm jolted which meant that his hand on the wheel yanked. He pulled suddenly to the left. The front wheels skid, hydroplaning on the slick road as the car slid to the other side. Jack struggled to right the vehicle, breathing heavily when he finally had it back under control. "Jesus Christ, Tessie, I'm trying to drive here. What the— whoa." A bump, then a squeal as they slid again, followed by a rhythmic thump, thump, thump as the entire car started to wobble. He cut the speed drastically, the whoosh of the other drivers as they flew past causing their vehicle to rock. Tess fell against her window. Her hand shot out, holding tightly to the grab bar above her head. She used it to pull her body up and climb back into her seat. Her heart thundered so fast, it was all she could hear over the drum of the pouring rain. "What was that? What's wrong?" When Jack didn't answer, she let go of the handle and grabbed his arm instead. "Is something wrong with the car? Are we okay?" He shook her off. "The tire," he grumbled, cursing under his breath. "Must've been when I jerked the wheel that first time. Damn it." With an aggravated sigh, he flicked on his hazard lights and started to coast onto the shoulder. Tess sank into her seat, crossing her hands in front of her like a child who'd gotten caught being naughty. Swallowing back the fear lodged in her throat, she murmured, "Sorry, honey." As he maneuvered the car out of the flow of traffic, Jack ignored her soft apology. Once upon a time he never would have. He would've assured her that it wasn't her fault, maybe taken her hand instead of shaking it off, given her fingers a gentle squeeze. But those newlywed days were long gone. She felt the loss of them like an ache deep in her gut. "Stay here," Jack ordered. Bracing his big body against the door, he ducked his head and left her alone, disappearing into the night. Logically, she knew he crouched down to take a look at the tire. That was logic. Anxiety said only a few feet separated Jack from the cars whizzing by and she didn't have eyes on him. Tess nibbled on her thumbnail, wondering if she should ignore his orders and go out to offer him some help. At the very least, she could provide some light for him. She wasn't that useless. Grabbing her cellphone from her purse, she fiddled with it for a second before activating the flashlight app. That should make it easier for Jack to see through the nasty weather. He was back before she'd reached to unclasp her seatbelt. The rain drenched him, leaving his t-shirt plastered to his skin. His sandy brown hair looked black as water dripped down his face. Shaking his head, he spattered her with chilly drops of rain. Tess killed the flashlight as Jack slid back into his seat. "No way I can do anything in this storm," he told her. "Tire's shot, though. Looks like we might have rolled over a nail or something earlier. How much longer did we have to go until we got to the resort?" It was so disappointing to hear the weariness he didn't bother to hide. She'd been looking forward to this getaway for, well, forever. This second honeymoon was supposed to get them through this rocky patch in their relationship. Tess planned this trip down to its very last detail before they set off for the week away. At the time, the upcoming stormy forecast had been the least of her many concerns. She was beginning to regret that oversight now. "I'm so, so sorry. We've still got about two hours to go." "What? Are you serious? It's after eight!" "I know." "Damn it, I thought we'd be there by now." "We were supposed to be farther along—" "You spent weeks getting me to agree to this, making arrangements." His voice was an accusation. Like she invited the rain herself, or caused the tire to go bad. Tess sank in her seat. That part, at least, was true. Jack glared at her, frustration coming off of him in waves. "Come on, Tessie. What now? This was your brilliant idea. Except now we're stuck in the middle of nowhere with a bum tire. Wonderful. And it's still another two hours? Really?" "Dinner took longer than I expected, and the rain definitely didn't help." She bit her lip, then admitted, "We were already behind before the tire got all screwed up." When he huffed and groaned, running his hands through his rain-dampened hair, she hurriedly added, "Don't worry, honey. Plans change, right? Plans change all the time. Our reservation will be waiting for us tomorrow. We just got to figure out something for now." "Yeah?" he challenged. "Like what?" Tess held up her phone. "It's okay. Really. I checked my maps app a second ago. There's an exit coming up in less than half a mile. I'm sure we can find something there. Someone to fix our tire, or maybe a motel for the night." Another huff. "Well, it's not like we can sleep on the side of the highway. Okay. Fine. Let's go." After turning his hazard lights off again, Jack waited until there was a gap in the traffic before he slipped back into the steady stream of cars coursing down the highway. He stayed in the right lane, hugging the outer line in case they had to pull over again ahead of reaching their exit. If it wasn't for her phone insisting it was a real road, she never would've attempted to take it. Nothing marked it as an exit. No sign, no arrows, not even a cone to guide motorists this way. Someone even honked as they turned off the main road. Jack ignored them. "I don't like this," he muttered. He pressed down on the brake, slowing his speed as he navigated the increasingly narrow strait. She had to agree. The path was suddenly rocky, like they were driving on cobblestones. That couldn't be good for their bad tire. But, with the rain still coming down, there was no turning back now. They couldn't even if they wanted to. The exit was obviously a one-way road. A few minutes passed in silence as the exit turned into a street that seemed to lead to nowhere. Jack even clicked the radio off, lending all of his focus to his driving after the first time the car skidded and they almost ended in a ditch. Though the rain had let up on some of its relentless assault, the night had grown impossibly darker. Probably because there were far fewer streetlights than there had been on the highway. It was so dark, Jack nearly missed it when the road split into two. Slamming on the brakes, they came to a squealing stop. Both of them flew forward before being yanked back in their seats. Tess shrieked and Jack cursed as their car came that close to diving nose first into a deep valley that bordered the extremely necessary fork in the road. There was no fence. No warning sign. Just a muddy path that disappeared into a gulley so deep, all he saw was the drizzle vanishing into a sea of black. "What the fuck?" He pounded the flats of his palms against the steering wheel. "Goddamn it!" "Jack—" "Don't Jack me. You see that? That hole? I almost just drove into—we almost died. No. That's it! I've had enough." "But—" "I said no and I mean it. I'm done. Okay? It's too dark to keep on driving, and it's definitely too late to look for a garage or someone to fix this damn flat. So do me a favor, pull up the closest hotel. I really don't want to sleep in this stupid car overnight and, right now, it's looking like our best shot." She couldn't quite bite back her sigh. "Whatever you say, honey." After giving her shoulder a quick rub, Tess leaned down and picked up her phone. It must have been flung there when Jack came to such a sudden stop. She paused to make sure the screen hadn't cracked before unlocking it. Unlike her crumbling marriage, her phone was still in one piece. Hiding her scowl from Jack, she went to pull up her maps app again when she noticed something strange: except for the battery indicator, her top bar was empty. "That's weird. I… I lost my signal." She pressed the home button. No change. "I lost service. I can't do anything with my phone right now." "Are you sure?" She held it up so that he could see for himself. "Look." "Check mine." Jack always kept his cellphone stowed in one of the cup holders in the center console. She picked it up and shook her head. She didn't even need to put in his password to see that his phone wouldn't be any help either. "The storm must have done something to the phones," Jack figured. "That's fine. Right now, I wouldn't put it past it. So no cell phones. Whatever. We'll just have to look for a sign or something." "I can do that," Tess offered. "You keep your eyes on the road. I got this." "Do you think we should go left or right?" She blinked. It wasn't often Jack asked her her opinion about anything. She wasn't going to let this opportunity pass her by, no matter that it was for something so inconsequential. "Let's go right." He took his time as he took the turn; with one bad tire, it was safer not to push it. So, as they coasted, Tess leaned as far as her seatbelt would allow, peering through the windshield. Between the rain, the clouds, and the lack of street lamps on this road, she couldn't see that far, but she was nothing if not determined. "I think I see a sign ahead. It's coming up on my right. You see it?" "Maybe. Let me get closer." "It's there. You see it now? Look." She tapped her finger against the windshield. If he wanted to be pissy about the prints she left behind later, that was fine. "Jack. The lights. Over there. That sign… that looks different. Wait a second— is it handmade?" He turned the wheel to the right, angling the headlights in the direction Tess was pointing. Through the curtain of steady rain, he could just about make out a wooden sign. Propped on a pole standing three feet high, the square sign was obviously hand-carved and painted. It read: Welcome to Hamlet est. 1941 Population: 193 192 Hamlet Helps Each letter was beautifully drawn in a script that was pure art. The sign was dark, the letters much lighter; the whole thing had an air to it that made it glow. Tess studied it closer. She had to really peer through the rain but she was almost sure that someone had used a different paint to change the population. Jack noticed that detail at the same time. "Huh. Looks like someone left." "Or else they died." "Lovely, Tessie. How nice." Didn't mean it wasn't true, she thought. 2 The road began to widen about ten minutes after they saw the sign. Lights were still sparse, the bumpy cobbles fading to a blacktop street flooded with rain. As she squinted, Tess couldn't find a sign that they weren't alone, which made her wonder if perhaps this Hamlet might have exaggerated its population. When she pointed that out in an abashed murmur, Jack said, "Should I turn back around?" Tess shook her head. He drove on. A few houses eventually started to pop up on the outskirts. Taking heart in that, Jack continued to test the tire, pushing the car until he happened to see something that looked promising coming up on his side. It was another hand-carved sign with that same reflective paint. Hoping it wasn't announcing that they were leaving Hamlet now, he slowed down so that he could read it: The Hamlet Inn Hamlet's Finest Guest Establishment A Luxurious Bed, Breakfast & More! Inn. Inn meant boarding. Boarding meant a roof over their heads until the morning when he could find someone to provide him with a spare. Thank God. He'd been beginning to think they'd be bunking in their old Honda after all. The grand building beyond the sign didn't look like any of the hotels he'd ever seen before. It was more like a mansion, someone's home that was a few stories high, made up of countless rooms and had been converted into an inn. With a massive wraparound porch, a circular driveway that led to a set of double doors, and the single descriptor luxurious, Jack had the sinking suspicion that a night here was going to cost him a fortune. His gaze slid to his wife. She was curled up into her seat, her slender legs tucked under her, one hand pillowed beneath her cheek as she rested her head against the window. Her soft, wavy dirty blonde hair covered her like a curtain. She stared straight ahead, silent as the night. He didn't think she even noticed he stopped the car. Jack resisted the urge to run his hand down her thigh in a caress. It was a damn shame when a man couldn't be sure if his wife would welcome his touch. He could do one thing for Tessie, though. No matter what it did to his wallet, he was giving her a place to lay her head tonight that wasn't made of glass. Flicking on the blinker, the static click—click—click drew her attention away from the rain. She turned toward him, her golden eyes vivid and bright. There was hope there. Jack gripped the steering wheel so tight, his fingers went white. Was he so miserable to her that finding a hotel to stay the night in brought out a spark in her? Stirring in her seat, she murmured, "You got something?" He nodded. "The Hamlet Inn. I'm gonna go see if they have any rooms available." Tess let out a soft sigh of relief. "Good." Jack wanted to assure her that everything would be fine. He couldn't find the right words, though. Lately, no matter what he said, it always managed to be twisted into an argument. He shook his head, then turned his attention back on the road. He followed the curve of the driveway, only coming to a complete stop when he pulled up in front of two massive french doors. After telling her to stay put, he slipped out into the rain and jogged up the front steps. She watched him knock, wait a beat, then let himself inside. Tess lingered a few minutes, her forehead pressed against the window pane in order to see if he would return right away. When it seemed as if he might be a while, she drew back, reached over, and turned off the car. Without the engine's hum, the pitter patter of steady rain was calming. Soothing. Leaning forward, she grabbed her purse and pulled out her phone. Still no signal. No internet then, and no cell service. Not that she needed to make any phone calls—or, really, had anyone left to call. Her family was all dead and gone and, since the wedding last year, she lost touch with any friends she once had. Even so, it made her uneasy to realize that she couldn't call out, even if she wanted to. The two of them were lost in some strange small town she had never heard of and there was no way anyone would know where they'd gone if something bad were to happen. On the heels of that sobering thought, a sharp tap rapped against her window, breaking up her introspection. She screamed, a short, terrified shriek that burned her throat and caused her to fall back into her seat. Her purse spilled out on the floor of the car. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a dark shadow. Her imagination went into overdrive. She screamed again, her heart racing as frantic fingers fumbled with her seatbelt clasp. Her only instinct was to get away. The car door flew open. Jack's bulky body filled the doorway before one hand landed securely on her far shoulder. Caging her in, he dipped his head to meet her gaze as he tried to calm her down. "Whoa, Tessie, baby, it's okay. It's me." She ripped her seatbelt up over her free shoulder, clutching her chest with her other hand. Her heart felt like it was about to beat its way right through. Now that she was safe, anger rushed in. It didn't matter that her reaction was over the top. She hated being spooked and Jack knew that. "What's wrong with you?" she snapped. "Don't do that!" "Sorry." Since he tried to stifle his chuckle, she decided he might actually be. At least his mood had perked up some. "I thought you saw me running over. I swear, I didn't mean to scare you." A deep breath to steady her nerves. When she muttered, "Whatever. It's fine," she almost believed that she meant it. She shook her head. "What did they say? Can we stay?" After a quick once-over to make sure she was feeling better, Jack let go of her. He backed away, opening the car door wider. There was something tossed by his foot. Swooping down, he picked it up. It was a folded umbrella. He must have thrown it when he heard her screaming. "For you," he said, gesturing as he popped the umbrella up. With a quick shake, it opened wide. "I spoke to the clerk. There's plenty of vacancies. When I told her that I needed to head back out to the car, she offered me an umbrella. I brought it for you. The rain's starting to come down pretty hard again. I don't want you to get a chill." It didn't matter that it was a short dash from the car to the front doors. Tess felt something inside of her tighten. "Oh, Jack. That's so… thoughtful of you." "So, I'm forgiven?" She let slip a tiny grin. "What kind of wife would I be if I held a grudge?" Holding the umbrella down at his side, Jack leaned in and kissed the top of her head before giving her his hand to help her climb out of the Honda. He insisted on walking her to the front of the inn. The umbrella wasn't very large. It covered Tess and might have shielded Jack from some of the downpour if he'd let her share it with him. Which he point blank refused to. By the time they reached the shield of the awning, he was soaked and her guilt had returned with a vengeance. Why was the pigheaded man so stubborn? She tried to offer to go back and help him carry in the luggage, not at all surprised when he told her no. When Jack then tried to escort her inside? Tess let some of her own frustrations out as she denied him. If he wanted her out of the rain, she could damn well do it without a chaperone, especially one who thought she couldn't even manage to carry her own duffel bag. She knew she was being tough on him. He thought he was acting the part of a gentleman, no matter that his overbearing personality stifled her. Tess might not be the type to hold a grudge, but all the little, niggling things that drove her crazy lately were quickly adding up. Second honeymoon, she reminded herself. And she smiled. "If I'm going in, here." She held the umbrella out to him. "Take this." "I'm already wet. I don't need it." He turned to hustle back down the steps, pausing when she latched onto his sleeve. She struggled to keep her smile in place. "Please. Don't fight with me over something so stupid, Jack. Okay?" A strange expression flashed across his handsome face, part leery and part confused. His sharp jaw tightened into a razor-fine edge. Tess was expecting another argument and then he surprised her. "Yeah. Thanks, babe." His fingers folded around the handle. "I'll be back in a sec." She made sure he lifted the umbrella over his head before she entered the inn. As grand and intimidating as the estate was, the front room was exactly what she expected to find in the lobby of a hotel. The floor was covered in industrial carpet, patterned with cream-colored diamonds on a smokey grey spread; a matching set of overstuffed armchairs cornered the lobby. A potted plant stood on each of the opposing sides. To her right, a flat countertop ran the length of the room. There was a computer perched on the closer end. It took her a second to notice that there was someone behind the counter. She was probably a good couple of years older than them, though Tess put her closer to thirty than forty. Her hair was pulled neatly back in a bun at the nape of her neck. While she had on a crisp white shirt, buttoned all the way up to her chin, she kept her plain face free of any make-up which only made her look younger to Tess. The woman held a worn paperback with one hand. She had a small squint as she read, as if she normally wore glasses but forgot to put them on. From the bob of her head, Tess could tell when the woman got to the end of the page. She turned to the next one, then stuck her finger to keep her place. That's when she finally acknowledged Tess. "Evening, ma'am. Can I help you?" Tess shook her head. Because her husband had left her in the car when he first approached the clerk, she had no clue what he told her. Admittedly bitter at the way he handled her outside, she decided to just let him finish registering when he was done with the car. He wanted to handle everything? Fine. She didn't want to fight him anymore. While Tess hovered near the threshold, the woman at the desk went back to reading her book. Every time she turned a page, she checked to see if Tess was still there, as if she expected her to vanish. Tess met her peeks with a small tight-lipped smile. What was taking Jack so long? Just when she couldn't take the awkwardness any longer, a tinkling bell rang and both women's heads turned to watch Jack hurry into the front room, a pair of stuffed duffel bags strapped across his body. In his right hand, he held her purse. He must have stopped to fold the umbrella on the porch because he had the handle tucked under his other arm. Or, she decided with a small frown when she noticed the rain dripping from his sopping wet hair, he never bothered to use it all. Eyeing him closely, she watched as Jack nodded his thanks at the clerk. He headed toward an intricate stand hidden behind one of the potted plants. After sticking the umbrella inside, he joined Tess and together they approached the counter. "You're wet," she murmured under her breath. He kept his voice just as low. "It's still pouring, Tessie." "Mmm." The clerk set her book aside as they approached. Her eyebrows rose when she recognized Jack, her initial curiosity shoved aside by years of working behind the front desk. Her surprise made Tess wonder if this was really an inn at all. The clerk hadn't seemed to think that Jack was coming back. "Are you ready to register for the night now, sir?" she asked. "I can sign you in." She changed from one second to the next, going from surprised to effusively helpful in a heartbeat. It was fascinating to watch the clerk slip right into her work personality, right down to the way her voice changed. A customer service voice, Tess thought. It sounded higher now. She had one of those, too. The way she spoke, the smiles she offered, even the manner in which she held herself was different when she was standing in front of a class of her precious five-year-olds than when she had to deal with the parents and the administrative staff at her old school. Of course, those days were gone. She gave up teaching when she married Jack. It didn't matter that she loved her work. He always dreamed of having a stay-at-home wife. It wasn't too long after the wedding when she realized that, in most things, what he wanted always came first. Trying not to be too bitter, she clasped her hand in his, twining their fingers together as he walked with her to the counter. He glanced down in surprise at Tess, though he didn't say anything, then squeezed her fingers sweetly with his damp hand. And she wondered if maybe she wasn't the only one resenting the gap that existed between them. Jack placed Tess's purse on the counter. Then, with his free hand, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open to show the woman his license in case that made registering any easier. "Yes, thank you. Hi. I'm ready now." "What can I do for you, sir?" "I'd like to get a room for the evening." She turned toward her computer, fingers poised over the keys. "One room? For the both of you?" "That's right. This is my wife. Tessa." The clerk glanced at Tess, a quick flicker as she swept her from head to toe. Tess was used to other women looking at her the same exact way: simultaneously dismissing her while wondering what it was that Tess had done to land such a strapping specimen as her husband. More than a head taller than her, broad in the shoulders and lean in the hips, Jack had a body most men would kill for. His shaggy, sandy hair was carelessly tousled just so when it wasn't rained on; even soaked, he exuded a safe masculinity that women always seemed drawn to. She used to call him her teddy bear. But that was before. Lately, he was just Jack. Tess couldn't mask her frown. The clerk cleared her throat, moved her glance to the computer in front of her, tapped a few keys before returning her adoring gaze back over to Jack. Honest to God, Tess swore she saw stars in the woman's eyes. And, after a second look, a big, honking ring on her finger. "It looks like we have an empty house tonight so you have the pick of the rooms. Any requests, Mr. Sullivan?" "Any requests, babe?" "Something cozy," she murmured up at him. After all, this was supposed to be their second honeymoon. So they weren't staying at the resort for their first night. This place looked nice enough. "Something private." Tugging on Tess's hand, he pulled her into the crook of his arm. His skin was slick from the rain and he carried a chill. She wrapped her arms around him, sharing her warmth. He nodded at the receptionist. "You heard my wife. Cozy. Private." He still had his wallet open. Reaching around Tess, he rifled through it, yanked out a credit card. "I'll take the best one you've got." 3 Their unspoken truce lasted until Jack had let them into the room with one of the keys the clerk had given him. Tessa innocently asked to hold onto the other one. She didn't think it was an irrational request. He flat out denied her. "Why not?" she demanded. She stopped right inside the doorway. With both of their duffels thrown over his shoulder, Jack maneuvered past her. He tossed the luggage on the empty seat of the nearest chair. That done, he whirled on his wife. "Why do you need one?" "There's two. Why do you need both?" "If you think about it, we really don't need any now that we're inside," Jack pointed out. "We're only staying the night. Once we leave in the morning, we're not coming back." Tess wouldn't mind if they had to. As frustrated and annoyed as she was, she had to admit that the room was beautiful. Everything was done in soft, pastel colors: from the pale peach walls to the lemon-colored lampshades, and the pleasant floral quilted bedspread on the king-sized bed in the middle of the room. An oak nightstand stood off to one side of the bed. A matching set of dressers framed by a wide, gilded mirror sat along the far wall. Two overstuffed armchairs—similar to the ones in the front lobby—perched in separate corners. Jack had already claimed one with their luggage. Across from the entryway, Tess saw a gorgeous bay window that stretched the length of the opposite wall. It was night, the curtains drawn and the blinds closed, but she thought the room would be even lovelier with sunshine streaming in through the window. "Come on, Jack." Even Tess heard the whine in her voice. She couldn't help it. "I'm wide awake now. We've checked in two hours earlier than we thought by stopping over here. Why don't we go out, do some exploring?" "Because the tire's shot. That's why we stopped. Remember?" "We don't have to go far." She marched across the room to the window and pulled back the curtain with an impatient tug. "Look. The rain's slowed down some. If we baby the tire, we could probably find someplace local to eat. Let's do something." "I'm not hungry." "You can at least go and have a drink with me." "Tess, I'd love to, but I'm tired." He kicked off his shoes, as if he thought he'd already won the argument. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he patted the spot next to him. "Let's just go to bed, get some rest. It's been a long day for both of us. You must be beat." That wasn't exactly true. When she'd been trapped in the car, with the rain pounding the roof and Jack's imposed silence suffocating her, Tess had felt drained. Now, though, she was anxious. Jittery. She had no desire to climb into that bed and go to sleep. Jack might be an early riser, always up before the sun while Tess slept in. She was his opposite; she'd always been more of a night owl. Sure, he'd made an attempt to be social while they were dating. Now that they were married, though, he gave up on trying to romance her with nights out on the town. If he wanted to stay in the hotel and go to sleep at ten o'clock, that was fine. He could do what he wanted. Didn't mean that she wasn't still young enough to want to have some fun. "If you won't come with me, I'll go myself." JACK GLOWERED over at his wife. She was dancing on her tiptoes, leaning forward, ready to take flight. Two minutes alone with him in the hotel room and she already wanted out. Not him. He didn't want to leave the rented room. He sure as hell didn't want his Tessie going out without him either. At least it explained why she wanted to have her own key. And only made him more determined not to give her one. "No." "No?" Tess echoed. She landed flat on her feet, stunned, but quickly shook it off. "Last time I checked, you were my husband, not my father." It was a cheap shot. Her father died when she was a child. Jack never knew his. The whole topic made them both touchy. He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. "I know I'm not—" "We're supposed to be partners." "We are." "Ha! Partners are supposed to make decisions together. You always try to tell me what to do." "No, I—" With her hands on her hips, she snapped out, "I'm not a child!" Jack opened his mouth to attempt to argue again when he realized something: Tessa was right. He hated to admit it, but his wife was absolutely right. If he treated her like a child—if she even thought he was—then she would only come to resent him even more. And if he couldn't trust her to take care of herself, he would drive them both crazy with his stubborn refusal to let her be his equal. This trip was all about salvaging their marriage. He couldn't expect Tess to make all the sacrifices. Maybe it was time he gave it a try. "Okay. Fine. Point made." "I— wait, what?" Tess obviously never expected he'd give in. How could he blame her? All they did was fight anymore. Knowing his wife, she was probably already plotting her next argument three steps ahead of where they were. Her brow furrowed, as if sensing a trap. "You saying I can go?" When had she ever needed permission from him before? "You're an adult. You were right. If you want to head out, I can't stop you." "And you'll come with me?" He wasn't willing to go that far. "Babe, I'm tired." "It's not even nine yet." "I know. I'm sorry, but I was driving all night. All I want is to relax, maybe watch a movie. You want to explore, fine. I don't have to go." Tess frowned, then shook her head, tugging the curtain shut as she did. "Forget it. I'll stay." "No. No, Tessie, that's not what I want. I wasn't trying to manipulate you into staying." Jack could feel the beginning of another of his killer headaches forming behind his right eye. Rubbing his temple, he climbed into the bed, stretching his legs out in front of him. He exhaled roughly. "Look, I don't want to fight anymore." "Me neither," she told him honestly. She edged closer to the bed. When he winced, she caught it. "What's the matter, Jack? Does your head hurt?" Jesus, yes. The throb could be absolutely excruciating at times. It only got worse after one of their fights. He would never admit it, though. "Only a little. I'll be fine after I get some sleep." "Hang on." Tess walked over to the dresser. "I've got a surprise for you. I was gonna wait 'til later but… well, you'll see." Slipping her hand into the side pocket of her duffel bag, she pulled out the small bottle she purposely tucked there last night when she finished packing. It was made of plastic—due to their travels—but the familiar red cap and logo on the label made her think they were at home. After a long day at work, Jack had a nightly habit of having a single shot after dinner to help him to relax. She made a point of bringing a small bottle with her for their trip because she knew he would miss it. But even with all her planning, she hadn't remembered to pack a cup. Heading for the bathroom, she settled on taking one of the plastic dixie cups that the hotel staff left on the side of the sink. It was wrapped in plastic, nestled between the flat bar of soap and a small bottle of rose-scented shampoo. Perfect. She poured out a shot of Jack's favorite vodka before twisting the cap back on and tucking it in her pocket. Walking back into the cozy room, she handed him the cup. "Ah, hell. If this is what I think it is, you're a lifesaver, Tessie." With a mischievous grin, she held up the bottle and wagged it in his direction. "What do you think?" Jack took a small sip. Savoring, he let out a short moan. And Tess knew she was forgiven for her part in their argument. "Mm-hmm. Just what I needed to unwind from the drive. You know me so well." She did. She absolutely did. "Enjoy your drink, honey." Bending slightly, Tess ran her fingers down his leg. "Relax. You deserve it. Remember, you're on vacation." "You, too, babe. And I meant what I said before. Go out, get a look at this Hamlet if you want," he told her. "If you're really sure it's okay," she hedged. "I am. It's fine. Here." Lifting up off the bed, Jack slipped his hand into his back pocket. When he pulled it out again, he was holding onto one of the keycards. "Take this. You can have it. I shouldn't have said no before." She took the keycard from him, hugging it to her chest. "I really want to do just a little sightseeing. That's all. At the very least, maybe I can find someplace to buy you some headache medicine. I won't be gone long." His eyes were starting to close. Jack yawned, resettled himself in the bed. Tilting his head back, he tipped the rest of his nightcap into his mouth and swallowed. "Oh, yeah. That hit the spot." Watching him lay by himself in the bed, the guilt started the eat at her. They were supposed to be doing their best to make their relationship work. So what was she doing? Walking out on him the first chance she got, that's what. Just because she had the itch to explore and her plans got shot to hell the instant she yelled padiddle. She couldn't do this. She shouldn't— Tess wanted to. "Jack?" "Mmm?" "You… you sure you don't mind?" Jack opened his eyes. They were already starting to glaze over. From the way he seemed to struggle to lift his eyelids, she figured he must've been more beat than he let on. "I want you to be happy, Tessie. Just go easy on the tire, okay?" Reaching over, he placed his empty cup on the nightstand. It toppled over. He left it like that. "And don't stay out too late." "I won't. Trust me. I'll probably just go out, get some fresh air, and come right back." "Okay. And do me a favor—if I'm sleeping when you get back, wake me up. I haven't forgotten this is our second honeymoon. I'll make it up to you later." Tess let out a sound that was half giggle, half snort. Just like that, Jack put her mind at ease. Her husband might be tired now, but he had a voracious appetite after he got a couple hours of sleep. In the first couple of weeks after they got married, he was the one who did the random waking. Lately, though, she'd been sleeping through the night. It made her wonder if Jack didn't find her attractive anymore. It felt good to be wanted. That was the one thing—the only thing—she ever asked for. To be loved and desired. Grabbing her purse, Tess made sure to turn all the lights off so that he wouldn't have to. Then, leaning down, she pressed her lips softly to his cheek. "Love you, Jack." Her only answer was a snore. He was fast asleep. SOME TIME, especially in the last year, sitting in a dark bar seemed to lose some of its luster. To be honest, Tessa hadn't had much hope when she took Jack's car and went looking for something to entertain her. There was only one inn in Hamlet, and the woman at the front desk was no concierge. Like most small towns, she was used to her guests being locals and couldn't give a coherent direction to save her life. When Tess asked where the best place was to get a drink, the answer was full of "down the street", "at the light", "past the tree" and, her personal favorite, "don't fall into the gulch". It was pure dumb luck that led her to stumble upon Thirsty's—mainly because it was the only building in town she passed that had more than two vehicles in the lot. While it was a sorry crowd by the standards she was used to, when she finally got up enough nerve to walk inside she was surprised to find that there were about twenty others filling the big room. Though a couple of tables were occupied, the majority of the crowd was seated at a long countertop that ran the length of the place. The local watering hole, she figured. She made a point to take a table as hidden as possible. She wanted to be the one to observe for once. It took a few minutes before a waitress noticed her. It was obvious that the woman was surprised to find an unknown face visiting the establishment but a table was a table and she got over her shock quick enough to bring Tess a menu and a glass of water. After waving off food, Tess ordered a simple gin and tonic. If that drink passed her test, maybe she would indulge in something else. Until then she contented herself with watching the other patrons. She didn't think she could manage to completely banish her guilt. Since she had already abandoned Jack, she decided she owed it to him to give it a try. It was a shame she hadn't been able to convince him to leave the hotel room. Her husband would have felt right at home at Thirsty's. There was an honest to God jukebox in one corner of the bar and whoever stocked it had the same taste in music as Jack. The first time Cinderella's "Don't Know What You Got ('Til It's Gone)" played, she cringed. The second time, she flagged down her waitress again. When the opening chords to Whitesnake's "Is This Love" echoed through the room, she tilted her head back and swallowed the rest of her drink whole. Her mood perked up a little when the music did. Still firmly lost in the eighties, someone put on Def Leppard. Just as the singer demanded someone pour some sugar on them, a movement by the bar caught her eye. Tess watched as a woman stood up on her stool before pressing a booted heel onto the countertop. As she marched down the bar, all of the nearby patrons hooted and hollered, laughing as they moved their drinks in order to give her a clear path. Once she didn't have to worry about tripping over someone's beer, she started to dance. Tess couldn't tell if the woman was pretty but she sure was wild. Dressed in jeans that seemed to be painted on and a button-down shirt that was buttoned up just enough not to be obscene, the dancer had long red hair that spilled down her back and rippled like a flame in the neon lights surrounding the bar. A cowboy hat was placed smartly on her head, an odd accessory considering they were on the East Coast. Amazingly, no matter how she threw her head or how she moved, the hat stayed in place. As she swirled the straw in her latest drink, Tess was mesmerized. So mesmerized, in fact, that she didn't notice it when a shadow fell on her table. "Hello." Tess jumped, her hand slipping off her straw and knocking into the rim of her glass. Amber-colored drink splashed her skin and the table in front of her. With a shaky hand, she just managed to steady the glass before the whole thing toppled over. As she reached for a cocktail napkin and started to sop up the spill, she glanced up to see who had startled her. It was a man, about her age or maybe a year or two older than her twenty-five. There was something almost babyish remaining in his chiseled features, though, a softness that said while he'd seen a lot in this world, it still held some wonder for him. It was his eyes, she decided. A warm sort of cocoa brown, they were big and wide and utterly adorable. Tiny lines framed them. Laugh lines. He was smiling at her. She was used to bar crawlers smiling at her but there was something kind in his grin. It could've been pervy. It wasn't. And that made her a little bit wary. "Sorry about that, miss. Didn't mean to scare you." "You didn't." Her thundering heart called her a liar. "Something I can do for you?" He must have just come in from the outside. For one, she was pretty sure she would have noticed him during her perusal of the other patrons. For another, his cropped hair glistened with the raindrops that clung to the short strands. His coat was buttoned up to his chin. She could see that his shoulders were dotted with big, wet splotches. Ran in from his car, she guessed. "You can answer a question for me." "Sure." He nodded at the empty seat across from her. "You waiting on someone?" His offer was left unsaid. If she gave him the go sign, the seat wouldn't be empty for long. Tess could tell that he was hitting on her, but he did it in such a transparent way, she wasn't offended. The curious stares and open leers from some of the other men in the bar had rubbed her the wrong way. This guy was cute. It was almost a shame that she had to turn him down. Picking up her glass, she made sure to use her left hand. If he missed the wedding ring on her finger, then he was blind. "My husband wasn't feeling well. I left him to get some rest back at the inn. If anything, he's waiting on me." The handsome stranger never lost his smile. He took the rejection incredibly well. "Have a nice evening, miss. Enjoy your time in Hamlet." "Thank you. I am so far." With a friendly wave, the man shook his head once before he backed away from her table and turned to search the rest of the bar. Because she was married but could still appreciate a good looking man, she sipped her drink and watched him go. He greeted a few of the others, some at their tables, some while they moved on the dance floor. All the same, Tess had to admit she wasn't surprised when his path led him directly toward the redhead still gyrating outrageously on the far side of the counter. Though maybe she did choke a little on her drink when the dancer removed the cowboy hat from her head, letting it fly across the dance floor before she launched herself right at the man. 4 Underneath the weight of his boss's slight frame, Mason locked his knees so that he didn't fall over when she jumped off of the bar and landed right in his arms. He was a strong fellow, and Caitlin De Angelis was by no means a big girl, but he hadn't expected her to jump when she saw him heading her way. Then he saw the glassy look in her bright green eyes and he realized he should have. "Hitting the bottle kind of hard there, huh, Sheriff?" She leaned in, a strand of her ruby red hair clinging to her clammy cheek. Whispering loudly, Sheriff De Angelis told him, "I'm off duty," before reaching down to grab his ass with both hands. "Yes," he agreed as he eased her gently down until she was standing on her own. He was ready to ignore her wandering hands when she gave one ass cheek a squeeze. His smile became a little strained as he reached behind him and removed her hands. "But I'm still on duty so maybe you can keep these to yourself." She took his gentle refusal with a sniff and a flounce. "I can have any man in Hamlet," she announced to the crowd before raising one of her hands royally. As if to prove her point, three bar hounds fought for the pleasure of helping Caitlin climb back onto the bar. She sat down on the bar top, crossing her legs and placing her pointed chin into her hand. "That's why I've got to celebrate, Mase! Almost got trapped once, didn't I? Now I know better. Why settle for one man when I can have anyone I want?" Mason wasn't an idiot. Whether or not he was attracted to his boss—and, while she was a beautiful woman, he was most adamantly not—he knew better than to mix business with pleasure. He also knew better than to rile her up when she was brooding over her divorce. Three years after her marriage fell apart, everyone in Hamlet knew that Caitlin De Angelis might be able to get anyone she wanted—but she hadn't been able to keep the only one who ever mattered to her. That was why he put up with her drunken behavior and outright harassment. For three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year, Caitlin was an ideal sheriff. A tad paranoid and fanatically loyal to Hamlet, she was the law in their small village. She never abused her power. If she wanted to make an ass out of herself on the anniversary of her divorce, the townsfolk let her. And her deputies made sure no one held her accountable the morning after. Which was also why Mason was checking in on her now. Willie dropped the sheriff off at Thirsty's when they both went off shift but she had three kids at home. She couldn't spare the time to babysit her thirty-year-old boss. So Mason promised to check in on Caitlin during the night, and Sly was on call to drive Caitlin home when she was finally done—if she didn't find her own ride home first. From the way some of the fellas were eyeing her in her civilian clothes, Mason didn't think she'd have any trouble getting to her place. His mind at ease, Mason took Caitlin by the elbow and gently helped her down from the bar top before guiding her to the closest stool. She was already wobbling in her thigh high boots. The last thing he needed was for the sheriff to take a tumble and break her neck. He'd almost had a heart attack when he saw her swaying on the top of the bar. And then, when she jumped at him… if she kept this up, he'd need a drink himself by the end of this shift. He used the excuse of retrieving her hat to put some more space between them. Leaning in, he plopped her hat back in place before backing away from her again. "Okay, Sheriff. I'm doing the overnight. I've got to get back out there. If you need me, give me a buzz." She was already accepting another drink from Georgie, the bartender at Thirsty's. Waving off Mason's concerns, she tossed the shot back before slamming the glass on the bar. "Another!" The men surrounding her let out a cheer. Mason wasn't too worried. Apart from the outsider sitting alone at a table, everyone inside of Thirsty's was a local. They all knew Caitlin. One or two of them might take her up on her boast that she could have any man, but not one of them would hurt her. If anyone tried, there were at least five more who would nip that in the bud before it began. Mason was well aware that the only danger to the sheriff was Caitlin herself and the hell of a hangover she would certainly have tomorrow. So, with a respectful nod to his boss, and a stern glare at her fan club, Mason backed away from the bar. Now that he'd done what he came down to Thirsty's to do, it was time to get back on patrol. With only four full-time members of the sheriff's department, they were running a little shorthanded lately. Willie was home with her family. Having come off a double that morning, Sly didn't start his next shift until five a.m. unless one of the others needed him earlier. Caitlin purposely took the night off. Mason was the only one on duty. He wasn't worried, though. There was never any trouble in Hamlet—not unless it involved an outsider. Without even meaning to, he searched out the lonely brunette with the golden eyes. She was still nursing the same drink she'd had when he first saw her. And, like before, she was sitting by herself, frowning into her glass. She looked so lost and alone, it made his heart ache. Mason was born and raised in Hamlet, never left the small village he always called home. With such a tiny population, he knew each and every one of his neighbors. On the rare occasion that an outsider found their way into Hamlet, they usually stuck out like a sore thumb. Not that one. Something about her called to him. In his eyes, she shone like a diamond. Her lonely presence lured him over to her the instant he entered the bar and, as he walked out, he had a strong desire to stay. It appealed to him that she was a mystery. Unlike all the other girls in town, he hadn't known her all his life. He could discover everything about her in time, if she only let him. It was a pity that she made it very clear that that wouldn't be happening. And, yet, he couldn't bring himself to go back out into the rain. Standing in the doorway, hidden in the shadows, Mason continued to watch the pretty little outsider. He respected the ring she wore, and while her sad eyes and wistful smile were very tempting, he knew better than to poach when a lady said she was spoken for. Even if he couldn't understand what sort of man would leave his wife to drown her sorrows all alone. If she belonged to him, he would never give another man the chance to observe her as closely as he was. He glanced back at the sheriff. She was dancing with Rick, one of the fellas from the barber shop down on Main. Ex-military and a Hamlet local, he was a good man. He could keep an eye on Caitlin. And maybe Mason should keep his eye on the outsider. Someone had to. WHEN TESS REALIZED that she had not only lost track of time but also of how many glasses the waitress had placed before her, she figured it was probably a good idea to make her way back to the hotel. At least she didn't have to worry about her husband. When Jack knocked out, he was out. Especially after he had his nightly vodka shot. Since he'd been snoring when she left, there was a good chance he hadn't even noticed she was still gone. Good. She wasn't in the mood for another fight tonight. And considering she stayed out way later than she intended, she had a feeling that another fight was exactly what she was going to get. She bit back her pout. Some romantic getaway. She got tipsy all alone in some strange bar while her husband slept by himself a few miles down the road. The waitress had dropped the bill off the last time she made her rounds so Tess didn't have to wait. Squinting at the total, she pulled a handful of bills from her purse and left them under the receipt. Feeling a little sorry for herself and her cracking marriage, she added a healthy tip before slipping out of the booth. The wild redhead was still at the bar, surrounded by a small circle of men and women that she tried—and failed—not to notice didn't include the handsome blond man from earlier. The terrible music had only seemed to grow louder, or maybe that was just Tess's irrational sensitivity to it. Laughter filtered from their group, too, even more shrill to her ears. She was tempted to join them—anything, to prove that she could still have a good time—but she knew better. The way the redhead's friend approached her like she was some unique specimen told Tess that this small town didn't get too many visitors. Besides, in the mood she was in, she doubted she'd make a good first impression on anyone. Out of habit, she checked her cell. Still no service which meant there was no message from Jack. Tossing her useless phone back into her purse, she pulled out her car keys and made her way outside. The rain had let up some, leaving a musty smell in the air and a chill that had Tess wishing she'd brought her coat. She'd been so anxious to get away from Jack that she hadn't stopped to grab anything except her purse. The road behind the bar was all cobblestones. She'd forgotten that. After her ankle turned on her first wrong step, she carefully made her way to her car. It frustrated her to see that the flat had gotten even worse. One whole side of the car seemed to tilt down. She had half a mind to abandon it at the bar. Since that meant walking all the way back to the hotel, she said a quick prayer to the car gods and climbed in. The car started on the first try. There was a small groan and a grinding screech as the poor flat tire feebly protested. Tess pushed past it. Maybe the vehicle took pity on her, or maybe she should've been sleeping long before she decided cars had thoughts and emotions, but though it didn't seem happy, the damn thing moved. "Thank you, car gods," she muttered. It didn't take too long before she realized that one of the car gods cursed her. She'd made it maybe half a mile down the road when her rearview mirror became an angry flash of red and blue lights. The crazy impulse to take off lasted for a single heartbeat before sanity returned and she slowly coasted to the side. Cursing under her breath, she slumped in her seat, her head thumping against the headrest. In a town that boasted a population of a couple of hundred and probably had two backwater cops, wasn't it just her luck that she would manage to get pulled over? Or that the face looming right outside her driver side mirror would belong to a man she had already met? A brisk knock against her window had her rolling it down. Without the rain-spattered glass separating them, Tess could see that she was right. Closely cropped blond hair, chocolate-colored eyes, and an inviting smile. The pretty boy charmer from the bar. Of course, it was. And, of course, he was a damn cop. "Well, hello again," he drawled. He shook his head, wiping the rain that trickled down his forehead. He never seemed to lose his grin. She gulped. This was bad. Very, very bad. "Problem, officer?" "Might be. Remember me? I believe I saw you over at Thirsty's earlier tonight." Fighting the urge to hurl, she nodded. It probably wasn't a good idea to open her mouth. "Okay. So, well, that makes it a bit easier then. I know you've been out drinking. And now I see you're behind the wheel. That's not good. It's not safe." It took her a second to find her voice. "I'm… I'm okay. I'm just going back to the hotel." "That's still a problem, miss. Quite a big one, actually. You see, the Hamlet Inn is a good five miles from here." She only had a split second to see the flashlight in his hand before he clicked it on and her retinas burned like they'd been seared. Black dots danced before her eyes as he said briskly, "License, please." Her heart started to mambo in her chest. Trying desperately not to slur her words, she projected pure innocence as she yanked her driver's license out of her wallet and handed it over to the cop. "Tessa Sullivan," he read. Handing it back, he opened the car door. His grin had slipped into a thin line of duty. "Step out of the vehicle please, miss." She climbed out of the car, glad to see that the rain had finally died away. The chill was still in the air, though, and she shivered as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Over here." The officer directed her to the painted line that split the paved road. "I'm gonna have to ask you to walk that line for me." Oh, lord. He was giving her some sort of sobriety test. It was hard to think but she had to try. Rubbing her eyes, warding off some of the wooziness, she looked up at the officer through the fringe of her eyelashes. "Are you sure I should?" "Traffic is slow this time of night," he assured her. "It'll only take a minute. Arms out, miss. Fifteen steps down the line, fifteen back." Tess took in a deep breath. Thirty steps. Piece of cake. She could so do this. Holding her arms out, wondering how the hell she got into this mess, Tess held her shaky head high and took the first step. One… Two… Three. She wobbled and just barely kept her balance. Four. Five— Damn it! The officer rushed over to her side the instant she started to stumble. With a rock solid arm around her waist, he hefted Tess back onto her feet. Once she was steady, he didn't let go. Instead, he guided her toward his cruiser. She didn't realize how much trouble she was actually in until he helped her into the backseat. 5 Nothing, Tess discovered, sobered her up faster than the harsh sound of cell bars clanking shut. She jumped at the ringing noise, then stumbled forward. Her knees knocked into the edge of the bench seat that took up the length of the cell. The lingering fog in her head disappeared. Turning, she watched the broad back of the blond cop as he started to head away from her. "Wai—" Her throat dry, the words seemed to catch. Swallowing roughly, she tried again. "Wait! You can't leave me here!" When he turned around, the expression on his face was apologetic. "It's for your own safety, miss. Even if you were in any shape to drive, your car wouldn't make it far. I saw the flat myself, and the way the rim is starting to bend out of shape. No, it's better if you stay here, sleep it off." Tess started to argue. He cut it off with a small shake of his head. "If you make it easy on both of us, all you'll get is a warning and a ride. In the morning, I'll take you down to the garage so you can get your car looked at. How's that sound?" "No, no. I won't be any trouble, I promise. But, please—" She squinted at his nameplate. "—Mr. Walsh, I can't stay. I—" "Deputy." Tess blinked at his interruption and went right on without missing a single beat. "Right. Deputy. As I was saying—" "You can call me Mason, miss. We're not so formal in Hamlet, and you saying Mr. Walsh makes me think my dad is here." He was charming, she realized. And that could be dangerous. She shook her head, desperate to clear it. Much of the night was hazy, but she definitely remembered him stopping by her table at the bar. Tess raised her hand, careful to show off her wedding band again. "My husband," she blurted out. "He'll be angry if I don't come back to the hotel tonight. We're not from around here, and he'll worry something has happened to me." The deputy—Mason—pursed his lips, a few lines marring his brow. The keys to the cell were hanging loosely from his belt and while he fingered one absently, she could tell from the set of his jaw that she would be trying to make herself cozy on that bench shortly. And then he said, "Well, I don't suppose it would do any harm to give him a shout," and Tess was so relieved that even the prospect of a sore back and a stiff neck didn't seem so bad. Reaching behind him, Mason produced something that looked like a walkie talkie. It was bulky and thick, mostly black with a yellow case and a flashing red light next to an antenna that reminded Tess of her pinky finger. He fiddled with one of the three knobs on the side before pressing a button. A shock of static cut through the air, followed by a soft voice. "Hamlet Inn. Who are you trying to reach?" "Caroline? It's Mason, down at the sheriff's office. How's everything going?" "Going fine, fine. Little late for a buzz, though, isn't it? I was just going to wake up Roy, have him take the desk for a couple hours so I can get some shut eye." When the deputy glanced behind him to look at the clock, Tess followed his gaze. It was already half past one in the morning. Her shoulders tensed and her stomach dropped. How had it gotten so late? "Sorry about the buzz. But, hey, you got some guests fresh in tonight. Yeah?" "We did. Two outsiders. First ones we've had this fall so you know that storm was real wicked earlier. That's why I'm making my husband take over for me. I would've locked up otherwise. Hold on, I got their checkin right here." The walkie died for a few seconds, then Caroline was back. "Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan. Good looking man, and the wife seemed like a shy little thing. We have them up on the second floor. Something wrong?" Mason chuckled. "Let's just say that the shy little wife is going to be my guest in the holding cells this evening. Nothing serious, but she'd feel better if someone let her husband know that she had a little too much to drink and is crashing somewhere safe. Do you think you can do that for me, Caro?" If she wasn't so nervous, Tess might have been concerned with the way the loose-lipped deputy was spreading gossip about her when she was standing right there. At that second, it didn't matter. Not if he got the hotel clerk to talk to Jack. "You're in luck. The wind didn't knock out the boards tonight. I'll connect to his room and see if I can get him on the line for you. Just give me a minute, Mase." "Thanks." Clipping his communicator back onto his belt, the deputy offered Tess an explanation. "The phones don't always work here. You've never seen dead air until you try to make a village between a mountain and a valley," he added with a crooked grin. "Everyone in town who needs one has a channel, has a radio. No cell service in Hamlet. The switchboards are the best we have and who knows if they'll ever work. If she can't get through to him, I can always ask Caro to go up and knock. Or Roy could, I guess." He was being too nice. Normally, she would be suspicious, but not when she was desperate enough to take his help without wondering why he was so eager to offer it. Shuffling as close to the cell door as she could get, Tess wrapped trembling fingers around the cold sting of the metal. Biting down on her bottom lip, she waited. It seemed like an eternity before the static echoed through the wide room again. "Hello? Can you hear me?" At the sleep-roughened yet undeniably curious tone, Tess relaxed. She knew that voice. Everything was going to be okay. "He must've figured out the radio," Mason murmured to Tess. He grabbed his own and pressed the button. "Yes, I can. Evening, sir. My name is Deputy Mason Walsh, with the Hamlet Sheriff Department." "They told me this had something to do with my wife. Where's Tessa—where's my Tessie? Is she okay? Is she safe?" "Mrs. Sullivan is fine, sir," Mason assured him. "Little car trouble, though. Did you know your tire was flat?" "What— oh, yes. The flat. That's why we've stopped over. I plan on having it looked at first thing in the morning. I'm sorry— what did you say your name was again?" "Walsh, sir." "Walsh. Yes. Sorry, I was sleeping. Can you please tell me what that has to do with my wife?" Mason hesitated before answering. Tess could've sworn she forgot how to breathe. "I was on patrol tonight when I encountered your wife a few miles from the hotel," he said. "Her car was swerving—probably because of the flat—and I brought her down to the station just in case. With the poor weather, the flat, not to mention the late hour, it seemed a smarter idea all around for her to pass the night here. She insisted on a courtesy call, though. Didn't mean to wake you, sir. My apologies." The other end was quiet for a moment. Mason waited to see if her husband would believe him. Tess thought she might pass out from lack of oxygen. Then, "Where is she? I'll come get her." Tess discovered she had enough air in her lungs to let out a fretful shout. "No!" Mason turned to look at Tess. His eyebrows raised, he took his finger off of the radio's button. "Miss? Is something wrong?" While he kept his voice friendly and calm, there was steel there, too. Like he'd stand in front of her if she asked him to. She shook her head quickly. "I don't want him to see me locked in here. He'll be so angry if he finds out I… I..." Gulping back her panic, she looked imploringly at the deputy. "I'll stay. I'll be quiet. Just don't let Jack come down here. Please." For a moment, Tess was certain that Mason would refuse. But then he nodded. "Mr. Sullivan?" "Yes?" "There's no need for you to come to the station. Your wife will be nice and safe until morning. If it makes you feel better, I'll personally return her to you as soon as I'm off duty." A pause. Tess clasped her hands together, covering her mouth with her fingers. "Not that I don't believe you or nothing, Walsh, but my wife and I are strangers here. What would make me feel better was if I spoke to her myself, made sure she was okay. Is she available?" Mason's dark eyes scanned her pale face. "Are you?" "I'll talk to him." Slipping her hand between the bars, she took the radio Mason offered her. She pressed down on the button the same way she saw him do it. "Honey?" Crackle. "Tessie?" "Yeah. It's me. Hi. Sorry about all this… but, trust me, Jack, the deputy seems like a very nice man. We'll have to invite him to breakfast tomorrow." Another pause. "If you say so, Tessie." His flat tone made it clear that he wasn't so sure. "But we'll talk about all this later. I'm not quite sure I get what's going on—" His words were slurred, the tail end of a yawn coming through the radio before he added, "—and I'm too tired to figure it out. It's too late to argue about it. Okay?" She nodded her head, then seemed to realize that he couldn't hear her. She pressed the button again, the ridges biting into the soft flesh of her thumb. "Okay. Love you." "Love you, too. Night." Mason moved forward to take the radio back. A curious expression flashed across his face, there and gone again in the time it took her to blink and focus. His genial grin back in place, he twisted a few knobs on his radio and clipped it back on his belt. "Feel better?" "Yes." "Good, 'cause your husband's right. It's late and I've got to get back on patrol. Sly will be in shortly to check on you. Sleep it off. I'll be back in the morning." "Thank you." The words didn't seem adequate, and it was weird for her to be grateful when the man had kind of, sort of, maybe arrested her. Tess was tired, she'd been drinking, and she was so far out of her element, she felt like she was floating. But he had helped her when he didn't have to, and she was grateful. "I mean it." "Rest. We'll talk tomorrow." He winked, a gesture so very at odds with what had happened that evening that Tess just stared at him. "I'm very much looking forward to breakfast." MASON NEVER MADE it back to the station house. About ten minutes after he left, a tall black man wearing the same uniform came in to sit with her. He introduced himself as Sylvester Collins, and assured her that what Mason did was local procedure. With as little crime as Hamlet saw, he told her, if it wasn't for the occasional drunk and disorderly, the jail cell would never have any occupants. Tess almost wanted to argue the disorderly part then decided that doing so would just prove the deputy's point so she kept her mouth shut. After offering her a wool blanket and telling her the night would pass much faster if she got some sleep, Collins sat at one of the two desks in the wide room. Tess watched him pore over a pile of paperwork—no crime certainly didn't mean that their paperwork was any less—before taking his advice and finally catching a few hours. Before she knew it, she heard the rustling of keys and the sliding of her cell door. Collins, looking as fresh as he did all those hours ago, stood in front of her with a muffin in his hand. "Hungry?" he asked. He had a pleasant voice, deep and resonant. Too bad he looked like any sort of smile might cause a crack in his cheeks. As pleasant as he was, Tess thought of him as a glass empty sort in contrast to Mason Walsh's glass full demeanor. Her stomach flip-flopped at the sight of the muffin. It smelled delicious but Tess felt like something had taken residence in her mouth the night before and quite possibly died in there. She swallowed. Her throat was so dry, she didn't see how she could get that muffin down even if her stomach wanted it. "No, thank you," she croaked. Wincing, she rubbed her throat. "You wouldn't have any water, would you?" "Sure thing." He left the room without another word. Tess wasn't sure what to do. He'd unlocked the cell door for her. Did that mean she was free to go? Or was she supposed to wait for him? Come to think of it, she didn't even know if she'd actually been arrested or even detained last night. Mason had told her to sleep it off and she guessed she had. It was time to get back to the hotel, get Jack, and get out. Deciding the best spot to wait would be outside of the cell in case Deputy Collins got the idea to shut the gate again, Tess tried in vain to smooth some of the wrinkles out of her blouse before giving up. A finger through her wavy, tangled hair was the best she could hope for. When he returned with a cup of ice water, she thanked him before gulping it down greedily. He stared but, unsurprisingly, didn't say anything. Tess felt her cheeks heat up, certain the deputy was judging her. "Am I allowed to go?" Collins nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Mase buzzed earlier and said to let you out as soon as you were awake. He got held up, but mentioned you might need a ride." That's right. It dawned on Tess that she hadn't driven to the station in her own car. Mason drove her over in his cruiser which left her car abandoned on the side of the road somewhere in Hamlet. She closed her eyes, exhaling softly. Great. How was she supposed to explain that? First things first. Before she started to worry about how she was going to retrieve the car without Jack finding out, it might be a good idea to return to the hotel. After a shower and a fresh change of clothes, she'd certainly feel more human. With that to look forward to, she shook her head. "Thanks, but don't worry about me. I'll find my way back to the hotel myself." Collins narrowed his eyes on her. They were a beautiful color, a striking copper shade that popped against his darker skin. "This your first stay in Hamlet?" "Yes." "Thought so. One thing I learned living here is that outsiders have a hard time accepting help," he said, unable to hide his derisive snort. "Always think that there's a price for everything." Something in what Collins said triggered Tess's memory of a hand-painted sign and a slogan drawn prettily near the bottom. "'Hamlet helps'," she quoted. "That's right. Hamlet's full of good folk. We look out for each other. Mase says you're a fine girl and you need a ride. I trust him so a ride to the inn is what you're gonna get. Now, you want to ride in the front of my car or the back?" Part of Tess wondered if she should take his no-nonsense tone and harsh words as a threat. To her surprise, she found that she liked his blunt attitude. He wasn't being rude so much as he was definitely a direct kind of guy. If she wasn't so desperate to escape his company, she might have even liked him. "Am I a prisoner?" she wondered. Collins nearly glowered. "A guest." "Then I guess I'll sit in the front." "Good choice." DEPUTY COLLINS DROVE her right to the Hamlet Inn. She didn't know how he knew where to go until she remembered that she was stuck in a town with less than two hundred people living there. It was the Hamlet Inn, after all. For an outsider staying at a hotel, it was a pretty safe bet that this was the place. He pulled up to the front, dashing her hopes of sneaking around back and trying to find another way upstairs to her rented room. "You want me to walk you inside?" She knew she looked like something the cat dragged in. Her hair felt like a rat's nest attached to her head. Her back ached from sleeping on the hard bench in the cell. She was wearing the same clothes she put on yesterday morning. It was bad enough she had to do the walk of shame through the front lobby of the hotel. If she didn't have to have a police escort, she sure as hell didn't want one. "Thank you, Deputy. I think I can manage on my own." "Alright then. Try not to get into any more trouble." His grave voice washed over her like a warning of doom. She had to fight the urge to shiver. "And remember: if someone needs help, offer it. It's the right thing to do." He wasn't wrong. It was something to think about. So, solemnly promising him that she would, Tess managed to escape from the cruiser. She could feel his dark eyes on her back as she trudged up the steps and let herself into the inn. The front lobby looked exactly the same as it had before her major lapse in judgement, right down to the woman working the counter. Except, this time, she wasn't ogling Jack. She watched Tessa with open curiosity. "Good morning, Mrs. Sullivan." It was the exact same woman who checked them in last night. The one who warned her about the gulch. Too bad she didn't tell her that their precious town actually had a drunk tank. Since it wasn't her fault that Tess was the idiot who decided to drink and drive last night, she kept herself from scowling at the woman's too chipper greeting. It was tough, though. Especially since she looked well-rested and fresh, her hair slicked back, obviously wet. She must have already showered. Tess vaguely remembered the woman—this Caro—answering Mason's radio call at close to two in the morning. She probably hadn't gotten any more sleep than Tess had. Tess decided to hate her on principle. Faking a tight-lipped grin, she offered a quick wave, leaving the greeting at that as she purposely headed straight for the stairs. The Hamlet Inn didn't have an elevator. As she dragged her weary body up the narrow flight of stairs, she searched her purse. She saw her wallet, noticed that the car keys were missing—wonderful—and continued digging until she found the room key she made Jack give her. At least that was one thing in her favor. Who knows what she would've done if that was gone, too? Her eyes, like the rest of her, were tired and achy. Tess squinted, trying to make out the number scrawled across the top of the keycard. She remembered that their room was on this level and toward the back. 203 maybe? Or was that a 5? It was a 3. A Do Not Disturb tag was on one door only, and that was to room 203. She'd hung that there herself before she left last night so that Jack could rest peacefully, then promptly forget she had. It was a good thing the clerk woman ignored it last night or she'd be in even worse trouble for spending the entire night out without checking in. That was if Jack had even realized just how late it was. When she let herself in, she discovered that he was still sleeping. The room was dark, the curtains drawn, but she could make out that shape of him sprawled out beneath the floral-print quilted bedspread. His head was covered. He must have passed out hard after the late night wake-up call. Unusual for Jack? Definitely. Was Tess grateful for the fact that she could put off the inevitable for a few minutes more? Oh, yeah. So desperate to feel clean again, she tiptoed carefully past the bed. Tess knew her husband. Once he was up, he'd start grilling her about what happened last night. She wasn't proud of her temper tantrum—looking back, her insistence to leave the inn had been childish—and it was humiliating that she not only spent the night drinking, but then she got caught driving afterward. What was she thinking? She knew better than to do something so reckless. So stupid. The deputy had let her off way too easily. Tess was aware she deserved more than a chaperone and a night in the holding cells. The lecture she was sure to get was going to suck, no doubt. She couldn't deny that she'd earned it, though. It took her a minute to find her luggage. Jack must have gotten up and moved their duffel bags sometime last night. She remembered tossing it back onto the armchair. After tiptoeing around the darkened room, searching, she finally found the two bags stacked one on top of the other underneath the window. Picking up her bag, she purposely left the curtain alone. No reason to face the light of day just yet. Tess locked herself in the bathroom. Avoiding her reflection, she quickly stripped out of her rumpled clothes and jumped into the shower. The first spray of the hot water in her face made her groan. The knots in her back relaxed as she turned and let the water beat down on her. By the time the hot water had cooled down to lukewarm, she was starting to feel back to normal. To her surprise, the towels hanging in the inn's bathroom were fluffy and luxuriant. She was used to staying at hotel chains where the guest towels were one step up from toilet paper. The oversized towel she wrapped herself in felt like she was being swaddled in a cloud, it was that soft. If she thought she could get away with it, she'd hide one of them in her duffel bag before they checked out. Except, she admitted, that wouldn't be very helpful. So, with Deputy Collins' solemn voice still running through her head, she reluctantly hung the towel back up when she was dry. She didn't know how long she hid in the bathroom. She did, however, admit that she was stalling. Since they would be heading back out on the road soon, she threw on a comfy pair of jeans, a tank top, and her favorite hoodie. It had the name of her alma mater on it and, though she graduated more than three years ago, she liked to wear it whenever she had the chance. Slipping on her sneakers, she mentally prepared herself to face her husband. Tess opened the bathroom door. "Honey," she called out, "you awake?" Nothing. Okay. That was weird. She'd expected the sounds of her shower to rouse him. Now that he was still sleeping, she didn't know what to do. Glancing around the bathroom, her eyes fell on the hairdryer resting on the top shelf of the towel rack. She grabbed a chunk of her damp hair, letting the strands slide through her fingers. Plugging the hairdryer into the outlet, Tess let her lips curve slightly for the first time since yesterday. Back home, he always complained that it was impossible for him to sleep when she was drying her hair. The blow dryer the hotel provided was so loud, it sounded like there was a small airplane in the bathroom with her. There was no way he could sleep through that. Except he had. When she finished fluffing her hair, brushing the dirty blonde waves out, she placed the dryer on the side of the sink before gathering all of her belongings together. She stepped back into the room, expecting to find Jack waiting with his eyes open. Nope. As if she hadn't made a peep, he was lying beneath the covers. Quiet. Unmoving. Throwing her duffel bag on the floor, tossing her brush angrily on top of it, she scowled at the lump on the bed. "Come off it, Jack. Stop fooling. I know you've got to be pissed, but pretending to sleep isn't going to work." His silence was the only answer she received. That made her furious. He always did this. Either he shot down her arguments, or he acted like she didn't have any at all. And, yes, she knew that she was the only one to blame for what happened, but she'd spent the whole morning and most of her shower trying to figure out how she was going to explain her actions to her husband. And now that she was ready? He didn't want to hear any of it. Uh-uh. No way. Tess stormed over to the bed, snatching the blanket off of him. He was lying on his stomach, his face turned away from her. "Jack!" she snapped, slapping him on his back to get his attention. "Are you listening to me?" The instant she touched him, she knew. His body was stiff. Cold. He wasn't moving. She knew. In the pit of her stomach, where panic sparked and bloomed before overwhelming any common sense she had left, Tessa fucking knew. That didn't stop her from what she did next. Nothing could. His name stuck in her throat. "Jack." It came out like a whisper, a soft rasp strangled by her frantic breath. Her hands started to shake. She didn't look. She couldn't look. Breathe in, breathe out. She was the only one making any noise. He was still. Too damn still. She grabbed at her husband, yanking on his shirt, pushing him. He didn't move. Terror coursed through her veins, cold and terrible, and she heard someone chanting no, no, no before realizing the anguished squeal was coming from her. She never knew where she got the strength from. Half his size and admittedly a weakling, Tess hefted Jack until his body flopped from his front to his back. His eyes—and his tongue—the blue lips. The waxy, white skin. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth, horror and shock and devastation crashing over her like a wave. It threatened to drag her under, drown her, leave her battered and broken against the shore. Without even giving her body the order to move, she took one step toward the bed again. And that's when she saw the noose tied tightly around his neck. She blinked. Stared. Then, as loud as she possibly could, she started to scream. 6 Lucas De Angelis was dreading this call. He knew it was coming. Every morning after for the last three years, the call came through first thing and Lucas knew better than to ignore it. It was like a band-aid. Grab it quick, give it a tug, and get it the hell over with. Yeah, it might hurt. It was still better than dragging it out. If only she had the decency to wait until he was up and ready to deal with her. It was Sunday, the only day that he shut down his office and allowed himself any rest. He would always take in any emergency patients, of course, but at least the rest of the townsfolk were considerate enough not to bother him on Sunday if what ailed them could damn well wait until Monday. Lucas didn't even open his eyes. When the first buzz came through on his Hamlet radio, he blindly groped outward until his fingers brushed one of the knobs on the side. He always slept with his communicator on his nightstand in case of some medical emergency. Stifling his groan, he mentally prepared himself for what was coming. He already knew who was buzzing him today. His fingers tweaked the nearest knob. Pressing the side button, he answered. "Hello?" No response. A second later, another buzz. His eyes opened to slits. That wasn't Caity's call signal. It was the sheriff's—and it was set to emergency. Sitting up, Lucas clicked his radio over to the right channel. "This is Dr. De Angelis. What's the emergency?" "Luc. Hey. You up?" He was now. "Yeah. What's going on?" There was a pause. "We've got something over at Bonnie's inn. A real live DB. Do you think you can come over and check it out?" DB. Dead body. As the only trained medical doctor in town, Lucas knew his way around a corpse, both in his practice and because of his adopted duty as the local medical examiner whenever necessary. Only a few months ago he'd had to wheel Mrs. Birmingham's withered old body out on a stretcher. It wasn't his favorite part of the job, but he could handle it. He had to. No one else in Hamlet would. "Of course. I'll be right on my way." He was already out of bed, searching for something to wear. His gaze fell on the alarm clock resting on the edge of his nightstand. It was 11:33. Even for a Sunday, he'd slept in much later than he usually did—and Caitlin hadn't buzzed him before this. Yesterday was the anniversary of their divorce. She should've called him hours ago, drunk and babbling and begging him to give them one more shot. Something wasn't right. Grabbing a change of underwear from his dresser, he signaled back to Caity. "Is there anything else I have to know before I go?" "Shit, Luc. I think we've got a homicide." With one sock halfway on his foot, Lucas froze. He gripped his radio so tight, he nearly cracked the plastic side. "Anyone we know?" Caitlin might be, in his very experienced opinion, a paranoid shrew who drove him absolutely batty with her insecurities, but she was loyal to a fault. As far as she was concerned, when the people of Hamlet voted her in as their sheriff, she became their protector. If one of them was hurt, Caity wouldn't stop until she found out who did the hurting and made them pay for it. "Negative. It's a— he was an outsider." Lucas let out a sigh of relief. He was a doctor. He hated the loss of any life but, well, he was loyal to their village, too. If someone had to die, at least it was just an outsider. "Gimme ten, Cait. I'll be there as soon as I can." "Don't worry about rushing." Her laugh was hollow. "Trust me, he's not going anywhere." LUCAS USUALLY FOUND a hundred different reasons to avoid Caitlin, especially so close to the anniversary of their divorce. As bitter as it was when they first split, they both eventually agreed that they were much better friends and neighbors than they had ever been lovers or partners. Most of the time Caitlin remembered that—until the reminder came that he was the one who instigated the divorce and she gave him hell for it. It wasn't too difficult to avoid her. There was a handful of professionals who made their homes year round in Hamlet. As the only doctor and the town sheriff, they were often too busy for Caitlin's childish tantrums. He humored her on the anniversary of their divorce because he still cared for her, even if he wasn't in love with her anymore. If he was honest, he didn't think he ever actually loved her. She'd just always been there, as constant as the sunrise. That was why he answered her buzz that morning. He expected the leftover ramblings of her annual drunken binge, the pleas that they could make it work again. Instead, he received a summons to work. A summons to death. Standing outside of the hotel room, Lucas watched the scene playing out in front of him before going in. He preferred to observe first, make his own assumptions. It was too easy to be swayed by someone else's preconceived notions. The one time he stayed in Bonnie Mitchell's inn, he had a first floor room. Except for an entirely different color scheme—the room he rented when he first moved out of his and Caity's place was more wintry grey than springtime peach—this one was set up just the same. Two chairs, two dressers, a nightstand, and a very wide window. Then, of course, the large bed that took up much of the space. Lucas's attention was drawn immediately to the still figure sprawled flat on his back. The tail end of the rope tied around the dead man's neck spooled on the thick, cream-colored carpet. Ligature strangulation, if he had to take a guess. Caitlin was standing at the foot of the bed, a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. Most unusually, her long red hair was hanging loosely down her back; it was her habit to wear her hair plaited away from her face when she was working. She was also wearing a tinted pair of shades, despite the fact that they were indoors and the curtain was still drawn. Taking the medical bag from its place slung over his shoulder, he set it down by Caitlin's feet. If the sheriff was standing there, it was a safe bet that he wasn't going to contaminate any evidence if he joined her. "I'm here. What do we have?" At the sound of his voice, she winced, like he was speaking too loud. When she answered, though, she was as succinct and professional as he could've hoped. "Male vic. Twenty-six years old. Caucasian, brown and brown. License in his wallet lists his stats as 5'11", 215 pounds. Identified by same ID as James Sullivan, also known as Jack. Confirmed by his wife. Both of them outsiders." Of course, she would have to make that point. To Caitlin—and most of Hamlet—being an outsider was as much as a descriptor as age or height or weight. You couldn't change it, not really. It just was. "How'd he die?" From his first glance, it was fairly obvious. Lucas wanted to hear Caitlin's opinion anyway. It wouldn't change his mind—only an autopsy and further testing might—but it didn't hurt to ask someone with a practiced eye. Maybe the sheriff saw something that he hadn't. Using the tip of her pen, she gestured at his throat. "It's gotta be strangulation. Someone snuck up on this guy, tied him up tighter than a twine knot. From the look of him, and the level of rigor mortis, I put TOD at a couple of hours ago. You'll get a better read in the fridge." He stiffened at her last comment. "That back room might be small, so what? It serves its purpose as a mortuary, Caity. It doesn't have to be fancy. I barely use it anyway." Her nonplussed expression seemed out of place at a crime scene. The sunglasses didn't help. "It's a fridge, Luc. I get the chills whenever I have to go there and not just because of the bodies. Don't fool yourself." She was goading him. Standing there, wound up tight and nearly vibrating in place from a mixture of fury and frustration, Caitlin was itching for a fight if only to let off some steam. It was how she always got whenever there was a problem she couldn't fix with a snap of her fingers or a flash of her sheriff's badge. She considered crime in her jurisdiction a personal insult. This murder was an ultimate betrayal. Though outwardly she seemed calm and collected, inside she was spoiling to release some tension. He could oblige her, or he could get to work. Lucas let it go. Hiking up his trousers, he crouched down low to get a better look at the victim. Strangulation was never pretty. Jack Sullivan might have been a handsome man once but there was no sign of that in the caricature he left behind. Big brown eyes bulged, red splashing across the whites where blood vessels burst violently. Thick rope, common rope twisted around his throat. Lucas could see the purple bruises peeking out on his neck. No sign of scratches on his skin. So he hadn't struggled. Strange. Lucas reached behind him for his medical bag. After digging through it, he found a pair of latex gloves. "How many guests are staying at the inn right now?" he called out as he snapped them on. The sheriff hesitated in answering. She knew where Lucas was going with this. A lifelong fan of mystery novels and true crime, her ex was detecting. Out of spite, she wanted to ignore his question. But since it helped her to talk out a case, she obliged him. "Just two. Both outsiders, our vic and his wife. Bonnie was off for the night, her back aching from the storm. She was in her third floor room all night. Her daughter had the desk 'til two a.m. when she dragged Roy out of bed, made him take over until she then relieved him at eight this morning. Body was discovered at about half past nine. "Even if I thought they had it in them, surveillance clears all three. I've already been down to see the tapes. It backs up their statements. They're not involved. Just bad luck that they own the place." Lucas leaned in closer, peering at the dead man's hands. "Anyone else pop on the video?" "Only the wife. Caro says she left around ten p.m. last night. Tapes confirm it. They have her coming back in at nine a.m." "It took her half an hour to find the body?" "She thought he was still sleeping. Took a shower first, got ready, then got the shock of her life when she went to wake him up." "What about the room?" Caitlin flipped through her notes. "Couple reportedly requested a private room. Caro gave them a far room on the second floor because it best fit their request. Unfortunately for us, the cameras don't reach that far. We have no visual of anyone going in and out of this room. She did say that she had cause to use the boards for Sullivan's room in the middle of the night." Using the point of her pen, Caitlin scanned her notes, circling part of Caroline's statement when she found it. "As of 1:47 a.m., we have confirmation that he was still alive. Me and my team just gotta figure out what happened to change that." Lucas knew her well enough to know when he was being dismissed. But Caitlin knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't be shut down until he was ready. "Okay, no one on the camera. But these doors all lock. How did someone even get in here to strangle the guy?" She snorted. "The cameras are the height of security in the inn. I'm lucky there was that much. Bonnie told me that every damn lock on the first and second floor can be opened with the same keycard. Anyone who's ever had one, or could get their paws on one, could open the guest rooms." That made sense. Took away a bit his thrill for a locked room mystery, but still. "Not even counting the outsiders, most everyone in Hamlet has stayed over in the inn for a night out." "Yeah." With an aggravated sniff, Caitlin nodded at the bed. "Whenever you're ready, Sherlock, I'd love for you to give me your read on our DB. I don't know about you, but the sooner we can get all the facts down, the sooner I can get to work on solving this thing. I've seen a lot over the years. Nothing like this. This one is a real piece of work, I've gotta warn you." She wasn't kidding. Leaning in again, he moved the vic's head so that he could get a better look at the taut rope knotted around the man's thick throat. And, okay, so that he didn't have to see the man's destroyed eyes. The way they bulged unnerved him, how eerily they stared accusingly at the ceiling even worse. Lucas preferred to focus on the marks left behind from the rope. Later, when the sheriff gave him the okay, he would remove it. For now, though, he slipped one gloved finger underneath. Very little slack existed between the stiff flesh and the twisted rope. Abrasions left red scratches running through the mottled purple bruises of the ligatures. A classic case of homicidal strangulation. But no fingernail marks. Not from the assailant trying to restrain a large man. Definitely none from a physically fit male in his prime trying to defend his very life. It almost seemed like Jack Sullivan laid there and allowed someone to strangle him. It made no sense. The fact that he was murdered in Hamlet was just as incomprehensible. Who would want to kill this outsider? His concentration was suddenly broken by a keening cry, followed by a muffled sob. When it continued, decreasing in volume if not its intensity, Lucas turned to look back up at the sheriff. While he was studying Sullivan, Caitlin had returned to her notes. Meticulous as ever, Lucas was willing to bet that she had everything about the dead man, from his birthday to his shoe size, written down in a code that only she could decipher. Caitlin was flipping through her pages again, adding notes and crossing things out as she tried her best to capture the crime scene on paper. Photos would come later, he knew. For now, she wanted to get down as many of her thoughts as possible. As if she felt his gaze on her, she glanced up and asked, "You got something for me yet?" "No. It's just… what's that noise?" "The weeper?" Caitlin waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the closed bathroom door before jotting something else down. "It's the wife. Mason is in there trying to console her. I guess she's taking it kind of hard. Like I said before, she's the one who found the guy." "Hmm." Standing up, he moved closer to Caitlin. "You looking at her for the murder?" She looked up from her notepad in time to catch Lucas as he tried to get a glimpse of her scribblings. She pushed her sunglasses down her nose so that she could face him directly. Her eyes were glassy and bloodshot courtesy of her late night but there was green steel staring back at him. "This isn't one of those mystery books you liked to read. Let's leave the detective work to the real cops. I just need you to take a look at the body and verify the cause of death. Can you do that?" It was a slapdown, no doubt about that. He couldn't say he was surprised. A wicked hangover could turn Caity into a demon. He knew that. It was one more reason why he was glad he got out when he did. "Calm down, kitty. No need to sharpen your claws on me. I know my job." Wiping his hands on his slacks, Lucas stepped away, gave her space. He kept his back to the bed, knowing there was nothing more he could do for the victim until he got the corpse down to his office. But something nagged at him. "Question. Has anybody moved him?" "Luc—" "Doctor," he told her as the first glove came off with a snap. Two could play that petty game. Before she shoved her sunglasses back up her nose, he could've sworn he saw her roll her eyes. "Just the witness, Doctor De Angelis. The vic's wife came in, found him face down on the bed and assumed he was still sleeping. Mase was first on-site and he took her statement. Husband's still lazing about in bed even after she showered and got dressed, so she grabs the blanket, tries to shake him awake. Says he's cold. Panics. Tries shoving him onto his back." Falling easily into her role as sheriff, Caitlin brought him over to the bed. Using her pen as a pointer, she gestured to the body. "Big guy. Gotta be what? Way more than two hundred pounds dead weight, given his stats. It was a struggle for her. You can see where the sheet got all twisted as she pulled and eventually flipped him over. Once she saw the rope, she was done for. Knew he was gone, screamed the whole house down. Caroline got Mase on the radio, who got me. And then I buzzed you." Lucas nodded. That would explain it. "Alright. Well, it's definitely homicide. He didn't do this to himself. I mean, I can't say anything for sure until I get him down to my office, but I'm pretty sure someone else tied this around his neck and pulled real tight." "She might have done it," Caitlin mused. She underlined one particular bit of chicken scratch covering the page. "It's… it could be possible." Just like how he could tell when his ex was goading him, he was well aware that she was baiting him. Like a wriggling worm on a hook, she dangled that little tidbit in front of him, waiting to see if he'd bite. He almost didn't because she so obviously expected him to. Even when they were still married, she always liked to tease him that he was a doctor by trade, and a detective at his core. Lucas lasted five seconds. "Okay. Tell me. Who do you think did it?" Before Caitlin answered, he guessed, "The wife?" She shrugged. "Hey, that's Homicide 101. The husband—or, in this case, wife—is usually the prime suspect." "So, if you ended up on the slab in my office, it would be because I was the one who put you there?" "Don't act cute with me, Luc. You know what I mean." He had to admit she had a point. She wasn't entirely wrong. In most murder cases, it was a safe bet that the victim was killed by someone close to them. The surviving spouse was always going to be the first one questioned, whether because they had pertinent information or because they were the perpetrator. "What can you tell me about Sullivan's wife?" Without even looking at her notes, Caitlin rattled of the woman's information. "Tessa Sullivan. Twenty-five. Light brown hair, hazelish eyes. I p