Chapter 1
ONE
Two Months Earlier
“Which one, the blue or the white?” I stood at the edge of the bed holding two button-down silk blouses, identical save for the color.
Still in bed, Lock propped himself up on his side, resting his jaw on his fist. I thrust the hangers out, shaking the shirts.
“Neither,” he said, yawning. “Come back here. You don’t have to be there until nine.” He patted the space on the bed between us.
“I want to be perfect,” I said.
Lock scooted forward, then reached out and snaked his arms around my waist, pulling me toward him. He pressed his cheek against my stomach. I managed to pick out a black pencil skirt and a peach lace bra, but the blouse choice stumped me.
His day-old stubble tickled my bare skin. He ran his hands down my hips. When he looked up at me with those laser-sharp brown eyes beneath lashes so thick it was criminal, it was hard not to melt and do exactly as he commanded. I did have another hour before I had to leave for work.
I half-heartedly squirmed away, which only made him hold me tighter. This time, he let out an almost predatory growl that nearly undid me.
He was beautiful, my Lock. Six foot three of hard-cut muscles from his religious fitness routine.
Thick sable-colored hair worn just long enough for me to run my fingers through.
He had a cowlick in the back that drove him crazy.
It sprang up—at its most unruly in the morning like this.
I smoothed it down but loved it. It lent him a youthful charm that gave me a glimpse into the shattered boy he used to be.
A boy I longed to go back in time and hold tight when his bad days came.
He looked up at me, a devilish smirk on his face that sent waves of heat straight down to my core.
“I can’t,” I said, lightly protesting. “You’re being cruel.”
He let out a sinful laugh. He kept me in that embrace, his arms around my hips, his face against my stomach. He kissed me there and then looked back up at me.
“When can we test?” he asked.
I stiffened. A shiver of dread went through me. Lock sensed it and let me go. He rose and grabbed his boxer shorts off the floor. I stepped back as he slipped them on. He followed me into the bathroom.
I turned and looked at myself in the mirror. Lock came behind me, put his hands on my shoulders. I leaned against him. He kissed me gently in the crook of my neck, making all the tiny hairs there stand on end.
“Sorry,” he said. “We don’t need to think about baby-making today.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “This is important to both of us. I could have tested yesterday. But let’s wait a few days this time. The doctor said testing too early can lead to false negatives.”
“I know,” he said. He let me go and moved beside me, grabbing his toothbrush out of the drawer.
I smoothed my makeup and ran a round brush through my hair one more time.
Lock liked it this way. Long, down, hanging to the middle of my back.
After he rinsed his mouth, he reached for me and tucked the loose strands behind my ear neatly.
“Mina, don’t worry,” he said. “It’s going to happen. The doctor said give it a few more months. Then we can see what’s what. There’s no rush. We’re both young. Healthy. Besides, I do love to practice.”
He let out that growl, and I turned to him. “You made that very clear last night, Mr. Manning.”
“And once again this morning,” he teased, leaning in to kiss me. “Practice makes perfect, my little dove. I’m going to have you ready for the Olympics by summer.” He playfully swatted my ass, and that flare of heat came back.
He reached over and grabbed the faucet, turning on the double rainfall showerheads in the marble-tiled wet room beside us.
He liked it near scalding. I reached for him, running my fingertips over his strong back, resting them on the tattoo over his right shoulder blade.
Pisces. Frères Célestes. Celestial Brothers.
The inspiration came from a painting he loved.
Two fish in abstract, being pulled apart with the constellation in the center.
Two brothers, bound by blood, one still earthbound, one only a spirit.
It was a reminder of a young boy’s very worst day.
A day I wished I could have spared him from.
The day he lost his little brother, Ben.
There were other reminders of Lock’s past on his body.
Thin silver scars cut criss-cross patterns over his otherwise perfect skin.
Some scars you couldn’t see. Some real, like the healed hairline fractures through the bones of his left arm.
Some intangible, like the ones that made him go hard and silent in the dark.
“Don’t worry so much,” he said to me. “You always do this.”
“I want to be good, Lock,” I said. “Dennison handpicked me.”
“You will be,” Lock said.
“These cases we’re re-investigating… we could finally get justice for so many victims.”
“I know,” he said, putting his hands on my elbows.
“Maybe it was too much. Having me out in front for that press conference last week. I tried to say no. Assistant prosecutors don’t talk to the media like that.
Not until after a conviction. But the powers that be thought it would be a good idea to show everyone there’s a woman on this task force. It made me uncomfortable.”
“You were a natural in front of that camera, Mina.”
Lock had a glint in his eye I knew well. I had a suspicion Lock pulled some strings to make me the face of this task force. I bristled at the thought of it. But as well as I could read my husband’s expressions, he could read mine.
“Don’t be mad at me,” he said. Steam rose from the shower behind him. If I stayed in here too much longer, it would ruin my hair. But as Lock’s hands skimmed my waist, I wasn’t sure I cared. “It’s time the rest of the world knows how amazing you are, baby.”
I kissed him. “One thing at a time. I haven’t done anything yet but get my name on a list. I just want to make a meaningful contribution to this thing. I’m there to do a job.”
“You’ll be fantastic. You’re going to blow their minds, Mina. You’ve earned your spot, baby. Of course, Dennison picked you for this. You’re one of the toughest litigators in the state. I’ve seen you in action. You’re a shark. You never lose.”
“Thanks,” I said. He was right. I always do this.
Before every single trial, those butterflies would take over my stomach.
My hard-wired imposter syndrome would rear.
And for the last two years, only Lock knew the right things to say.
I could do anything if he believed in me. I went on my tiptoes and kissed him.
“You’ll be home by six tonight?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “My last board meeting ends at five. I’ll be here when you get home, and you can tell me all about it.”
“Everything will be confidential,” I said. “Even to spouses.”
“That’s okay too. I don’t know how I’m going to feel after my day either.
” My smile faded. Lock would be reviewing scholarship applications today.
All funded by grants given by his family’s charitable foundation helping troubled young men and teens.
Most of the stories he would hear today could break anyone’s heart.
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you more,” he answered. “Wear the blue one, my dove. And knock ’em dead.”
I tucked in my blouse. Silk had been a poor choice after all, as the slippery fabric kept sliding out of my skirt. I headed up to the fourth floor, past the courtrooms, above the offices housing the tax department and register of deeds, away from my personal office.
I served as the Assistant Prosecutor assigned to violent felony crimes for the last five years, but my new role was something I’d never done before.
Over the course of the next two years, I was appointed to a new team finding missing persons, primarily female victims lured to danger by online predators.
My skin prickled with anticipation. It was the sort of work I’d always dreamed of doing.
I pushed my way through the glass double doors.
The other members of the team sat at a long conference table.
Most were unfamiliar faces. But seated at the head, Detective Roy Dennison rose.
A bit of a statewide legend, Roy had been the lead violent crimes detective for Benton County for fifteen years.
I had the pleasure, and sometimes consternation, of working with him on numerous murder and assault cases.
He made the arrest; I got the conviction.
We had a near-perfect record between us.
“Good, you’re here,” Roy said. Roy was a giant, both in reputation and physicality. He stood six foot seven, with broad shoulders, legs like tree trunks, and a booming voice to match. Roy commanded attention and respect. I was glad to have him at the helm of this endeavor.
“Let me introduce Mina Sobel,” Roy said.
“She’s got a sharp eye for detail, and she’ll make sure everything we do will stand up in court.
I don’t want any search or arrest warrants written without Mina’s review.
I don’t want any mistakes on the procedural due process side.
She’s our backstop to make sure that won’t happen. ”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m happy to be here.”
Roy went around the room, pointing to each member of the task force seated at the table.
We had a mix of active FBI agents and retired detectives from police and sheriff departments from around the region.
They chose Lasalle Harbor as our physical meeting space, some of them using it as a short vacation.
We’d meet in person this week only. Everything else would happen by email or teleconference.
The FBI press liaison sent a photographer.
We had a few awkward moments as we posed for pictures.
Then, the cameraman left us to do our work.