“Oh, god.” I can’t stop what is building. Nothing can. Luke’s intensity only grows as he thrusts again, his shoulders starting to tremble.

  “You’re mine. Say it!” he growls.

  I manage to say it as I come apart in his hands, my body disintegrating into blindly firing nerve endings. “I’m yours, Luke! I’m yours.” And I really am.

  Damn it.

  ******

  It’s still dark when the phone starts screaming in Luke’s apartment. If I’m honest, I’ve been watching him like some creepy yet very confused stalker, and he totally busts me when his eyes snap open. He gives me a small smile when he comes to. He rubs at one eye sleepily before stretching and grabbing hold of the handset beside his bed. The blue glow from the screen lights up his face as he answers.

  “Cole, if this is you, I’m going to cause you severe fucking pain. It’s four a.m.,” he groans into the receiver.

  Four a.m., I’m naked in Luke Reid’s bed, and I’m not planning my escape. That’s a first. Then again I’ve never told anyone I love them before either, so tonight is clearly a night for firsts.

  Luke goes still as he listens to the muffled voice on the end of the phone; he seems to be holding his breath. The voice on the other end of the phone stops talking. Luke just stares up at the ceiling for a second before he closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. “Wait, what? Say that again.”

  He’s quiet for a few seconds, unblinking, as he stares blankly ahead of him. I study his face, wondering, fearing, panicking over whatever has made him turn to stone.

  “And why the hell do they think that?” he asks, sitting up slowly. His free hand goes to the back of his neck, where he rubs back and forth anxiously. The tone in his voice is strained—not a good sign. “Yeah. She’s here. Her phone’s probably … it must be in the other room.” My stomach bottoms out. I sit forward, clasping my hands together, holding them to my mouth. Luke blinks, the look of a stunned man. “Yeah. Yes, I’ll be there.” He hangs up and leans forward, pressing the phone into his forehead.

  “What is it, Luke?”

  “Breakwater PD,” he whispers.

  Oh. God. My heart starts slamming in my chest. Whatever it was they just told Luke was worth calling for at four a.m. in the morning. And by the sounds of things they’ve been trying to call me, too. I scoot back in the bed, clutching the sheet to my chest, trying to work out how on earth I’m going to escape whatever it is I’m about to find out. “Just tell me.” The words fly out, unbidden, in a whisper. I want to snatch them out of the air and cram them straight back into my mouth.

  “That was the duty officer at my old station. He said …” He trails off, shaking his head blankly.

  “He said what?”

  Luke’s eyes are dark pools in the half light. “He said they just brought your uncle in for questioning.”

  Thirty-Four

  Breakwater

  “I’M GONNA need your keys, cell phone, jewelry, loose change, everything in your pockets, basically. That includes your lint. Place the items in the tray and wait until we call you.” I don’t know the young female officer behind the counter of Breakwater police station and she doesn’t know me, but we’ve come to an instant mutual agreement: we don’t like one another. She seems fine with Luke, though. “You can go through if you like, hon. Chloe’s expecting you.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll wait out here,” he tells her, slipping his hand into mine. We sit in the station for an hour before Chloe Mathers, Luke’s old partner, comes to find us. I recognize her as soon as she walks through the door. She was with Luke the day they came to tell us about my dad. She made my mom a cup of tea, like that was going to fix everything.

  “Iris,” she says, nodding towards me. “Good to see you again. How you goin’, Luke?” She bypasses his outstretched hand and pulls him in for a hug. “Not the most ideal circumstances to be seeing you again, but still a pleasure all the same.”

  Luke hugs her back awkwardly. “Yeah, good to see you, too, Chloe.”

  She nods her head through the open door behind her into the police station. “Come on. He’s already been interviewed, I’m not supposed to do this but it can’t really hurt. You can see him for five minutes.”

  My heart fumbles in my chest. I still have no idea why they pulled my uncle in, what they can possibly have discovered to make them think he had anything to do with this. They have to be wrong. We follow Chloe into the station and make our way to the holding cells. The place reminds me of a hospital, all bleach and blank faces and flickering fluorescent lighting. Chloe stops in front of a door, opens it, and gestures us inside. Through the door, there’s a single peeling veneer table, three chairs, and my Uncle Brandon. He looks startled when his head shoots up, catching sight of me immediately.

  “What are you doing here, kiddo? You didn’t need to come.” He looks like hell. He’s always a little scruffy, but his unshaven face and the bags under his eyes make him look flat-out ill.

  “You look like shit, Uncle B.” I take a seat across the table from him and turn—Luke is hovering in the doorway.

  “I can give you guys a minute, if you like?”

  I shake my head. “It’s fine. Stay. Please.” There’s no way I can handle doing this on my own. Besides, Luke will know better than anyone if they have grounds to keep holding Brandon. Luke nods, slipping into the seat beside me.

  “I’ll be back in five,” Officer Mathers tells us. She pulls a tight smile and closes the door, leaving us alone.

  “What the hell’s going on, Brandon? No one will tell us anything.”

  Brandon closes his eyes, his shoulders slumping. He looks exhausted. “They say they think I was there the day your dad and those other men died. They think I had something to do with it.”

  My knee sets to bouncing up and down under the table. Just hearing him say those words makes bile rise up in my throat. “Why the hell would they think that?”

  “Something about an old camera of mine. They had a video handed in at the station a week ago. It was apparently shot using a specific kind of film. A rare one that I used to use.”

  “That’s ridiculous! I mean, anyone could have a camera that uses a certain type of film, Brand. Right?”

  My uncle goes quiet for a moment, chewing on his lip. “Yeah, but there’s a fault on this particular camera I own, a light leak. It allows light into the housing. It corrupts the video in a very specific way. Apparently, the film that was handed in bore a leak that could only have been created by my camera.”

  I process this for a second. “So, it was definitely your camera. Does that mean they can prove it was you who shot the thing?” My heart is beating like crazy. A small, terrified part of my brain is causing chaos, screaming, Did he do it? Did he do it? Of course he didn’t, I know that, but still. That nasty little suspicion is making my whole body tremble. Luke puts his hand on my knee under the table, shoots me a reassuring look.

  “I keep telling them that I loaned that camera to your dad, Iris, but they don’t seem to be listening. He borrowed it months before he died. I never got it back. They seized it among his possessions, but they say someone was holding the camera when your dad was in that room with the other men … it wasn’t on a tripod, it was following him around the room.” A pained expression flutters across Brandon’s face. He looks sick to his stomach. “You know I would never hurt anyone, right, Iris? You know I would never hurt your dad?”

  I nod my head immediately. I can’t get the words out, though. It isn’t that I don’t believe him. My throat is just closing up, refusing to let me speak. This is such a mess. Everything. My whole life, Brandon’s life, Luke’s …

  “Brandon, I’m going to go see if I can get you a coffee,” Luke murmurs. He squeezes my hand one last time and then plants a soft kiss on top of my head. “I’ll be right back.”

  Brandon scratches at his stubble, his eyes searching my face. “I knew you were a smart girl,” is all he says. His gaze drops to his hands, and it’s then that I notice they’re handcuffed together at the wrists.

  “Oh my god, they’ve cuffed you?”

  “I’m under arrest, kiddo. Generally means you get the five-star treatment.”

  “This is such bullshit. We’re going to work this out, okay? Do you even know what’s on the tape?”

  Brandon sighs, heavy and worn down. “They’re not sharing. I think they’re trying to get me to slip up, waiting for me to tell them what’s on the tape. I’m pretty sure they think they’re gonna get me to accidentally admit to something that way.”

  “Will they tell Luke what—” My sentence remains unfinished. The door to the interview room slams open, and a tall woman in a pantsuit stands there, gaping at us. Her red hair is pulled back into a tight bun, so tight, in fact, that I wonder whether she’s cut the circulation off to her scalp.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” The woman places one arm up on the doorjamb, the other on her hip. She glares straight at me, pissed.

  “I—I was told this was okay?”

  “Well, it’s not okay. Who are you?”

  “Iris Breslin. She’s my niece,” Brandon answers. I return the woman’s steely gaze, getting the distinct feeling that she’s pulling it off a lot more convincingly than I am.

  “I’m FBI Agent Cosgrove, and this is a federal investigation. You can’t be in here.” She motions me to stand with a casual flick of her wrist. Up.

  I rise, shooting Brandon a quick glance. “I’ll call a lawyer, okay? You’ll be out of here by tomorrow.”

  I have to leave then, under the watchful eye of Agent Cosgrove. She shoots daggers at me as she slams the door, blocking out my uncle and her unsmiling face as she does so. Luke appears down the abandoned corridor with a polystyrene cup in either hand, the coffee steaming.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Some FBI bitch just booted me out. She was a real bulldog.”

  Luke bites his lip, staring at the closed investigation room door in front of us. He hands me a coffee. I take it, my hands still shaking. “We can’t leave him in here, Luke. I know he’s got nothing to do with this. We have to get him a lawyer.”

  A crease forms in between Luke’s brows. Something’s up. He looks … anxious. “I got that covered. I just made a call.”

  “Okay.” I don’t say anything else. I know there’s more coming, something he doesn’t want to tell me. “I contacted the legal firm on file as Brandon’s representation.”

  “Right. When are they getting here? Which agency is it?”

  Luke visibly blanches. “They’ll be here first thing in the morning. And the agency is … it’s Harrod, Whitt, St. French,” he rushes out.

  Those three names are like individual explosions in my ears. Harrod. Whitt. St. French.

  Shit.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Luke flinches. “Yeah, I’m sorry, Avery. Your mom is on her way.”

  Thirty-Five

  Marlena

  SURPRISINGLY, THERE aren’t any rules about lawyers representing family members. The phrase, conflict of interest is bandied around inside the station as Luke and I depart, but there’s nothing the cops or the FBI can do about it. I leave with a ten-ton weight sitting in my gut. My mom is on her way from New York to defend Brandon. I feel sick just thinking about seeing her back in Break. I have no idea what Luke had to say to even get her to agree. She cares for Brandon about as much as she cares for me, as far as I can tell. And that isn’t very much.

  Night is closing in by the time we step outside. We hopped on the first plane out of the city when we were woken up, and as such we didn’t even have a car when we arrived. It is freezing cold, snowing, and we’re using one of Brandon’s old beaters from his auto mechanics shop to get us around. Luke opens my door for me, his manners still somehow functioning amidst all the madness of the last twelve hours. “My mom—” he starts, then shakes his head.

  “What? Your mom what?”

  “Ahh, she said we should go by there for dinner tonight.” He grimaces, like he suspects how badly I just want to be alone. There’s a faintly hopeful glimmer in his eye, too, though. It suddenly hits me how good he’s been since this morning when we heard about my uncle. He booked our flights; he called into work and told them he couldn’t make his shifts for a couple of days; he drove me across New York in the mid-morning traffic so I could pick up clothes and toiletries from Columbia. He’s basically held me together the whole day, when I was on the verge of falling apart. The least I can do is go eat with his mother.

  “It’s okay,” I say softly. “We can go.”

  Surprise, then happiness forms on his face. “We don’t need to hang around. We can leave straight afterwards.”

  I shake my head. “It’s all right. You didn’t see her at Thanksgiving. You should spend some time with her.”

  We make our way across Break, my stomach churning the whole time. I’ve only been gone five months but it feels like an eternity. Like the place should have changed dramatically in the time I’ve been gone, because heaven knows I have. And yet the bowling lane, the shooting club where both Luke’s dad and mine had been members, the convenience store, the diner with its infamous thick shakes … everything still stands where it did half a year ago. Luke drives the long way from the police station to his mom’s house, and I know exactly why. The quickest route takes us past Breakwater High, the sprawling institution where I spent four of the worst years of my life. Luke’s smart enough to know I will probably burst into tears if I have to see it again. I grip hold of his hand as we pull up outside a ranch-style home that I’ve driven past many times, knowing that it’s where he grew up, but never having been inside.

  “Does …” I draw in a deep breath. “Does your mom know about …” Ugh, why can’t I just say it? This is strangely awkward.

  Luke smiles softly. “About us? I don’t think so, no.”

  I don’t know if that is a relief or just something else to worry about. Are we expected to go in there and explain our complicated relationship to Luke’s mom now, too, on top of how my uncle has been arrested?

  “Hey, don’t look so freaked out. My mom’s a sweetheart. She won’t ask questions if you don’t want her to.” Luke crooks a finger under my chin, turning my head so I have to look at him. He’s wearing a tense expression, worry all over his face. His deep brown eyes are studiously scouring me, searching to see if I am okay. He has a six o’clock shadow after not shaving this morning in our rush to get to the airport on time, and it makes him look older. How I can still feel small next to him, silly and girlish, with everything that is going on is a mystery. But I do. He’s seriously hot. Not to mention loving and patient and kind. I feel myself welling up just looking at him.

  “Hey. Hey, what’s up?” he whispers.

  “I just … I do not deserve you. I’ve been a complete bitch to you, Luke. I’ve been ungrateful and selfish and a massive pain in the ass, and you didn’t deserve any of it.”

  “You have been a massive pain in the ass, yes.” He smirks casually, and two fat tears roll down my face. He brushes them away tenderly, making me want to cry even harder. “But we’re both a little broken, you and I. I see you, Avery. I really see you, the places you’re wounded, and I want to be the person to put you back together. I know you still need some time to disassociate me with everything that’s happened here, but I’m willing to wait. I want that so bad.”

  I can’t control it any longer. Luke saying those words, it’s like a levy breaking inside me. Tears slip freely down my face, burning my eyes. “You’re right. I am broken, and somehow you do see me. I want to see you, too, Luke. I want to be the person to hold you together, too. I don’t just associate you with what happened here anymore.”

  He sucks in a deep breath and it catches in his throat. His eyes swim with emotion. “That’s good.” It’s like a huge pressure has been released from his body. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It’s adorably sexy.

  “Yeah, now I associate you with alcohol and really hot sex, too.”

  Luke barks out laughter, but turns to look away from me. He covers his mouth, leaning against the car window, while staring at his family home. A heaviness lays over him that I feel like a tangible force. Somehow I’ve said the wrong thing. He stabs his fingers through his hair, pulling himself upright before I can ask if he is okay.

  “All right,” he says. “Time to go meet my mom.”

  ******

  I’ve met Mrs. Reid a million times before, of course. Breakwater is small and she’s on the PTA, plus she owns a bakery in town that everyone buys their baked goods from. The front door opens before Luke can insert his key, and all five foot nothing of the tiny woman rushes out to meet us.

  “Thank god you’re here! There’s a huge snowstorm on its way in. I was worried you were gonna get stuck.” She grabs a fistful of Luke’s shirt and tugs him down to hug her slim frame before he can even open his mouth. Locked in her embrace, he groans, but it’s all for show. His mom fixes eyes with me over his shoulder and smiles. “Iris Breslin, you look more like your father every day. Come here.” She pulls me into a tight hug, too, startling me.

  No one, no one, in Break ever speaks to me about my father, let alone tells me I look like him. A lump bobs in my throat. They feel to me like the kindest words she could possibly have said.

  “Good to see you, Mrs. Reid,” I wheeze. The little woman has a strong grip on her. She draws back, holding me at arm’s length, studying me. Her brown eyes are the same color as Luke’s. Just as warm.

 

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