"Maybe we should get downstairs and find out what's going on with the boys? And whatever that phone call was?" The mattress shifted as Lexi slid from her spot.

A dark red blotch covered the place beneath where she'd sat.

a a a "Tripp!" Emma's yell came from upstairs with a panic that set Ian's heart to frantic.

Tripp didn't hesitate. He jumped from his seat, took the stairs two at a time, Ian following.

The beating inside Ian's chest didn't stop when he made it to the door behind Tripp.

Taylor gathered blankets into her arms as Tripp whisked Lexi into his. Emma chased them both back down the stairs.

One look to Taylor and Ian read worry and fear.

"Can you help me with this bedding?" She continued to pull, right down to the lower layer. A small patch of red graced the mattress. "I'll just get this cleaned up for her."

Ian moved to the side as Taylor marched through-her familiarity with the house letting her take charge. She stuffed the duvet into the washer first and started it. She grabbed cleaner and a rag and turned. "Oh! Didn't realize you'd followed me." She inched past him back toward the bedroom. "Sometimes, this happens in early pregnancy, Ian."

His heart hammered harder. "What?"

Taylor blinked, the bottle and gloves still in hand. "She didn't tell you."

"I thought maybe ... well ... something else." He knuckled his temple. "How did you know?"

"Saw her at the doc's. When you and Tripp came by the other day, he said, "Lexi said to tell you, *yes'."

Ian inclined his head.

Taylor rolled her eyes. "I asked her at the doc's office if I should plan to build out a room as a nursery anytime soon, and she said she'd get back with me. I figured that's what his cryptic message was all about."

"Oh. But, what about-" Ian waved a hand in the direction of the blood.

"Could be nothing." She went back into the bedroom and sprayed the circle, no larger than a salad plate, but enough to have soaked into the top layer.

Ian leaned into the doorframe. "Why are you so calm about this? About everything?"

"I'm only collected on the outside, Ian. What's inside is running at the pace of a moonshine still with the cops barreling down upon it." She scrubbed until white foam built up on the top. "But there's no sense in letting on if it will do me no good. And, if I wash this little spot now, it'll be gone when she gets back. One less thing for her to worry about and one more favor I can pay back."

"They don't work like that. Lexi and Tripp, that is. Or me."

Taylor's head bobbed as if she agreed, though she didn't say so.

"We have a team working with one of the bones from your house."

Her head snapped up. "How-"

Ian held up his hands. "Don't ask. Anyway ... my brother, Michael, tested it, and it's at least a hundred years old."

Her hands stopped moving.

"We're going to send the results to the police anonymously."

She started scrubbing again.

"He'd like a DNA sample from you so he can run some other tests. More fuel for the defense's fire is good, right?"

The head bob started again.

Ian put his hands on her biceps and squeezed. "Trust them. Trust me. Seriously, trust me."

She stopped. "But what if-"

"Hey." Ian tilted her chin up with a finger. "In my world, we only play the *what if' game when there is opportunity. Like ... what if there's treasure buried in a cave three hundred feet beneath the ocean's surface? Can we find it?"

Taylor's lids fell. Ian inched closer. Her eyes opened again. "Do you want to go to the hospital? Shouldn't you be there for your friend? I can clean up."

Ian shook his head. "She has Emma. She has Tripp. Anything happens, they'll call me."

Taylor went back to cleaning the spot, though not a blotch of red remained.

Expecting the task kept her mind off Lexi, Ian opted to continue on about their find. "So, one of the questions Michael asked was how old you are. I told him early thirties." He cringed as her head whipped around to him.

The corners of her mouth creased. "Don't you know-"

"Don't play that s.h.i.t with me. You and I both know you don't care." Though how he knew that, he had no idea.

He just knew.

A small laugh bubbled up from her. "Thirty-one, thank you very much." She dropped the rags and grabbed some light blankets.

Ian coughed into a closed fist. "So, Michael says those bones were preserved so well it had to have been in soil so compact they hadn't been touched in at least seventy, maybe eighty years."

"So, a grave fits then, right"

Ian considered the simplicity, though for some reason, he knew it wouldn't be. "Could be."

"That's what I thought at one point." Taylor tucked blankets around the bed, leaving the wet spot uncovered. "With it being so old, will they put any time into it at all? Wouldn't they just file it away into some dark corner and focus on newer, more pressing cases?"

"No idea." Ian took the other side and tugged the same way she had. "That's not my area of expertise. But I will say, with Tripp on the case, we'll have the inside scoop in no time flat."

Taylor pinched the bridge of her nose. "I really can't thank you enough. I know I shouldn't have called him for this, but it felt ... right."

Ian gave her a nonchalant shrug. "S'okay. He takes whatever cases he wants. It's how he rolls."

She stood straight. "Oh! Does this mean they'll get off my property?"

"Don't get your hopes up. We gotta convince the authorities here that the data is real first."

Her shoulders fell as if the weight of the world crashed back down on her. The open-mouthed yawn suggested sleep would be the most useful tool.

"You can rest if you want. I'll go downstairs-"

"Actually, I'd love a shower." Taylor tugged at a lock of hair. "Or a bath. A ma.s.sage. Something relaxing that can't even remotely get messed up."

"You installed the claw-foot tub in Lexi's bathroom. I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you used it."

"You think?" Taylor asked.

"Positive. Then, when they get back, we'll both be ... refreshed. Ready to help. Or whatever they need. Lexi makes a terrible ward. Been there. Done that. We'll want to take the time now."

"We?"

Ian went to the desk, grabbed his laptop, sidled to the bed and sat on it. He scooted up until he could lean into the headboard. "Oh, yeah. I never get off easy when Tripp's got his claws into something, and when those claws are around his wife? d.a.m.n if I get a moment free." He opened the laptop. "Unless you want me to join you in that tub."

Taylor smiled. "I'll take a rain check on that part."

Ian chuckled. "If you change your mind, come get me. I'll be here ... doing nothing ... but more research."

Taylor's hips swung as she walked to the door. Ian couldn't help but admire them. Head c.o.c.ked, he tracked her steps to Lexi and Tripp's bathroom, and seconds later, the splash of running water. Once the sounds quieted, telling Ian that Taylor had closed the door, he gave his full attention to the screen in his lap.

Searching public records for a man who had once set up Taylor for his own murder should have been an easy task, but Ian found himself with an ever-mounting frustration level. He found all the new reports from ten years before, with Taylor Claire Marsh's name in them. The victim, one Tanner Meadows, had supposedly been bludgeoned to death.

"It only fits because she can wield a sledgehammer like a rock star," Ian said to himself from his perch on the guest bed.

He read through the articles, the case filings available online, and the information from later when one Mr. Tanner Meadows had been found drunk in a bar.

"It's a tragedy of justice that a young woman was held for so long, without due process, while the alleged victim partied his way across Alabama," the account said.

From what Ian found, Tanner had been drunk off his a.s.s for the entire few weeks, and her set up fueled legislation for victims' rights when the victim had, in fact, been innocent.

"Of course, no one knew that then," Ian said out loud. "How are they gonna know? Gotta go with the facts in evidence." He skimmed a few more articles and found Tanner had been tried for setting Taylor up, though she'd refused to testify against him, citing emotional distress.

Tanner had been found guilty of numerous crimes and sent to prison for twenty years.

"Obviously, he deserved it."

Ian backtracked through various sources, looking for more information on Tanner's background before he hooked up with Taylor. Ian found his target to be well educated, with a Juris Doctor no different than Tripp's, yet at even a younger age.

"Dude, you're five years older than her, a lawyer, and you set her up for murder? I should have known crazy came in all packages, but you'd think someone that smart wouldn't go to such lengths. Just shoot her already and be done with it." As soon as he said it, and though no one had heard, Ian cringed. "Sorry, Taylor. Didn't mean that." His apology, too, wouldn't be heard. "Okay, enough of this. The talking to myself is getting out of hand."

Ian shot off a few emails to friends in various places-the FBI, state law enforcement in Alabama and even a few people he kept up with in the state department. As the day reached five p.m., he sent another series of emails to the prison where Tanner had been incarcerated. Having done enough work for one day, he closed the laptop with a plan to return to it soon. At the very least, Ian wanted to keep tabs on Tanner and ensure he stayed away from Taylor.

11.

Water rushes from the falls, tumbling upon itself until it lands with a crash in a natural pool. What should be a soft ripple at the edge bursts with a torrent of spray as her hand breaks the surface and flails in the open air. It submerges again when he refuses to release her or to provide air to her lungs.

His hold of her body against his own tightens.

Her face and head submerge farther with each of his thrusts while her arms and legs seek purchase. She kicks out, missing him. Even when she manages to make contact, the blow barely penetrates.

A smile escapes, though until her movements subside, she will fight.

Her swing extends to his uncovered chest. Nails sc.r.a.pe across his skin, burning deep lines in his flesh.

He twists her hair around his wrist and pushes lower, forcing himself to move backward toward the outer edge of what should be paradise. "Not this time," he says. "You will not betray my love again."

Her feet sc.r.a.pe the tops of his, movements slowing with each pa.s.sing moment.

Her hands surge in a final attempt to free herself from her captor.

The roar of falling water gives cover to their struggle as does the remoteness of their location.

She'd asked for the islands for their anniversary.

He'd been more than happy to oblige.

Water bubbles around them, each thrash sending cascading lines away from the two of them.

The pace of his heart quickens as the finale to their tumultuous relationship nears.

Her hand dips beneath the surface.

He lessens his grip.

Her body ceases to struggle.

"At last," he says. A step toward the banks drags her with him. He lets go and turns toward the ropes and rocks he'd left gathered there.

His arms weigh heavy with the tools as he brings himself back to her immobile form, face down in the crystal blue, Caribbean water.

He drapes rope over her, pulling it from underneath and wrapping it around a second time. "Just to be sure, darling." His tone is calm and smooth, a perfect accompaniment to the island feel.

A tug secures her within the bonds.

He lifts the wrapped blanket of boulders and attaches them to her restraints.

Her body sinks.

He drags her body toward the center, where the water is near to his shoulders, and adds the final weight. With one solid shove-toward the falls-she disappears.

"Goodbye, my love. May we meet again."