Tripp clasped his hands in front of himself. "The press, obviously, has gotten wind of this, and there's talk about something happening before you came back here. I can get the files, but I'd rather hear what happened from you."

"In Alabama, you mean?" She knew, at some point, that experience would come back to bite her.

"Yes," Tripp said.

Anger boiled. "I should have killed him." Good gracious, what are you thinking, saying that out loud? She closed her eyes, drew in a breath and exhaled. "Strike that. Pretend I didn't say that."

"Okay. Who?"

"An ex." Memories of that day flooded her mind.

"Tell me."

Ian picked up the pen again.

"He staged his own death-a murder of all things-and set me up. I'd come home to blood all over my apartment, a shotgun on the table and a lack of a body. Of course, despite the number of cop shows on television, I went straight for that d.a.m.n gun and grabbed it, coating my hands in blood. Cops showed up ten minutes after I got home, as if they'd been called. I never even dialed 9-1-1." She heaved air. "Took *em two days to test the blood, found out it was his, figured I stashed the body. They spent over a week interrogating me, and the newspapers were all over it. *College student murders boyfriend in jealous rage'. That's what the headlines said. I was guilty before I ever got a chance to get my story told." Her hands clenched even with the cuffs around her wrists. "I lived in the county jail, in podunk Alabama for two weeks, going back and forth with their investigators until someone at a bar saw the b.a.s.t.a.r.d-alive and well-and reported him." Taylor's cheeks flushed with heat as anger filled her. "He ended up in jail, himself, but not before I had the full experience." She faced Tripp. "I never imagined I'd see the inside of another one of these places, especially for yet another trumped-up charge."

"Didn't they test the blood to find it wasn't all his? If there was that much of it, it can't have been, right?" Tripp asked.

Taylor remembered that question being her own at the time. "He'd planned ahead. He drew his own blood and stored it in a garage fridge. Then, when he needed it, he made one h.e.l.l of a mess and scattered to the wind." Her nails dug into her palms.

"What was his name?"

"Tanner Meadows."

A visible shiver ran through Ian as one made its way down Taylor's body. She forced herself to calm.

"Why were you in Alabama in the first place?" Tripp asked.

"School. I wanted to start over. Yes, even just at twenty, I wanted change. Get away from Mom and Dad. Used my middle name while I was there ... or for part of the time. Never expected to get involved with a psycho."

"I believe you," Tripp said.

"What?" Her lips refused to curve. "Not that I-I mean, I'm grateful you do. But-no. Never mind." She waved her combined hands in the air.

"Stop." The forcefulness of Tripp's tone had her freezing, hands mid-air. Even Ian's blank expression had moved to wide eyes.

"Did I say something wrong?" Taylor's gaze flitted between Ian and Tripp.

"Let me see your hand. Lay it on the table," Tripp said.

Taylor lowered them-a bit at a time-until they both lay flat against the tabletop.

Tripp and Ian both leaned forward.

"May thirty-first," Tripp said.

a a a Ian couldn't believe it. He knew exactly why Tripp had stopped Taylor, had her put her hands down, but not why he repeated the date-six weeks from then.

"What's going on?" Taylor asked.

"Your finger." Tripp pointed to her hand. "Where'd you get that tattoo?"

Taylor rubbed at the blue lines snaking around the top bone of her right ring finger. Her hands shook while she continued to twist and turn as if the ink were a ring-and she could pull it off. "It's not a tattoo. It's been there all my life."

Yup. Knew it.

Tripp turned to Ian. Ian to Tripp. Both adjusted back to her.

"Tell me about it," Tripp said.

Yes, please do.

"Why? How is this related?"

Yeah, I'm with her. How is this related?

"It's not. Just humor me."

Taylor took a deep breath. "Okay. When I was little, this looked like a vein wrapped around my finger funny. My parents took me to doctors and everything, trying to find out what it was. They just all said to leave it be unless it changed."

"And did it?" Tripp asked.

Nope.

"A few times. Usually, when it gets itchy, it's doing something. It's a little darker right now than usual, but it's not abnormal ... to me, at least. I think I've gotten used to that weirdness in my life."

Hers changed? Why? How? Ian leaned and shifted until he met Taylor's gaze again, but he said nothing, per Tripp's orders.

"You normally wear a ring around that finger, don't you?" Tripp asked.

How did he remember that? Ian slipped his own hands beneath the table, twisting the cla.s.s ring he kept on his own right ring finger.

"Yeah, my grandpa's. He gave it to me before he pa.s.sed away. I hate that they took it last night."

"Understandable," Tripp said. "Why do you cover it up?"

Taylor inclined her head and closed her eyes. "Because when you're sixteen, and your best friend tells you that having a tattoo on your finger is going to send you to h.e.l.l, it kinda gets old. So, I covered it and have gotten used to it being there. Plus, I like Grandpa's ring, and that's the only finger it fits on." She gave a small shrug. "He gave me my first hammer. Taught me how to drive a nail. How to work with people and how to listen to them." Taylor pressed at her eyelids. "I miss him."

Her pain washed into Ian, making his heart flip flop and bringing up an urge to reach out to her.

Tripp turned to Ian. "Put it up here."

Ian jerked back, lips pursed.

"Now."

On a deep sigh, he raised his hands and set them on the table, like Taylor.

"And take off the ring."

With a huff and a grab of his own ring, he slid it off.

Taylor gasped. She rose from her chair. "What the-"

Ian wiggled his fingers. I'm never going to get this woman out of my head.

a a a Taylor couldn't believe what reflected back at her from Ian's skin. Her tattoo. Her mark.

Her symbol etched into his finger.

Under the gold and platinum, the same blue lines decorated his finger. "Please tell me ... that's ... a real tattoo."

Tripp waved a hand toward Ian.

Ian said nothing.

Taylor caught each of their gazes.

"Go ahead, Ian," Tripp said.

Ian still said nothing.

Tripp ran a hand over his head. "You are hereby authorized to speak, Ian."

Ian wrote *Are you sure?' on the paper, adding, *because you told me not to talk and, apparently, I do everything you ask.'

The glare Tripp gave Ian had a smile brewing on Taylor's lips. The two couldn't have looked different, yet they acted like brothers.

Tripp wrote back, *Yes, you idiot.'

"What ... is it?" Taylor asked. "What is this, Ian?" She pitched her voice low, pointing to her finger. "Why do you have one?"

After a long while, Ian said, "I've had this on my finger forever, too. Since birth. It wasn't an add-on." He swiped a hand over his head.

Not a tattoo. Taylor's breath caught.

"It's called the branches of life."

Taylor lowered to her seat again, her body shaking with the fact that the man she'd thought of so much in the previous months sat in front of her with an insignia like her own.

"It comes from the tree of life, an interconnection between all life on the planet."

She'd heard of that. "I thought that was depicted as a real tree, though."

Ian nodded. "That's why I said sorta." He reached for Taylor's hand, but Tripp stopped him. With a frustrated sigh, Ian held out his own finger and pointed to the markings. "There are four circles going around my finger. Four distinct patterns."

Taylor brought hers closer to her face. As Ian pointed to the outer part and traced it inside, around and back, she did the same on hers. "It's a closed loop, but it breaks and jumps over to another one."

He continued on, following the second line. It, too, completed a circle, ending on a line that moved it to a third. The third did the same. At the fourth, it stopped midway around.

"Mine does the same." Taylor traced her own. Her entire body, her entire being resisted what stared at her. The breaks matched without a millimeter of error. They stop at the same point. "Why doesn't it reconnect?"

Ian's gaze didn't shift from Taylor's. "According to the guy who translated this for me, it's a cycle of four. Lives, that is. Each of the three previous has ended before something happened that would allow it to reconnect with the other side."

"What did?"

"He couldn't tell me. Rather, he said it was unique to every individual. Like snowflakes. All of them. But ... according to him, and he said he was an expert on this stuff, this is the last chance to rectify whatever happened the other three times."

"Why do we both have this?" Taylor asked.

Ian shrugged.

"There's no way this is coincidence," Taylor said.

"And, there's no way this is related to you being in jail, so, why don't the two of you finish your conversation, I'll play secretary, and we can all go home," Ian said.

A pang hit Taylor. She couldn't go home right then, and of all times, she wanted to, just so she could do some research. "When can I get out of here?"

"They've got you on the docket in twenty-four hours," Tripp said.

"Another day?" She couldn't keep the incredulity out of her voice. A pull back of her feet and her leg restraints caused a clank against the floor.

"Seems there was a full moon last night, and with that came a whole host of crimes and a plate so full, the justice system is backed up further than normal."

"Lovely." Sarcasm riddled her tone.

Tripp tapped on the table, sending an empty, metallic echo through the room. "The police are continuing their investigation."

"How can they keep me while they do that? Don't they have to have proof?" She spat out the words as anger replaced frustration.

"They had a warrant, which I'm waiting for a copy of. My guess is they've got their claws in some piece of information and are hanging on to it by a thread."

Taylor jumped forward. "Riley."

"Riley?" Tripp asked as Ian leaned back in his chair, a scowl growing on his face.

"He's ... a friend. On the police force. Just got a promotion. He'll help if I ask. Can I? I mean-"

"No." Tripp shook his head. "Just leave this to me."

An inner war began within Taylor. Riley would help her with anything. "So, what happens next?"

"We get in front of the judge tomorrow. We plead not guilty, get bail, get you out and figure it out from there. Or, I find a way to convince them you had nothing to do with this and get you off completely."

a a a "How the h.e.l.l can we have matching symbols on our fingers?" Ian asked as he slipped into Tripp's Jaguar.

"I told ya," Tripp started, "when you first looked up those lines. I told you it was going to lead to a woman."