Chapter 1

The night the psychotic killer promised to murder Laney, Ethan—lead homicide detective and my husband—personally forced Laney's red dress over my head.

"Avery, please. I'm begging you just this once."

"That psycho specifically asked for Laney. You have the tactical training. You're the only one who can draw him away."

My fingers tightened around the ultrasound scan tucked in my pocket—the one I hadn't had the chance to show him yet.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I choked out a single word: "Okay."

Relief washed over him. He wrapped me in a tight embrace, swearing on his life that Unit Two was right behind me and that nothing would happen to me.

Yet when the killer's car rammed violently into mine, driving me to the brink of death, the only lifeline I had—my phone on the passenger seat—lit up.

It wasn't a message saying backup was near.

It was a text from Ethan, containing just two words:

All clear.

In his eyes, the moment Laney was safely evacuated, the mission was a complete success.

As for me, the abandoned decoy? I had never been part of his plan.

The moment the icy river rushed into my nose and throat, I felt no pain. Only cold.

Colder than winter training at the police academy, shivering in a freezing mud pit.

Back then, I had passed out from menstrual cramps in the freezing sludge. Ethan had dug me out like a madman, carrying me on his back for nearly two miles straight to the infirmary.

Back then, he had wept, swearing, "Avery, if I ever let you suffer again, I don't deserve to wear this badge."

Now, that uniform sat on him—crisp, sharp, and authoritative.

And with his own hands, he had shoved his two-months-pregnant wife straight into the clutches of a serial killer.

All clear.

The phone screen flickered beneath the dark water. That was the last Snap Ethan sent me.

Just two words.

It meant the maniac had been successfully lured away. Laney, his beloved first love, was safe.

As for whether the bait had been pushed off a hundred-foot bridge, crushed to dust and bone—it wasn't his concern.

The crushing water pressure squeezed against my lower abdomen.

Instinctively, I curled my body to protect my belly, but the twisted wreckage of the front cabin pinned my legs like a vice.

Agony tore through my insides, violently twisting my womb.

Before my vision faded into black, I saw the glove compartment pop open.

A small silver Saint Christopher medal tumbled out.

On our graduation day, Ethan had gone to a small chapel and had this exact medal engraved for me, then blessed.

He had said, "Avery, you fight on the front lines. Let this keep you safe when I can't."

Yet just half an hour ago, I had watched him secretly swap my real medal for the cheap replica Laney had bought.

He had said, "Laney is easily frightened; she relies on little keepsakes like this. You have combat skills, Avery. You don't need a lucky charm."

The silver medal drifted through the dark water, looking sickeningly like an uncoiling ribbon of blood.

Despair dragged my eyes shut.

Ethan.

Your gods couldn't save me.

You were the one who killed me.