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Chapter One
Day 1: Sunday, February 25, 4:32 a.m.
The leather satchel slid past the edge of her shoulder and slipped off her arm, hitting the floor upside down. Files, papers, and an odd assortment of office paraphernalia scattered across the tile flooring.
“Shit.”
Dr. Olivia Remington-Thorpe kicked the garage door shut and flung aside her pocketbook, keys, and coat. This was just the crap icing on the shit cake after the night she had. God, how she hated working the ER on a full moon in late February after Juniper, Iowa, had seen another snowstorm blow through and melt away. Between the cabin fever overtaking the younger generation with their attempts to pull off some stupid stunt they saw on social media and a sudden uptick in drug overdoses, she’d had enough. The lone saving grace to redeem this awful night? She hadn’t been needed for an autopsy. Thank God for small mercies.
Squatting down, she surveyed the mess. Fatigue dragged on her shoulders. The tight muscles in her back and neck made for an unrelenting pounding in her head. She could barely hold her eyes open.
Screw it.
If Dominic didn’t like it when he came home, then he could damn well pick it up. It wasn’t like her husband was going to be around any time soon. He’d turned scarcity into a fine art. Taking all the shifts opposite of her so as to not be in the house at the same time as she.
Her skin tightened as she grew flush. Dominic did this on purpose. For more than a year he’d used these types of passive aggressive tactics instead of speaking with her. Which was fine by her, since all they seemed to do when they were together was fight. If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear he started the arguments in order to keep her at bay.
Olivia had noticed fractures in their marriage before the clashes—before she’d committed a grievous faux pas—and had brushed them off as mere nuisances of their professions, but it seemed the cracks were more than skin deep for Dominic. No one in their circle of friends knew about their strained relationship. They’d retained the facade of a happy marriage in front of prying eyes of those who could discover they were strangers living in the same house. No matter what she did to repair the damage, Dominic would retreat or cut her down. Divorce had been brought up, but neither of them seemed to want to get around to putting it into motion.
Olivia stepped over the chaos, leaving it behind to head upstairs to the master bedroom she had commandeered. As she shuffled along the hallway, she let her hair loose from its tie and scratched her scalp. Soaking in a hot Epsom salt bath sounded wonderful. Maybe a bit of lavender to ease the aches and pains and soothe the raging beast inside. Add a cup of chamomile tea and it would do her good. Probably help her go right to sleep.
A squeak from the kitchen brought her to a halt. Slowly, she turned, listening. The faint click of bone china made her stiffen. Was Dominic home? How could he be? He should be in the ER. Olivia saw his vehicle in the doctors’ parking lot before she left. She had, hadn’t she? As tired as she was, it was probable she mistook someone else’s SUV for his.
The soft sound of the refrigerator resealing made her scrunch her nose. There was no mistaking that noise for her wearied brain playing tricks on her. Someone was in the kitchen.
Maybe Dominic was home. Olivia consulted her watch: 4:41. Was he running late? Or did he have a delayed start at the ER, so he hadn’t left yet? All possible.
Despite their animosity toward each other, Dominic—ever the gentleman—left the garage space for her use and put his car behind the house under the car port. When he parked there, she didn’t see his vehicle because she pulled straight into the garage and entered the house through the connected doorway.
More sounds came from the kitchen, further piquing her interest. She abandoned her plan for a hot bath and redirected course for the swinging door dividing the hall from the kitchen. She pushed the door inward and peeked around the edge.
No one was there.
The lights mounted under the wall cabinets were on, the only illumination in the kitchen. A single teacup and saucer sat in the center of the island counter. Steam rose from the delicate china. Olivia stepped inside the kitchen and glanced around, but there was no sign of whomever made the tea and left it. She crept up to the counter and studied the teacup.
The tea had just begun to steep, the water not quite dark enough. She moved to the stove where the kettle sat and found it hot to the touch. Why hadn’t she heard the whistle?
Olivia wrenched around at the scuffing noise behind her.
End of Excerpt
