The door to Serendipity chimed, despite it being almost time to close. From where I stood I could see into the antiques store, but Tenley wasn’t visible. The jazz music floating through the speakers made it impossible to hear the conversation taking place, but I could make out the distinct low tones of a man. Based on her surprise, she seemed to know the person. When the tea was ready, I put it in a sleeve to keep her from burning her fingers.

Tenley sat behind the counter, swiveling back and forth in the chair. The man standing across from her was an on-duty cop. I couldn’t see his face because he was leaning on the counter. He was too close to Tenley.

There was something unnervingly familiar about his voice. As I crossed through the café to Serendipity, the cop noticed my arrival. He pushed away from the counter, his shoulders rolling back, stance widening. He puffed up like a peacock, all forced intimidation and suspicion. Fucking douche in a uniform.

His smile dropped as he took me in. His hand went immediately to the butt of his gun. I was covered in ink, which inevitably made me a felon in his estimation. I recognized him. He was older than me, by more than half a decade. I held his distrustful gaze as I ran my finger along the waistband of Tenley’s jeans where a strip of black ink was visible.

She clutched the base of her throat. “Hayden! I didn’t hear you.”

“Sorry.” I leaned in and kissed the side of her neck. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I brought you tea.”

As soon as I touched her, the rest of the world ceased to exist—even the cop who looked like he might consider shooting me for putting my hands on her.

She smiled. “That was thoughtful.”

“I try.”

“Stryker? Hayden Stryker?” the cop asked with disbelief.

I reluctantly tore my attention away from Tenley. I still couldn’t place him, but the icy stab in my stomach felt like a warning. “I’m sorry,” I said. “How do I know you?”

He looked shocked. “Collin Cross.”

It took a few seconds for the name to register and the pieces to fall into place. The night of my parents’ murder came back in a rush. I was alone in the house for fifteen minutes before the police came. I was intoxicated and high at the time, tripping out hard after I found my parents’ dead bodies.

Cross and his partner were first on the scene. They were too late to make a fucking difference. My belligerence forced his partner to restrain me, while Cross went upstairs to investigate. It took forever for him to come back down. There was no sign of a break-in, so they cuffed me and read me my rights, believing I’d killed them myself.

Cross kept me in the back of the car, repeating the same questions for what seemed like hours until they finally took me to the precinct house. They kept me in an interrogation room for a long time before I was allowed to make a call to my uncle. There was no “good cop–bad cop” routine—just relentless questioning. And then there were the pictures. I never recovered from those. The interrogation sent me into an emotional downward spiral I didn’t come out of for months. Or years, depending on who you talked to.

I passed the lie detector test. My alibi, which they didn’t bother to confirm until after the phone call had been made to my uncle, was more than enough to eradicate any suspicions of my involvement. Even the evidence that was eventually ruled as inadmissible never pointed at me, but I’d still felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility.

Nate was livid when he arrived at the station. In the haze of grief I vaguely remembered him threatening a lawsuit. As a clinical psychiatrist he insisted on a psychological evaluation. It was administered by one of their shrinks. They came up with a barrage of diagnoses in the form of acronyms, which made my statement irrelevant because they deemed me unstable at the time. The abridged version was it fucked me up. I hadn’t seen Cross since the early months after my parents’ death.

“I thought I recognized you.”

I moved closer to Tenley and not-so-absently ran my fingers through her hair, stroking her like she was TK.

A muscle twitched under Cross’s eye. His hand stayed on the butt of his gun. “You know Miss Page.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question, reminding me what it was like when he and his partner interrogated me. They were good at putting words in my mouth. When I first played this game with him I was a kid; alone, ruined. I wasn’t good at it. I was better now.

“It seems you do, too.”

Tenley’s fingers trailed along my forearm to the back of my hand. I stopped willing Cross to burst into flames and looked at her.

“Officer Cross pulled me over when I ran a stale yellow a few weeks ago,” Tenley explained.

“But I let you off with a warning.” The fucker winked at her.

Tenley blushed and looked uncomfortable. I wanted to gouge his eyes out. “I’d gotten lost, I was distracted. Officer Cross escorted me home.”

“That was awfully considerate,” I said, my sarcasm unconcealed.

Cross rocked back on his heels, ignoring me. “I recognized her last name. It was the least I could do.”

Tenley gave him a small smile and he returned it, his sympathy obvious. He knew about Tenley’s accident. He probably had information I didn’t. What bothered me most was that this dickhead who barely knew Tenley could get a detailed history of her life in a heartbeat, while I had to fight for every snapshot pertaining to her past.

I settled a palm on her back, sensing her discomfort. The topic upset her, as did my pissing contest with Cross. His interest in her bothered me. Even if he was concerned for her well-being, I couldn’t see him popping by if he didn’t have ulterior motives.

Unable to stop touching her, I skimmed her cheek with the backs of my fingers. She did that to me sometimes, and it helped calm me down when I was agitated. She looked nervous, as well she should have been. The testosterone level in the store was stifling. If there’d been a boxing ring, Cross would have been bleeding on the mat.

“Do you think you can do me a favor, kitten?” I wanted a few minutes alone with Cross. His sudden reappearance unnerved me, as did his unexpected connection to Tenley.

“Now?”

“Mm, please? I forget what kind of coffee Lisa wanted. Can you run across the street and find out for me?”

“But I have to watch the store.” Her eyes darted from me to Cross and back again.

“I’ll take care of things.”

Cross shot me a contemptuous look before he smiled warmly at Tenley. “You go right ahead, sweetheart. It’ll give Hayden and me a chance to catch up. It’s been a while.”

I gritted my teeth over the term of endearment.

Tenley wavered before she slipped off the chair. “I’ll be right back.” She rounded the counter and stopped in front of him. He was several inches shorter than me and almost twice as wide.

Tenley still had to look up. “It was nice of you to stop by, Officer Cross.”

“It’s just Collin. You still have my card?”

Tenley nodded.

“You call if you ever need anything.” He tipped his hat and winked. Again.

She muttered an embarrassed good-bye and glanced warily at me as she left the store.

Cross waited for the door to close before he turned back to me. The air of civility dropped, and his mouth was set in a grim line as he eyed me with disapproval. “I thought you were messed up as a kid. What the hell happened to you?”

“I’m going to assume that question is rhetorical. Why are you here?”

“I was in the area. You’re quite the poster boy for anarchy, aren’t you?”

Heat crawled up my spine. “Make whatever assumptions you want. You don’t know me.”

“You don’t think so? You were an out-of-control kid headed down a bad path, and I don’t think much has changed. Seems to me you kept on going and never looked back.”

It took every ounce of self-control I had not to reach over the counter and smash the smug look off his face. “Like I said, you don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“I don’t need to. You’re like a homing beacon for the fucked-up.” He gestured to my arms and my face.

“And you’re a narrow-minded asshole.” I wasn’t going to win this argument with him. He had already profiled me, and nothing I could say would change that. Ironically, he’d done the same thing seven years ago. And that was before I’d modified the hell out of my appearance.

“I just call it like I see it.” He looked bored, and it pissed me off. “You know, what I’m really interested in is your relationship with Miss Page. Why don’t you tell me a little bit about that.”

I leaned on the counter. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

He shook his head. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

“She’s not available.”

His smile was arrogant. “Is that right?”

“That’s exactly right. Tenley’s mine.” It was such an asshole thing to say.

“Does she come with ownership papers?”

His amusement fueled my irritation and my stupidity. “My art is on her body.”

“So you think that gives you some kind of entitlement?” He leaned in, anger replacing the passivity. “What is it you think you’re doing with her? Do you have any idea what she’s been through?”

I opened my mouth, ready to fire right back at him, but he cut me off.

“How long do you think it’s going to take before she realizes you’re a fuckup? That’s what you are, isn’t it? Look at what you’ve done to yourself.”

“Who the fuck are you to judge me? Don’t project your bullshit stereotypes onto me. Take a look at yourself. Hiding behind a badge and a uniform, like it protects you from your fuckups.” I spat, moving around the counter, getting in his face. He was slamming home every insecurity I had, ripping open wounds I thought healed long ago.