Will carefully picked up the envelopes.

“Dude, they’re perfectly safe. I had them checked out before I touched them.”

Will hadn’t considered that the letters wouldn’t be safe, but he felt a sheen of sweat break out on his back at Brody’s words. “Paranoid much?”

“Hey, one never knows. Besides, it gave me an excuse to call this FBI agent I know. You should see what she can do with a pair of handcuffs.” Brody winked at him.

He shook his head and sank down into the chair across from Brody, tearing open the first envelope.

“Hey!” Brody sat up in his chair. “You gonna open those here?”

“I thought you said they were safe,” Will said as he pulled the contents from the largest envelope.

“Dude, they are. That doesn’t mean I want to know what’s in them! I don’t want to be incriminated in this mess. You know, guilt by association?”

“Relax. I haven’t done anything wrong, so . . .” Will stared at a photo of him putting a punishing hit on Denver quarterback Mark Callahan. It was the play that cemented Will’s position in the NFL, the one that earned him a starting position. It had also ended Callahan’s career with a separated shoulder that never recovered despite two surgeries.

“Damn,” Brody said from over Will’s shoulder. “That was some hit.”

“It was a clean hit.”

“I’m guessing someone doesn’t think so.”

Will threw the photo onto the table and picked up one of the smaller envelopes. In it was a small wooden emblem, a seven-pointed star surrounded by a wreath, a symbol of the Aurelian Society, one of the secret societies at Yale University and an organization Will was a member of.

“Is that some voodoo good-luck charm?” Brody asked.

Will slid the piece into the pocket of his jeans. It wasn’t a good-luck charm. It was a message. One about honor and duty to the university to which he owed so much. One about keeping his mouth shut.

He didn’t want to open the last envelope, but he couldn’t wuss out in front of Brody. Will slid his finger through the seal and pulled out a single piece of paper. It contained one handwritten line:

SNITCHES DON’T LAST LONG IN THIS LEAGUE.

“Dude, you might want to think about getting a lawyer.”

* * *

Despite her resolve to stay hidden while she was living there with Will, the picturesque town of Chances Inlet—decked out in red, white, and blue bunting and American flags to commemorate the upcoming Memorial Day holiday—captivated Julianne. From the way Will had described his hometown, she’d expected the people there to be cold, perhaps even hostile. They were anything but, constantly regaling her with stories of Will’s escapades as a boy. The tales they told were more Norman Rockwell than Will’s abbreviated version of his childhood.

Meandering to the town square after her postpartum check-up with an OB-GYN Dr. Ling had recommended, Julianne sat on a blanket beneath one of the huge live oak trees lining the quaint park in the town’s center that featured an actual Civil War cannon. Children scrambled on top of the cannon as their parents snapped pictures. The ocean roared somewhere in the distance, but the noise didn’t diminish the peacefulness she felt. Owen slept quietly in his stroller, a Blaze baseball cap shielding his face.

The pencil had started moving slowly on the page at first. What started out as doodles was slowly turning into a stunning wedding gown. Julianne dared not breathe. It had been so long, she didn’t want to jinx it even by smiling. The lines of the dress were elegant, fit for the wife of a military doctor. She hoped she could hold on to the image until she’d completed the sketch.

Her iPhone buzzed on the blanket beside her, her brother’s face popping up on the screen. Crap! Just like that, the image of the dress vanished from her head.

Tossing the pencil into the grass, she picked up the phone. “What do you want?”

“My, such a pleasant greeting.” Her brother’s voice was its usual smug sound. “Can’t a brother check up on his sister once in a while?”

“You’ve called me every day since I got here. I don’t think you’ve called this many times in a year. Ever.”

“I just want to make sure everything is okay with you and the baby.”

“Owen. Your nephew’s name is Owen.”

Stephen let out an exasperated sigh. “Julianne, I know my nephew’s name. I know your name. I even know your husband’s name. How is William the Conqueror treating you, by the way?”

Stephen’s calls were the same every day. He asked about Owen, then how Will was treating her, as if he were suspicious that Will might be abusing her. He never asked about her, though. Of course, he never had before. Why should now be any different? She wondered what her pompous brother would say if she told him Will was beating her. Or subjecting her to humiliating sexual encounters. She blushed just thinking about the kiss they’d shared two days ago.

Instead, she answered as she did each day. “He’s treating us fine, Stephen.” Which was sort of true; Will was treating Owen fine. Julianne, however, was being treated with the chilly reserve Will was famous for. Ever since their encounter in the nursery, they’d gone back to being distant housemates, alternating caring for Owen. It was better this way, she kept telling herself. Easier to make the break when they had to.

Besides, Will’s accusation about her and Nicky hurt more than she wanted to admit. People were forever making false assumptions about their relationship. Julianne never spent much effort refuting them because she truly did love Nicky. He was the one constant in her life, the one person who’d always been there for her, especially when she needed him the most. She didn’t think her heart was big enough to love another person. Until she’d had Owen.

But Julianne was a realist. Nicky loved her, she knew, just not enough. He loved another more. At first, she’d been devastated by his decision to become a priest. As the years passed, she rationalized his choice by being thankful that at least he would never love another woman more than he loved her.

“He’s bonding with Owen, then? Actually helping take care of him?” her brother asked.

An image of Owen sleeping on Will’s chest popped into her head. Will had taken to getting up in the predawn hours with the baby, Julianne taking the middle-of-the-night shift. When Owen hadn’t been in his crib this morning, she’d panicked, racing down to Will’s study to find the baby nestled atop Will’s slumbering body, his big hand securely cradling their son. The scene was so tender it brought tears to Julianne’s eyes. She’d quietly retreated to the kitchen, trying to figure out why she was crying. The purpose of their stay in Chances Inlet had been for father and son to establish a bond. Julianne wasn’t sure why she’d felt so left out.

“Yeah, they’re bonding, Stephen. If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”

“Julianne!” her brother called before she could hang up. “Wait! I need to ask you something.”

“I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do with my life, if that’s what’s keeping you up at night. But don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you by sleeping on street corners.”

Stephen sighed. “You and Owen are always welcome at my house. And I have no doubt you’ll figure something out. You’re a brilliant designer.”

Julianne nearly pinched herself. Her brother had barely acknowledged her career in fashion. A positive compliment from him was a shock.

“What I really want to know is what Will thinks about this whole mess with his former coach,” Stephen continued. “Has he said anything about it?”

Will hadn’t mentioned a problem with his coach, but then they’d hardly exchanged more than polite conversation these past few days. “What mess with his former coach?”

“It’s all over the sports media.”

Julianne rolled her eyes. She was more Project Runway and Chopped than ESPN, a fact her brother should know.

“It looks like he may be implicated in a bounty scheme where players are paid to hurt opposing players,” Stephen went on to say.

“Will? Or his coach?” Julianne asked.

Stephen took a long moment to answer. “Well, it could be both of them if the rumors are correct. Will is known for some pretty . . . aggressive play.”

Something within Stephen’s tone sent a chill down Julianne’s spine. The image of Will deliberately hurting someone else just didn’t fit. Sure, he was arrogant and bullheaded, but he was gentle with Owen and he’d been kind to her that night on Sea Island. Of course, did she really know the real Will Connelly? Could she trust him with her son?

Julianne quickly stood and folded up the blanket, shoving it and the forgotten sketch in the back of the stroller. “Well, Will must not be too worried about it. He hasn’t said a word about his coach or this scheme you’re talking about, and we talk about everything,” she lied. “I’ve got to go feed the baby now, Stephen. Thanks for the call.”

“Look, Julianne, things could get a little ugly. They’ll try to make him out to be a monster. If you need me, just call, okay?”

The more salacious her brother sounded, the more suspicious she got. She gave him a quick good-bye before hanging up. Clearly, he didn’t want his political career tainted by scandal brought on by his brother-in-law. He didn’t really care about the safety of his sister and his nephew. But Julianne wasn’t being fair. To Will, anyway. She’d never once felt threatened by him despite his strength and size. And she’d never seen him mistreat Owen. There had to be an explanation.

Julianne pushed the stroller toward the line of shops housed in refurbished warehouses lining the Cape Fear River. Clearly, she needed to talk to someone who’d know what was going on. She punched up Carly’s contact on her iPhone, but it went straight to voice mail. Not bothering to leave a message, she hung up and contemplated who else she could get information from. Annabeth? But Will’s mother was as aloof as her son, blending into the woodwork whenever she was in the house. Julianne still didn’t have a good read on her mother-in-law, and it seemed like the woman wanted to keep it that way.