He turned then, and our eyes met. Blane looked over at me as well. I stood, frozen, under their steady gazes. I imagined they were accusing me.

I swallowed. “This has to stop,” I managed to force out. “You’re tearing each other apart and I’m to blame. It never should have gotten this far.” And I didn’t know if I was referring to myself and Blane, or me and Kade.

The sound of the doorbell precluded anything they might have said. I took it as my opportunity to escape and hurried to look out the window in my bedroom. When I saw who was parked outside, my heart jumped into my throat.

“It’s the police,” I called out, heading back to where Blane and Kade still stood in the hall. “Two patrol cars and an unmarked car.” There was no way they were sending that much manpower without a good reason, a reason I was afraid I already knew.

“I’ll go down,” Blane said.

“I’ll come with you,” I added.

“You should stay up here,” he said with a frown.

I shook my head. “No way. And don’t even think about locking me up again.”

The ghost of a smile crossed Blane’s lips and was gone. He took my hand and turned to Kade. “Don’t you dare come downstairs,” he said. “I don’t need the cops sniffing around you.”

Kade’s lips were pressed in a thin line. “Like I give a shit,” he scoffed. “I’m not letting them take you.”

“There’s nothing you can do about it,” Blane said. “And you’ll only get yourself hurt or arrested if you try. I won’t have it.” His tone said he was not to be argued with.

Kade’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Still under the delusion that you can tell me what to do?”

Blane grasped Kade’s shoulder in a firm grip. “I’m still protecting my little brother. Nothing’s ever going to change that. So stay out of it and keep your ass hidden, or you’re going to be in deep shit with me.”

Kade didn’t say anything, his eyes on us as Blane led me downstairs.

He held my hand tightly as we walked to the front door, and I had the sense we were walking to our doom. Blane put his hand on the knob, then took a deep breath before he opened the door, schooling his face into a polite mask of indifference.

A plainclothes cop was standing there along with two uniformed men. He flashed his badge and ID, which proclaimed him to be Detective Walker. “Blane Kirk?”

“Yes.”

The cop’s eyes flashed to me. “Kathleen Turner?”

I swallowed. “Yes,” I confirmed, but my voice was thready. I tried again. “Yes.”

“Ma’am, we’d like to take you downtown for questioning in the murder of Kandi Miller.”

My jaw fell open and the blood rushed from my head so fast I saw spots dance before my eyes. Blane’s grip on my waist tightened. “Wh-what?” I stammered in disbelief.

“Why do you need to talk to Miss Turner?” Blane asked, his voice curt as he slipped into lawyer mode.

“We have reason to believe Miss Turner had motive and opportunity,” Walker said. “That’s all we need.” His gaze didn’t falter as he looked at Blane. “You of all people should know that, Mr. Kirk.”

He and Blane were locked in a staring contest, the tension thick between them as the cops hovered in the background. I glanced from one to the other, confused. Was I missing something?

Finally, Blane’s lips curved in a cold smile. “Well played, Detective,” he said calmly. “There’s no need to take Miss Turner in for questioning. As I’m sure you know, she was out of town the night Kandi was killed.”

“Blane!” I exclaimed in dismay. He’d just blown the alibi I’d concocted for him. His hand tightened painfully on mine and I shut up.

“Do you have another witness who can vouch for your whereabouts that night?” Walker said, looking wholly unsurprised by Blane’s confession.

“I do not.”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us,” he said, motioning to the two uniformed cops. They moved forward to flank Blane.

I panicked. “No! You can’t arrest him!”

“Give us just a moment, if you would,” Blane said to Walker, who nodded, a flash of sympathy or maybe pity crossing his face as he glanced at me.

Blane took me by the elbow, moving me a few steps away from the door and out of earshot. “It’s okay, Kat,” he said softly. “I knew this was coming.”

“Y-you can’t—they can’t!” I stammered, tears flooding my eyes. “You didn’t kill her!”

“Shhh, Kat, it’s okay,” he said, folding me in his arms. “Be strong. I need you to be strong.”

I swallowed the sob building in my chest, nodding and clutching his shirt. I inhaled deeply, memorizing the scent of him, the warmth of his body, the strength in his arms, the press of his lips to the top of my head.

“Stay here,” Blane whispered in my ear. “I can’t think of you anywhere else right now. Promise me.”

I nodded again, unable to speak.

“Kiss me.”

I obediently tipped my face up to his.

Blane’s lips met mine with a sweet tenderness that sent a shaft of pure pain through me. He cupped my jaw, lightly brushing my cheek with his thumb. There was the softest touch of his tongue against mine, then he was pulling back.

“I love you,” he whispered in my ear.

It took every ounce of willpower I had to stand there and do nothing as they cuffed his hands behind his back. Blane never took his eyes off me while Walker read him his rights, as though he were memorizing me the same way I was him. Then they turned him, leading him out the door and into one of the squad cars. I watched, standing silently in the doorway, as they took Blane away.

Hands settled on my shoulders and I turned to lean into Kade, the tears flowing freely now. His arms circled me in a tight embrace.

“What now?” I asked, raising my tearstained face to look at him.

“We need to call that chick, his lawyer,” Kade said, gently brushing the wetness from my cheeks. “And the cop, Jared, who said he’d help Blane.”

I nodded, trying to push away the despair I felt and concentrate on how to best help Blane.

“Did he tell you how to reach that guy?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Go call the lawyer,” Kade said. “Tell her Blane’s been arrested. She needs to get over there ASAP and make sure they keep him in isolation.”

“Why?”

Kade’s face was stark when he answered. “If they put him with other inmates, they’ll kill him.”

I stared at Kade, horrified. “They wouldn’t… he’s running for governor…”

“That won’t matter. I’ll scour the den, find that guy’s number—he may be able to help. Now go.”

“Okay.” I scurried off to the telephone, terrified of what was going to happen to Blane. A few minutes later, I was punching in Charlotte’s phone number. She answered on the second ring.

“Charlotte, it’s Kathleen,” I said. “The cops—Blane’s been arrested.”

It took only a few moments to give the details of how Blane had confessed my fake alibi and the subsequent arrest.

“Kade’s worried Blane may get hurt if they don’t put him in isolation,” I said. “Please, can you get down there?”

“I’ll go right away,” she said, “but I don’t know whether there’s anything I can do if they decide to ‘accidentally’ put him in with other prisoners.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Cops sometimes have their own idea of justice. A murder like Kandi’s—they might put him with other inmates just to teach him a lesson, prod him into confessing.”

Oh God. I felt nausea rise in my throat.

“Do what you can,” I said.

We hung up after she said again that she would go downtown immediately. I went back to the den, where Kade was searching Blane’s desk.

“Did you find it?” I asked.

“Not yet,” he answered, pulling open the desk’s bottom drawer and rifling through it.

My throat had a lump in it that felt the size of a golf ball, but I forced the words out. “Charlotte said she can request isolation but that the cops sometimes will ignore it and put him with other inmates anyway.”

“I know.”

“What are we going to do?” My voice was too shrill, but I couldn’t help it.

“One thing at a time,” he said, shoving the drawer shut and yanking open the top drawer. He paused.

“What is it?” I asked, peering over the desk, but I couldn’t see what he was looking at.

Kade pulled out a photograph. Curious, I rounded the desk, then sucked in a breath.

It was one of the photos Keaston had given Blane. Kade and I were at Bar Sinister in Denver, me in my leather prostitute ensemble, standing between his knees as he sat on the barstool. His hands were nearly hidden, they were so far up the back of my skirt.

The obvious heat between us in that photograph made my cheeks burn.

“Where did Blane get this?” Kade asked, and the ice in his voice made me look at him in surprise.

“Keaston,” I said. “That’s what he gave Blane to prove to him that you and me…” I couldn’t finish that sentence.

“Didn’t you wonder how Keaston could possibly have had photos of us in that bar? No one knew we were going there.”

I stared at him, wide-eyed. It had never occurred to me, the circumstances of my and Blane’s breakup overshadowing everything else.

“The only person who knew was Garrett,” Kade continued, “and he never said who he was working for before he died.”

“You don’t think—”

“What other possible explanation could there be?”

“But… he’s your uncle, too,” I spluttered. “Why would he try to kill you?”

“Because he knows I can tie him to Sheffield,” Kade said.

Ron Sheffield. The former CIA agent who’d masqueraded as a Navy JAG officer. He’d threatened and killed witnesses, nearly killed me, all to coerce Blane into losing a trial. “But… you’re family!” I couldn’t comprehend it. Keaston would knowingly send Garrett to kill his own flesh and blood?