Graham was dead. A lake of blood surrounded his body, and his eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling.

“Ellison?”

The woman waiting at the bottom of the stairs deserved an answer. “Um…”

She stared at me as if I were a few cards short of a full deck. “What’s wrong?”

“We need Anarchy.”

“Why?”

Because he was a homicide detective with actual practice telling family members their loved ones were dead. “It looks as if Graham…had an accident.” Lie. Graham didn’t accidentally create that red bloom on the left side of his chest. But what else could I say?

“Is Graham okay?”

The opposite of okay. “Let me get Anarchy.” I rushed down the steps, ran to our cabin, and threw open the door. “I need you.”

“Likewise.” He studied my face, and his sexy smile faltered. “What’s wrong?”

“Next cabin over. It’s Graham.” I lowered my voice. “He’s dead.”

“Sumner?”

“Just back from a run. She’s waiting outside.”

He nodded. Once. Then he pulled on a shirt and strode past me.

I joined Sumner at the bottom of the stairs and watched my husband disappear into her cabin.

“What happened?” she demanded.

“Did you or Graham bring a gun this weekend?”

She was already pale, but the remaining color drained from her face. “Graham brought a shotgun.”

I hadn’t looked too closely at Graham’s bloody chest. Had a shotgun caused the damage?

“Ellison, is Graham all right?”

“It looks as if he’s been shot.”

She snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

I had no answer to that. What had happened to Sumner’s husband was the opposite of ridiculous. It was horrid and terrifying and evil. My throat thickened, and tears wet my eyes.

She studied my face. “You’re not joking.”

“No.”

She hauled herself up the stairs. “Graham!”

Anarchy stopped her at the cabin’s entrance.

“No. Let me by. What happened to Graham? Graham!”

“I’m sorry—”

She shoved at his chest. “Let me in! Graham!”

Anarchy shifted to the left and let Sumner see her husband’s body.

“That can’t be. I’ve only been gone for less than an hour.” Again she pushed against Anarchy. “I need to see him.”

He didn’t budge. “It’s a crime scene.”

She peered around the arm blocking her way, and her shoulders crumpled. Then her knees. Then she sank onto the wooden deck. “Ellison said it was an accident. It has to be an accident. No one would hurt Graham.”

She wasn’t thinking clearly. Anyone with a functioning brain would notice there was no gun near Graham’s body. Whoever shot him had taken the weapon with them. Also, in hindsight, I shouldn’t have lied. Graham Landingham’s death was no accident.

“Ellison.” Anarchy claimed my attention. “I need to call this in.”

There were no phones in the cabins. “How?”