“Oh no. I’m not intimidated at all. If that’s what he intends—”

“You are not even on his radar, North. I’d say try harder and maybe you could be, but that would give you false hope. Find out if it’s her dress.” I dismiss him with a turn of my shoulder and step downward. I start walking. He calls out, “He’s not immune to the law because you wear that rock on your hand. And you’re not immune to the law because of your badge.”

I don’t reply. That would send the message that his threats are worthy of my concern. They’re not. He’s got an endgame and I’m not yet sure if it’s what it seems: to get me to go away. I pass the end of the stairway and duck under more yellow tape.

I find Kane, leaning on the hood of his black Taycan Porsche, seemingly oblivious to the cold. But then Kane is all about armor, the kind the likes of North can’t touch. I hurry toward him and huddle into my trench coat. He motions to the car to offer me shelter and I shake my head. “I need to get back. What do you have? And please tell me you don’t own the property or employ the victim. We’ve been there, done that once before.”

He reaches in his coat and holds up an envelope. “What is it?”

“A wedding invitation addressed to you and me.”

“To you and me? Together?”

“That’s right.”

Considering we’ve been engaged all of a week and we’ve kept it low profile, I ask, “When did it come?”

“Two days ago.”

“Do you know the bride or groom?”

“Know of, yes. I know everyone in East Hampton, but know them? No.”

“Did you know her ex-husband? Gibson Wells?”

“Same. I don’t have any connection or personal involvement with him.”

“Then why did we get an invitation?”

“That is the question,” he concurs.

“It feels like a message. Or a threat.”

“It could be,” he agrees cautiously. “Or not.”

“Or not,” I repeat and the not is what sticks with me. “I need to walk the crime scene.” I turn away and he catches my arm.

What strikes me in that moment is not the possessiveness of his touch that is so Kane Mendez. It’s my zero resistance to his touch, my willingness to allow him to turn me back to him, and just outside a crime scene. Never in our turbulent relationship have I just been with Kane, really with him. He notices, too, I see it in the narrowing of his eyes, the warmth there, and his soft whisper of, “Lilah.”