Tonight, he wondered what her pretty smile might be concealing. Trev walked to the car silently. Never had he been more aware how little he knew about his wife. Leanne wasn’t a St. Claire local, she didn’t get along with her mother, and she belonged to a book club. That…was pretty much it. He had no clue where she’d gone to school or even where she’d lived before St. Claire. Their normal conversations didn’t extend to asking deeply personal questions; she seemed to prefer it that way.

In the dark, driving back to the condo, he stole glances at her profile. She gazed out into the darkness like it held the answer to a riddle she’d been trying to solve for a while. Poetic, right? More likely that she was just avoiding him. When people said they couldn’t explain, it usually meant they didn’t want to. On the other hand, he truly didn’t think Leanne was faking the intensity of her plea to Gladys. Who hadn’t seemed like a powerful person until her whole demeanor changed in a blink.

How’s that even possible?

The fraught silence lingered between them even after they got into the condo. Without looking at him, Leanne hung up her coat and set her purse on the end table in the living room. Finally, she turned, and her face stopped him mid-stride.

“I don’t know what the hell is happening, but you’re scared to death,” he said softly.

Quietly, she nodded, twisting her fingers together until he stilled her with a touch. “And you honestly can’t explain?” he added.

Leanne let out a shaky breath. “Bad things will happen if I try.”

Whoa. What the hell.

“Are you in trouble, Butterfly?” The endearment slipped out, even under these circumstances. He couldn’t bring himself to picture a reality in which she would seriously do anything to hurt him. Leanne was an honest person, the first to believe in him in forever.

Her smoky eyes were so dark that they looked almost black, and she was pale beneath her tan, fingers anxiously fidgeting with the hem of her blazer once he let go of her. “I’m not.”

But I will be if I pursue this.

That was the clear message he got from her body language, and then he knew. It didn’t matter. Whatever she was into, even if she belonged to some weird-ass secret society or believed she was a witch, it didn’t change anything. Not for him. If she needed help, he’d figure out a way to provide it. Earning money wasn’t his strong suit, but he’d attracted a few clients in the past few months, and he made more managing socials than he had mowing lawns.