Trey’s story about Lexie Pine had smelled off to him from minute one, but standing on the porch, he swore to himself that no matter what Coral’s letter said, he would be fair. He would be more than fair. He would go in there a hundred percent Team Trey. Not only because the other team was headed by a dead murderess who lied, and tricked, and poisoned. But because Bree loved her husband. They had three kids who’d only known a happy, intact family so far. Unless Coral had sent actual footage of Trey assassinating Lincoln, he wasn’t going to do anything to bust that up. This he promised God, the universe, and himself before he pressed the doorbell.

Bree opened the door so fast she must have been waiting in the foyer. She wore faded jeans and an old Tori Amos T-shirt she’d had since college. Her hair was pulled back in a loose, low ponytail. Barefoot, with no makeup, she looked so young, like the girl he’d grown up with. Her nose and even her lips were puffy and pink from crying, her eyes red-rimmed, but she was so lovely and so sad that he had to put his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her, pulling her into his arms.

Something had broken in him, some resolve, that day up on the mountain, when he’d put her baby back into her arms and she had clung to him. Her tears had wet his face, and she’d rained kisses on his head, his hands. Some essential barrier had crumbled, so that now he had to work to keep space between them. This was not the right time. There never would be a right time. She was not the right woman. Just the one he wanted.

She held up a large white envelope, the stiff cardboard kind they sold at the post office. She had Robert in a baby sling, crunched up into a wad like a little frog, sideways against her chest. It looked uncomfortable, but he seemed happy, peering cheerfully out. Marshall was glad the baby wasn’t in his crib. It would be hard to forget that Trey existed with his small, helpless son right there, tied to Bree’s body, always between them.

Bree grabbed his hand and tugged him inside. She hurried him back to the master bedroom, but at the door she stopped so abruptly he almost bumped into her. She pulled him back the other way, calling, “Mills? My friend is here. We’re in Trey’s office if you need us.”

“All good, Ms. Cabbat,” a young male voice called back from the great room.

“Today’s ex-marine. Except Mills was an Army Ranger,” she said by way of explanation. “Anna-Claire has a little crush on him.” She was calmer than she’d been on the phone. Talking about her daughter, a smile ghosted across her face.