Two seconds later the door opens, and in steps Paul, his jaw thick with two days’ worth of stubble. He’s wearing clothes that aren’t his—a grubby thermal and beige pants two sizes too big. They’re rolled at the ankle, a messy furl of wrinkled fabric that drags on the ground. He looks at me with eyes that are red and swollen, and the emotions cycle through me, love and regret and sorrow and fury.

Behind him, the lock slides into the slot with a metallic thunk.

“You must really hate me.”

I hate him and I love him and I hate him and I love him. But the man I fell in love with—the one whose first wife’s death left him with broken and ragged edges that matched up against mine, the one who promised to care for me in ways my own parents didn’t—that man exists mostly in my head. Paul showed me only the sides of him he wanted me to see and the rest he shoved somewhere deep inside, and I traded whatever doubts I had for security. I lived in his house and I ate his food and I never demanded to know the real Paul. How can you love a man who’s only a shadow? How can you hate him?

He gives me a resigned nod, reading the answer in my silence. He moves closer, pulls out the chair across from me. “I wanted to tell. For twenty years, I wanted to, but I owe Jax my life. I—”

“Stop.” I slap the air between us with my palms, and Paul freezes, his hand still on the chair. “Seriously, just shut up. I didn’t come here for an apology, and I’m not looking for an explanation. I already heard both from your mother.”

Paul frowns. “Okay.”

I gesture for him to sit, and he sinks into the chair. He folds his hands and sits up straight, waiting, and I notice the two pale strips of skin where his Rolex and wedding band used to be. Confiscated when they tossed him in jail.

“What did Sienna’s jewelry look like?”

He startles at my sudden change of topic, and I can’t really blame him. This is a question that’s either coming out of nowhere, or it’s not. He either has an answer ready, or he doesn’t. I intend to find out which.

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Sienna’s jewelry. Micah described it for us last week in the kitchen. Chief Hunt and your mother were there, too. We talked about how the killer would have been stupid to dump it in the lake. Remember?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“Think about it.”