My head was spinning, the grain alcohol swirling my thoughts. I had wanted to be with Freya, but I couldn’t ignore Max’s dead body on the floor. But if it had been self-defense . . .

“I didn’t want it to be like this, hon, but maybe it’s for the best. Now, we can go to LA. We can build an amazing life together, as partners, and best friends. Maybe more . . .” She still wore the white top she’d donned for our morning photo shoot, but there was a light spray of blood across the chest. And yet, she still looked beautiful despite her husband’s body at her feet. “That is . . . if you still want me.”

I did. Of course I did. But Max . . .

“Help me carry him to the kiln.” Freya had clearly thought this through. “We’ll say he took the boat out and never came back. No one will miss him. There’ll be no evidence.”

Could I do this? For a life with Freya, could I incinerate Max’s body?

“We’ll get a house on the beach,” she said, moving toward me. “Just the two of us. It will be everything you ever wanted.” She was almost on me, her lips slightly parted. She was going to kiss me again. I would be firmly under her spell.

And then, from under Max’s body, I heard a squawk. It was Maggie’s voice coming through the monitor, reminding us that she was there. That she was a part of this. That it would never be just Freya and me.

Freya’s eyes bore into mine, and she smiled, a very small, very cold smile. She grabbed the hammer and moved toward the nursery.

“Stop!” I yelled. At least I think I did; the word may have been screamed in my head only because it had no effect on Freya. She kept stalking toward Maggie, the bloody hammer in her hand.

And so I shot her. I had no choice.

Chapter 68

68

If I’d had two dead bodies to deal with, this story would have a very different ending. But Max was still alive . . . unconscious but alive. It would take more than a hammer to the temple to take out a man who’d already endured so much abuse. His breath was shallow and raspy, but it was regular. He would wake up soon. I had to act fast.

Freya lay in a crumpled heap at the entry to the hall. The bullet had entered her back and lodged in her heart, killing her instantly. There was almost no blood; she had bled out internally. Even in death, Freya was perfect and pristine.