It was exactly how he must have waited at the smoldering remains of The Ruins, watching to make sure Morgan found the key that would lure her home to Black Harbor. M.R. Besides Clive, Christopher might be the only person on earth who knew her as Morgan Reynolds.

“I always knew it would come back to haunt me.” Muntz sighed. Fat beads of sweat glistened in his forehead creases.

“He pay you?” asked Kole. “To frame Hades.”

“He said there’d be reward money and that I could collect it. Get out of town. Finally start clean.”

“But why him?” Hudson wondered. Of all the criminals in this place, why did it have to be his brother who was framed for his best friend’s murder?

“In case you forgot, this is Black Harbor. Nothing’s sacred. He knew Hades’s brother was a cop. Said you were diggin’ too deep.” Muntz cracked an eye open to peer at Hudson. His cheeks were red as Persephone began to tighten around his neck.

Hudson pressed his cold fingertips to his temples, fighting a wave of nausea. His brother’s incarceration was his fault. He should have listened to Kole and stayed out of the investigation of Garrison’s death. Because now, his disobedience had planted himself directly in Christopher Reynolds’s sights. And who knew what else the old man was capable of?

37 MORGAN

Morgan’s eyes shot open. Her heart raced. She hadn’t planned on falling asleep, here in the den of wolves, and yet—she patted her body—she’d woken in one piece. She didn’t recall going to her room. She’d been drunk on wine; she remembered stumbling down the hall, her socks slipping on the hardwood floor and Bennett catching her. His rough, stubbled cheek against her neck as he laughed. She’d smelled the bourbon on his breath, felt the heat. He hadn’t kissed her, had he?

She touched her fingertips to her lips, as though she’d be able to feel the imprint of his mouth there. No. The last person to kiss her had still been Hudson. What she wouldn’t give to roll over and find him lying beside her. Maybe he’d notice her looking at him and he’d wrap his arms around her and she’d feel safe, for once in her life.

That was a new feeling—wanting someone.

Outside, a light snow fell. It was prettier here than it was at home. In Loomis, it actually looked like snow, whereas in Black Harbor, she’d always thought the flakes looked like ash. She turned toward the window, smoothed the comforter over the vast, virginal expanse of bed, expecting to feel the chill of the morning air woven into the blanket’s fibers.

She jerked her hand away as though she’d touched a hot burner.

The bed was warm.