“Michael …” But I couldn’t speak over the swell of pain under my breastbone. Then he wrapped me in his arms again, hugging me until I almost couldn’t breathe. “You have to tell me. You have to.”

He tried to turn away, but I grabbed his arms so hard my hands hurt. “Who’s dead? What did Brady do?”

“I can’t tell you.” He ducked his head, trying to avoid my gaze, but I clung to him.

“You have to. I’m your wife. I love you, no matter what.” Michael had never said no to me, not when I’d insisted.

He ran a hand over the back of his neck, shifting from foot to foot. I knew he wanted to follow the rules and make the best, smartest choice. But he loved me, and I wasn’t letting go. Finally he inhaled and said, “We were drinking, watching the game, and I heard something upstairs. Brady got a funny look on his face, and he said, ‘Wanna see something cool?’ ” Michael’s gaze was distant. “So I followed him up, and—”

Still looking intently at the floor, over my shoulder, anywhere but into my eyes, he said, “There was a woman, tied up, in the room at the end of the hall, the one they said was storage. It was …” He shook his head like he was trying to shake away the memory. “There was a bed, a camera, and video monitors. She’d rolled onto the floor, and he’d …” Michael pulled away from me. “I was too late to help her. And …” He swallowed hard. “And on one of the screens, I could see you. Asleep.”

Grace let out another wail, but I was frozen in the realization that Brady had been watching me, watching us, for months.

“I thought he’d kill me and then come for you. I couldn’t …” Michael turned away again, his shoulders vulnerable, his voice muffled and thick. “I told him whatever he wanted to hear, and as soon as I could, I came home.”

“Five hours,” I whispered. Five hours when I’d been sleeping and Michael had been fighting for our lives. What would I have done in his place? Screamed, fallen on my knees beside the woman, run? Any of those choices would have gotten me killed. But how had he been able to convince Brady to trust him? I’d always been able to read Michael, and now I studied his face, but it was a locked door.

In the hallway Grace was crying now, and Michael turned, almost running toward her. I followed him, the details of what he’d told me swirling. He stopped in front of the carrier and bent down. Grace’s sobs abated as she stared at him. He reached out with both hands, then hesitated and let them fall to his sides. “I can’t. You do it.”