Squeeze, breathe, chest up, butt back.

When he broke a sweat, he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of saying it felt good.

Almost righteous.

Especially when she whipped him through cardio, then through a vicious ten-minute core session.

“Great! Good. Now for the reward. A little yoga to stretch and cool down.”

Yoga always made him feel awkward and clumsy, but she adjusted him again—shoulders, hips—nudged him into holding poses longer than he’d have done on his own.

“You’ve got good flexibility, Raylan.”

Maybe, but since she currently had her legs pretty much straight out from her hips—which shouldn’t have been possible—and her upper body flat on the floor, he didn’t think his split-legged forward fold was anything to write home about.

They ended facing each other, sitting cross-legged on their mats. “Namaste. Nice work. Let’s just do a few shoulder rolls—you worked those shoulders—with a two-minute cooldown.”

He moved fast, had her on her back on her mat.

“Don’t wanna cool down.”

He was a little late picking up the kids. And he saw by his mother’s raised eyebrows and quick grin he hadn’t managed to wipe the man-who’s-had-sex look off his face.

Two weeks later his sister gave birth to Quinn Marie Abbott. Collin took a long hard look at the baby cradled in his mother’s arms. Then he shrugged, ducked his head to hide the smile that crept over it. He declared: “Maybe she’s not so bad.”

Adrian came in with pink flowers just as a teary Jan offered the baby to Raylan. Moving closer for a peek, she heard him whisper: “Candy. Count on me for it.”

And seeing how he stroked one of his long fingers down that sweet, downy cheek, she worried she’d fallen a little bit in love.

KENTUCKY

Spring road trips. What could be finer? Sweet breezes, flowers blooming. Horses in pastures chowing down on that bluegrass.

Lots to see, lots to do.

Boost a crappy little Honda pickup in Indiana—Go Hoosiers!—switch the plates, and cruise on down to Louisville. That’s Loo-a-ville for the local yokels.

Derby was coming up soon and there’d be madness in the air.

Smelled good. Madness always did.

And in those pretty, tree-lined burbs outside the city, the target lived. The whore passing as a devoted mother of two, dedicated nurse, and faithful wife.

A life of lies, about to end.

Watching her for a handful of days—an easy pleasure.

Ending her—sweet and simple.

The idea of beating her to death had to be adjusted once the best opportunity presented. Not enough time, not enough privacy.

Too bad, as that method offered such a deep, dark, and personal thrill.

But with the stolen truck parked in the lot of a twenty-four-seven supermarket a half mile away, walking into the employee lot of the hospital at one a.m. proved uneventful.

A short wait, really, and she came trudging along in her rubber-soled shoes.

Then it was just a matter of springing out—Boo!—slicing her throat. Boy, the blood just flew!

Splat, splat, glug, glug.

Grab her keys, her purse, roll her under the next car.

She had a nice, late-model Subaru. Since nobody would find her, probably for a couple hours—at least—and since switching the plates wouldn’t take long, it was perfect for the next leg of that spring road trip.

Turn up the music, roll down the windows. Pop a pill to keep body and soul together on the drive. The Subaru would take them a hundred miles away, or more, before anybody so much as missed her.

Having friends as houseguests always delighted Adrian. She’d have Hector and Loren for a full week—and her mother, who didn’t really qualify as a guest in the technical sense.

Add Harry, and Mimi, and it was like a mini reunion.

Hector’s fiancée would take the train down for the weekend as would Harry’s husband once they finished juggling their kids’ schedules.

Even with the rest of the crew for the production staying at a local inn, she’d have a houseful.

And that suited her. While she rated her culinary skills above average—in the blood, after all—she arranged for Rizzo’s to provide the welcoming meal—and the craft services for the shoot.

The week before their arrival, she tackled her grandparents’ bedroom. She found it wasn’t as wrenching as she’d expected. She caught herself smiling as she came across one of Dom’s favorite sweaters, or the ancient, battered slippers he’d refused to give up.

His hairbrush. He’d been vain—justifiably so, she thought—about his full head of hair. She set it aside as a keepsake, and left his favored green cardigan in the closet. She could, when she needed, wrap herself in it.

He’d kept a bottle of her grandmother’s perfume, so she set it aside, along with his aftershave. Little things, little memories, little comforts.

She boxed, tubbed, separated out pieces she thought someone might especially want, then carried everything out to her car before she hauled out cleaning supplies.

The cleaning crew would deal with the rest of the house, but she needed to do this herself, to show respect, affection, gratitude to the two people who’d spent so many nights there.

She opened the porch doors to the spring air, and Sadie wandered out to curl up in the sunlight.

She’d put this off, she mused as she scrubbed, polished, vacuumed, telling herself the room was too big for just her. But the truth was she loved it, had always loved the big, generous space, the coffered ceiling with its creamy squares against bright white, the gleam of the hardwood floors, even the restful and soft blue gray on the walls.

Feeling sentimental, she put the bottles of scent—his and hers—on the mantel over the fireplace, added a trio of her grandmother’s copper candlestands.

She changed the linens on the big bed with its high and thick turned posts, spread on her white duvet, added a mountain of pillows, a throw at the foot.

She took her time making it her own—her pretty bottles and baskets on the open shelves in the en suite, fresh fluffy towels, more candles. Her clothes in the dressing room area, along with a yoga mat, Sadie’s bed in the sitting area.

Eventually she might hire Kayla to take a look, think about changing color schemes, just changing things up. But for now, as she looked around, she saw just enough memories blending with just enough her, just enough new to feel comfortable.

So she walked out to the porch, where she could look out over the hills and trees, the gardens, the turns of the creek and the more distant mountains.

They’d given her this, and so she’d treasure it, and tend it.

Then she sat on the porch floor, hugged her dog. “We’re doing all right, aren’t we, Sadie? We’re going to be just fine.”

In the morning, she gave the house over to the cleaners and finished planting the flowers she’d chosen in pots for the porches, the patio.

She’d already tried her hand—solo—with vegetables and herbs in the back, as her grandparents always had. She had her fingers crossed on that.

But now the house was ready—or soon would be—for company, and she still had energy to burn.

She went inside to wash up, changed into leggings and a support tank, and got the leash.

“Let’s go for a run.”