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He walked over to the police sketch under Lara Pasko’s picture. He cocked his head to the side, just as I had. When Roy turned, he had a smile on his face. “White guy. Thick hair. Good-looking. Probably rich. Hell, Mina. Maybe we should start by interrogating your husband.”

The gremlin came roaring back. My head started to pound. Roy took out his phone and pulled up a photo of Lock. I looked back at Amy Pasko’s police sketch. Its eyes seemed to follow me.

This is not Lock. This could not be Lock. This was just me. My own intrusive thoughts. My need to constantly think the worst thing would always happen. That little gremlin in my head reminded me that in my life, it usually did.

FOUR

His breath blew hot down the back of my neck. His lips brushed my ear. I shivered, waiting for the kiss. Instead, velvety blackness enveloped me. I took a breath, but couldn’t let it out. Instead, strong hands pulled me down into inky darkness so thick I choked on it.

No air. No light.

“No!” I screamed. I felt my lips moving. Felt my throat constrict, but no words came out.

“Don’t make a sound,” came the whisper. It was everywhere and nowhere. “Don’t leave me. Don’t you ever leave me. I’ll make you disappear.”

I’ll make you disappear.

“Mina!”

Air stabbed my lungs as I sucked in a breath. I didn’t know where I was. Then sunlight hit my eyes, nearly blinding me.

“Mina!” Lock shouted again. He was on his knees in front of me, eyes wild, hair sticking out. He shook me hard, keeping a steel grip on my shoulders.

“Mina,” he said my name again, softer. “Baby. Open your eyes. Breathe.”

I shook my head to clear it. Lock’s grip on my shoulders loosened. He sat beside me on the bed. Sweat glued my cotton nightshirt to me.

Lock went quiet. He rubbed the back of my neck, pulling my hair away from my shoulders, helping me to cool off.

“You’re safe,” he said.

“What time is it?” I asked, my throat dry as sandpaper.

Lock reached for the water bottle on my nightstand and handed it to me, unscrewing the cap. I took a long, slow drink. With shaking hands, I gave it back to him.

“Was it the same one?” he asked. “Do you want to tell me?”

Feeling self-conscious, I tried to move out of his touch and get off the bed. The wounded look on his face stopped me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t remember.”

“You were screaming for them,” he said. “Baby, you’re safe. Look.”

He pointed to the corner of the ceiling, toward the reassuring green glow of the carbon monoxide detector. There was another one just like it out in the hallway. I hadn’t asked him to put those in. But he’d done it anyway, the morning after waking me from the first night terror I had in this house.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He smiled gently. “Don’t. Never do that, okay? Didn’t we both make that promise?”

It felt so silly. My trauma was nothing compared to what Lock had endured. I’d never been abused. Never been betrayed by the people who were supposed to love me the most.

“But I scared you,” I said. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Mina,” he said gently. “You can’t control your dreams. And you can’t go through what you went through unscathed.”

He let go this time when I rose from the bed. “What time is it?” I asked.

“Almost ten,” he said.

My heart skipped. “You should have woken me.”