Page 34 of The Perfect Accomplice

“How?” she asked, suddenly apprehensive that he was going to ruin what had been a pretty pleasant interaction so far with a crass suggestion.

“I think I should let you dance with me,” he said.

She stared at him quizzically.

“Come again?”

“I said that I think I should reward you for your good deed by allowing you to join me on the dance floor.”

His cheeks were now bright red, but despite that, he somehow managed to maintain that confident, affable smile. She couldn't help but be impressed. Even if he was the epitome of the overconfident frat boy, there was an undercurrent of appealing self-effacement somewhere in there too.

“How is that a reward for me?” she wanted to know.

“You’ve never seen me dance,” he informed her.

She had to fight off a giggle.

“I’m not really a dance party kind of gal,” she told him.

“Oh, I understand now,” he said, nodding with faux condescension, “you’re scared.”

She knew she was being teased, and yet the competitive part of her wouldn’t let that crack stand. She told herself that was the only reason she was considering the offer, that it had nothing to do with Finn’s charming cockiness or the playful look in his eyes. Before she could stop herself, she opened her mouth.

“You’re on.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Jessie sat upright in bed.

Her abdomen was screaming in pain as cramps worse than she’d ever felt made it hard to breathe. She looked over in bed, but even in the darkness, she saw that Ryan wasn’t there. Where was he?

She glanced toward her nightstand, but her phone wasn’t there. Had she left it downstairs? She swung her legs over, gasping at the agony in her stomach. Then, with great effort, she pulled herself upright and began to walk.

She moved deliberately, focusing on each step to make sure she didn’t lose her balance. She passed through the living room, looking there and in the kitchen, but still saw no sign of her phone. She needed help.

She made it to the front door and yanked it open. Warm air hit her in the face. She was just stepping onto the porch when another cramp slammed her whole body and she collapsed to the ground. She heard footsteps coming up the porch steps and glanced up.

To her surprise and horror, she saw Kyle Voss, her ex-husband, the man who had tried to kill her, staring down at her. He had a malevolent sneer on his face.

“I’m having a miscarriage,” she managed to croak in between spasms of pain.

“I know,” he said calmly. “You deserve it. You’re not worthy of being a mother.”

Then, his sneer was replaced by a joltingly loud cackle. She closed her eyes tightly, unable to deal with both the pain and the pleasure he was taking in it.

“Jessie.”

The voice came in a whisper, but it felt like it was coming through a loudspeaker.

“Jessie!”

In that moment she realized the word wasn’t coming from Kyle but from Ryan. Her eyes snapped open again.

She was lying in her bed. Ryan was beside her, sitting upright, looking down at her with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She took a second to get her bearings. She wasn't having a miscarriage. Kyle wasn't here. In fact, he was dead and buried. It wasn't the middle of the night but 6:18 in the morning. She was safe in her home with a husband who loved her.

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