“What’s your name?”

“Leah Carson. Leah Latimer.” She rattled off her address again, fearing she’d be dead before they arrived.

“I’ll send a car,” the operator said. “Stay on the line.”

The words were cold comfort. Philip had broken the protective order. He didn’t care about an arrest or his career. He’d crossed an invisible line, knowing his decision was a one-way trip. His only goal now was to kill her while she could see it all happen.

Tears filled Leah’s eyes as he slid the knife from its holster, the cold metal catching and glinting in the moonlight.

He moved toward the bed, slowly and unhurried. He’d slicked back his thick, blond hair from his angled face, now hardened with purpose. Once, she’d considered his face handsome. Once, she’d looked into those vivid blue eyes and seen love. Once, he’d made her feel protected.

“You’re so beautiful.” His deep voice was smooth, silky, as if they’d bumped into each other on a street corner on a sunny afternoon. He smelled of fresh cold night air and whiskey.

During their marriage, she’d learned to fear him most when he wasn’t ranting or raving but when he was cool and controlled. “Philip, what do you want?”

“I’ve been telling you for weeks. But you won’t listen. I want you back home with me.”

With deliberate slowness, she pulled the covers over the T-shirt that strained against the outline of her breasts. “Philip. How’d you get in here?”

Keep him talking. Buy time. How much time did she need? She’d timed the route once or twice. Without traffic, it took ten minutes.

Those long, callused fingers slid up the blade to the tip. “I’ve missed everything about you.”

“Philip, you shouldn’t be here.” The evenness in her voice belied her fingers tightening into a white-knuckled grip on the comforter.

His thumb circled the knife’s hilt. “Why not? You’re my wife. And this is our wedding anniversary.”

Twelve months ago today they’d exchanged vows. “You need to leave.”

“And if I don’t? What’re you going to do?”

“The cops are coming.”

He traced the knife tip over the comforter, snagging the ice-blue fabric. “I don’t care.”

“Philip. Just go. Get away while you still can.”

He raised the blade to his thumb and pricked the edge. Crimson blood dripped, before he slowly stroked it against the bedsheet. “You were so pretty on our wedding day. Such a beautiful white dress. You carried those pretty purple flowers. What were they called? Irises?”

“Just leave me alone, Philip. Go away. I don’t want to see you arrested. It will ruin your career.” Her pulse thrummed against the soft skin of her neck.

“Until death do us part, Leah. I promised. And so did you.”

Keep talking. “You love your job. You’re a good cop. Respected.”

“Without you, it means nothing. You’re mine, Leah. We’re two halves of a whole. Restraining orders and cops can’t keep us apart.”

Chin raised, tears pooled and spilled. Stall. Buy time! False promises of love and devotion danced on her tongue, readied for declaration when the truth stubbornly elbowed past. “We’re over, Philip. I’m not coming back to you.”

He traced his hand over her leg, rough calluses on smooth white skin. Skin prickling, she flinched and rolled her leg away. Gaze darkening, he clenched the blankets in his large hand. An onyx pinky ring marked with the letter L winked in the moonlight before he yanked the covering off the bed. She was helpless, wearing only gym shorts and a T-shirt. Cold air skimmed her bare legs. Goose bumps puckered.

“Philip, please—”

For a moment, he sat as still as a statue, his terrible beauty etched in calm repose. And then, like a rattler roiled, he struck, moving with lightning speed. He climbed on top of her, the rough fabric of his jeans scraping against her thrashing legs. He pressed the knife blade to her throat.

Their gazes locked as he smoothed the steel tip over her chest to her flat belly. She flinched. Braced.

“Philip, don’t. Please.”

This close, his eyes, red-rimmed as if he’d been crying, bore into her. “I’ll never let you go. You belong to me. I love you.” His body hummed with need. Need to own her. Need to possess her. Need to hear her words of love.

More tears spilled down the sides of her face. He controlled so much in this moment. Life or death rested solely with him. All she controlled was her words. The truth. If she died tonight, Philip would know her heart. “I don’t love you.”

He flinched, as if the statement bit like a rattler. “You’ve been brainwashed. Your mother and your friends filled you with lies. Poisoned you against me.”

“I don’t love you.” Defiance pricked as sharp as the knife’s tip. “You don’t own me.”

Pain deepened the lines of his face, even as his teeth bared into a snarl. He lowered his lips to her ear. Warm breath against her skin raked over her nerves.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you. Why can’t you understand that?”

Out of habit, not love, she raised her hand to his muscled arm, her touch gentle, as if soothing a beast. “Philip, this isn’t love.”

He burrowed his face into the crook of her neck. His hand fisted her blond hair. “It’s love. It is.”

“No, Philip.” A pathetic lie crept from the shadows. “You deserve better.”

A fist pounded on the apartment’s front door. “Ms. Carson! Ms. Carson! This is the police!”

The officer’s voice cut through the door and relief collided with tension. The cops!

He flinched. “Shh. It’s just us, the way it’s supposed to be.”

Her fingers hardened into a grip. “Help me! He’s going to kill me!”

Philip rose up, eyed her, disappointment mingling with anger. “Carson. You told the operator your name was Carson. You took your maiden name back.”

The anger-coated words stoked a flicker of guilt. His temper, abuse, was not her fault, but even after all the pain, he could so easily press the button that triggered guilt. Her weakness shamed her. “The cops are here. Go! Run while you can, Philip. Leave through the window. Just go! You don’t want to go to jail.”

He pressed the knife’s tip to the hollow of her neck. “That would suit you just fine.”

“I don’t want to see you in jail.” She prayed the directness in her gaze covered the lie. “You helped so many people as a cop. Let someone help you.”

“I don’t need a doctor. I only need you!”

“Ms. Carson!” the officer shouted. “Are you in there?”

Nothing would sway Philip. Nothing. “Yes!” she screamed.

Philip winced and pressed the tip of the knife to her neck. The tip scraped skin and drew blood.

How much longer before the cop got into her apartment? How long to slice skin? Seconds?

Blood flickered along the narrow column of her neck and dripped on her hair. “Please.”

“We’re meant to be together.” Desperation tinged the anger.

“Just leave. While you can.”

He dragged the tip of the knife over her belly, etching a red scratch along her milky-white midline.

Fear contorted her gut as keys rattled in the front door. Had the cops gotten the apartment manager’s master key? Hurry! A door opened but caught on the security chain. Her life depended on just a few more seconds.

Philip wiped the blood trickling from her neck with his forefinger and smeared it across his lips and forehead. “We live and die together.”

He raised the knife and plunged it into her gut. At first shock and then agony sliced and burned through her insides as she stared into blue eyes that danced with satisfaction. He pulled the knife back and drove it down toward her neck. It skidded over her collarbone before he sliced her cheek and her arms.

Cops pounded on the door. “Ms. Carson!”

Screaming, she grabbed the blade. The edge cut her palms. Blood gushed from her hands as he pulled the blade free and raised it again. She lost count of how many times he stabbed her before he rose breathless and stood over her. He stared a long moment at the blood blooming on the bedsheets. With his rage spent, his eyes filled with fresh tears. “What have I done? God, I’m sorry.”