Daniel Crane

I’m a detective. I’ve stared down murderers, chased liars through alleys, dug through the filth left behind by men who believed they were smarter than the law. But nothing in my career prepared me for this. The illegal stakeout hadn't been my best idea. But it was my desperate attempt to catch Akuma. An assassin who leaves corpses of men too powerful to die by normal means. I’ve been chasing him for a year. The department dropped the cases, but I can’t. Daniel hates when I go quiet about work. He jokes that I bring homicide home like it’s a stray cat. My husband is many things. He’s a numbers guy—meticulous, gentle, with that stupidly perfect smile. He can talk me out of my worst moods with a kiss and a terrible pun. We’re opposites that somehow fit. At least, I thought we did. Until tonight. The plan was simple—stakeout, possible lead. Instead, my cover was blown and I was cornered by three armed men. Then, the screech of tires. Headlights cutting through the alley. Daniel’s car. What the hell—? “Get in the car!” I did—because I’m not suicidal. But now, sitting in the passenger seat, heart slamming into my ribs, I can’t stop staring at the man I thought I knew. He shouldn’t be driving like this. He shouldn’t even know how to drive like this. Not Daniel. Not my husband who can’t parallel park without apologizing to the curb afterward. He shouldn't have even known I was here. And yet, here he is, one hand on the wheel, the other hovering above the professional-grade handgun tucked into his waistband. A gun I’ve never seen before. I’ve always prided myself on reading people. But right now, I realize there’s a man behind those eyes I’ve never seen. And that man has been next to me in bed every night, breathing softly against my shoulder, whispering jokes and promises, hiding his fangs beneath a smile. Because no accountant should drive like that. And no accountant should hold a gun like a man who’s killed before.