Two uniformed state troopers stepped in through the side doors of the chapel, and behind them came the lead detective of the local police department, a woman whose face held no patience whatsoever for the man at the podium.

“Brandon Prescott.

Gretchen Vance,” she announced, in a voice built to command a room.

“You are both under arrest for attempted murder, criminal conspiracy, and insurance fraud.”

Gretchen crumpled.

She dropped straight to her knees in the aisle and burst into loud, gasping tears, and the accomplice’s oldest instinct took over instantly.