He stood in the middle of my living room, staring at nothing.

Then he looked down at the folder he’d carried so confidently into my kitchen an hour before — the folder full of paperwork meant to make my house his — and he looked at it like a man seeing a trap he’d already stepped in.

He wasn’t searching Declan’s desk anymore.

There was nothing on that desk that could save him now; there were only more things on it that could bury him.

Courtney took a step toward him.