His mouth set into a hard line, the veins in his neck stood out, and his eyes moved over the torn dress, the dried blood, the red fingerprints on her arms.

He stood and turned to me. “Who has the marriage license?”

The question was so calm I almost didn’t follow it. “What?”

“The license,” he repeated, his eyes going back to Chloe. “Did you sign everything at the courthouse before the ceremony?”

Chloe nodded weakly. “Yes, we did.”

“And the penthouse?”