Penelope clenched her teeth and dragged herself back to the guest room, her body a map of fresh wounds.
She touched the hidden camera pinned beneath her collar, her gaze razor-sharp.
Ever since the last time he'd hurt her, she had been collecting evidence of Luke's deliberate abuse.
Five years ago, she had gotten him out of prison.
Five years from now, she could put him right back in.
That night, a high fever set in.
She curled up on the bed, shaking uncontrollably, the pain in her head returning with a vengeance. She fumbled for the painkillers the doctor had prescribed, shook two into her palm, and swallowed them dry.
She closed her eyes and waited for the medication to take hold.
Get through this. Get the divorce papers signed.
Then she and Luke Gilbert would have nothing to do with each other ever again.
She drifted into a fitful, feverish sleep.
In the middle of the night, the blanket was ripped away. The biting cold jolted her awake.
Before she could see who it was, a hand clamped around her shoulder and hauled her off the bed.
"Penelope, how could you do something so vicious to Crystal?!"
The grip tore at her wounds. She gasped. "What are you talking about..."
"Someone slashed her arm." Luke's voice ground out from deep in his chest. "The cut matches your forensic scalpel exactly. You're the only one with a key to the master bedroom!"
"It wasn't me. I didn't do it..."
"If not you, then who?! Those scalpels are covered in bacteria from corpses. Crystal is pregnant! Are you trying to kill the baby inside her?!"
Her pupils contracted. The strength she'd been using to struggle drained out of her all at once.
A crushing wave of helplessness flooded through her, gnawing at every wound that covered her body.
The ones on her skin. The ones on her heart.
Every single one hurt enough to shatter a person whole.
Crystal rushed into the guest room, clutching a gash on her arm several inches long, blood seeping between her fingers.
She sobbed so hard she could barely breathe, then dropped to her knees directly in front of Penelope.
"Miss Simmons, if you're angry, take it out on me. Don't hurt my baby. He's only three months along. He's innocent..."
Luke gathered her into his arms, his face twisted with anguish, his voice soft and soothing.
"Don't be scared. I won't let anything happen to our child."
Then he turned his head, and every trace of tenderness vanished, replaced by something savage.
"Penelope, I've never been more disappointed in you. Attacking a woman and her unborn child!"
"I didn't do it." Penelope's voice was raw. "Check my forensic field kit. None of the scalpels have blood on them."
Luke let out a cold laugh.
"You had the nerve to do it, so of course you cleaned the evidence. Are you saying Crystal cut herself just to frame you? She's a mother. She would never gamble with her own child's life!"
He lifted Crystal and carried her toward the door, not once looking back as he issued his order to the guards flanking the hallway.
"Since my wife refuses to confess, let her find out what it feels like to be cut with a forensic scalpel. Every blade in her kit. Use them all on her. Every single one."
Penelope stared after him, her voice breaking.
"Luke, you can't do this to me! I saved your life!"
Luke didn't flinch. The cold light in his eyes only sharpened.
"You're not the righteous, kindhearted Penelope you used to be. You used your own scalpels to hurt someone. Don't you dare talk to me about debts of gratitude."
He left with Crystal in his arms.
Draped against Luke's chest, Crystal's lips curved into a smile so faint it was almost invisible.
A smile laced with the quiet thrill of victory.
Penelope pressed herself into the corner of the room, but there was nowhere left to retreat.
The fever and the pounding in her skull made her thoughts heavy as lead, but she fought to stay conscious.
"Don't touch me! Stay back!"
The guards retrieved her forensic field kit, unlatched it, and laid out the blades one by one, each gleaming under the light.
Different sizes, different shapes. Fifty-seven in total. Every last one honed to a wicked edge.
Penelope's whole body began to tremble. The color drained from her face.
Two guards pinned her arms. Two more picked up the scalpels.
A slice. A stab.
"Ahhh—"
The scream tore out of her. Tears slid down her ashen cheeks before she could stop them.
The cuts weren't deep enough to kill, but they were deep enough to make every nerve in her body scream.
The second blade. The third. The fourth. The fifth.
One after another, until all fifty-seven scalpels had been used.
Her back, her arms, her thighs were carved with wound after wound, blood soaking through her clothes until the fabric turned red.
She lay on the floor, her entire body burning as though set aflame.
The Luke who had once thrown himself over her to shield her from a collapsing beam.
The Luke who had risked his own life to protect hers.
That same man had now, for the sake of another woman, dragged her into hell.
The room fell still. Nothing remained but the thin, ragged sound of her breathing.
Her phone screen lit up. A text from Homer.
Crystal visited an OB-GYN four months ago. She was confirmed six weeks pregnant at the time. Surveillance footage shows the man who accompanied her to the hospital was the victim from the perfume case.
Penelope stared at the message, and she laughed.
Luke had met Crystal four months ago. By then, she was already six weeks along.
Whose baby she was carrying needed no further explanation.
Penelope dragged herself up from the blood-slicked floor, shaking, and removed the hidden camera. She uploaded every piece of footage to her computer.
Backed up. Archived.
She felt as though she had died and come back.
When despair ran deep enough, the heart went still.
