The morning after Rosa's arrest, Adam woke to the sound of rain.
Not the soft, forgiving rain of spring. The hard, angry rain of autumn, pounding against the windows, drumming on the roof, filling the gutters until they overflowed. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the water and the silence.
Sandra was still asleep beside him. Her hand rested on his chest, her breathing slow and steady. He didn't move. Didn't want to wake her.
For a moment, the world felt almost peaceful.
Then his phone buzzed.
Miller.
“Rosa talked.”
Adam sat up slowly, careful not to disturb Sandra. He walked to the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear.
“Talked about what?”
“About why she came back. She wasn't working alone. Someone sent her.”
Adam's stomach tightened. “Who?”
“She won't say. But
