“Shelby?”
What was his wife doing here? And, where, exactly was here? He couldn’t seem to clear the fog in his head. To make matters worse, he felt a warm but agonizing throb-throb-throb on the side of his head. Another painful throb pulsated at his knee.
His gaze roamed the room, taking in the IV, the woman in the suit, the uniformed cop, and the enormous, furry K-9 who’d put her front paws up on his bed to stare at him and was making the gurney shake with each wag of her fluffy tail.
Shelby’s lip quivered. “It’s over, Greg.”
“Over?” And then it hit him. Their plan to fake his death, collect a million dollars in insurance, say goodbye to their typical lives and humdrum existence and start a new, romantic life in France. He should have realized it wouldn’t work, that the odds were stacked against them. The bad guys might have gotten away with their crimes in movies like No Country for Old Men, Gone Girls, and The Watchmen, but real-life law enforcement was often more cunning than the cops in movies. One look at the dog and the two women staring him down from the end of his bed, and he knew he’d underestimated them.