Internal Affairs

A Sapphic Age-Gap Romantic Suspense
by Blair Lennox

Available at all major retailers

Pairing: FF (Sapphic)
Heat: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Inferno
Tropes: Age Gap (46/34), Ice Queen × Bratty Cop, Forbidden Romance, Secret Affair, Conflict of Interest, Internal Affairs × Homicide Detective, Hotel Hookups, Light Bondage, Safe Word, Dirty Talk, Power Exchange, Switch Dynamic, Mentor Betrayal, Wrongful Conviction, Forced Proximity Safe House, Grovel & Redemption, Public Claiming, Older Heroines, Romantic Suspense

The investigator assigned to take her badge had her wrists tied to a headboard twelve hours ago.

She was supposed to be one night a week. No last names. No work talk. Never staying till morning.

Then homicide detective Lena Ortiz walks into her Internal Affairs notice meeting and finds the investigator assigned to take her badge standing across the table.

The same woman who tied her wrists with a navy silk tie twelve hours ago.

Lieutenant Margot Voss doesn’t break rules. She recuses on the spot, on the record. But by nightfall the man who filed the complaint against Lena is dead in his truck at a boat launch, Lena’s alibi is Margot’s hotel room, and a state investigator has one order for both of them: stay away from each other.

Margot has spent twenty-three years refusing to make exceptions. Lena has spent eleven years refusing to lose. Now one of them is a murder suspect, the other is investigating the mentor Lena would die for, and every time they touch, it could end both their careers.

The truth will clear Lena of murder. It won’t clear her of everything.

Internal Affairs is a scorching standalone sapphic age-gap romantic suspense with a commanding older woman, a reckless younger cop, a corrupt department, very explicit scenes, and a guaranteed HEA. 18+.

You’ll love this book if you enjoy:

✅ An IA lieutenant and the detective she’s supposed to investigate — who slept together first
✅ Ice queen × mouthy, bratty cop, 46 × 34
✅ “Say it. All of it.” — a bedroom command that becomes the book’s honesty test
✅ A navy silk tie that ends up on both of their wrists
✅ Rules made in an elevator, broken one by one, rewritten on a kitchen floor
✅ Sex in a hotel room, a reclined Volvo on a parking-garage roof, a mirror, and a safe-house cabin
✅ A corrupt mentor, fourteen missing minutes of tape, and a woman who has to tell the truth about herself
✅ Real accountability, a real grovel, and a proposal timed to the minute
✅ No cheating, 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ heat and an HEA guaranteed

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⚠️ Content Warning: This novel contains extremely explicit sexual content (graphic FF scenes throughout, including restraint with a tie and a safe word, edging, oral sex, fingering, scissoring, masturbation with a toy, a strap-on, mirror play and sex in a parked car), strong language and alcohol. Also includes the murder of a secondary character staged as an overdose, an accidental death, a coerced confession and police misconduct, a hostage situation with arson, vandalism including a homophobic slur, online harassment and doxxing, references to an alcoholic parent, grief and job loss. No cheating between the leads. Intended for readers 18+.

📖 Read Chapter One Free

Not sure yet? Read all of Chapter One right here.

Chapter One: Lena

The door of Room 412 was colder than Margot’s mouth, and Lena had about four seconds to appreciate the difference before Margot’s knee slid between her thighs and the cold stopped mattering.

“Hi,” Lena said against her lips.

“Hello.” Margot kissed her again, unhurried, as if they had all night and she intended to bill for every minute of it. One hand flattened on the door beside Lena’s head. The other found the top of the zipper at the nape of Lena’s neck and stayed there. Not pulling. Just resting. Letting her know.

Lena’s whole spine lit up.

Five times now. Five nights in six weeks, always this hotel off the Thruway, always this room on the fourth floor with the radiator that ticked and the painting of a heron nobody had ever looked at twice. She should have been used to it by now. She was not used to it. Every time Margot touched her it felt like the first time someone had read her correctly.

“You’re late,” Lena said.

“I’m four minutes early. You were seven minutes earlier.” Margot drew back an inch. Gray eyes, pale as lake ice, moving over Lena’s face the way they always did, like she was noting things down. “You’ve been waiting at the door.”

“I’ve been waiting at the minibar. The door was a coincidence.”

“Mm.” The zipper moved a quarter inch. “And the dress?”

“Also a coincidence.”

It was not a coincidence. It was the black one, fitted and short, with the zipper that ran all the way from her neck to the small of her back, and Lena had bought it after the second night specifically because she’d watched Margot’s hands on buttons and thought, I want to see what she does with something that takes longer.

Margot looked at her mouth. At the red lipstick Lena had put on in the elevator mirror. “You wore this for me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.” The zipper came down another inch, slow enough that Lena felt each tooth let go. “Turn around.”

Lena turned around.

She put her palms on the door and her forehead against the painted wood, and Margot stood behind her and undressed her like she was reading a document she intended to remember. One tooth at a time. Air on the top of her spine, then her shoulder blades, then the clasp of her bra, which Margot unhooked with two fingers on the way past without even pausing. Lower. The dip of her waist. The top of the black lace she’d also bought for this exact purpose.

Margot stopped there and put her mouth on the back of Lena’s neck.

“Fuck,” Lena said to the door.

“You had a bad day,” Margot murmured. Not a question. Her lips moved against the little bones at the top of Lena’s spine.

And there it was, the thing Lena had been carrying up four floors in her chest. Dana’s phone call yesterday. They’re sending it outside, Lena. County. Someone neutral. The gym this morning until her legs shook. Her mother at Sunday dinner asking, again, if she was seeing anyone, if she was eating, if she was sleeping, and Lena saying yes to all three and lying about two. The name she would not let herself think. A small voice in a small gray room she was not thinking about.

She could tell Margot. She could turn around right now and say it.

Rule Two. No work.

“Yeah,” Lena said. “Bad day.”

Margot didn’t ask. That was the deal. That was always the deal, and it had been perfect, it had been the cleanest thing in Lena’s life, a room where no one wanted anything from her except exactly this. Tonight, for the first time, the not-asking landed somewhere tender.

Then Margot’s hands slid inside the open dress, around her ribs, up over her breasts, and cupped them with the bra loose and useless between them, and Lena stopped thinking about anything with a name.

“Let me make it better,” Margot said into her ear.

“Yes. Please. Do that.”

“Say please again.”

“Please, you—” Margot’s thumbs dragged over her nipples and Lena’s hips jerked back into her. “Jesus. Please.”

The dress went down. Lena stepped out of it. The bra went somewhere. Margot turned her around by the hips and looked at her in the lamplight, black lace and red lipstick and nothing else, and Lena watched the composure on that sharp, beautiful face slip by about one degree.

Margot was still fully dressed. She always was, for the first part. Charcoal suit, white shirt open at the throat now, the navy silk tie loosened but not off. Tall enough that Lena had to tip her head back, long-limbed, dark hair cut short and severe at the nape and gone silver at the temples like someone had brushed it there on purpose. Forty-something. Lena had guessed forty-five the first night and never asked. Asking felt like a different kind of nakedness.

“You’re overdressed,” Lena said.

“I’m aware.” Margot’s fingers went to the knot of her tie. She pulled it loose, slid it out from under her collar with one long whisper of silk, and wound it once around her own hand. “Get on the bed.”

Lena’s stomach dropped.

“On your back,” Margot said. “Arms up.”

Lena got on the bed. She lay back against the pillows with her arms over her head and her wrists near the slats of the headboard, and her heart was going so hard she could feel it in her throat. Margot sat on the edge of the mattress and leaned over her and wrapped the tie around both wrists, around the slat, back again, neat and snug and nowhere near tight enough to hurt.

“Pull,” Margot said.

Lena pulled. The silk held.

“If you want out, you say red and I untie you, and we don’t talk about it unless you want to. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Margot sat back and looked at her. Took her time. Her gaze went from Lena’s tied wrists down the length of her arms, the curve of her breasts, the soft part of her belly, the lace. Stopped there. Lena felt it like a hand.

“Now,” Margot said, low and very precise. “Tell me what you want. Say it. All of it.”

The first night, Lena had laughed when she said that. The second night, she’d managed about four words. Tonight she lay there with her wrists tied in silk that still smelled like Margot’s neck and her thighs already slick, and she wanted to give her everything.

“I want your mouth on my tits,” she said. “I want you to take your time even though I’m going to beg you not to. I want your fingers in me. Two. I want you to fuck me slow until I can’t stand it and then I want you to keep going. And I want your mouth on my clit when I come. I want to come on your tongue.”

Margot was very still.

“That’s not all of it,” she said.

Lena’s face went hot. “It’s a lot of it.”

“It’s most of it.” A fingertip touched the inside of Lena’s knee and drew a line upward, slow, slow, stopping at the edge of the lace. “What else?”

I want you to stay. It came up out of her like a cough and she swallowed it.

“I want you to make me wait,” she said instead. “I want you to be mean about it.”

That earned her the smallest smile. “I’m never mean.”

“You’re the meanest woman I’ve ever met.”

“I’m thorough. It’s different.”

Margot leaned down and put her mouth on Lena’s breast.

She was thorough. She circled the nipple with her tongue until Lena arched off the mattress, then drew it in and sucked, hard enough to sting, then let go and blew cool air over the wet skin until Lena hissed. She moved to the other one and did it all again. Her hand stayed flat and warm on Lena’s ribs, holding her down, while Lena twisted in the silk and swore at the ceiling.

“That’s one,” Margot said, lifting her head. Her lipstick-free mouth was red anyway, from Lena’s. “What was two?”

“Fingers.” It came out in pieces. “Two.”

“Ask.”

“I just asked.”

“You listed.” Margot hooked a finger in the waistband of the lace and drew it down Lena’s thighs, past her knees, off. She looked down between Lena’s legs, and the thing that moved across her face was not composed at all. “Ask me.”

“Please put your fingers in me.”

“Spread your legs.”

Lena spread them. Margot knelt between them, still in her suit pants and her white shirt with the sleeves now rolled to the elbow, and Lena thought, She’s going to wreck that shirt, and then Margot drew two fingertips through her, slow, top to bottom, and Lena stopped thinking in sentences.

“Christ,” Margot said quietly. “Look at you.”

She circled Lena’s entrance. Pressed. Didn’t push. Circled again.

“Margot.”

“I know.”

“Margot, please—”

Margot slid two fingers into her in one long, steady stroke, all the way to the knuckle, and held there.

Lena’s head hit the pillow. Her wrists yanked at the tie and the headboard creaked. She was full and stretched and it was so good it was almost unfair, and Margot just held her like that, buried, watching Lena’s face with those cold gray eyes gone dark.

“Breathe,” Margot said.

Lena breathed.

Margot began to move.

Slow. God, so slow. A long withdrawal, a long return, a curl of her fingers at the top of each stroke that pressed right where Lena needed it, then gone again before it could build into anything. Her thumb rested beside Lena’s clit and didn’t touch it. Didn’t touch it. Didn’t touch it.

“You’re so wet,” Margot said, conversational, like she was remarking on the weather. “You were wet before I got the zipper down, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You were wet in the elevator.”

“Yes, fuck, I was wet in the car—”

“Thinking about what?”

“This. You. Your hands.” Lena’s hips chased the next stroke and Margot pulled back to deny her. “Fuck. You’re doing it on purpose.”

“You asked me to make you wait.”

“I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.” Margot leaned over her, braced on one forearm, and her face was right above Lena’s now, her breath on Lena’s lips, her fingers still moving in that unbearable rhythm. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Like I’m going to die.”

“More specific.”

Lena laughed, broken. “It feels like you’re fucking me with two fingers and you’re curling them up and every time you do it I almost come and then you stop and I want to kill you. It feels like I’m going to scream. It feels like I’m going to soak this whole fucking bed. Is that specific enough, Lieutenant Thorough?”

Something flickered in Margot’s eyes. There and gone.

“Close enough,” she said, and added a third finger.

Lena did scream then, short and sharp, and Margot kissed it out of her mouth. She fucked her with three fingers, deep and steady and not slow anymore, the heel of her hand finally grinding against Lena’s clit on every thrust, and the pressure climbed and climbed. Lena’s thighs started to shake. Her wrists twisted in the silk. The orgasm gathered low in her belly, so close, so close—

Margot stopped.

Just stopped. Fingers buried, hand still.

Lena let out a sound she had never heard come out of her own body. “No. No, no, no, don’t you dare—”

“Breathe.”

“I swear to God I will chew through this tie.”

“It’s silk. It’ll take you an hour.” Margot kissed the corner of her mouth. Her jaw. The hinge of it, under her ear. “You’re doing beautifully.”

That landed somewhere Lena didn’t have armor for. She made a small, wrecked noise and Margot felt it, and Lena felt her feel it, and neither of them said anything about it.

Margot did it twice more. Brought her right up to the edge, until Lena was babbling and her heels were digging into the sheets, then went still and waited her out. The third time, Lena was crying a little, not from anything sad, just from how much she wanted, and she heard herself saying, “Please, please, Margot, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll say anything, please let me—”

“Say it,” Margot whispered.

“Let me come. Please let me come in your mouth.”

Margot slid down the bed.

She kept her fingers inside, curled and pressing, and she put her mouth on Lena’s clit like she’d been thinking about it for a week. Lena felt the first flat, hot drag of her tongue and her whole body seized. Margot sucked, gentle, then not gentle, her tongue flicking fast against the swollen tip, and her fingers began to move again.

Lena came so hard her vision whited out.

It ripped through her, wave after wave, her hips bucking up off the bed and Margot’s free arm pinning them down, Margot’s mouth staying on her through the whole thing, licking her through it, refusing to let up. Lena was making noise, a lot of noise, the kind the people in 410 were going to complain about. She didn’t care. Her wrists pulled so hard against the tie that the headboard banged the wall.

When it eased, Margot didn’t stop.

“Wait,” Lena gasped. “Wait, I can’t—too much—”

Margot lifted her head just enough to speak against her. “Red?”

Lena’s whole body was shaking. Her clit was throbbing and oversensitive and Margot’s breath on it was almost painful and almost not.

“No,” she said. “Not red.”

“Then one more.”

Margot’s mouth came back, softer now, broad and slow, and her fingers found that place again and pressed, and the second orgasm didn’t build so much as get dragged out of her. It came from somewhere deeper and it hurt in the best way, a long rolling clench that bowed her spine and left her sobbing Margot’s name into the ceiling.

Then it was quiet.

Lena lay there with her wrists tied and her legs splayed and her heart trying to climb out through her ribs. The radiator ticked. Somewhere down the hall an ice machine dropped its load with a crash.

Margot eased her fingers out, so carefully, and pressed a kiss to the inside of Lena’s thigh. Then the other. Then she climbed back up the bed and reached over Lena’s head and untied the silk with a few quick tugs, and took each of Lena’s wrists in turn and rubbed them, checking the skin.

“Okay?” she asked.

Lena looked at her. Margot’s hair was mussed for once. Her white shirt was wrinkled and damp in places. Her mouth was wet.

“I’m going to need a minute,” Lena said. “Possibly a week.”

“Take a minute. The week is extra.”

Lena laughed. Then she grabbed the front of Margot’s shirt with both hands and pulled her down and kissed her, tasting herself, tasting Margot under it, and rolled them both over.

Margot never fought her on the roll. She went down onto her back with her shirt open and her eyes half-lidded, and watched.

“My turn,” Lena said.

“Is it.”

“You know it is.” Lena worked the rest of the shirt buttons open. Under it, Margot was long and lean and pale, small breasts in a plain black bra that Lena dragged down without unhooking. She put her mouth on one and felt Margot’s breath catch. Just catch. Barely anything. Lena had been chasing that sound for five nights.

She got the suit pants open. Shoved them down Margot’s long legs along with plain black underwear, and Margot lifted her hips to help without comment, and then she was naked under Lena on the hotel duvet, and Lena didn’t waste any time being careful. She slid her hand between Margot’s thighs and found her soaked.

“Oh,” Lena said. “Oh. Look at you.”

Margot’s jaw tightened. “Don’t gloat.”

“I’m absolutely going to gloat. You did all that to me and you were this wet the whole time and you didn’t let anybody touch you.” Lena slid two fingers into her, easy, and Margot’s head pressed back into the pillow. “You liked it.”

“Obviously I liked it.”

“Say it.”

Margot opened her eyes. Gray, dark, a little dangerous. “That’s my line.”

“I’m borrowing it.” Lena curled her fingers and rocked her palm and watched Margot’s mouth part. “Say it.”

“I liked it,” Margot said, very low. “I liked having you tied up and begging me. I liked making you cry.”

Lena’s own body clenched on nothing. “Fuck, okay. Okay.”

She fucked her fast. Margot liked it fast once she’d done all the slow, Lena had figured that out on night three. Lena kissed her neck, bit at her collarbone, worked her clit with her thumb while her fingers drove in and curled, and Margot’s breathing went shallow and short. Her hands gripped the sheet on either side of her hips. Her knuckles went white.

She didn’t make noise. That was the maddening part. Lena screamed the building down and Margot came in near silence every time, like even this was something she had to keep filed and contained. But her thighs clamped around Lena’s hand, and her back came up off the bed, and her fingers tore at the sheet hard enough that Lena heard a seam pop. A single sound broke out of her throat. Not a word. Just air with an edge on it.

Then she went loose.

Lena stayed inside her until she stopped pulsing. Then she slid her fingers free and lay down on top of her, chin on Margot’s sternum, and grinned.

“You ripped the sheet,” she said.

“I’ll leave a tip.”

“You’re going to leave a tip because you ripped the sheet coming on my fingers.”

Margot’s chest moved under her. A laugh. A real one, short and surprised. “Yes. I suppose I am.”

Afterward was always the dangerous part.

The sex was easy. It was the twenty minutes after, with Margot naked and warm and her guard down around her ankles, that Lena started wanting things she wasn’t supposed to want.

Margot had one arm behind her head. The other was around Lena, fingertips moving idly up and down her spine. Up. Down. Over the bumps of her vertebrae like she was counting.

“I have a question,” Lena said.

“You can ask.”

“I know I can ask. I’m asking if you’ll answer.”

Margot’s fingers paused, then resumed. “Ask, and we’ll see.”

Lena looked at the heron painting. It was a bad painting. The heron looked worried. “Stay till morning.”

The fingers stopped.

“That’s not a question,” Margot said after a moment.

“Will you stay till morning?”

Silence. The radiator ticked. Lena kept her eyes on the heron so she wouldn’t have to watch Margot’s face do whatever it was doing.

Rule Three. Never stay till morning. Margot had said it the first night, in the elevator, with her hand already inside Lena’s jeans, and Lena had agreed because at that point Lena would have agreed to anything, including a lifetime ban from the state of New York.

“I have an early meeting,” Margot said.

“On a Monday. Shocking.”

“And a long drive.”

“How long?”

“Long enough.”

“That’s a non-answer.” Lena lifted her head. “You know that’s a non-answer.”

Margot looked at her. In this light, with her hair mussed and her face bare, she looked younger and more tired at the same time. The tiny lines at the corners of her eyes. The silver at her temples catching the lamp. She looked like someone about to say something real.

“Lena,” she said. “My name is—”

She stopped.

Lena watched it happen. Watched the sentence come right up to the edge of Margot’s mouth and stop there like a car at a cliff. Her last name. She’d been about to give Lena her last name. Rule One, the first one, the foundation of the whole stupid, perfect arrangement, and Margot had almost tripped over it.

“Your name is,” Lena said softly.

Margot exhaled. “Margot. Still.”

“Still Margot.”

“Still Margot.” She brushed a curl off Lena’s forehead. Her thumb lingered on the scar that split Lena’s left eyebrow, the one from the domestic call in her second year. She’d touched it every night. She’d never asked about it. “I can’t stay.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Tonight, they’re the same thing.”

Lena put her head back down on Margot’s chest so Margot wouldn’t see her face. It was fine. It was the deal. She’d agreed to the deal.

“That heron looks like it owes somebody money,” she said.

Margot’s chest moved, that small, surprised laugh. “It looks like it’s waiting for a verdict. Why do you keep staring at it?”

“Because it’s better than looking at you while you tell me no.”

The fingers stopped. Lena felt Margot breathe in, felt her hold it, and for one long second Lena thought she was going to change her mind.

Then Margot kissed the top of her head and said, very quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Which wasn’t a yes.

Margot dressed the way she did everything. Methodically. Shirt, buttons from the bottom up. Bra rehooked under it with one practiced reach. Pants, belt, socks, shoes. She stood at the mirror over the dresser and fixed her hair with her fingers until it looked like nobody had ever pulled it.

Lena lay in the bed with the sheet around her waist and watched her come back together piece by piece. Five nights, and she’d never seen Margot leave anything behind. Not an earring. Not a hair tie. Not a receipt.

The tie was still on the bed. Navy silk, crumpled near the pillow where Margot had dropped it.

Lena picked it up and held it out.

Margot came over and took it. She didn’t put it on. She folded it in thirds and slid it into her jacket pocket, and then she leaned down and kissed Lena once, slow, her hand cupping the back of Lena’s skull.

“Same time next week?” Lena asked against her mouth.

“If you want.”

“I always want. That’s kind of my problem.”

Margot straightened. Looked down at her. For a moment her face did that thing again, the not-quite-composed thing, and Lena thought, Ask me. Ask me one real question. Ask me where I grew up. Ask me what I do. Ask me why I had a bad day.

“Get some sleep,” Margot said.

She picked up her coat and her keys. At the door, she paused with her hand on the handle. She didn’t look back.

The clock on the nightstand said 11:40.

Lena watched the red numbers until the door clicked shut behind her, and then she watched them change to 11:41, and then she rolled over into the warm dent Margot had left in the mattress and pressed her face into the pillow, which smelled like her. Cedar and something sharp. Ink, maybe. Clean paper.

“Pathetic,” she told the pillow.

The pillow didn’t argue.

She heard Margot’s car start in the lot below and pull away. Then she rolled onto her back and grabbed her phone, because she was a grown woman and she was not going to lie here sniffing pillows like a teenager.

Two notifications.

The first was a text from 9:47 p.m. She’d felt the phone buzz somewhere around the second orgasm and ignored it with every cell in her body.

LT: Heard anything on the outside complaint? Who’d they get?

Dorian. Of course it was Dorian. Sunday night and he was still working, still worrying, still checking on her like he’d been doing for eleven years, since she was a rookie on patrol with a smart mouth and no idea how to keep it shut. He’d been the one to pull her into homicide. He’d been the one who sat with her on the courthouse steps after the Delgado case blew up and the victim’s mother screamed at her in front of the cameras. He’d been the one who said, Kid, a case can be right before every piece of it is tidy. You learn to live with that or you go work loss prevention at Target.

He’d be worried about the complaint. He’d be worried about her.

She typed with her thumb.

Nothing yet, LT. Dana says Monday. Probably some county paper-pusher.

She looked at it. Deleted the last sentence. Sent the first two.

The second notification was an email. Department account. Sent at 10:58 p.m., which meant somebody in Admin was working a Sunday too, and hated it.

NOTICE OF COMPLAINT — ADMINISTRATIVE

Subject Officer: Det. L. Ortiz, Homicide
Date/Time: Monday, 9:00 a.m.
Location: Conference Room B, Bellwether PD HQ
Outside Investigator: Harrow County Sheriff’s Office, Professional Standards Unit
Union Representation: Required

Lena read it twice.

Tomorrow. Some stranger from the county with a legal pad was going to read her the allegation out loud, and she was going to sit beside Dana and keep her face still and say I have nothing to add at this time, and she was not going to think about a small gray room and a voice saying—

She wasn’t going to think about it.

Harrow County.

Margot worked for the county. She’d said so the first night, at the bar, before the rules. I do investigations for the county, she’d said, swirling her bourbon, and I would rather set myself on fire than talk about it. And Lena had said, City. Same. Let’s not, and that had been that.

Harrow County. Investigations.

Lena stared at the screen.

Then she laughed, out loud, alone in Room 412, because it was the stupidest thought she’d had in years. Half of Harrow County did something you could call investigations. Child support. Tax liens. Margot, with her reading glasses that Lena had seen exactly once, sticking out of her coat pocket like a confession, probably spent her days in a beige cubicle catching snowplow contractors who padded their mileage.

Which, honestly, would explain a lot.

“Paper-pusher,” Lena said to the heron, and snorted.

She set an alarm for 6:00 a.m., because the room was on Margot’s card and checkout was at eleven and Lena was not going to be the kind of woman who stayed in her lover’s paid-for hotel room until housekeeping knocked. She turned off the lamp.

In the dark, she pulled the sheet up and rolled into Margot’s side of the bed and breathed in cedar and paper, and she fell asleep thinking about a navy silk tie folded neatly into a jacket pocket, and how she was going to get it off Margot’s neck next week, and what she was going to do with it when she did.

She slept better than she had in weeks.

It was the last good night’s sleep she’d get for a long time.

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Their wedding night. Room 412. The navy silk tie, the purple strap, the mirror over the dresser, and a heron that has seen far too much. Margot asks the question one more time. Then Lena asks it back.

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