This is from the Prologue:
He’d followed this path home hundreds of times. He knew it better than he knew his own hand. So why on this night was his pulse racing? His hands sweating? He hunched his shoulders and picked up his pace.
Nerves. He shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets and cast his gaze over the glistening snow. He sighed and watched his breath freeze into a white cloud before him.
Nuts, dumping Christa had been so difficult. How could he know she’d take it so hard?
He relived her fury as though she were standing here beside him. “How dare you,” she’d screamed as the tumbler tore past his ear. Her face red. A vein in her throat throbbing. “You don’t get to do this to me a second time. I won’t have it.”
He stepped past a string of pine trees. A punishing north wind slammed into him, pushed him sideways. He took a couple quick, dancer-like steps, arms flailing to avoid plunging into the frigid snow. He recovered, swore softly, pulled his coat collar tighter Sighing, he glanced down at his watch.
Late now. The street lights were on. But it was the pockets of blackness between lights that made the man shiver.
He needed to think. Needed to come up with an excuse for missing dinner.
He paused, cast a glance backwards. Had he heard something? Squinted. Shook his head. “Nothing there,” he muttered.
He set out again, his thoughts shifting to Angela. Faithful, beautiful, boring Angela. The perfect wife, who would one day morph into an exceptional mother. What had he been thinking? He was lucky to have her,
Had it been old habits or the siren song of a first love that had driven him back into Christa’s arms? The woman was like a fine wine. Difficult for him to put down. But so what? He needed to stay focused on what he wanted. A respectable life. A nice home. A family.
Well, the affair was over, he thought with a grunt. He’d finished it this afternoon. He’d never slip up again.
He rounded a corner. A figure stepped out before him. He saw the glint of the knife just before it plowed through his thick coat and pierced his soft flesh.
“Angela,” he called out, but his cry was lost on the wind.