Cruel Hearts (King’s Crossing #2)

Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

Stella

S unlight struggles to creep around the cheap blinds, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the weak glare. I’m lying on a thin, narrow mattress, the coils poking at me through the bottom sheet, and the comforter stinks like cheap aftershave.

My body aches and pain shoots through my head. The skin on one of my thighs burns, and my ribs throb.

There’s not a part of me that doesn’t hurt.

As my mind clears, memories of yesterday come back, and tears run down my cheeks and into the flat pillow under my head.

Maryanne is dead. Zane hates me so much he killed her, and I let him touch me. I let him fuck me. What had he been thinking while he shoved his cock into me knowing he killed the only mother I’ve ever known?

Then I think of his kind eyes, the way he would kiss me, the way he cried in my lap the first night he came to my apartment, and I have a difficult time reconciling the boy who lost his parents to a cold-blooded killer who would murder an old woman whose only crime was to help girls like me.

My stomach rumbles, but I’m too sick to eat. I don’t even know where I am.

Someone stopped me from killing myself last night.

I don’t thank them for it.

My life is a fucking mess, and all I’ve done since escaping Ash’s is put the ones I love in danger.

Like Quinn. I don’t know if she’s dead or alive. I pray to God she’s alive. I pray the hospital is smart enough to post security outside her room. Her shooting would look random though, and the chances of the hospital staff thinking she was someone’s target are slim.

Maybe whoever shot her will let her be and focus on me. I’m the one they were aiming for, after all.

I stifle a yawn and try not to move.

“You’re awake.”

My gaze flies to the man who steps out of the shadows. He’s holding a mug of coffee, and the earthy aroma churns my stomach. “Denton.”

“Hey, Stella, long time, no see.”

Richard Denton looks terrible. I guess being a traitor is a hard choice to live with.

“I’m sorry I hit you so hard last night. If it’s any consolation, the car’s bumper clipped my leg. I got a nice bruise.”

He betrayed Zane and Kagan and deserves everything he gets.

I turn my head, too sore to roll over. I should get up and go but I have nowhere to run, and Maryanne’s death leaves a hole in me so deep it will never go away.

Denton sits on the bed, and I stiffen. Is he going to hit me? Rape me?

“Here. I don’t know how you drink your coffee, but there’s milk and sugar in it.” He holds out the mug, and in his other hand sit three brown pills.

I don’t move.

He blows out a sigh. “I know you don’t trust me. The last time we spoke, I wasn’t...pleasant. But if we could talk—if you could listen and then decide, I’d be grateful. I think we can help each other.”

This close, he looks even worse than he did from across the room. Deep lines gouge into his face, and his hair is almost completely grey. The skin around his neck droops in crepey folds, and his sallow complexion blends in with his hair. He’s gained a lot of weight, or muscle has turned to fat. Either way, it’s not a good look for him.

Having nothing to lose, I slowly sit up. He helps me, securing an arm behind my back. My body odor hits my nose, and I grimace. It feels like forever since I showered in my old apartment.

Denton doesn’t seem bothered by it, carefully handing me the coffee mug and letting go only when my fingers are firmly wrapped around the handle. “Ibuprofen,” he says unnecessarily, pressing the pills into my palm.

I swallow them one by one. The sweet, warm coffee smooths away some of my skittishness, but my hands don’t stop shaking.

“Who wants you dead?” he asks, rising off the bed. He didn’t touch me besides helping me sit up and steadying the mug so I wouldn’t spill coffee all over myself, and a little of the tension loosens in my chest. Not much, but some. He has me all alone and can do whatever he likes. I’m obviously not in a position to defend myself.

I don’t speak. I can’t trust him. Instead, I sip at my coffee and stare at the dirty carpet.

He rubs his hands over his face. The rest of him matches his complexion. His clothes are rumpled. Definitely not the designer suits he wore at Maddox Industries. A dress shirt that has seen better days and khaki pants that are too tight at the waist fray at the hems. His feet are bare.

“If I give, will you give?” he asks.

Glaring at him, I snap, “There’s nothing you can say that I want to hear. You’re a traitor. You betrayed Zane and his father. You’re a disgrace, and you should be ashamed.”

Denton sags into a metal folding chair near a cheap card table. A generic laptop sits on top of the cracking brown Naugahyde.

I look around the minuscule efficiency apartment. Even living alone on minimum wage I did better than this. “Did Clayton Black turn on you? Did you fall out of his favor?” Never once did I hear Ash or Clayton say Denton’s name. I curl my lip. “Why do you live here?”

He scoffs. “Zane cut me out after you took off. Had that English asshole cut me and Cramer right out.”

I lean against the textured cream wall. My head won’t stop pounding. I might need more than three ibuprofen if I want any kind of relief. “Good. It’s what you deserve for being a two-faced liar. You were supposed to be Kagan’s friend.”

Laughing bitterly, Denton says, “And what about you, Miss High and Mighty? You were supposed to be Zane’s girlfriend, but the minute some guy shoves a big cock and a castle at you, you trip all over yourself. Sergio Cardello. Jesus Christ. He’s a good-looking guy, but you already had Zane hook, line, and sinker. How greedy can a woman be? Never mind. I know.”

I tighten my grip on the mug’s handle. This isn’t the first time Sergio’s name has come up. Quinn mentioned him, but I was too set on delivering the flash drive to Zane to acknowledge it. “I don’t know why everyone thinks I was with him. I barely remember who he is.”

Denton purses his lips. He thinks I’m lying, and I want to fling my mug into his face.

“You haven’t seen the photos?”

“What photos?”

Ash didn’t let me access social media. I wasn’t exposed to news of any kind. The only reason my computer had internet at all was so I could save progress to the cloud. Do you know how I know who the president of the United States is? Ash threw a huge party the night of the election and was extremely pissed off when the guy, despite predictions to the contrary, won a second term. That’s how I know. Not because I saw it on the front page of a newspaper or in the feed of my social media account. Not because I was allowed to vote.

“Cardello didn’t let you have a computer?” Denton asks, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

I grit my teeth. “I wasn’t with him.” How many times do I have to deny it before someone will listen?

“Paparazzi photos suggest otherwise, young lady.”

Denton wakes up the laptop, taps in a password, and quickly navigates to Truth or Dare , a trashy gossip website that liked to write nasty articles about me and Zane. He carries the computer to the bed and sits, and I lean around him to watch as he types my name into the search bar.

In two seconds the screen is full of pictures of me and Sergio Cardello, the man I met at Zane’s party who spoke with such a thick accent I could barely understand what he said. On the beach. Walking down a cobblestone street. It looks like France, or Spain, or maybe Italy, but I can’t say for sure because I’ve never been abroad.

There’s one of us lounging on a yacht, and something Zane said comes back to me.

“I can afford a fucking yacht, you know.”

I didn’t know what he meant then, but it’s obvious now.

I skim the captions and articles written under each picture, and the comments are pretty hideous, too. Gold-digging bitch is a favorite among the sweet adjectives used to describe me. Except, anyone who knew me would know that’s not me. Well, maybe not. She has my hair and my face, but her torso is a little longer than mine and her feet are a size bigger.

Zane looked at these and believed that woman is me. I can’t blame him. The whole world thinks it’s me. They even fooled Quinn, though after I corrected her, she changed her mind without argument.

Denton keeps scrolling, and I moan.

Zane thinks I gave Sergio Cardello babies.

“That isn’t me.” My voice is weak. How can I defend myself? I have no proof to explain where I really was.

Denton turns, bringing our faces close together. “I know, Stella.”

His easy agreement fills my eyes with tears of relief. “Why would you believe me?”

“Where have you been?” he asks instead.

“At Black Enterprises.”

“Not voluntarily.”

“No.”

With unexpected kindness, he squeezes my arm, and I almost come undone. “Why don’t you shower? While you were sleeping I bought you some clothes from a store down the street. They aren’t much, but your dress ripped when I fell on you.”

I search his face but don’t find anything but fatigue, downtrodden fatigue. “Why are you doing this?”

He sighs. “I’m not who you think I am. Not any more than who the world thinks you are. We need to work together. I’ll tell you my side of the story when you’re finished cleaning up.”

“All right.”

I shut myself in the tiny bathroom, not unlike the one I used at the warehouse. I stand under the hot water and try to think of anything else that will pull my attention away from the burning pain in my leg. Road rash hurts, bad. The side of my left thigh is scraped and oozing blood from my knee to my hip.

Denton meant business pushing me out of that car’s way. But why was he looking for me? What does he have to gain by us working together?

Why did Zane fire him and Larry Cramer? Did he find out Denton and Clayton were doing more than just meeting for drinks?

It hurts to raise my arms above my head to wash my hair, but I force myself to do it. I don’t know when I’ll be able to shower next. I use Denton’s razor to shave my legs the best I can, and I smile a little. I’m sure he’d love to know that, but it feels good to have smooth skin and gives me a small sense of normalcy.

When I step out of the shower, I find a pile of clothes on the vanity, and I poke through them. Striped wide-legged pants in a seersucker material that are perfect because it’s so hot outside. A matching blazer. A white tank top. My flats will look okay. He even bought me a bra and panty set in the correct sizes.

My skin crawls thinking of him pawing at me, but I push it aside in favor of clothes that fit.

I dress in the bra, panties, tank, and pants and step out of the bathroom in a puff of steam.

The shampoo, conditioner, and body wash were a generic brand, and the crisp ocean breeze scent wafts to me as I dry my hair using a tattered towel. My skin crackles. I wish I had lotion or a balm to smooth over my scrapes.

Denton’s still looking at the photos of “me” and Sergio.

“Zane believes that’s me.” I’m disappointed he would be so easily deceived, but he believes anything the Blacks tell him.

“They did a good job,” he says, scrolling. “Very talented with photo manipulation.”

“How do you know it’s not me?” I ask, a lump growing in my throat. I’m so tired. I want to lie down and sleep forever. I would be, if Denton hadn’t interfered.

He scrolls to a picture of Sergio and me slow dancing. My back is facing the camera, and I’m wearing a stunning strapless dress, my hair pinned up in a riot of curls. Sergio has his arms around me, and he’s staring deeply into my eyes. The photo oozes sex.

Denton points to the picture, then taps the screen. “Whoever put this together thought of everything but your tat. If you didn’t have the dove on your shoulder, they would have gotten away with it.”

“Holy fuck,” I breathe. I never considered that.

“Indeed. With the number of times I’m sure you and Zane...” He coughs. “I’m kind of surprised he didn’t see it for himself, but we believe what we’re led to believe. Besides, anyone can cover up ink with a little makeup. I just don’t think whoever made these pictures knew you well enough to know you have a tattoo.”

“Whoever? You mean Ash. He took me and had to come up with a plausible explanation for my disappearance. Me looking like a money-hungry tramp worked well enough. Zane didn’t need a spoonful of sugar to suck it down.”

I throw my towel into a small hamper in the bathroom. I don’t have a brush, and I finger comb the snarls out of my hair. It’s the best I can do.

The coffeemaker in the kitchen area is still warm, and feeling a little more like myself, I pour more into my mug. There’s a small mini fridge next to the counter, and I add a splash milk from the bottle inside.

At least I know why Zane believed the worst—Ash goaded him into it. From the moment we met at Temptations, Ash was on Zane’s ass to get rid of me. For being poor, for not being part of their social circle. Zane trusted Ash more than he loved me.

“The Blacks can be persuasive,” Denton says, watching me.

“Is that why you were meeting Clayton behind Zane’s back? Because he persuaded you?”

“I didn’t, and still don’t, trust Clayton Black as far as I can throw him. I believe he had something to do with Kagan’s and Lark’s deaths. I just can’t prove it. I was meeting Clayton on the pretense I wanted to work for Black Enterprises because under Zane’s control, Maddox Industries was going nowhere. I was just getting him to believe me, then you went poking through my email. You blew my cover. Black cut me off, and Zane cut me loose.”

“You were spying,” I say, my eyes widening in realization.

“ Trying . I was trying to spy, and it didn’t work out so well.”

“The Blacks are too smart for that.”

“Yes, and they know how to cover their tracks.”

I sip my coffee. I still don’t trust him. If he was really spying, he played his part well, too well, and I’ll never forget him in the conference room of Maddox Industries threatening me, leering at me, his thumb skimming my breast. But that close, he definitely saw my tattoo.

Praise God he remembered.

“At least Zarah was able to get away from Ash.” If any good came out of this, it was that I pried Zarah out of his grip. He didn’t love her, and I doubt he ever did. Something is broken inside him, and he will never understand how it feels to care about someone. He’s full of pure evil.

Denton shakes his head. “You really have been cut off from the world, haven’t you?”

My heart drops and I ask, “What do you mean? Did something happen to her?”

He clicks a few keys on his keyboard. “Come look at this. This happened right after you disappeared.”

I stand behind his chair and he starts a video on a social media sharing site. Someone filmed parts of Zane’s party, and as I watch the footage, the elegant tables and finely-dressed guests, it seems like it happened just yesterday. How fabulous I felt in my dress. How proud I was to be on Zane’s arm. How in love I was with him.

I recognize several people, but a lot I don’t because the private party had opened to the public by then.

The person filming scans the ballroom, and the muted conversations drown out the screaming...at first.

Whoever’s recording swings the camera or phone to the back of the ballroom, and Zarah bursts through the entryway, her shrill shrieks quieting the guests.

The camera shot zooms in. It’s sickening someone would film this rather than stop and run to her aid, but at the same time my eyes are glued to the screen in identical gruesome fascination.

“He took her! He took her!” Zarah stumbles and falls to her knees. She’s tearing at her hair, and her eyes are rolling around in their sockets. Clayton and Zane rush to her side, and she lunges at Zane, her teeth bared, snarling like a rabid dog. “Make him let her go!” she screams, attacking him. “Make him let her go!”

Zane pushes her off, and Zarah slaps him across the face so hard I wince.

Hotel security intervenes then, and they restrain her. Someone calls emergency services and the paramedics administer a sedative, shoving a needle into her arm as a burly man holds her down.

Zarah quiets, and the paramedics secure her to a stretcher and wheel her out of view.

The person filming focuses on Zane who sits stunned, a hand to his cheek.

Clayton adjusts his tie and smooths his jacket.

Nigel Wagner helps Zane to his feet.

The video ends, and the site offers to play another.

“There’s more, different angles, longer clips, but it’s all the same. At the time, I thought that was a pretty strong reaction to you running away with another man, but Zarah saw Black take you, didn’t she?”

I stare at the frame that freezes Nigel gripping Zane’s hand. “Ash was selling her,” I murmur. “I came out of the ladies’ room, and I overheard them. She had...what do you call that kind of thing? Ash had arranged an appointment for her that night. A million dollars, he said. He could get a million dollars a night selling Zarah for sex.”

Denton twists in his seat and scrubs at his face, his jaw covered in whiskers. “Black broke her.”

“What happened after they took her away?”

“Locked her up and threw away the key. She’s been at Quiet Meadows under a doctor’s care all this time.”

“Good God,” I murmur.

Quiet Meadows is a sanatorium located on the outskirts of the city. It sits on a hundred acres and is the best care facility in the United States. The rich and famous check in to dry out. Celebrities who have mental health issues seek treatment there. A famous actress’s mother had a very public struggle with Alzheimer’s and the actress moved her to Quiet Meadows to live out the rest of her days.

“I’m not the only one who’s lost five years of her life.”

“No. Black makes a show of going to see her three or four times a week. Always calls the paparazzi and sets up a photo op. They’re still engaged, according to him.”

“Fuck him. He sold her.”

“How did he do that, Stella? Why would she let him?”

“Ash was threatening her and said Kagan was involved in illegal arms deals. He said if she didn’t do what he wanted, he’d expose her parents as traitors of the United States, tear Maddox Industries down to nothing, and Zane along with it.”

“And she believed him? She didn’t have more faith in her brother and parents?” he asks, the grooves in his face deepening.

“Denton, she was a twenty-year-old girl. He said he had proof. She wanted to protect her brother, and you can’t blame her. I don’t know how many times he sold her before I stopped it. Quite a few, if the bruises on her body were any indication. She always claimed it was Ash being too passionate in bed and told me to mind my own business.”

“That’s why she went ballistic. She thought Black would do the same to you.”

“I wasn’t thinking about myself. I traded places with her because she’s all the family Zane has left. Who am I? No one missed me.”

“That’s not true, but even if it was, it didn’t do much good. Not where she ended up.”

“At least she’s away from Ash. She’s probably safer there. If he wanted her mouth shut, he could have thought of a more permanent solution.”

“Is that what Black made you do, too?” Denton asks gently, not moving to touch me.

I drain the dregs of my coffee. I need food, but I don’t know how to ask if I can have something to eat. A meal seems trivial. Rinsing out my cup, I think of what to say. I wish I could trust him, but so far, he hasn’t given me much and nothing concrete. Using a ratty hand towel, I dry the mug and set it next to the coffeemaker.

Expecting the worst, Denton patiently waits for me to answer. On one level, it’s nice to have someone to talk to, who’s open to the idea Ash and Clayton Black are violent assholes up to their necks in bad deals. On another, I don’t know Denton well, if at all, and I’ll need more time to decide if he’s lying to me.

“Stella,” he prompts quietly, “I won’t think poorly of you. We all do what we have to do to survive.”

“He didn’t sell me. The opposite is true, actually. He cut me off from everything and kept me locked in a room alone doctoring a second set of books. He used my accounting degree to his advantage. I know more about Black Enterprise’s illegal activities than I ever wanted.”

Denton’s eyes light up. “Then you have proof they’re dirty.”

“Only up here,” I say, tapping my temple. No use telling him I wasted the hard proof I had turning it over to Zane. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking when I handed him that flash drive. Well, I do know. I was hoping he loved me enough to listen, but he doesn’t. He never did.

I have to think he destroyed it. I have to plan like it doesn’t exist, because it probably doesn’t.

He sighs and thrums his fingers on the tabletop. “Now what? Black’s after you.”

“Ash or Zane, it doesn’t matter.”

“Why would Zane care you’re back?”

“He hates me. He thinks I ran off to Italy with Sergio Cardello and wants revenge.”

Denton nods. “We need a plan.”

“I want to see Zarah. If she knows I’m okay, there could be a chance she’ll snap out of it. I need to tell her that what happened wasn’t her fault. If anyone’s to blame, it’s Zane. He never believed me when I tried to tell him how dirty Ash is. He has too much faith in the Blacks, and that has hurt us all.”

“They won’t let you in to visit her. The last I heard, she was under high-security supervision. The rag mags report she’s violent if she’s not drugged up.”

That doesn’t sound like her. Not the sweet, innocent girl I knew. “What sets her off?”

Lifting a shoulder, he says, “I don’t know.”

I change the subject. I’ll always worry about Zarah, but there’s nothing I can do for her, at least, not right now. I need to see Quinn and then I can think of a plan. “Can you bring me to the hospital?”

“Are you hurt?” He quirks his lips in sympathy. “I’m sorry I tackled you so hard.”

I wave him off. “No, but my friend, Quinn, is. She was shot yesterday and I don’t know if she’s okay.”

“I can drive.”

“Then if you can drop me at the industrial park, I have a few things I need to pick up. Zane’s a lost cause. You know that, don’t you? He’ll never believe the truth about the Blacks.”

Denton shoots off his chair. “What are you saying? You’re giving up?”

“What else should I do? Someone’s after me. They murdered—” I swallow a sob. “I appreciate what you did last night, but you should have just let them kill me.”

“That’s bullshit. Don’t you want revenge? Don’t you want to make the Blacks pay?”

Tears burn my eyes. There’s nothing I want more. But I’m selfish, and the things they’ve made Zane believe about me and hurting Quinn are the crimes that have damaged me most.

Ash twisted Zane so much he killed Maryanne to get back at me. I hate him for that. Let the Blacks destroy the Maddoxes in some bizarre Hatfield and McCoy game.

I don’t care.

My heart broke the minute I found Maryanne with a bullet in her head.

I’m done.

“We don’t have the resources to do that. The Blacks have local law enforcement in their pockets, and they’re working with the FBI to cover up Kagan’s and Lark’s deaths—”

A satisfied grin stretches across his mouth. “I knew it!”

“Knowing doesn’t help. Even proving it is a lost cause. Zane doesn’t want to believe. He hates me and fired you. We’re the last two people on earth he’d listen to. Especially when we have shit to say about his precious Ashton Black.”

Denton palms his keys, and they jingle between the terseness of our words. “You’re probably right about that, but there’s one person he’ll still listen to.”

“Nigel Wagner?”

“Perhaps, but we need someone a bit closer to home.”

“There’s no one.”

“There’s Zarah.”

“If she’s as bad as you say she is, we’d have a better chance of asking Santa Claus to talk to Zane.”

“I admit, it’s a long shot, but it’s all we got.” He jerks his head. “Come on.”

Denton drives a nondescript beige mid-sized car. Old, greasy bags of fast food fill the back seat, and my stomach rolls with hunger and queasiness.

The temperature dropped, and it’s almost pleasant to be outside. I try to relax and let my guard down around him. We seem to be on the same side, but out of anyone in this fucking mess I thought I’d be able to trust, Richard Denton would have been the last on the list. Okay, the only person on the list. All right, so I had no list.

Maybe I should keep it that way.

Quiet Meadows is a huge facility located on the south side of King’s Crossing. The grounds are beautiful—flowers and little fountains and ponds create a serene and peaceful atmosphere. When we pull onto the property, through a wrought-iron fence we catch glimpses of patients in the distance enjoying the unexpected mild temperatures aided by their nurses. Some look like they’re doing okay, holding conversations, their faces animated. Others trudge along as if in a fog, attendants walking nearby, prodding them to keep moving.

“Don’t want to know how much this place costs,” Denton mutters, steering into the freshly paved parking lot.

He parks in the rear under a tree, and heat begins to fill the car the second he turns the engine off. He sits for a moment, clenching the keys, tired and sad, a faraway look in his eyes. I often look like that myself, wishing to go back to a time when things were happier. When Zane still loved me.

Zarah and I weren’t the only ones who lost time because of the Blacks, and I touch his arm in commiseration.

He turns his head and meets my gaze. “You don’t trust me, and that’s probably wise on your part. But I want you to know, for what it’s worth, I admire you. For what you did for Zarah.”

“I didn’t do it for Zarah. Well, maybe a little, but I did it for Zane more. I loved him. I would have done anything for him.”

Covering my belly, I close my eyes and relive him screwing me on my bed. He didn’t wear a condom. Not like before when he wanted to protect me. How long do sperm live inside a woman’s body? Do I still carry a piece of him with me?

I miss him. The old Zane. Or maybe there was never an old Zane. Maybe I turned him into a person who doesn’t exist. I’d needed him, desperately, but he’d never truly been who I needed him to be.

“Still, not just anyone would do what you did. I respect you for that.”

“Thanks.”

We climb out of the car, and I breathe in a lungful of fresh air.

“They aren’t going to let us see her. This place has a massive amount of security, and all their clients have approved guest lists. Walking up to a nurses’ station and asking to see Zarah Maddox, the sister of one of the most powerful men in the country, will be the fastest way to get both of us arrested.”

“Then what should we do?” I ask, nervously glancing around the lot, though nothing seems out of the ordinary. I can’t forget someone is after me. Denton can’t ensure my safety. No one can.

“I thought about that on the drive here. I think we should pose as a father and daughter and inquire about services. If we ask for a tour, maybe we can get a bead on where Zarah’s room is.”

It’s the best we’ve got, but I joke, “We don’t look like we can afford five minutes in this place.”

Denton colors, a red stain climbing up his neck. “Black froze all my assets. I had a small off-shore account he didn’t know about, and I’ve been living off that while searching for proof to nail the son of a bitch.”

“I’m sorry.” That explains his pathetic living situation.

“I just wish I could have done more. Can’t say I’ve made much progress.” He blows out a breath. “Let’s go.”

We enter the lobby, and a light tinkling of classical music meets my ears. There are plants everywhere, and sunlight glimmers down through large skylights. An enormous reception desk sits directly in front of the doors. No sneaking around this place without being seen.

Denton’s right. Quiet Meadows is not a facility where people come and go as they please.

Security guards are everywhere—men as big as football players dressed in casual khaki pants and dress shirts, weapons bulging beneath finely-cut blazers—and a chill runs down my spine. They remind me of Hector. I wonder if there’s one stationed outside Zarah’s room.

My heart sinks. I think we might end up having to bust her out of here. She definitely doesn’t belong in this place. Unless watching Ash take me broke something inside her mind. In which case, maybe seeing that I’m okay still won’t be enough.

Denton greets the receptionist, and I paste a smile onto my face.

I’m having a difficult time adjusting to the outside world and away from the skyscraper Ash turned into my prison. He was very careful to keep me hidden, revealing my identity to only a specifically chosen number of his friends and associates, and now that I’m free, colors and feelings and experiences swirl around me like a kaleidoscope. My senses are easily overwhelmed and the recent threats on my life have frayed my nerves to the point I crave seclusion, but I won’t get anywhere curled into a ball with a pillow over my head. I need to be stronger than that, and I try to find comfort in the soft music drifting from hidden speakers and Denton’s solid presence.

He puts his arm around me, tucking me into his side, and I attempt to act natural, meeting the hard eyes of a grumpy nurse. “And this is my daughter, S—”

“Stephanie,” I cut in before my real name slips out of Denton’s mouth. I hold out my hand and she reluctantly reciprocates, squeezing my fingers for a second and then letting go. “We’re excited to see the facility,” I say brightly as Denton sighs. “We’ve heard wonderful things about this place.”

She gestures to a young woman wearing a conservative dress and low heels and asks her to lead us to a suite of administrative offices. We walk behind her, and I keep my eyes and ears open. The survival instincts I developed in foster care came back while I was trapped at Black Enterprises. I quickly learned to listen, observe, and gauge people’s moods. You can find out a lot about your surroundings and the people in it if you pay attention.

A spacious and airy office is located at the end of a wide hallway, and a middle-aged woman wearing a ghastly peach business suit sits behind a huge desk typing on a computer. A gold name plaque positioned at the edge of her desk says her name is Iona Belsely. Her hair is permed into tight curls close to her head, and her lipstick is too bright for her complexion. She smiles at us, looking Denton up and down, and waves to two chairs in a surprisingly friendly invitation to sit. She wastes half an hour telling us about the benefits and amenities of the facility. Around-the-clock security is one, and I grit my teeth.

We’re never going to see Zarah.

“We’d like a tour, if that’s possible,” Denton says, flashing her a gleaming smile and running a hand through his hair, his watch glinting. It might have turned grey, but he doesn’t have a receding hairline like a lot of men his age. Under the pallor, he could still be an attractive man.

Charmed, the dumpy woman titters. Her gaze keeps landing on the hand he has resting on a propped-up knee. He’s not wearing a wedding band.

We file out of the sunny office, and she forgets all about me as I trail behind them. I don’t mind. Let Denton pick up the slack. Maybe he’ll get a date out of this. She must be paid all right running a place of this size and reputation.

Bits of their conversation drift to me, and he says something about dementia and running off.

Iona leads us down a wing that looks more like a hospital, and I don’t see any security. Deliberately slowing, I lag, and casually, I try to open a door, but it’s locked. If patients are prone to wandering off, that seems practical, but apprehension wiggles in my belly.

We walk to the rear of the building where the glass doors open into a huge garden.

I tamp down a groan of frustration. We’ve been here for over an hour and we haven’t learned a damned thing. Denton senses my annoyance and rubs my arm. I start to step away, but I forgot he’s supposed to be my father and suck in a deep breath to calm down. I scramble to think of a way to figure out where Zarah is, but Denton reads my mind.

Humor twinkles in his eyes and he leans toward her and murmurs, “I’ve heard there’s a wing where the famous people are.”

Iona blushes. “We do have some well-known clients with us, and their rooms are located in a private wing. They aren’t all famous, but it is costly to stay on that side of the building. I assumed you would be interested in the more affordable options.”

Denton chuckles. “Now, honey, looks can be deceiving.” He tucks his hands into his pockets and smiles.

She simpers in apology. “Of course. I am so sorry. If you’re looking into those kinds of accommodations, follow me. We do have two suites available, and they’re ready for residents.”

“Sounds good.”

Behind her back, Denton eyes meet mine.

This is where Zarah will be staying. The only question now is how we can see her. No doubt Zane and Ash will have her locked away, locked down , but even if we can get to her, we don’t have any information that says she’ll be coherent enough to recognize me, much less talk to me.

The woman giggles at something Denton says, and it’s not a very becoming sound. She starts to list the famous people who are treated here, quite proud of her facility and its reputation. I admit the place is beautiful, but it should be for as much as families need to pay just to step foot inside the door.

Denton is doing his job, and I do mine. He plays a good ol’ boy, wanting to do right by his mama no matter the cost. It gives me time to look—she’s mesmerized and doesn’t see anything but his face. She wouldn’t have had a snowball’s chance in hell if she’d met him five years ago. She would have offered us Zarah’s room number on a silver platter, all Richard Denton would have needed to do was crook his finger.

Discreetly, I start looking for clues on the doors or walls that could possibly indicate who occupies each room. Suddenly, Iona stops in front of a door that has a gorgeous flowered wreath hanging from a gold hook and lowers her voice. “This is Zarah Maddox’s suite. She’s our youngest patient. Tragic, what happened to her.”

The wooden door made to look like a house’s front door doesn’t offer any information. She doesn’t have a chart like some of the others, and her room’s protected by a keypad keeping anyone who doesn’t belong out.

Iona notices me eyeing it and says, “We offer all our patients the highest level of security. For Miss Maddox, it’s a must. You wouldn’t believe the reporters and paparazzi who want a picture of her. It’s horrible.”

“Does she get any visitors?” I ask.

The director narrows her eyes at me, and behind her back, Denton makes a slicing motion through the air.

I’m being too nosy.

“Her brother, Zane Maddox, will visit on occasion, but it’s her fiancé, Mr. Ashton Black, who visits the most. Mr. Maddox went through his own tragedy around the time his sister was admitted. So distraught by those events and his sister’s breakdown, he gave Miss Maddox’s fiancé power of attorney.” She glances at Denton out of the corner of her eye. “Tragically romantic.”

Swallowing hard, I grab my throat. Holy shit.

Ash has complete control over Zarah.

We’re screwed. The only person who can fix this is Zane, and he’s far from listening to me or Denton. Ash will never let Zarah leave—she knows too much.

“Is she allowed visitors who aren’t family?” Denton asks, and I quirk a corner of my mouth. Now who’s nosy?

Iona realizes we’re too interested in Zarah and doesn’t answer. Instead, she turns on her heel and leads us back to her office. We sit in the comfortable chairs, the woman’s enormous mahogany desk between us. I feel like we’re running out of time to do something, and I say the only thing that will give me privacy. “I’m so sorry, but I need to use the restroom.”

“They’re down the hallway and around the corner to your right,” she says, focused on Denton who’s resting his forearms on the top of her desk, their hands inches apart.

I have maybe ten minutes, fifteen tops if I claim a feminine hygiene emergency. As quickly as I can, but trying to appear as if I belong and know where I’m going, I backtrack to the VIP wing. I’m worried about the keypad. I don’t know how I can get past it.

I peer around the corner, and luck is on my side. Doctors are doing their rounds, and a group of four is stopped in front of her door. A tall man dressed in a suit and white lab coat stands behind another man who’s about to enter the code.

This is my only chance, and I slowly walk by, trying to see without attracting attention.

It doesn’t work, not in this ultra-private section of the sanatorium.

They all stop and stare at me.

“Can I help you, miss?” An older doctor who has dark hair and thin, black-framed glasses can’t take his eyes off me or my cleavage that’s on full display in my white tank top. A woman wearing a sleek sage green suit and silver-framed glasses, her platinum hair pinned into a French twist, frowns at him and pokes his shoulder.

Sometimes I forget men find me attractive. I smile cheerily. “I’m searching for my mom’s room. I must have gotten turned around. She hasn’t been here long.”

“You need to go back and turn left,” the woman snaps.

I try not to bristle. How dare she assume I can’t afford the VIP wing for my mom? Though, to be fair, not many can. “Thanks.”

Instead of listening to the not-so-subtle hint to move along, I start digging through my purse, muttering, “I need a piece of gum.” The doctors ignore me. The keypad is just in my line of sight, and I lean a little to my right and watch them through the hair falling in front of my face. One. One. One. The woman shifts and crosses her arms over her chest, blocking my view of the keypad.

Crap.

Well, three out of four, assuming there are four, and not six or ten, isn’t bad, but I’m out of time.

Denton’s sweating bullets when I slip into my seat.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologize, rubbing my damp palms against my pants. “It’s my time of the month.”

The director hums in sympathy. “I had a hysterectomy last year. It changed my life.”

Smiling politely, I say, “I’ll keep that in mind, though I’m a bit young for it. I don’t even have kids yet! Did you get everything you needed, Dad?” We need to leave. This place creeps me out, and I swear the one doctor who couldn’t stop gawking at my boobs recognized me from the gossip sites.

“Sure, honey. I think your grandma will be very happy here.”

Iona stands and offers him a stack of brochures. “We look forward to having her in our care.”

She walks us out, and near the front doors, we exchange handshakes.

Denton waits until we reach his car to ask, “Did you see her?”

“No, but a bunch of doctors were doing their rounds and I think I have the keycode to her room, maybe. I need to go back inside.”

“There’s no way. This place is locked up tighter than Fort Knox. How do you think you’ll do that without getting arrested for trespassing?”

I lean my butt against his dirty car. “I have no idea. All I know is I have to try. She’s spent five years of her life in this hellhole.”

Denton briefly rests his hand on my shoulder and says, “Maybe she needs to be here.”

“Maybe she does, but she flipped out because Ash took me. If she can see I’m back...”

“After touring this place and checking out all the security, she may not be worth the risk, even if Zane will listen to her. I’m broke, but I’m not in prison.”

I think of Zarah’s kind eyes. The way she laughed at me the night I paid for our meals at the Sweet Apple pub. The one hundred dollar bill she shoved into my pocket when she hugged me.

The bruises all over her body.

The way Zane would say her name.

No. I won’t help Zarah for Zane. He doesn’t deserve it...but Zarah is my friend and I care about her. I won’t let her suffer because I’m scared. I lived in hell for the past five years, too, but I was fortunate to escape. Zarah will not be so lucky. Ash has power of attorney, and he’ll never let her go. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Denton nods. He was Kagan’s good friend and business partner, after all. He could love Zarah like his own daughter. Maybe he doesn’t want to understand, but he does.

Pulling his keys out of his pocket, he says, “Okay. Wait here. Five minutes. I’ll create a distraction. Be prepared to get in and get out. If you’re caught, I don’t know if I’ll be able to talk you out of it. I don’t have enough cash to pay bail.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Just be ready.”

He leaves me standing in the aisle of the parking lot, the buttery sun doing its best to keep me from shivering. I won’t let myself think he abandoned me, but that’s exactly how I feel watching his car merge into the traffic on the busy street.

There are cameras everywhere, and they watch me, their beady red eyes boring into my body. I need to get a hold of myself or I’ll snap. Going crazy when someone wants you dead makes their job easier.

People visiting their loved ones leisurely enter and exit the building. Awkwardly, I loiter near a car, hoping I look like I’m waiting for someone. A few minutes later, a shrill siren pierces the air.

That’s my cue.

I rush across the parking lot, push through the glass doors, and step into the lobby.

An organized chaos has taken over.

Nurses are running every which way.

Security guards urgently bark orders into walkie-talkies and cell phones.

The receptionist who greeted us holds a telephone close to her lips and “bomb threat” tumbles out of her mouth.

That’s what Denton did.

Brilliant.

Lowering my head and not making eye contact with anyone, I hurriedly walk toward the VIP wing. A young woman rushing out of an office leaves the door wide open in her haste, her face pasty white. She doesn’t acknowledge me. I dart inside, yank a white lab coat off a coat tree in the corner and grab a clipboard that’s laying on the messy desk.

Scurrying down the crowded corridor, I pray no one notices me.

The PA system repeats over and over, “Code Green. Repeating, Code Green. All personnel report to their designated positions. Repeating, all personnel report to their designated positions. Code Green. Code Green.”

I stop at Zarah’s door.

A man wearing bright blue scrubs yells at me. “You got her?”

I nod.

I hope this is Denton’s doing and not a real bomb threat. Had we planned better, this would have been the perfect time to steal Zarah away from all this mess, but I don’t know if she needs to be here. There’s only one way to find out.

My fingers shaking, I key in the numbers I know. Praying I have unlimited attempts, I start at zero and try every number to eight.

“Fuck,” I mutter. I have one number left.

One. One. One. Nine.

The light blinks from red to green and the lock clicks open. I don’t waste another second, and cracking the door just enough to slip through, I step inside.

The door bumps shut behind me, and the noise disappears.

Zarah’s sitting in a wheelchair in the middle of a sterile space decorated to look like an elegant sitting room. It almost works.

Two loveseats are grouped together, a coffee table between them, creating what’s supposed to be an inviting conversational area. Decorative rugs cover a shining hardwood floor, and beautiful paintings hang on cream-colored walls. Through a doorless archway I see large windows that look over the grounds, a chest of drawers, and a queen bed, and beyond that, a bathroom. A vanity, toilet, and shower stall are wedged next to a bathtub the size of my old bathroom.

My friend stares blankly into space, her hands clenched into fists on top of a nubby white blanket laying across her lap. Her skin is soft and smooth and her hair is healthy, but her eyes lack sparkle. They lack life.

I set the stolen clipboard on the lip of a windowsill and drag a chair over to sit in front of her.

“Zarah,” I say urgently.

Something flickers in her deep brown eyes, and it gives me hope. Her hair isn’t as long as it used to be, the ends resting on the tops of her shoulders. Her eyebrows are shaped into delicate arches, and lip gloss glistens on her lips. Someone dressed her in stylish pajamas. She looks like the socialite she is, planning to stay home for the day.

I hold her hands and pry her fingers open. “Zarah, sweetheart. It’s me, Stella. Do you remember me?”

There’s a little something in her eyes now.

Awareness.

Her hands squeeze mine. “Stella,” she says, her voice soft, raspy, like she doesn’t speak often.

“I’m here, baby. I’m here.” I talk to her like we have a conversation every day. “Went a little crazy when Ash took me away, huh?” I force a smile.

Panic shoots across her face at the mention of Ash’s name. He still scares her. If he visits her all the time, God knows what he says to keep her quiet.

“Zarah, what I’m going to say is very important. Do you understand me?”

Sweat trickles down my back. Any minute someone is going to check this room.

She squeezes my hands. That’s a good sign.

“You have to listen to me now. I escaped Ash’s building. I got out. Do you see me? ”

She nods.

“Do you understand I’m not a dream?”

Her eyes blank out.

I hold her chin in my hand. “Look at me, Zarah. Focus.”

Her gaze connects with mine.

“Good. I’m here, and I’m okay. Ash didn’t hurt me. I’m okay, but you aren’t. Sweetheart, you have to fight. You have to get out of here.”

“Stella.”

“Yes. I’m here, and I’m okay. Ash is a liar, and we need to help Zane. Do you understand?” I brush my fingers over her cheek. She’s in there, somewhere. It’s more than I dared to hope for.

“You’re here,” she whispers, her lips quivering.

“I’m here, and I’m going to get you out, but you have to fight. We need to make Ash pay for what he’s done.”

“How?”

“Are they giving you drugs?”

She swallows and nods.

“Okay. Probably lots. Try to come back to us. You have a lot to live for.” I keep my voice firm but pleasant.

My time has run out. If I want to disappear in the commotion, I need to go. I gather her lithe, spiritless body in my arms and press a kiss to her hair. “I’m going to get you out of here, but you have to help me, okay? Remember I’m here, that I’m all right.”

I wiggle the pen from beneath the board’s silver clip. My drawing skills are horrible, but I outline a martini glass on the inside of her wrist. Quickly, I sketch the triangle, line for the stem, and the circle for the base of the glass. I add a swizzle stick and write “Sweet Apple” under it.

I’m hoping she remembers that’s what we shared. She turned me on to apple martinis. I add a small heart and ink it in.

“Start fighting,” I say, then I stand.

“Stella,” she whispers.

“Yeah. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Ash is bad.”

When she says that, I notice she’s still wearing his engagement ring.

I’m ashamed to say I let Ash take the ring Zane gave me the night he promised he would marry me one day. At the time, I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. I’d resigned to my fate, and it took me too long to find my spirit.

“Ash is bad, and I need your help to prove it. Let’s give him what he deserves, okay?” I pull the ring off her finger, and she lifts her hand. She stares at it like an infant discovering her fingers for the first time.

Something in her shifts and a darkness drops away.

I hate leaving her, but I have no choice. Giving her another hug and kissing her cheek, I say, “I love you, Zarah. Fight this. Fight them. We can’t let them win.”

A clipboard is hanging near her door, and it lists her daily schedule. Moving my finger down the paper, I count six medications they give Zarah every day. My stomach heaves in disgust. They’re poisoning her.

I drop Zarah’s ring into my bag and pull out Quinn’s phone. It has ten percent charge remaining. I snap a few pictures of her prescription list, then with another quick look over my shoulder, I’m gone.

I leave her staring at her bare finger, and God knows how long it’s been, a smile on her lips.

I ditch the lab coat and hurry out the nearest door. No one stops me.

German shepherds are sniffing around, and a SWAT team crawls through the facility and over the grounds. They snap at me to evacuate, that the employees and patients who are able to do so have gathered across the street, and securing my purse, I hurry to the parking lot.

Denton didn’t give me any instructions, and I start walking down the long driveway. More police cars drive toward the building and some of the cops stare at me as they roll by. Feeling too exposed, I cut across the grass. Trees dot the grounds, and their cover reduces a little of my tension. The sanatorium’s property is huge, and it’s almost a half an hour later I reach an adjacent street.

I’m starting to worry Denton really did abandoned me when he slows along the side of the road. I scramble into the car, grateful to be shielded from sight and the midday heat.

He doesn’t waste any time asking if I’m okay. “What did you find out?”

“Look at this before you start driving.” I hand him Quinn’s phone.

He squints at the small screen and medication list and whistles through his teeth. “They have her on enough drugs to put an elephant into a coma.”

“She’s in there, somewhere. I took her engagement ring, and that seemed to make her feel better.” I give him the ring, and he whistles again.

“I could retire in a nice place if I pawned a rock like this.” He passes it back to me, and I drop it into a pocket inside my purse and zip it closed. Thank God Quiet Meadows didn’t have metal detectors. If they didn’t like us asking questions, they sure wouldn’t have liked Quinn’s gun. I forgot all about it and I should have left my purse in the car, but it was fortunate I had her phone.

He merges onto the busy street.

The jerking movement churns my stomach, and I have no choice but to ask, “Can we find a place and eat? I don’t feel well.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I’ve been running on adrenaline since I picked you up last night.”

“It’s okay, but it’s been a while since I’ve had something, and I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

Denton finds a family-style restaurant, and the waitress seats us in a dark corner. I order chicken strips and a double order of French fries, and while I wait for my food, drink two glasses of water.

He studies the medication list again. “I’m going to email this to myself so we have access to it on another device. Your battery’s almost dead. No one needs this many meds. They’re keeping her in a non-stop conscious sedation. You said she responded when you spoke to her?”

I told him what I said, what little she said back, and about drawing the martini glass on her wrist hoping it would remind her that I hadn’t been a dream.

“Smart.”

“Until someone washes it off. But now what?”

“We can’t go up against the Blacks alone.” He states the obvious and I want to snap at him, but I force myself to stay quiet. I’m hungry, not angry.

Taking a deep breath, I say, “I know. If it weren’t for Zarah, I’d walk away.”

He pats my hand. “You have a good heart, Stella.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what got me into this mess in the first place.” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. Maryanne had been right all along. I should have kept my eyes on my own paper.

His tired eyes appraise me over the table. He lost a lot, too. The Blacks have destroyed many lives, not just mine, not just Zarah’s and Zane’s, and I have to remember that.

“I’m sorry I thought badly of you,” I say, crumpling a napkin in my fist.

“You were supposed to, but I played my part too well. You’ve wanted to protect Zane since the minute you met him, and I admire that. Kagan was a good friend. The best. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for the people he cared about, and Lark was the same way.”

The waitress places our meals in front of us, and I eat slowly, one small bite at a time. I’m queasy, and I don’t want to feel any worse than I already do.

He continues, “I did everything I could—networked, cold called, kissed ass. I worked eighteen-hour days to help Kagan and Larry turn Maddox Industries into what it was before Kagan’s death. Zane’s done a tremendous job. He brought his father’s company to the next level. It’s what Larry and I were trying to get him to understand before you disappeared.”

“After Ash took me, all he did was work?” I nibble at a piece of chicken.

“He dated, but mostly he kept to himself. He took Zarah’s breakdown pretty hard.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“We can’t do this alone,” Denton repeats, cutting into his steak.

“Besides making sure Zarah’s safe, there’s nothing more I want to do. There are people who want me dead, and that includes Zane. I need to check on Quinn, break Zarah out of that hellhole, and leave King’s Crossing as fast as I can.”

Denton pushes his plate away, rests his elbows on the table, and clasps his hands together. “I can’t let Kagan’s and Lark’s deaths go. They need justice.”

“I don’t know how you think we can be the ones to do that,” I say, dragging a French fry through a puddle of ketchup. “Zane won’t believe anything we say, and at the moment, Zarah’s too out of it to help us. He’ll never think badly of the Blacks, and if we don’t have him on our side, if he’s not going to fight with us, we have nothing.”

He presses his lips together in an unhappy frown knowing I’m right. I gave Zane proof in black and white. That was my mistake. Thinking he’d believe me. I didn’t know about Sergio or the photos. Maybe if I would have listened to Quinn, asked her to show me what in the hell she was talking about, I wouldn’t have been so quick to give away the only evidence I worked so hard to find.

Now my life is in danger, and my best chance is to disappear.

Denton pays our bill, though I offer. I have a little cash, but he waves me off.

In silence, we drive to the hospital. I hope to God Quinn made it through the night. Denton lets me out in front of the main entrance and says he’ll wait in visitor parking. I won’t be surprised if he’s gone when I come out. I don’t know where I’ll go or what I’ll do, but we can do about as much together as we can separately, which is to say, nothing.

This time I’m smart and leave Quinn’s gun in the car, storing it in the glove box. Denton lifts his eyebrows in surprise, but I only shrug and say, “It’s Quinn’s.” I was lucky Quiet Meadows didn’t have a metal detector, but I know the hospital will.

The woman working at the registration desk gives me directions to Quinn’s room, and in the elevator, I let tears of relief fall. I’d been prepared for her to tell me Quinn passed away.

I dry my cheeks before stepping into her room. She’s lying in a reclined position, her arm braced in a sling, staring out the sixth-floor window. She sees me and starts crying.

She’s not only alive, but better than I ever expected she’d be, and tears stream down my face again. I need to be close to her, and I crawl around the rail and onto the bed. I’m careful of the IV when I hug her, and we sob together for several minutes.

Her frame feels fragile against my body, and I cling to her. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” I whisper into the soft skin of her neck.

“It wasn’t near my heart, Stell,” she says, her breath fanning across my face. “It was a clean shot through my shoulder. I’ll be able to get out of here soon.” She rests her lips on mine, and I let her kiss me. I know her well enough to understand the kiss isn’t sexual. She’s telling me she loves me as a friend, and that she’s glad I’m okay, too.

I snuggle into her, and she does the same. There’s not one part of our bodies that isn’t touching. Now that Zane turned on me and Maryanne is gone, she’s all I have in the world.

“Maryanne’s dead,” I whisper, and Quinn tightens her grip on me. “I found her yesterday. Someone shot her.”

“Jesus Christ. Was it Ash?”

I shake my head, my hair rustling against her pillow. “Zane. I saw the pictures. The ones you thought were me with Sergio Cardello. He believed it, too. He wanted revenge, and he knows exactly how to hurt me.”

I start crying again. I can’t get the picture of Maryanne slumped in her chair out of my mind.

“They’re looking into me,” Quinn says, her fingers brushing at the tears on my cheeks. “But my records are clean. I’m lucky you took my stuff. Do you have my phone?”

I nod, and reluctantly, I slide off the bed. I don’t want to be away from her. I dig her phone out of my purse, now down to seven percent charge. Using one hand, she places two quick phone calls—one to her boss in New York who somehow already knew she’d been shot and was waiting to hear how she was doing and the other to Luis. She tells him to expect me and to give me a place to hide for however long I need it.

She disconnects and passes me the cell. “My charger is at the shop. Charge my phone, and I’ll call you when they release me.”

“Quinn, no.” I shake my head. “I have to get out of here.”

Her eyes fill with tears. “Pick a place, any place, and I’ll meet you there the second I feel good enough to travel. I need you, Stella.”

I drag a chair close to her bed and link our fingers. “I need you, too. But I’m always going to be on the run, you know that, right? Ash will never let me live in peace.”

“Then do something about it,” she says, her rough and tough personality surfacing despite the pain she must be in. I wish I possessed even a quarter of her strength, but I’m so tired.

“I can’t. I saw Zane and gave him the flash drive, and I haven’t heard anything since. He hasn’t looked at what’s on it or he didn’t believe it, but either way, it was my last chance. I have to think about myself now.”

A nurse wearing pink scrubs and grey tennis shoes walks into the room and she shoos me away. “You’ve been visiting long enough. She needs rest.”

“I’ll...” I fade off. I was going to say I’ll come back, but I don’t want to put Quinn in any more danger than I already have.

The nurse is determined to check her vitals, standing staunchly by the foot of her bed, and our privacy is gone.

Quinn knows what I’m trying to say. “It’s okay, Stella. Go back to the shop and tell Luis where his car is. I’ll call him when I’m discharged and he’ll pick me up. If you can hang around that long...”

I don’t know if I can. I shouldn’t. I should leave King’s Crossing the minute I step foot outside the hospital, but I have too much unfinished business. “I will. I promise.”

The nurse watches me kiss Quinn’s cheek.

“Bye,” I whisper.

She smiles sadly and lifts her hand in goodbye.

I don’t want to start crying again and staring at the white-tiled floor, quickly leave her room.

Denton’s waiting in the parking lot, leaning against his car, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants. He looks casual from here, and he almost pulls it off except for the rigid line of his shoulders.

My steps falter. I convinced myself he’d be gone. What is there to be gained by working together?

He spots me standing under the hospital’s main entrance canopy. He wouldn’t stop me if I turned in the opposite direction and walked away, but what would I do? Hide at the warehouse, wait for Quinn, and disappear? It sounds tempting, but then Zarah’s blank face pushes away my selfishness. She needs me. No one is going to help her except me.

Ash is trapping her there, and he brainwashed Zane into letting him. Her engagement ring sits heavy in my purse. She looked so awed staring at her bare finger, like shackles had suddenly come undone.

The Blacks have gotten away with too much, and if there’s anything I want, anything I need to do before I disappear forever, is prove to Zane that Ash and his father killed Kagan and Lark.

Zane took Maryanne from me. How much will it hurt him to find out all his best friend’s crimes against his sister and the woman he claimed to love?

I’d like to be around to watch. Then I can leave Zane with nothing.

The way he left me.

I walk across the parking lot with new resolve. Ash can’t go unpunished. He deserves to lose parts of his life, too, the way he’s taken years from Zarah and me.

“You look better,” Denton says as I approach.

“She’s alive. The shooter hit her shoulder, not her heart like I thought.”

“That’s good news.”

“Yeah.”

“Where to?” he asks over the hood of his car.

I climb in and buckle my seatbelt. “I have a few things at Quinn’s.” Worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, I stare out the window as he settles behind the wheel and navigates the car out of the large parking lot. “I have people after me, and you know that. If you want to split up, I won’t blame you.”

“No. There’s strength in numbers.”

There’s wisdom in that, and I don’t argue. I still don’t trust him completely, but I relax a bit knowing I’m not alone. Keeping my eyes on the sideview mirror and searching for anyone who may be following us, I direct him to the industrial park. I’ll tell Luis where his car is, give him his keys, and grab the things I managed to take with me from Ash’s. Then Denton and I will find a place to regroup.

We need a plan.

That plan might have to include figuring out what Zane did with the flash drive. If he’s not going to do anything with the information, I will. I wonder how Denton will take the news I had evidence in my hands and threw it away giving it to Zane. I might as well have flushed it down the toilet for all the good it did me.

Denton parks in front of the warehouse and he waits outside, squinting against the sun.

Luis meets me at the door and helps me find the room I slept in. My bag is still shoved under the bed, and I pull it out and adjust one of the straps over my shoulder.

In the office, he finds Quinn’s charger, and I trade Quinn’s gun and the keys to his car for it. I offer him a ride to the parking garage, but he declines.

“You’re in a load of shit,” he says, and I don’t disagree.

I swallow back a sob. “I’m scared for her, Luis.”

“Quinn can take care of herself.” He pats my back, his body odor drifting to me, his shirt straining over his large gut. “How do you think she made it as far as she has? Those fuckers caught her off-guard. It won’t happen again.”

“I hope not.”

“Where’re you going, girl? You sure you don’t want to stay here?”

Leaving the warehouse isn’t something I’ll do lightly. I’m safe here. Luis has the place secure—for obvious reasons—but I can’t go underground. It defeats the purpose of staying in the city.

“If things get too hot, we might have to come back.”

“You’re welcome to stay as a friend of Quinn’s.”

“Thanks.”

While he waited for me, Denton turned the radio to a local news station. A perky female reporter is talking about the bomb scare at Quiet Meadows. “At this time, law enforcement have no leads concerning who called in the fraudulent threat.”

“That was good thinking,” I say, slipping into the car.

“Every once in a while I come up with something,” Denton says, pulling out of the gravel lot, the wheels crunching over the rocks. “Now what?”

I want to laugh he’s deferring to me. I’m trusting him to know what we should do.

“Find somewhere safe and go over what we’ve got. We need to bust Zarah out of Quiet Meadows. Like you said, if Zane will listen to anybody, it will be his sister, but she doesn’t belong there and I want to get her out regardless of what she knows. We need proof the Blacks were behind the plane crash, but I don’t know how we’re going to find it. Quinn said Kagan was dirty and someone took him out for their own personal revenge. The FBI investigated, said ‘Thanks for doing our job,’ and looked the other way. Ash lied and said Homeland Security brought the plane down to stop Kagan from selling weapons on the black market. Neither of those is correct, but either way, the FBI isn’t telling the truth.”

“That’s what I think,” Denton agrees. “Clayton and the director of the FBI went to school together. They like to keep shit like this in the family, and there’s no doubt Clayton gave him a big payoff to keep his mouth shut.”

“How far does his power reach?” It seems surreal to me someone could have the director of the FBI at their disposal.

Denton smirks. “They convinced Sergio Cardello not to deny he was in a relationship with you, didn’t they?”

I never thought of that. Surely when the media linked him to me, he would have issued some sort of contradictory statement, but he let the entire world believe I left Zane for him.

“That’s a long time to lie.”

Denton shrugs. “It’s costly, too, but what I want to know is what else are you to Ash, Stella? Why you?”

“I was growing close to Zarah, and maybe he thought I would find out everything eventually. Even just him selling her would put him away for a long time, not to mention her clients.”

He flicks me a glance. “Is that all it was? Or was there a different reason why he locked you up? Why did he feel so threatened he kept you in his sights, and paid to do it? That sounds personal.”

“It was personal. Ash didn’t like me from the minute he met me. Loathed me, in fact. He constantly accused me of dating Zane to get at his money. He was killing two birds with one stone. He didn’t want Zarah telling me anything, and he didn’t want Zane in a relationship with me because I’m poor.”

Denton nods, but he’s not convinced.

I don’t need a list of reasons why Ashton Black hates me. That he does, and is willing to do something about it, is enough.

He circles around the industrial park. Bless him for remembering people are after me. Besides stealing a different car, we have no way to switch vehicles. If someone working for Ash pegs the sedan as Denton’s, we’ll have to stop using it.

Maybe Zane’s finished tormenting me now that Maryanne’s dead. Short of killing me, there’s nothing else he can do to hurt me.

The relief I feel that Quinn is okay turns me into a puddle and I melt into the seat. My aches and pains scream at me, and I wish I had a drink and more ibuprofen. Plus, I’m hungry again.

Denton drives along the river’s gravel frontage road. We’re near the bridge I crossed the night I escaped Black Enterprises. The water calms me, and I focus on the enormous barges floating by carrying shipping boxes. The view is lovely, and I relax, using the few moments of peace to quiet my mind.

The radio is a low hum in the background, the newscaster reporting that there are no new updates regarding the bomb threat at Quiet Meadows. Law enforcement set up a hotline, and the woman rattles off the number, asking people to call if they have any tips.

Without a hint of warning, a massive black pickup truck, its windows tinted, comes out of nowhere and rams into the driver’s side of the car, shattering the window. Shards of glass fly into Denton’s face and lap, and he swears. My body slams against the passenger’s side door and I crack my head against the window. Stars burst behind my eyes.

Jerking the wheel and gunning the engine, Denton tries to steer us clear, but it’s no use. The truck plows us off the road and onto the riverbank, our tires skidding through the soft soil and grass.

“He’s going to push us in,” he shouts.

I grapple with the seatbelt, my sweaty fingers slipping over the buckle, but I can’t jump out. The car is sliding too fast down the bank.

Metal against metal grinds and shrieks.

The front passenger’s side tire runs out of solid ground and we lurch toward the water. I brace myself against the dash.

Denton slides my window down and shouts at me, “Before we sink, go through the window. You’ll only have a few seconds.”

“I don’t know how to swim.” I never learned how. None of my foster families paid for swimming lessons.

Blood trickles down his temple. He squeezes my hand. “I do. Don’t panic and let your body float to the surface. I’ll find you.”

The driver’s side tire loses what grip on the riverbank it had, and we balance like a seesaw, the front tipping toward the water. The truck backs up, the engine growling. Gravity shoves me against the dashboard as the car angles downward.

Denton tenses, preparing for another jolt. The truck smashes into us, and my body is whipped forward even more. I don’t have the seatbelt holding me in place, and I hit the top of my head against the windshield.

We nosedive into the river. Water pours through the windows and the cracks around the doors, and I stifle a scream.

Denton struggles to push his body through his window, glass shards snagging his clothes. I force myself out of my shock to do the same. Even in late summer, the water’s frigid, and my muscles stiffen.

I’m completely under water in seconds, and I squeeze my eyes shut. In the movies, people are always swimming with their eyes open, searching for someone or something. All I see is blackness as I fight against the river’s current and the car’s weight dragging me down as it sinks.

My purse strap is caught on something, but I have no idea what. The door handle, maybe. I yank.

I didn’t suck in a big enough gulp of air before my head submerged under the water, and panic and lack of oxygen burn my lungs. If I want to live, I have no choice but to leave my purse behind. Quinn’s phone and wallet will be gone forever.

My things in the backseat are destroyed. I’ll have nothing left from who I used to be. I stop struggling against the water, against the resistance. There’s no point in fighting to survive. Ash took Zane away, and Zane murdered one of the few people who meant anything to me. Quinn will be safer without me. She’ll be okay—she was always tougher than me.

Zarah’s blank eyes stare at me through the murky water.

Ash sneers.

Bright lights spark behind my eyelids, and I hear Kagan and Lark begging me to avenge their deaths. That’s not my job, though.

It should be Zane’s.

Ash stole five years of my life. I should be spitting mad, but I’m so tired. I push the strap over my shoulder, but I still hang on. I don’t have much longer to decide. My mind is growing fuzzy.

The car’s sinking, and the suction hauls me down. Making a decision at the last possible second before my lungs give out, I let go of the strap and kick in the direction I think is up, hoping my body’s natural buoyancy will pop me to the surface like Denton said it would.

My head breaks above the water and I suck air into my burning lungs. A wave slaps me in the face, and I choke. Flailing, I go under again, but a strong arm loops around my ribcage. Denton. There’s water in my eyes and in my nose—my nasal passages and sinuses sting—and I have to force myself to relax to help him swim.

The riverbank is higher than the river’s depth, and two people lift me to shore. Weeds cover the ground, and their sharp thorns scratch my skin through my sopping wet clothes. I roll over onto my stomach and cough up water. Denton thumps me on the back. His words of encouragement to keep breathing are lost in the static in my ears and the commotion of emergency vehicles careening across the road.

I heft painfully to a sitting position, and a medic wearing a black uniform drops beside me and asks, “Are you okay, ma’am?” He’s young, and his blue eyes are kind.

“I think so,” I rasp.

Despite the heat of the late afternoon, paramedics drape blankets over our shoulders. Gratefully, I hug mine around me, clutching at the edges, my hands shaking.

Police wave off a crowd that gathers, and one cop questions Denton. He dries his face with the blanket and explains what happened, saying we were on a drive and conveniently leaving out where we had just been. He’s protecting Luis and Quinn, and I’ll have to remember to thank him later. The police officer looks at me for corroboration, and I nod. My teeth are chattering and I can’t speak.

The truck is nowhere to be seen, but the skid marks the vehicle left while shoving us into the river are grooved into the gravel. They’re the only proof we have Denton isn’t lying.

The paramedics quickly exam us and then drive away. I’m glad they didn’t force us to go to the emergency room. I don’t want to see the inside of the hospital again. Besides, there’s nothing they can do for me. I’m okay except I’m shivering from shock.

The train, the shooter, the car, and now almost drowning.

I’m going to go insane before I can expose the Blacks.

Denton wraps his arm around me, and I’m too grateful for the support to be apprehensive. I hide my face in his wet shirt.

The police ask us to go to the station to answer more questions. That’s the last thing I want to do, but unlike the paramedics, they don’t give us a choice. We leave behind other officers taking pictures of the skid marks and the deep grooves Denton’s car’s wheels made in the grass.

My clothes have barely begun to dry, and I sit in bitter silence in the back of the air conditioned squad car. I’m not in the mood to spend hours at the station talking to the cops—cops who may or may not be working for the Blacks. We can’t tell them the truth, and they won’t believe what little we can say. We don’t know who was driving the truck, but we sure as hell know why they wanted us dead.

We sit in a sparse interrogation room and two of the cops who were at the river glare at us in disbelief. “This wasn’t random. You must have enemies.”

Denton shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. An old business colleague? But this seems rather extreme. I’m retired. Why would they wait until now to do something like this?”

“Right. ‘Retired,’” he says, sarcasm thick in his voice. “What about you?” he asks me. “You were involved in the active shooter situation outside the Maddox Industries building. Do you think this is connected?”

Pretending bafflement, I shake my head and lift my hands, palms up. “I have no idea. I don’t see how. I’ve been out of the country for five years,” I say, playing up what I’m sure they think they know, “and before that I was only a lowly payroll clerk. What could I have done?”

They exchange glances, and I don’t like it. I’m infamous, and I don’t need the attention or the hostility. I’m already dealing with enough. Denton receives the same treatment as a terminated employee of Maddox Industries.

Finally, they ask us to fill out a form listing what we lost in the vehicle. We leave most of it blank which makes matters worse, but there’s nothing we can admit to having. Zarah’s engagement ring? Quinn’s phone that had all her illegal contacts in it? I write down a backpack and my purse. Cash totaling a little over three hundred dollars. Denton inks in the value of the car. Jumper cables in the trunk. Loose change in the console, total value: six thousand, five hundred dollars.

The way they handle us borders on harassment and abuse, and the sun has set by the time they let us go, ordering us not to leave the city in case they need to question us further.

Our clothes are still damp and we stand on the front steps of the police station. They didn’t offer us a ride, and we’re stranded.

Trying not to cry, I sit and rest my head against the metal handrail. Denton drops next to me and pats my knee. “If this proves anything, it’s that we’re a threat. That’s good, Stella. It means they have things to hide and that they’re scared of us.”

I don’t have anything to say to that. We may be a threat, but how can we use their fear to fight back?

I want to suggest we ride the train or the bus to his apartment, but the burn in the back of my throat stops me. I can’t speak around the lump. The loss of my high school graduation picture of Maryanne and me threatens to push me over the edge. They didn’t take my life, but they’ve ripped everything else out of my possession.

“Come on. A shower and a hot meal sounds good right about now.” Denton holds my hand and gently tugs.

A man not much older than me wearing wire-rimmed glasses, a blue dress shirt, vest, khaki pants and carrying a messenger bag stops on the sidewalk in front of us. “Can I give you a lift?”

“We’re okay,” Denton says, barely looking at him, his jaw tense.

Undeterred by Denton’s dismissal, he says, “My name is Max Cook. I’m a reporter for the King’s Crossing Chronicle. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Buzz off. You know we almost drowned earlier?” Denton growls, standing in agitation but not letting go of my hand.

Max is unaffected and even smiles. “I was there. I thought we could help each other.”

“You don’t have anything we need.”

I’m happy to let Denton do the talking. I’m heartsick and homesick. Though I’m not sure how that can be when all my life I never felt like I had a home.

Until Zane hugged me.

Now he’s gone.

“I might,” Max says.

Denton scoffs. “What could you possibly have that we need?”

“You’re looking into the plane crash that killed Kagan and Lark Maddox, aren’t you?”

“How do you know about that?” Denton scowls.

Max chuckles. “I’m a reporter. It’s my job to know things. I also know this. Clayton Black caused that crash.”

“How do you know?” I ask, my voice quavering from fatigue.

“Because the black box the FBI keeps saying the NTSB can’t find?”

Denton nods and the grip on my hand tightens.

“They’ve had it all along.”