Cruel Hearts (King’s Crossing #2)

Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

Zane

I have nothing else to do, and I go to the office. There’s no word from the private investigator about Stella or Denton. In fact, there’s less than no word. The PI called earlier and said he couldn’t find a trace of either of them.

He’s the best of the best. Connections everywhere. If he can’t find Stella, she’s dead.

A tightness fills my chest.

Did I think deep down there had been a chance for us? Am I sad her children will grow up without their mother the way I’ve lived without mine these past five years?

I remember the flat plains of her belly, how tight she was when I pushed into her, but that doesn’t explain the photos of her baby bump.

The proof.

Then a thought hits me. Maybe she had a miscarriage. Had Stella miscarried a child? How hard would that have been for her?

I wish we would have had a more meaningful conversation at her apartment, but I’d been too angry, too sick, to sit down and calmly ask my questions and not right enough in my mind to listen to her answers. That had been a huge mistake, and now I’m paying the price. I’m never going to see her again.

I’ll never know why she betrayed me.

My cell phone rings, and Quiet Meadows’ number glows on the screen.

They don’t call me...Zarah’s always stable and she’s never been in any kind of trouble. After she was admitted, Ash insisted on overseeing her care. He spends a lot of time with her, telling her about his day, holding her hand, and I think that keeps her steady. His love is a miracle, and I thank God every day he’s so committed to her.

“Maddox,” I answer.

“Mr. Maddox, this is Iona Belsely, the director at Quiet Meadows. I regret to inform you we had an incident this morning. Our facility was the target of a bomb threat.”

I lean forward, concerned. “Is my sister all right?”

“All of our residents are fine,” she says sharply. No doubt she thinks I’m selfish for not asking about the other patients. “We were reviewing the security footage, and we noticed an occurrence in Miss Maddox’s room during the confusion. I would appreciate it if you could view the video and tell me what you think.”

“I’ll be right there.”

I never thought Zarah would recover, and my heart thrums, beating a nervous staccato against my ribs. She seemed too lost to ever find her way back to reality, and I don’t want to get my hopes up, but maybe Ash’s never-ending love finally paid off.

I’m unable to tamp it back, and excitement races in my blood. Maybe my sister’s broken mind is healing. Anxious to see her, I drive myself to Quiet Meadows.

Iona Belsely meets me in the lobby.

The sanatorium doesn’t appear to have been the target of a bomb threat that took place only hours ago. Everything is as it should be, from the receptionists answering the phones to the security guards standing at their posts. Of course, the facility couldn’t be out of commission for long due to the large number patients needing care, and no doubt every available law enforcement officer and every available dog had been here clearing every inch of space.

Iona doesn’t lead me to Zarah’s room as I expected. Instead, I sit impatiently in a back room of the sanatorium’s security department anxiously tapping my foot as one of the security officers cues the surveillance footage. I don’t want to be here. I want to see Zarah.

“I have to admit, this is an anomaly,” Iona says, hovering behind my shoulder. “Quiet Meadows has never been the target of a bomb threat, or any other kind of violence. King’s Crossing is just not the type of city where things of this nature happen. Vance Huxley,” she says, referencing the city’s mayor, “does such a fine job of keeping the city crime-free.” She sighs. “After viewing the clip for the first time, I didn’t put the pieces together, but I’d like your opinion now, Mr. Maddox.”

The playback begins, and a black and white shot of the interior of Zarah’s room flashes on the screen.

My sister sits in her wheelchair, too out of it, usually, to stand for any real significant amount of time. Her aides walk with her every day, sometimes outside, weather permitting, but when she’s in her room, she sits and stares into space, presumably living in happier times.

Tapping my fingers impatiently against my knee, I watch her grip a blanket laying across her thighs. “Is something going to happen?”

“Wait,” Iona says, but she needn’t have bothered.

A moment later, a woman wearing a white lab coat holding a clipboard enters Zarah’s room.

The camera’s angle hides the doctor’s face. It’s only when the woman pulls up a chair and sits in front of Zarah that I can see it’s Stella.

She’s not dead.

The timestamp in the corner of the screen ensures this was filmed this morning. My investigator has been looking for her since yesterday. How could he not know Stella had been here visiting my sister? She’s injured, and she moves stiffly, slowly. I devour her figure. The kind way she holds Zarah’s hands. The way she keeps kissing her cheek.

Iona paces behind me. “This woman is trespassing on Quiet Meadows’ property. She is not a doctor on our staff, nor is she on Miss Maddox’s visitor’s list. Watch carefully, Mr. Maddox.”

I don’t care Stella isn’t an approved visitor. Zarah’s more animated around Stella than I’ve seen her since she was admitted. I haven’t heard Zarah speak in years, yet around Stella, she says something, but because of the angle and distance of the camera, I can’t read her lips.

What Stella does next is strange, and I lean forward as if it will help me puzzle it out. Using a pen she takes from the clipboard, she draws something on Zarah’s wrist where the sleeve of her robe it will cover it.

“What did she write on my sister’s skin?”

“It’s a crude drawing of a martini glass. The intruder wrote Sweet Apple under it. If I’m not mistaken, it’s a pub near your building, Mr. Maddox.”

“It is.” It’s where Stella and Zarah would hang out, where they planned my party. Why would Stella want Zarah to remember the Sweet Apple?

In the video, Stella stands and Zarah says something else. Stella nods and pauses.

“We’ll charge her for trespassing and theft,” Iona snarls.

I don’t know what she’s talking about until Stella slips Zarah’s engagement ring off her finger.

No one who doesn’t know Zarah would understand how this affected her. I don’t visit her as much as I should, but I know my sister. Stella slides Ash’s ring off her finger and she radiates with joy. She raises her hand and stares at her empty finger. Even through the screen, her relief is palpable.

Stella took that ring and a weight lifted off my sister.

She hugs Zarah again. Brushes a kiss across her cheek.

Iona points at the monitor. “The camera placed above the door doesn’t capture the entire room, and this camera is positioned near the window.”

The view changes, and the door of Zarah’s suite flashes on the screen. Stella steps into the frame, and she studies Zarah’s medical chart. Using an old cell phone, she takes a few pictures. She glances at Zarah one more time and disappears into the crowded corridor.

“We believe the entire bomb threat was designed to allow this woman to steal Miss Maddox’s engagement ring. The diamond is worth millions.”

I lean back in my chair and rub my chin. I don’t believe Stella wanted to steal Zarah’s ring. Stella knew slipping it off her finger would make her feel better. Somehow, she knew breaking that tie would lift Zarah up. “Have you noticed a change in my sister since this woman’s intrusion?”

Iona frowned. “Actually, now that you say so, yes. Miss Maddox does seem to be more aware of her surroundings.”

“I want to see her.”

Wringing her hands together, she says, “Mr. Maddox, I understand Quiet Meadows is liable for any harm that comes to Miss Maddox due to this disturbance. I’m ashamed to admit I gave this woman and her father a tour of the facility and did point out Miss Maddox’s room. I assume full responsibility for what happened today—”

I stiffen. “Her father?”

“They visited the facility under the pretense they were looking to place his mother in our care. To be crass, Mr. Maddox, I think they were casing the joint and saw Miss Maddox as an easy target.”

I try not to smile at Iona’s slang. She watches too much TV. “What did the gentleman look like?”

Iona straightens her shoulders and a gleam glitters in her eyes. “I remember him quite well. He kept insisting they could afford our rates, but to be honest, they both looked rundown. The gentleman in question looked sick, and his hair was almost all grey. His clothes were old and frayed, like he’d fallen on hard times. To be frank, it looked like they needed money.”

Stella could be with Denton, but I’m not sure why he would need money. His third of the company cost me millions.

I ask Iona to play the footage again. I’m charmed by how sweet Stella is with Zarah, and the way Zarah responds twists my heart. It’s obvious they missed each other.

Reminding myself Stella is the reason Zarah is under Quiet Meadow’s care in the first place bitters my mood. Stella’s betrayal made Zarah so distraught she never recovered.

It doesn’t explain the ring, though.

How without the ring, how without Ash’s promise on her finger, Zarah radiates happiness.

“I want to see her,” I ask again.

“Of course, Mr. Maddox. I hope you aren’t contemplating legal action against the facility. We’ve treated Miss Maddox with the utmost care all these years and this one incident is not indicative of past care, or her future care, at the facility.”

“I understand.”

We walk down the hallway, and Iona chatters nervously. She doesn’t trust my patience, my easy acceptance of her explanation, but she doesn’t know what I know.

Stella would never hurt my sister. Not intentionally.

Iona punches the security code into the keypad, and she pushes the door open.

Zarah sits as she normally does when I visit, a thin blanket on her lap. This time she’s rubbing her bare ring finger.

“Zarah,” I say, perching in the chair Stella used and scooting it closer. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

Zarah’s eyes blank out. She doesn’t want me here, and that hurts.

Stella managed to get past her wall, but Zarah won’t let me in. What have I done to make her hate me? Frustrated, I stand. She’s uncomfortable with me here.

Zarah goes back to tracing her finger where Ash’s ring sat for five years.

I try again. “Zarah, did you see Stella?”

Her guarded eyes light up, but she turns away.

Sorrow threatens to drown me. I don’t know what I did. “Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

Near her door, I scan her medications clipped to the board on the wall. I don’t know what they do, and I can’t pronounce most of them. The chart indicates they are given to her every day without fail.

Iona’s waiting, standing halfway in the hallway, halfway in the Zarah’s suite, her foot propping the door open.

“I’d like to move my sister,” I tell her, and her eyes widen in alarm. “I think she would respond to treatment better at home.”

“That’s not your call,” Ash snaps, violently pushing past Iona and striding into the suite. I pity whoever’s on the other side of the fury on his face.

“What do you mean? She’s my sister. If I want her home, then I can bring her home.” I don’t understand the vehemence in his voice.

He smooths his expression and struggles to find calm. “Did you forget after Stella abandoned you, you were too confused to make any decisions regarding Zarah and her treatment? You signed power of attorney over to me, Zane. You were grateful.”

While I’d been grieving Stella’s betrayal, I gave up control of my sister. The memories are vague—buried under devastation, misery, and booze. Claiming he wanted to help, Ash stepped in. “She’s my fiancée,” he said. “I love her and I’ll see to it she receives the best care.” I remember scrawling my name onto something, and Ash slapping me on the back, saying I did the right thing.

At the time, I’d had no choice. I couldn’t think coherently, couldn’t do anything except pour another drink, but I’m not like that anymore. I can give Zarah what she needs at home, and there’s no reason she needs to be here now. Five years after the fact.

“I remember, and I appreciate you were there for her when I couldn’t be. Sign the papers and let her come home. I’ll hire a nurse. She’ll do better at the penthouse.”

“No.”

I grit my teeth.

Ash approaches Zarah, caresses her cheek, and kneels in front of her.

She pales, flinches. Her hands tremble in her lap.

I’ve never seen Zarah and Ash together—we’ve always staggered our visits. That had been Ash’s suggestion, explaining it could help her recovery if she had as many visitors as possible. It made sense, and I agreed.

He rests his hand on the nape of her neck and whispers in her ear. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he stands and smooths his tie.

Iona holds the door open, and we step out of Zarah’s suite.

“I need to speak with you,” Ash snaps at Iona, eliciting frightened stares from two nurses chatting a few feet away, and she pales. He strides down the hallway and the director of Quiet Meadows rushes to catch up.

He won’t give her the same understanding that I did, and I pity her falling for Denton’s charms.

“Zane. Now,” he orders, not even bothering to turn around, assuming I’ll follow.

I step away from Zarah’s door. Perhaps I can spare the poor woman a bit of Ash’s temper. Just as I do, Zarah emits a keening sound so chilling I almost piss myself. An orderly and two nurses rush into her room—almost as if they were expecting it—and I hold the door open to watch what they do. A nurse jabs a needle into Zarah’s arm, and she passes out, her screaming abruptly stopping. She slumps in her wheelchair, and the orderly, who has arms bigger than my legs, hefts her out of the chair and carries her to the bed.

The worst feeling in the world settles over me. Worse than hearing my parents were killed. Even worse than Ash telling me Stella ran away with Cardello.

One of the nurses comes out of the bedroom area of Zarah’s suite. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m going to call security.”

Pushing back a string of expletives, I say, “I’m her brother.” I don’t appreciate being told I can’t see my own sister.

“She’s a lost cause,” the second nurse says without an ounce of compassion. “Her mind is broken. Do yourself a favor. Forget about her and move on.”

The nurses exit her room leaving the orderly behind to supervise Zarah under the heavy sedation.

It’s what I pay for.

I’m left alone in the hallway, and I dig my phone out of my pocket. Fuck this. “I need the power of attorney I gave Ashton Black over Zarah revoked.”

My attorney stutter excuses, how difficult that will be, blah blah blah. It’s not difficult to understand he doesn’t want to go head to head with Ash.

“I don’t give a shit. I signed that paper under duress. Dig it up, I bet a million dollars my signature isn’t legible. Fuck, it might not even be mine. I want my sister out of this shithole, and no one is going to stop me, not even Ash. Find a spine, you useless jellyfish, or I’ll find someone who will.” I disconnect and calmly slip my phone back into my pocket instead of throwing it against the wall the way I want.

From Iona’s office, Ash’s shouting blasts down the hallway to the lobby. He’s angry about the ring which is understandable, but I know it’s insured and he doesn’t need to be as livid as he is. The ring can be replaced.

After all these years, he still hates Stella with a passion I can’t match, even after what she did to me.

I knock once and push Iona’s door open, rescuing her from Ash’s rage.

There’s no reason to be pissed about this. I’m more curious about what Stella wanted than anything else. I look at Ash to try to reason with him and calm him down, and I’m taken aback.

Ash’s eyes glitter with anger.

But also, with fear.

I smooth Iona’s ruffled feathers and settle Ash down. Besides the stolen ring, nothing happened. Ash doesn’t give a shit about the ring, and he proves it by not mentioning it again.

Outside, standing under the concrete canopy in the front of the building, Ash runs a hand through his hair in agitation. He doesn’t appreciate Iona calling me, including me. Maybe she knew I would be easier to deal with, and I don’t blame her for anything that happened. Despite how young she was, Stella showed intelligence and ingenuity when she was my assistant. I’m not surprised she found a way to break into Zarah’s room.

Ash doesn’t care about the why, only that Stella’s back in King’s Crossing at all, but I do.

All I can do is ask.

If I can find her.

“Let’s grab dinner,” he says, pulling a white handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping spittle off his lips. “Bring Nathalie. I’ll find someone. I need to get a drink, relax, and shake this off. Fucking stupid woman. I should have her fired.”

Leftover rage radiates off Ash, and I go along to appease him.

Zarah’s keening echoes through my mind, and I can’t help but think I’m betraying her by pretending everything is normal. I don’t want drinks and dinner and I don’t want to see Nathalie, but the second I agree, Ash changes, and it’s like the entire afternoon never happened.

I follow him to Black Enterprises, and we kill time in his office sipping whiskey until the dinner hour.

He answers a couple of phone calls and I scroll through email on my phone. I called Nathalie on the drive here and said she needed an hour to change. She sounded happy to hear from me, and she used the “fuck me” tone she always does when she knows I’m upset after a piss-poor day. I’ve had plenty of those without Stella, and sometimes a quick and dirty roll is just what I need to buff the edges.

I can still see Ash whispering into Zarah’s ear, still hear her screaming after he walked away. Something isn’t right, and moving Zarah to the penthouse is a start. I’ll hire a nurse, and between the nurse and Lucille, Zarah will be taken care of. She’s present under all those drugs. Stella found her. Stella found Zarah’s spirit in less than five minutes. I want to see Zarah’s spark again. I need it back.

Ash looks up from his phone. “My dad wants me to sit in on a satellite call, and I need about fifteen minutes. You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah. Do what you gotta do.”

“Thanks.”

His corner office is bigger than mine, and two of the intersecting walls are made completely of glass. His view of King’s Crossing is spectacular, and I stand at the window, looking over the city.

What is it like to be Ashton Black? He’s always been a little darker than me. A little meaner. I’ve always accepted that at face value because Clayton Black can be just as mean. Sometimes I wonder how he and my dad were even friends. What I know of Clayton and the way he does business isn’t the way my father did his.

Perhaps they balanced each other the way Ash and I do. I remind him he doesn’t have to be such an asshole all the time, and he reminds me I need a backbone to get anything done.

Stella helped me do that, too. Every man should run a company with a broken heart.

Things get clear real fast.

I pour another drink.

My phone vibrates. The PI’s calling me, and I bare my teeth.

“I still haven’t found her, sir,” he says, his pack-a-day habit turning his voice rough. Maybe he’s too busy smoking to look for her.

Fucking hell.

“I don’t know how that’s possible. She was at Quiet Meadows this morning sneaking past some of the tightest security in the city.”

He blathers something incoherent. He sounds just like my fucking lawyer.

“Clayton Black recommended you, and you’re supposed to be the best. How can you let a little blonde get the better of you?”

“She’s been underground, sir.”

“That’s a lie. I saw her myself.”

The private investigator wisely says nothing.

“You’re done.” I disconnect. There’s no reason to keep him employed if he’d rather smoke and jerk off.

I need to find Stella. I can stake out her apartment and hope she shows, or I can hire another PI.

In the past, I’ve left that to Clayton, but the resources he’s been recommending have not worked to my favor. Reining in my annoyance, I calculate the time change and call Nigel.

“What can I do for you, kid?” he asks, his voice thick, with ah... Helena mumbles in the background. Shit.

I wince. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Nah—”

Helena objects—loudly.

Nigel chuckles. “What’s going on?”

I’m lucky he answered the phone. “I need a private investigator here in the States. Someone who knows how to do their fucking job.”

“Let me think.” He groans, and a mattress squeaks.

Helena mutters, “Fuck.”

“Hush,” Nigel says, his tone amused. “I got someone. You’re not opposed to a woman?”

“Can she get the job done?”

“Best in the business.”

I resist scoffing. I’ve already heard that song and dance.

“Runs her own security firm in LA. You might need to wait a day for her to fly in.”

I don’t like the sound of that, but better to wait a day than waste a week like I did trusting the asshole on Clayton’s payroll. “Yeah.”

“Got something to write with?”

I pat my pocket like I expect to have a pen and notebook in there. Stupid.

“Hold on.”

“You got two minutes.”

“One,” Helena says in the background.

Nigel laughs.

Sitting behind Ash’s desk, I pull a drawer open. Stapler, paperclips. Not a piece of scratch paper in sight.

I slide another one open and reveal hanging folders. In another, I find a stack of index cards. One of those will work. Someone needs to tell Ash a little clutter never hurt anybody, and a stack of scratch paper might help a person out.

Grabbing a Mont Blanc, I jot down the number Nigel rattles off.

I think it’s time to hire my own security. Borrowing people is starting to be a real pain in the ass, though funnily enough, I never needed a private investigator until I met Stella.

Helena calls, “Get the fuck over here,” and Nigel disconnects without saying goodbye.

I’m about to close the desk drawer when something gold catches the light shining in through the window. I pull the drawer out farther, and my stomach drops and does such a sick roll I might throw up all over Ash’s immaculate desk.

Tucked into the back of a drawer I’m almost a hundred percent certain Ash doesn’t use, is the ring I slipped onto Stella’s finger the night I promised her that when we were both ready, I’d ask her to marry me.

My hand is shaking so badly I can barely pick it up. The tiny diamond is nestled in a setting of buttery gold, and it looked perfect on her delicate hand. I was so proud she agreed to wear it, so proud to show her off at the party.

The diamond catches the light and shoots rainbows all over the room.

My heart cracks.

How did Ash get a hold of it? Has he seen Stella since she ran off with Cardello? Had he gone to Italy to plead my case? If he did, he never said one thing about it.

I think of yesterday in Stella’s apartment when I fucked her. I asked her where she’d been, and Ash’s name had been fast on her lips.

I kick the drawer shut, and five seconds later I’m surveying the city, Stella’s ring in my pocket and Mel’s number in my wallet.

“Ready to head out?” Ash asks, poking his head into his office.

I breathe through my nose and try to get a grip on my thoughts and emotions. Going ballistic now won’t help. Losing my temper like Ash loves to do won’t help. What will help is thinking for myself. I’ve been treating Ash like my best friend.

Listening to his advice.

Trusting him.

Believing him.

Having faith he loves my sister as much as he says he does.

Agreeing with the nasty things he says about Stella—she’s a whore, she’s greedy, selfish, only in it for herself.

But she gave herself to me at her apartment when she knew it would hurt her. She risked getting caught to see Zarah.

I’ve been treating Ash like my best friend.

“Yeah,” I say, plastering a grin onto my face. “Let’s go.”

I think now it’s time I don’t.

I don’t have an appetite, but I sit through dinner, Nathalie’s hand resting on my thigh. There are shadows under her eyes, and a large, dark bruise marks her arm. She tried to hide it, but she brushed against me and some of the makeup rubbed off onto my suit jacket.

She’s a little thinner than when I saw her last, and I wonder if something’s wrong. I don’t know much about the woman I’ve been fucking for the past few years, and I protectively wrap my arm around her. If she’s under Ash’s thumb, I’ll find out.

Her breath hitches, and she snuggles into my side.

Stella’s out there, in danger, and I feel sleazy dining out, cuddling with another woman. Now I’m not sure Cardello is the one hunting Stella. Her predator may be sitting across from me, dipping chunks of lobster into a bowl of melted butter like nothing’s wrong. Like he didn’t make my sister fall apart only a few hours ago.

A gorgeous redhead sits rigidly by his side, and I can tell she’s scared. If he’s still angry after dinner, he’ll take it out on her, and she knows this. She and Nathalie keep exchanging glances, but that won’t prevent the inevitable, and neither can I.

Since Stella came back, he’s been on edge, like he’s waiting.

For what, I have no idea.

I sip my whiskey and press a kiss to Nathalie’s temple. I’m fond of her—her pussy has gotten me through some rough times. She’s grown into a companion, a friend, and I’ll protect her if I have to.

Her hand drifts to my cock, but I’m not turned on. We’re done fucking.

Having Stella ruined her and I’ll never want her again.

I move her hand, and she leans away, embarrassed I snubbed her.

The conversation at the table is stilted and uncomfortable. To fill in the silence, Ash talks about a fall fundraiser Black Enterprises is hosting for one of his foundations. He never mentions Stella or Zarah, though he wouldn’t since Nathalie and the redhead are sitting with us.

We decline dessert and the after-dinner coffees, and I shake Ash’s hand outside the restaurant. Stella’s ring burns my skin through the material of my pants. There’s no chance in hell I’ll ever tell him I found it. Let him discover I have it. I want to see what he’ll do. “This was a good idea,” I lie. “I needed the evening out. Thank you.”

Ash watches me in that calculating way he has. “We’ll talk about Zarah tomorrow.”

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

I’m not going to fight with him. There’s nothing Ash loves more than coming out on top in a disagreement. I’ve known Ash all my life. I’ll need to start using what I know against him, and that means keeping things to myself and not playing into his hands.

Douglas is waiting, and he opens the town car’s door for Nathalie. Ash’s date is already sitting in the car that will bring them home. He ordered her inside the car the moment we stepped foot on the sidewalk.

When we’re alone, Ash says, “I think Zarah’s getting the best care at Quiet Meadows, Zane.” He lays a hand on my shoulder and squeezes, brother to brother. “Even with the incident earlier today and Iona’s shitty way of handling it, Zarah needs the twenty-four hour attention.”

It’s difficult to have your way with Ash, but he’s going to have to get used to this. Zarah’s screams still turn my stomach, and he walked away as if he expected her to melt down. Cameras record Zarah’s room twenty-four hours a day. How often has Zarah freaked out after one of his visits? How often has the staff at Quiet Meadows looked the other way?

How much does he pay for the privilege to torment my sister, and what kind of damage has he done while I’ve been unaware?

I push back the guilt. It won’t help her now.

“I know you believe so,” I say, unobtrusively moving out from underneath his hand. His touch makes my skin crawl, as does his beady eyes and the way he studies me looking for chinks in my armor. In the past five years, I’ve had many. “But after several years and no change in her behavior, I think it’s time to try something new. Under the observation of her doctor, of course. Perhaps spending time around her family and not sitting alone in her room will help. We have nothing to lose.”

Ash’s lips thin in disapproval. Disapproval I’m going against his wishes more than disapproval of my choices. He doesn’t care about Zarah’s wellbeing.

“I know how much you love her,” I press.

I’ve cornered him by his own lies. If there’s one absolute thing I know, it’s that he’s not in love with my sister. I don’t think he ever was.

“Of course.”

This time I pat him on the shoulder.

I’m playing a dangerous game, but the odds are slowly turning in my favor. “I knew you’d see it my way. Have a good evening, and say hello to your mom and dad for me.”

Douglas opens the car door, and I slide gratefully inside. The cool air hits my skin, and I inhale a deep breath.

I barely settle into my seat, and Nathalie crawls into my lap and licks at my mouth. I feel almost paternal toward her, and I nudge her back onto the leather cushion. She rests her head on my shoulder, and I smooth my hand down her arm. I touch her bruise and she flinches.

We go up to the penthouse—there are a few things I need to ask her. She pulls off her heels and walks around the living room, and her skin glows in the setting sun streaming through the window. I pour a drink and sit on the sofa. Loosening my tie, I ask, “How long have you known Ash? You work for him, don’t you?”

I never questioned where, exactly, Ash found her. Assumed, maybe, he knew her through connections at our gentleman’s club. Men who cheat on their wives pay to be discrete. Like Ash. He publicly loves my sister, but behind closed doors, what is he doing?

Nathalie stills. This wasn’t what she expected, and she’s reluctant to answer. I’m hesitant to push because I don’t want to put her in the same position Stella’s in. Stella, by the sounds of it, has Denton watching her back, and that’s more than what Nathalie would have if she’s caught squealing on Ash.

If Nathalie gives me information, I need to be prepared to keep her safe.

“Yeah. About seven years,” she finally answers.

I choke on my drink. She’s my age, or thereabouts. She’s been on Ash’s payroll since her early twenties...a third of her life gone.

“What do you do for him?”

Nathalie pads over to me and straddles my lap. Undoing my tie, she says, “Why talk about that, baby? Let me make you feel good.” She rolls her hips, hoping to turn me on.

She’s a pretty girl, her mahogany hair hanging down her back in thick waves and her finely arched eyebrows framing big blue eyes. It was her eyes that persuaded me to let her fuck me the evening Ash brought her to my office. So much like Stella’s bright blue irises that reflected the light letting me glimpse at her soul.

“Nathalie.”

She stops and fear flickers across her face. “You’re tired of me.”

“No. Yes. I mean, no. It’s not that. We’ve never been a couple.” A real couple.

A blush stains her cheeks.

She moves to crawl off my lap, but I hold on to her waist to keep her in place. It’s stupid because we’ve been sleeping together for a long time, but her cleft cradles my cock and I feel like I’m cheating on Stella.

“What do you do for Ash?” I ask again. “You said he pays you to spend time with me. Am I the only man you see?”

She swallows, and tears fill her eyes. Shaking her head, she says, “No. But you’re first, no matter what I’m doing, no matter who I’m with. If you call me, I’m supposed to go.”

“Were you with someone this afternoon? Is that why you said you needed time to get ready for dinner?”

She nods, and a tear rolls down her cheek.

I don’t brush it away like I would have before. It’s too intimate of an act. Even though she’s still on my lap, we’re talking about her johns.

I’m not her lover. I’m one of her jobs.

I knew this and used her anyway.

“Why did you start working for him?”

She rubs her eyes. “My mom got sick. I had to drop out of school and work. A friend was making a shit-ton of money working as an escort, and she asked if I wanted to. The only requirement, she said, was that you had to be pretty and have good teeth. I had braces when I was a kid.” She sniffles. “She introduced me to—”

“Ash.”

“No. Mr. Black. His dad.”

“You’ve been an escort all this time?”

She nods miserably. “The Blacks—once you start working for them, you can’t quit. My mom passed away, and I didn’t need to pay her medical bills anymore, but they wouldn’t let me go.”

“Why?” I ask, but I should have known.

“Because we know too much. That’s what Mandi says. She’s the redhead.”

Ashamed, I squirm. I didn’t care enough to ask what her name was, and Ash didn’t introduce us.

To Ash, Mandi isn’t a person, only a possession, a plaything, and I’m just as bad.

“I can understand that. What else?”

“If we’re a favorite, men pay more. Even though you’re my priority, I’m someone’s favorite.”

“Whose?”

Nathalie hides her face in my shoulder. “I don’t want to tell you.”

“You need to.”

“Vance Huxley.”

I blow out a breath. Jesus Christ.

“Why does he like you?”

“He says I remind him of his daughter, and he likes to pretend he’s screwing her.”

I want to throw up, and I fight back a mouthful of whiskey and bile. The mayor of King’s Crossing fantasizes about fucking his daughter while he pounds on Nathalie.

I tuck her against me. I’m going to need her help. I can’t let this continue, but I’m not foolish enough to believe I can confront Ash alone. Maybe in the back of my mind I suspected Ash dabbled in prostitution, but I didn’t want to admit it. I was too busy benefiting from it.

“How does he pay you?”

“Through Ladies and Gentlemen. Sometimes my . . . dates like to go there.”

Ash’s strip club. Of course.

“Where do you live?” I’ve never bothered to ask. The minute I’m no longer with her, she ceases to exist until the next time I need her.

I know how I sound.

“Ash owns a complex, and we all have apartments there. I used to live in a crummy efficiency in the basement, but the night Ash realized you would keep seeing me, he upgraded me to a one-bedroom that has a balcony.”

In case I wanted to visit her, or pick her up myself, but I never did. “How many women do you...work with?”

“I have no idea.”

I wrap my arms around her, and she melts against my chest. For five years she’s been available to me, and I’m ashamed I didn’t always treat her well. The pain of losing Stella made me act in ways I’d much rather forget.

Nathalie tolerated it all, and as the days and months blurred together, I began to care. Obviously, not enough to get to know her, but I grew fond of her. I don’t expect that to redeem me. I’ve been nothing less than an asshole. Stella broke my heart, and I gave myself permission to turn into a fucking prick.

“Listen, I’m going to need your help.”

Nathalie sits up. “I can’t. He’ll kill me. He. Will. Literally. Kill. Me. Like the woman who went missing four, five years ago. Do you remember?”

I don’t, and it doesn’t mean shit to me now. “Yes, you can. I don’t know what or how yet, but I can’t do anything without you. Ash can’t keep doing this. The fucking mayor of King’s Crossing uses a prostitution service, and I’m guessing he’s only the beginning of Ash’s client list.”

I raise my eyebrows, hoping she’ll confirm my suspicions, but he’s threatened her for too long, and she clams up.

“I’ll keep you here. I don’t want Ash selling you to Vance Huxley or anyone else.”

“But he’ll—”

“Don’t worry about what Ash will do. Leave him to me.”

Nathalie cries on me until she falls asleep, her face buried in my suit jacket, my tie twisted around her hand. I carry her to the guest room that will be hers for the next little while.

Lucille will take care of her.

I sit on the couch and stare into the dark pit of the fireplace. This is where Stella and I made love, where I asked her to wait until I was ready to marry her. Where we sat the first night we met. I miss her so much there are times I feel like I can’t breathe anymore and I’m dying, minute by minute.

I brace my elbows on my knees and hold my head in my hands letting the pain and guilt swamp me. It’s no wonder I dream of my mother and how disappointed she is in me.

She would be ashamed to call me her son. Kagan Maddox would never look me in the eye.

I’m no man. I’m just a scumbag, no different from Vance Huxley or anyone else using Ash’s women. But I can try to be better. Be the kind of man Stella would be proud to have.

She used to be.

I pull her ring out of my pocket. It sparkles, the way her love used to spark in her eyes whenever she looked at me. I let tears run down my face. I’m such a fuckup. Wiping my cheeks with the heel of my hand, I suck back my sobs. Crying won’t get me anywhere, but a plan will.

I fall asleep on the couch, Stella’s ring clutched in my fist, feeling her body pressed against mine, even though right now I have no idea where she is.

When I wake up, my neck is stiff, though my body should be used to sleeping on the couch by now. I down some ibuprofen in a hot shower and dress. My routine is the same, but today feels different. I’m no longer dreading the twelve hours ahead of me.

Softly, I knock on Nathalie’s door and push it open. I want to reassure her, but she’s still sleeping and I let her be.

Lucille offers me breakfast but I decline, gulping fresh coffee and scalding my mouth instead, and she frowns.

Downstairs on the executive floor, the atmosphere is cheerful and upbeat, everyone rested and trading stories about what happened over the weekend. I have work to do, but I sit at my desk and stare into space. Mel is scheduled to arrive in King’s Crossing later today, and I want her to get started as soon as possible.

Things are clearing up in the murkiness that is my life. Ash isn’t the man I thought he was and it seems he’s done hiding it, too, but I can’t go head to head with him. Not yet. I need more, and I need to tread carefully. Going half-cocked against Ash is a good way to let him slip through my fingers and possibly get myself killed.

It’s still difficult to believe he’s turned into this kind of monster. There could be an explanation why he had Stella’s ring. Maybe she gave it to him before she ran off. Maybe he took it before Cardello spirited her away, but if that’s the case, why didn’t he say something? Give it back to me? All I would have done is throw it into the Renegade, but there was no reason for him to have kept it.

When Mel arrives in King’s Crossing, we’ll find answers.

I asked Lucille to take care of Nathalie and to show her how to order a few things online using our spending accounts. What she keeps at the penthouse won’t be enough if she’s going to stay indefinitely, and I don’t want her going back to her apartment—Ash might not let her leave again. I can send Douglas, later, if she left anything behind she wants to keep.

Sitting at my desk, I write Mel a note asking her to check into the complex. I wonder how much Douglas knows of Ash’s and Clayton’s business dealings. He’s always had his ear to the ground, and he visits Zarah twice a week. Like Lucille, my father’s driver is part of our family.

My phone vibrates, and the name of Zarah’s facility glows on the screen. I answer with a clipped, “Maddox.”

Iona Belsely’s voice trembles. “The exchange of power of attorney just crossed my desk, Mr. Maddox. Your attorney made it clear Ashton Black no longer has the legal right to make medical decisions on Miss Maddox’s behalf and you’re moving your sister out of Quiet Meadows.”

Finally, something is going my way, and that quickly, too. Ash couldn’t contest my decision, and he had no choice but to give me power over my own sister without looking like a cold-blooded asshole. I would have taken him to court and spent all my money fighting him. He knew it and chose to lose this battle to win the war.

He still thinks he can, and I’m happy to let him try.

“Good. I’ll be there within the hour. Have her ready to leave.”

I hang up on her babbling, summon Douglas, and shove my cell phone into my pocket. I don’t want to be behind the wheel alone with Zarah. That would be dangerous given the fact she’s scared of me and doesn’t like me. Douglas will be a buffer, and it’s my fault we need one.

Stopping at Peggy’s desk, I say, “I’m signing my sister out of Quiet Meadows, but she’s not well enough to be on her own. I need you to arrange for twenty-four hour nursing care, and I want whoever you hire to go through a substantial background check. No one is allowed near my sister unless they pass. If there’s so much as even a shadow of a doubt, about anyone , find someone else. And have her sign an NDA. She’s not to speak about Zarah’s care to anyone but me, Lucille, and her primary care physician. Please call him and ask him to meet me at the penthouse in an hour.”

Peggy reaches for the phone. “I’ll get right on it, Mr. Maddox.”

“Thank you. Also, call ahead to Lucille and let her know Zarah’s coming home and to freshen her room. I’ve let this go on long enough.”

On the ride to Quiet Meadows, tension tightens my muscles. I haven’t seen Zarah since the nurse knocked her out, and I don’t know if warning her I’m moving her home would have done any good.

“I’m not sure how long we’ll need,” I tell Douglas. We’re not in the town car today—he’s driving a Mercedes SUV which is a little less attention-grabbing, but not by much.

“Yes, Mr. Maddox. It will be nice to have her home.”

“Thank you. I feel the same.”

I meet Iona in her office. She’s shaking, and I can only imagine the fury Ash is going to rain down on her later. After all, none of this would have come about if she hadn’t given Stella and Denton a tour of the facility. If Stella hadn’t broken into my sister’s room. If I wouldn’t have seen for myself how much Stella still cares and how much Zarah still cares about her, too.

“Mr. Maddox, I can assure you if this is because of the incident yesterday—”

“It’s not. To be perfectly blunt, Zarah has been treated in this sanatorium for close to five years, and there has been an alarming lack of change in her behavior. I’ve notified our family physician, and I’m arranging around-the-clock care. A change of scenery and spending time with people who love her will help more than being locked up here in her room alone. I’m sure you agree, Mrs. Belsely.”

Iona flinches and says nothing. She knows Zarah hasn’t made any progress. Always silent and staring into nothing, no one has been able to draw out of her why she snapped. Zarah’s told no one what happened that night.

I used to think she saw Stella and Cardello leave together, but Ash was adamant Zarah was not to leave the facility and now I’m not so sure. Someone is hiding something, but is it Ash or is it Stella?

I follow Iona to Zarah’s room, and a nurse has her things packed. She’s sitting in her wheelchair, but she’s dressed to go out in a pink silk sundress and flat sandals. She’s still rubbing her finger, and the martini glass Stella drew on her skin has faded but is still visible.

“Zarah, sweetheart.” I crouch in front of her and meet her eyes. There’s nothing in them but a bottomless pit of black.

“We administered her medication, Mr. Maddox,” the nurse says.

I grit my teeth, but I know she’s right. Zarah’s been on her meds for so long she’ll need to be weaned off if our family doctor decides she doesn’t need them. “I want a copy of her records.”

“Of course, Mr. Maddox.”

Iona steps up. “I apologize again—”

“Don’t bother.”

I push Zarah out of the room myself. I’m held up at the receptionist’s desk signing papers that release Zarah into my care, and a nurse hands me a file so thick it needs wide rubber bands to hold it together.

Douglas is waiting under the canopy. Zarah blinks against the bright sunlight, and I swallow a mouthful of swear words. When was the last time she was outside? Gently, he helps her into the SUV, hugs her briefly, and latches her seatbelt.

I throw the file into the front and climb into the back next to Zarah. Leaning my head against the seat, I blow out a breath as Douglas shifts into gear and slowly drives through the parking lot. If I never see this fucking place again it will be too soon.

“Zane.” Zarah’s looking at me, and her eyes are wet with tears.

It’s the only thing she’s said to me in years, and I can barely answer, my throat’s burning so terribly. “Yeah, Z?” Tentatively, not knowing how she’ll respond, I put my arm around her.

Despite the seatbelt, she snuggles into to me. Her hair is soft yet dry, and her skin is smooth but lacks any sparkle. She’s too thin and she smells sterile, like her room at the facility. I’ve turned her into an empty shell.

“Ash is bad,” she whispers, meeting my gaze and flinching like she expects me to slap her. It breaks my heart. How many times has she wanted to say that to me? How many times has Stella tried but gave up because she knew all I’d do is defend my childhood friend?

Kagan Maddox and Clayton Black had been best friends their entire lives.

It blinded me to so many things.

“I know, Zarah. I know, and I’m sorry.”

Lucille’s thrilled to have Zarah home, but Zarah’s zombie state devastates her. Our family doctor is waiting in the living room, and after a quick exam, declares her dehydrated and malnourished. He audibly gasps as he reads her medication list, and my stomach rolls.

“The poor girl,” Dr. Reagan murmurs, running his finger down the paper. “They’ve shut off her brain.”

“How long until you can bring her back?”

“Months. She’s been on these medications for several years, Zane,” he says when I groan in frustration. “We’ll need to be careful. Her body is very dependent on these drugs, and we must have patience. I pray to God they haven’t started an addiction we can’t fight.”

I nod. Patience has never been my strong suit, but I can’t undo the past five years overnight. I may never be able to. “Me too.”

Zarah sits on the sofa, and Lucille’s holding her like she’ll never let Zarah out of her sight again. Zarah’s smiling and looking more alert—similar to when Stella broke into her room.

“It’s good you brought her home,” Dr. Reagan says, tapping his fingers on the folder, his eyes serious behind his glasses. “I’m going to look into their practices. I don’t like what I see in her chart, though it seems she’s already coming back. She’s young, resilient, and healthy. This may not be as difficult as I anticipate.”

“Christ, I hope not.” She’s already been through enough.

“She’ll need supervision. I’m afraid she’s not able to be on her own just yet.”

“I’ve made the arrangements, and she’ll be in good hands. I’ll make sure of it.”

The doctor assesses me, a frown bringing out more of the lines on his face, but he finds what he’s looking for in my steady gaze and says, “I believe she will.” He pauses. “She’ll need therapy. I’ve seen the footage filmed at the Lyndhurst, and what made her break will need to be addressed.”

“Yes, I understand. I appreciate you coming by.” Shaking his hand, I hurry him toward the elevator, stopping his line of inquiry. I don’t know why she snapped. I thought I did, but now I have more questions than answers.

Nathalie stands at the edge of the living room, watching warily. She’s never met Zarah, but they’re both Ash’s victims and they may be able to help each other.

Peggy’s good at her job, and five minutes later, a nurse arrives carrying two suitcases and large bag. Ingrid Flannigan is a pretty redhead dressed professionally in linen pants and a blouse, and she greets me at the elevator, her handshake firm. She’s already spoken to the doctors at Quiet Meadows and has gone over the past five years of Zarah’s supposed treatment. Her eye contact is unwavering, and I decide to trust her for now. She nods, knowing she passed my brief inspection, and holding out her hand, she quietly introduces herself to Zarah and Lucille.

Marginally, I relax. Zarah’s where she should have been all along.

Nathalie pads across the room toward me. She’s still dressed in the clothes she wore to dinner last night, and I hug her. There will be a lot of changes happening in the next few days, and I don’t want her to be scared. If she’s frightened, she won’t help me. As of right now, her testimony alone is worth its weight in gold, never mind what she knows that she’s afraid to tell me.

Zarah looks at me, processes Nathalie in my arms, and the corners of her lips slope downward. “Stella.”

“I know, Z. We’re looking for her. She disappeared after she visited you.” I’m reluctant to tell her bad news—I don’t know what will set her off. I want to stop giving her medication, not upset her so much she needs more. She seems to understand and cuddles into Lucille’s side. Ingrid holds Zarah’s hand and speaks in low tones while Lucille nods.

Mel texts and says she’s at the airport and on her way to my office, and I wolf down a sandwich and some chips. I skipped breakfast, and this not a good time to let hunger distract me. I don’t want to go downstairs so soon after bringing Zarah home, but it’s a more professional place to meet the private investigator.

Zarah goes up to her room to nap and I feel better about leaving. I need to find a free second and figure out where Ingrid’s going to sleep. The easiest solution would be for me to move into my parents’ suite and let her have my room—Nathalie’s sleeping in the penthouse’s only guest room—but their bedroom has been unchanged all this time. Like Zarah’s room, like Stella’s apartment, I haven’t had the heart to touch it.

Now that Zarah’s home, I’m glad I didn’t change anything in the penthouse. The familiarity might be comforting.

“Perhaps a cot in Zarah’s room,” Lucille says, reading my mind. “Until something else can be arranged.”

I blow out a breath. “That’s a good idea.” Zarah’s bedroom is large enough, a cot can easily fit.

“I’ll see to it right away,” she says, sprinkling more chips onto my plate.

Nathalie went back to her room, and Lucille and I are alone. The penthouse hasn’t had this many people in it since my parents were alive, and she sparkles. She has people to fuss over again, and she’s in her element.

“You did a good thing,” she says, clipping the chip bag closed.

I scoff. “Maybe one good thing, but not soon enough.”

“We all make mistakes. The important thing is recognizing them and doing what you can to fix them.”

I sag on my barstool, leaning my arms heavily on the counter. “I’m trying, but I believed the wrong people. Believed in the wrong people. I let all this go on too long.”

Lucille wrings a dishcloth in her hands. She always looks worried when she’s about to say something I don’t want to hear. “Zarah wants to see Stella. Do you know where she is? Can you contact her?”

“I hired a private investigator and she’s flying into King’s Crossing this morning. She runs her own firm in LA. Nigel Wagner recommended her and said she knows what she’s doing. I’ve been using someone Ash suggested, but I think he’s been lying to me. She’ll find her, Lucille. Don’t worry.”

She looks away and busies herself straightening the kitchen. She doesn’t think I should trust Ash. She thinks I’m wrong about why I think Stella left me, too.

“Lucille?” I ask, loading my plate into the dishwasher.

“Yes?” She looks up from the desk she’s decluttering.

“What do you think about Ash?”

“I haven’t seen Ashton Black since he was a child, come here to play.”

“Okay.” Thinking she has no opinion, I turn to leave.

She stops me. “But I’ll tell you this. He found a spider in the foyer. Don’t know how the little thing found its way up here. A daddy long leg. I watched that boy pull the legs off one by one.”

My sandwich sits like a stone in my stomach.

“I never said anything.” Her eyes are damp.

I understand what she’s trying to say because now I know what she knew then. “There would have been no one to tell.”

She attempts a smile but it doesn’t quite grace her lips.

I pause, then touch her shoulder. “I’m going to fix this.”

Patting my hand, she says, “I know you will.”

The living room is empty, but for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel empty. The only person missing now is Stella.

I beat Mel to my office, even though I took an extra fifteen minutes to sit and talk to Lucille, and I do busy work while I wait. My email inbox has over three hundred messages in it. My voicemail, almost as many, and missed calls and texts clog my cell phone. My employees are not used to me being absent. Since Stella disappeared, I’ve buried myself in work, rarely leaving the office to eat or sleep. My couch most nights turned into my bed —I didn’t want to be alone in the penthouse. I never replaced Richard Denton and Larry Cramer after I forced them out. Stella had destroyed my trust and I didn’t want anyone working beside me.

Doing the work of three people has taken its toll.

I sit at my desk and ignore it all. Nothing is more important than finding Stella.

Peggy announces Melina Sanchez’s arrival and a long-legged Latina wearing a black pants suit and pink blouse marches into my office. She possesses a no-bullshit attitude I appreciate immediately. Once again, Nigel has come through.

“Miss Sanchez,” I greet her, standing and offering my hand.

She briskly shakes it and wastes no time with formalities. “Mr. Maddox. I’ve looked into Stella Mayfair. I’m not sure why you need my help locating her.”

“What do you mean? I hired a good PI and he didn’t find her. Or so he says.”

Mel raises her eyebrows. “You’re right to doubt him. May I?” she asks, but she doesn’t wait for permission. She grabs the remote that turns on the large flat screen TV fastened to the wall near my desk. I try to keep up with the news, and I play CNN nonstop. Except for lately when my problems have been a little closer to home. She changes the channel from national news to local.

A fuzzy video of the Renegade fills the screen. Two figures I come to recognize as Stella and Denton stand on the riverbank talking to a police officer. One of King’s Crossing’s industrial parks sits dirty in the background.

Mel keeps the sound muted, and she updates me herself. “Stella Mayfair and Richard Denton were pushed into the river late yesterday afternoon by a nondescript black pickup truck. The vehicle didn’t have plates, and the windows were darkly tinted—no one caught a glimpse of the driver. It was a close call for both of them, but particularly for the woman. She came up a whole minute and a half after the old man and looked as if she narrowly avoided CPR.”

My heart slams painfully against my ribs. Stella’s clothes, the same ones she wore to visit Zarah, are plastered to her body, and her long blonde hair is a mess of knots and tangles. She hunches into Denton’s side, scared and tired.

“They were in a vehicle?” I ask, not understanding until a different clip starts to play.

A beige, mid-sized car is moving along the frontage road when the black truck Mel described slams into its side. The angle seems far away, like what we’re watching is security footage filmed by a camera mounted on a tall building somewhere.

This clip shows the vehicle sink, and even though I know Stella survives, my body tenses and I hold my breath as the car submerges. Denton breaks the surface, and he treads water, fighting the current, desperately searching, his head whipping back and forth, waiting for Stella to come up. If she’s trapped, there’s nothing he can do. The river’s too deep.

He’s screaming her name. It’s easy to read the movement of his lips and the look of horror on his face, raw and exposed. I wonder, if while they’ve been on the run, he’s fallen in love with her.

I wouldn’t be surprised.

Sunlight glints off the water on his face...but I would bet there are tears mingling with the river water on his cheeks.

Sputtering, she surfaces, and quickly, he swims to her and hooks his arm around her ribcage.

A young, burly man jumps into the river, and two more help them onto the bank covered in weeds and rocks. The camera switches to a news anchor sitting behind a desk, and Mel turns on the sound in time for us to hear her say, “Local law enforcement have no leads at this time.”

Mel turns the TV off. “She seems easy enough to find,” she says wryly, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot. “Do you know who would want her dead?”

I tell her about Cardello, about the possibility he’d want revenge.

She’s not impressed we’re talking about Italian royalty, and twisting her mouth into a grimace, plops down into a chair in front of my desk. “That’s not enough. You need to tell me everything.”

I start all the way back from when Zarah met Stella in the payroll department, to now, five years later.

“Where does your parents’ plane crash fit in with all this?”

Her question pulls me up short. “Nowhere.”

She scoffs. “Excuse me if I don’t believe that after all the bullshit you just threw at me.”

I bristle. “I know I’ve been stupid—”

Mel softens, and she brushes her wavy black hair away from her face. “Trust isn’t stupid—until it gets people hurt. Stella tried to explain, and you should have listened.”

“I know. It’s my biggest mistake.”

“That’s debatable.” She rolls her dark brown eyes. They remind me a lot of my mother’s when she was amused, but annoyed, too.

“Now what?” I ask. We know where she was yesterday, but twenty-four hours have passed between then and now.

“When I find Stella, what are you going to do with her? I won’t bother if what she has to say means less than zero to you.”

“Zarah needs her.”

“So Zarah Maddox is my employer? Should I be speaking to her?”

“No. I—”

“Again, I won’t bother unless you can tell me what you want from her.”

I lean against the edge of my desk, my lips pressed into a tight seam.

“I’m more interested in the prostitution business Ashton Black is running.”

“After Stella.”

Mel shrugs. Waits. Picks at imaginary lint on her dress pants.

I want to know what Stella tried to tell me at her apartment, but what I’ve believed, I’ve believed for five years. You have to understand, I’m not just going to all of a sudden believe whatever she says, but if I’m not ready to consider what she has to say, then Mel’s right. There’s no point in finding her.

Minutes tick by as I argue with myself. Mel buffs her already shiny nails on her blazer.

Every second I’m conflicted gives whoever is hunting her another second to find and kill her.

“Do it.”

“I knew you’d see it my way.”

Mel is out the door without a goodbye.