Max winced. Poor woman. "He was in the video?"

"No."

"So how did his mention of apples tip you off?"

"What?"

"Red delicious."

Her whole body tensed. "He...I...It's nothing."

"You almost killed him over it, so it obviously wasn't nothing."

Val shook her head and wouldn't say any more. Max folded his arms and quietly seethed for the rest of the ride back to where he'd parked his car at Wicked Brew. She was shutting him out. Again. He should've expected as much. She'd cut him out of her life once before. It'd been stupid of him to think she'd let him back in. He should've listened to the rational part of his brain and kept his distance. If Val wanted to suffer in silence, then that was her choice.

She pulled up to the sidewalk at Wicked Brew and put her car in Park. "I'm sorry I got you into this," she said without looking at him. "I shouldn't have asked you for help. I was"-she shook her head-"desperate and not thinking straight. I won't bother you again."

"You do not get to unilaterally decide if I'm involved," he said, gripped by a sudden fury. "It's too late. You want to keep secrets from me? Fine. I don't care. I'm not your boyfriend anymore. But I just saw a guy spontaneously choke to death on his own blood, right after we had a loud fight with him in a bar where at least one of those rednecks probably recognized me, and I'll likely get questioned by the police about it tomorrow morning and I don't know what the f.u.c.k I'm going to say. So no, I can't pretend this never happened, even if I wanted to. But thanks for considering the consequences, now that it's too late."

Max got out and slammed the door behind him. He marched to his car, the only one still in the lot, and drove home imagining all the things he should've added to his tirade: You broke up with me, yet you expect me to do your bidding while you keep me in the dark? You know everything about me-things that could send me to jail for the rest of my life if you wanted-so why don't you trust me? Am I just a resource to you? A rich plaything you think you can manipulate anytime you want? You're willing to put your life on the line to find this woman you've never met before, but you wouldn't fight for us? Our relationship wasn't worth it? Did you ever feel anything more than l.u.s.t for me? You were the only thing I cared about in my entire miserable life and you walked away. You just walked away...

Max pulled into his carport, turned the car off, and rested his head on the steering wheel. He took deep breaths and tried to calm himself. He was overreacting, letting the whole bizarre situation dig up grievances he'd buried-and he hadn't taken his OxyContin pills in a while, further souring his mood. Max fished the bottle out of his pocket and tossed a couple in his mouth. He needed to get a grip on the present and let the past go. All he had was his future-with Abby. There was nothing else.

Suddenly exhausted, Max trudged up the back stairs and entered his dark condo from the door connecting to the kitchen hallway. Toby's collar jingled at his feet. Max knelt and scratched Toby behind the ears.

"You've hit your affection quota for the day." He winced when the dog licked his face.

Abby's voice reached him from the living room. "Finally back, huh?"

Max rose and walked through the kitchen. He found her curled up on the couch, reading a magazine under the soft glow of an end table lamp.

"Yeah, uh..." He took off his baseball cap and ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't miss dinner, did I?"

"It's ten o'clock, Max."

"s.h.i.t, I'm sorry."

He hoped this would be one of those times she'd laugh off his bad behavior, knowing he meant well, like she usually did. She didn't.

Abby put her magazine down and stood up. "Where were you?"

He hated lying to her, even though he knew she wouldn't like the truth. How was he any better than Val if he did? "I was helping Val with her case."

Abby's eyes narrowed a fraction. "I thought she needed money."

"She needed someone with money, to give her access to an exclusive club. A woman's missing, and...well, I can't just do nothing."

"Is that blood on your shirt?"

He looked down and saw crimson splotches from the redneck's nose on his chest. "We were in a fight with someone who might have had information on the missing woman. It's not as bad as it looks." Except for the dead man in the car that'll be discovered any minute.

"A fight? Why are you helping her if she's putting you in danger? Just file a missing persons report with the police and be done with it!"

"It's not that simple."

"Then explain it to me. Explain to me why you have to be the one to help her."

He didn't want to lie, but he couldn't tell her that her brother was likely involved in the rape and possible murder of a woman. Or that he'd just seen a man inexplicably drown in his own blood. Or that he and Val were connected like no other two people on earth. Or that he loved Abby, but...if Val died, he would die, too. Or that, in a moment of weakness, he'd been a heartbeat away from leaving her for Val. So instead of lying he said nothing, just gaped at her like an idiot and hoped she'd accept his silence-exactly what Val had done to him in the car.

Abby reacted as well as he had, though sadness overlaid her anger. With tears in her eyes, she walked away from him and up the stairs. He heard the door to their room shut, not with a slam but with a dull, definitive thud. Max walked to the kitchen and poured himself a gla.s.s of water in the dark. He took his migraine medication bottle out of his pocket and swallowed another dose of OxyContin. He chased it down with the water, then went back to the living room, clicked off the light, lay down on the couch. Toby tried to lie on his chest; Max pushed him off. The dog settled between his legs instead. It was still warm where Abby had sat up waiting for him, the perfect woman he was going to marry in two months. He was surrounded by everything he'd ever wanted, before he met Val, and he'd never felt so empty.

Chapter Fifteen.

Val sat in her car behind a shuttered gas station, out of view of the main road. She sipped from a bottle of lemon-flavored vodka she'd bought right after dropping Max off at the coffee shop, and waited. She had washed Cal's blood off her hands in the liquor store bathroom, but her knuckles still throbbed.

G.o.d, she was losing her f.u.c.king mind.

She didn't even know what Cal had to do with her rape. Maybe he'd only watched the video online before Rayvit took it down three days ago. He didn't match Stacey's description of her attackers; none were bald. But when he'd slurred "red delicious" at her with no remorse or shame whatsoever, she'd lost it. She would have killed him if Max hadn't stopped her.

And now Max knew she wasn't telling him the whole story. But how would she explain it to him? She didn't want his pity; getting it from Stacey was bad enough. Nor did she want to mess up his nice life-any more than she already had anyway. He didn't deserve to be burdened with her personal problems, too. She didn't know how he'd react, but she did know he had killed someone in a fit of rage once before-a.s.suming he still cared that much about her, which of course he didn't. He had Abby. And she had no one.

She'd almost told him she loved him. He probably would've laughed in her face. There was no way he'd leave someone as perfect as Abigail Westford for messed-up, self-destructive Val, no matter their connection. Especially not after the s.h.i.t she kept putting him through. Even though he had a dark side, at his core Max was a kind and decent man, often pushed to extremes by people who took advantage of him-people like Val. She deserved every biting word he threw at her.

Inside Val's coat pocket, her phone pinged with a text message. Checking it, she saw it was from Stacey: Where r u? Need to give status to clients... Val turned her phone off and tossed it in the backseat. Her friend could handle the other clients on her own, and Margaret's was the only life-or-death case they had. Val needed to give it her full attention. And she wasn't in the mood for Stacey's judgment or pity. She didn't want to talk about her feelings; she wanted them to go the f.u.c.k away.

Headlights appeared in her rearview mirror. A sedan pulled up next to her. The engine died, then Sten got out of his car and slipped into Val's.

"You rang?" He glanced at the bottle of vodka in her hand. "Fun's already started, I see."

She took another swig of alcohol. "There's a dead man in a car outside of a bar called Billy's Roadhouse in Lakewood. He...drowned in his own blood, I think. Something like that. I'm not really sure."

"Huh," Sten replied with mild curiosity. "Another unfortunate friend of yours?"

"I don't know who he is. His coveralls said 'Cal.' He was snorting what looked like c.o.ke, and I think that might've killed him. You ever heard of a drug that makes your face and throat hemorrhage blood?"

"Nah, but you know kids these days-huffing paint and shoving horse tranquilizers up their a.s.ses. A little face melting wouldn't stand in the way of a good high."

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure the drugs originated from Lucien Christophe, the man you refuse to investigate because he's rich and white. So not only is he kidnapping women, he's distributing deadly drugs. That enough for you to care yet?"

"Getting warmer. Depends on what we find at the crime scene."

Val sighed. Of course he still didn't care. "Max and I got in a brawl with this guy a few minutes before he died. We didn't kill him, but when someone finds his body, I'm sure people from the bar will mention the fight. They might ID us. Can you throw the police off our trail?"

Sten lifted an eyebrow. "You want me to interfere with a murder investigation?" He leaned back in his seat and threaded his fingers behind his neck. "Can do. Anything else?"

"Yeah. I want to make a missing persons report."

"For who-Margaret Ann Monroe, also known as Celine for a good time?"

She hadn't told him Margaret's full name, or her escort pseudonym. "How did you know-"

"When I was s.h.a.gging you last, you gave me enough details to follow up, so I did. You wanted my help, didn't you?"

Val scoffed. "So it only took me having s.e.x with you for you to give a s.h.i.t?"

"Missing prost.i.tutes do fall into my job jar. I've added her name to the three dozen already in the queue."

"Do you know a guy named Ginger was the last person seen with her, at the Pana Sea, which Lucien Christophe happens to own?"

"Yes, and Mr. Eugene Westford swears he had s.e.xual relations with her in his car before dropping her off at a party, which she later left by herself. Multiple people corroborate his story."

Val let her head fall back into the headrest. "f.u.c.k." She took a long drink. Even with police resources, Margaret's trail had gone cold. And Sten had been unperturbed by her mention of Max. He already knew everything she did, probably more. Val was one step behind.

"Adults are allowed to disappear," he said. "That's the great thing about being an adult. That and voting."

She glared at him, clenching her teeth so hard she thought she might break her jaw.

He shrugged at her barely contained rage. "Without any clear evidence of foul play, there's nothing we can do. Sorry, that's how the justice system works. If you don't like it, take it up with your Congressman."

"I saw Lucien kill her! Her body's going to wash up on a beach any day now."

"Ah, but not everything you see comes true, correct?"

He was right; rational, even. A rarity for Sten. It was possible she'd seen a future that wouldn't come true. At this point, all she could do was hope for Margaret's safe return-and fight for justice.

"I also want to report a rape," Val said.

"Margaret again?"

"Yes." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "And mine."

She expected him to laugh at her, to roll his eyes and throw out some smart-a.s.s quip about regretful s.e.x or how prost.i.tutes couldn't be raped. When he said nothing, she glanced at him. He studied her face, maybe trying to gauge her sincerity, though his own face remained unreadable.

"When?"

"Mine happened the night you came to my house." Val's voice trembled, but she forced herself to spit it out. She had nothing to lose. "I'm not sure when it happened to Margaret. Probably the night she left the Pana Sea with Ginger, after he supposedly dropped her off at a totally innocent party."

"Who?"

"Three for me; two for Margaret. I tracked one of my attackers down-Michael Stevenson. I don't know who the others were. I was drugged and don't remember. Another f.u.c.king weird drug, probably courtesy of Lucien. The same thing happened to Margaret. I only know the attacks happened because I found videos of them online. Probably got millions of f.u.c.king hits." She paused to take another long drink. The bottle shook in her hand. "The dead guy at the bar knew something about my video, and then he mysteriously died. Since there are no such things as coincidences for people like me, he must be involved. So...So, I want to make a report, and have a police officer investigate, because I've been doing a s.h.i.t job of it myself."

Sten stared at her, face still a pa.s.sive mask. His eyes lacked their usual smarm, however. He almost looked serious. "Don't make a report."

"Are you f.u.c.king kidding me?" Val yelled at him. "I should keep my mouth shut so horrible people can keep doing horrible things? Roll over and accept that life is a soul-sucking death march from one trauma to the next? That we're all just things to be manipulated and coerced and used and-"

"I'll take care of it."

She gave him a mirthless laugh. "You? Really?"

"That's our deal."

"How?"

He picked up the metal cap from the center cup holder and screwed it back onto the liquor bottle she still clutched in her hand. "By doing what I do best."

"Being an a.s.shole?"

He smiled. "Yes."

She didn't know what he meant to do; likely the usual-nothing. Val rubbed her eyes, swiping away tears that gathered as the world tried to crush her. "What do you want from me, Sten?"

"I already told you-be available when I call."

She scoffed and tossed the vodka bottle into the backseat. "Whatever you really want, just take it. Take it all. Take everything." He might as well. She was a s.h.i.t PI and a s.h.i.t girlfriend, with a s.h.i.t ability to see s.h.i.t futures.

Sten folded his arms and drummed his fingers on his biceps. No smirk, no eye roll, no smart-a.s.s reply. Not amused to be the audience to her meltdown. "Anything else?"

They were alone in the dark together, the only light from a streetlamp on the other side of the gas station. They might as well have been the last two people on earth. Val reached into his coat pocket and retrieved his wallet; he didn't stop her. She flipped it open and pulled out a fresh condom. He watched in silence as she shimmied off her jeans and underwear, then straddled him. She unzipped his pants. Already hard, she slipped the condom on. His hands cupped the flesh of her behind as she slid him into her.

"Show me something happy," she said, rolling her hips into his in a slow, deep rhythm. "I don't care if it won't happen. Just show me."

His gaze ran up her torso, tracing an outline from her naked waist to the nape of her neck until his dark eyes settled heavily on hers. "Do you prefer the ocean or the forest?"

Val closed her eyes. "The ocean."

"You're at the ocean with someone you love. The sky is clear." He slipped his hands underneath her shirt. Her skin tingled where he ran his thumbs across her nipples. "The water is warm."

He was quiet for a while as she moved against him, slow and deliberate, relishing the sensation, a moment of pleasure in a storm of misery. It still felt good, even after being violated, even without love. Her body wasn't broken; only her soul.

He pulled her deeper onto him, his chest heaving into hers as he eased her closer. "There are boats on the horizon," he said at almost a whisper, breath hot on her neck. "How many boats do you see?"

"How many am I supposed to see?"

"It's your future. See what will be. Picture them clearly."

Val imagined basking in the glow of love, jumping into an ocean of warm water, coming up for air and scanning the horizon. She looked for the boats, then gasped as tendrils of fire rushed up her spine- I see two blips on the horizon-sailboats with white masts gliding over the water, far enough away that I can only tell they're moving if I hold out my arm and watch the patch of blue between the blips and my thumb slowly grow. I lie on a small yacht in the middle of an ocean of turquoise water dotted by far-off islands, and let the sun dry salt water off my bare skin. Max sits at the edge of the boat, naked and brown, throwing pieces of bread into the water. Birds circle and pluck bits from the sea.

"They could see you," I say to him, pointing at the boats.

He shrugs. "They're too far away." He doesn't care anyway. Nudity's never been a big deal to him.

"If they're paparazzi with telescopic lenses, you're in trouble."