“That’s why I called.”

He took a deep breath, stared out into the night. Watched reflected light dance across the surface of the glass. Someone laughed in the other room, a loud donkey bray. These people. Some of them were useful, and all of them were rich, and he’d made some even richer in ventures they were careful not to know too much about. But that didn’t mean he had to like them. “What do the cops know?”

“Nothing yet. They’re focusing on the body. Our man in the department says the corpse’s name is David Crooch. Freelance tough guy. Did a bit for stealing cars, a couple of assault charges.”

“What about our friend the restaurateur?”

“No word.”

“No word?”

“No. His lawyer met him at the station, had him out in twenty minutes, and he disappeared.”

“I want to talk to him.”

“When?”

“As soon as you can throw his fat ass in a chair.” Victor rubbed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “And do something for me. Throw hard.”

MITCH WOKE IN THE DARK. Not the usual fuzzy-headed drifting, but wide-awake, just boom: eyes open, mind in gear.

In Jenn’s bed.

It had all been real, then. Warmth spilled through his chest, a sense of possibility. The room was coming into focus, and as he lay on his side with his arm tucked beneath the pillow, he could see the outline of her body through the thin sheet. The memories tumbled happy and disconnected. The softness of her lips. Her hungry sigh as he kissed down her body. The ropy tightening of the muscles in her thigh as he tasted her. The soft, quick moans that echoed from her throat as she came. Standing up, taking her in his arms. Dizzy and happy. The two of them stumbling to the bedroom, giggling at the sheer wildness of it, the improbability, the sense of being in another world. How the giggling turned to full-on laughter as they fumbled with a condom package, until he finally took the edge between his teeth and ripped it.

The perfect connection of sliding into her, eyes locked and inches apart.

Oh God, she’d said. Is this real? Are we doing this?

It’s real.

Are you sure?

Do you want me to stop?

No. No.

And finally, best of all, the melted softness of her body as she fell asleep against him, the cocoa butter smell of her hair, the miraculous sense that against all odds, he’d gotten what he wanted. In the dark of her bedroom, he smiled. It felt like a luxury, smiling just for himself. Smiling for pure joy.

Of course, if that was real, then the rest was, too.

His smile wilted. For a moment he was back in the alley, the smell of garbage and exhaust, the tinny radio playing Spanish love songs. The man staring up at him.

Mitch pulled the sheet off. Slid his legs out and sat on the edge of the bed. Silver light filtering through the blinds painted his pale thighs. He rubbed at his eyes, skin sticky with sleep.

What did you do?

The thought came fast and hard as a shiver. Panic soaked him, cold then hot, a flush that started in his chest. The man on the ground, helpless, teeth ground together in pain.

When he’d been young, Mitch had a BB rifle, spent months plinking away at bottles. One blue day a friend-God, what was his name, blond hair and bright teeth, one of those who would grow up to be a football star-it had been his turn with the rifle, only instead of the Coke can, he’d pointed it at a squirrel, a mangy thing watching them from a branch, and before Mitch could speak, there had been the soft pop of air. The squirrel had fallen. The two of them had stared at each other, horrified not only at what they had done, but at the swiftness of the consequence. The way the world reacted. There had been a moment of silence, total silence, and then they ran to stand over the poor thing. It had squirmed and writhed, tiny legs skittering uselessly, and Mitch had felt this same hot-cold sensation, even though he hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger. The desperate desire to take it back, to rewind-

Stop.

He closed his eyes, straightened his back. Took a long, slow breath in through his nose, held it. Released.

Use your brain.

He forced himself to look at things logically. It wasn’t a cute, fluffy squirrel that had been shot, a helpless creature that meant no harm. It was a drug dealer, an armed killer. One who had seen them, who could-would-wreck their lives. End them. His life, and Jenn’s, and the others’, too. There hadn’t really been a choice.

But what were you even doing there?

That was easy. He was taking a chance. Going after something he wanted. The money, sure. But also the respect, from both the others and himself. And he had done what he’d said he would, what he had been afraid he would need to. He’d protected Jenn. If Mitch had walked out of the dinner party the other night, she would have been out there with no one but Ian. As good as alone.

What you did is no different from what people do every day. Not always with a gun. But the people you hold the door for, the ones who tip a couple of bucks before going out to a three-hundred-dollar dinner? You think they aren’t ruthless in going after what they want?

Which is maybe why they aren’t the ones holding the door.

Fabric rustled slightly, and he turned. Jenn mouthed dream words as she rolled to one side. The sheets pulled tight around her, hugging the swell of her hips. Hair slid down her milk-white back, draped across the pillow. Awake she was strong and sexy and dynamic. But asleep, God, she was like a stolen candy or an exotic flower, something delicate and almost unbearably sweet.

What had happened in the alley wasn’t his life. This was. This was real. It was what he wanted, what he needed, maybe even what he deserved. Wasn’t he a good guy? He didn’t hurt people, didn’t break laws and hearts. His action in the alley was the culmination of something. Something that had started days ago, as he began to push back against the world. To not sit still and take shit. To own his space.

And by that simple act, look what he had accomplished. Look where he was.

Put it away. Pack it somewhere deep and don’t dwell on it. What you did is done. What you have, what you are, that’s up to you. And don’t forget. If you hadn’t done it, would you be here with her now?

With the clarity that dwells in the silent heart of night, he knew the answer.

Mitch took another breath, then slid gently back under the covers. Jenn lay on her side, and he eased over, curled to spoon her. Her skin was warm and soft as he wrapped an arm around her, and she murmured something incomprehensible, then pulled him closer.

He was asleep the moment he closed his eyes.

CHAPTER 16

“YOU HAVE… one… new message and… four… saved messages. Press one for new-”

It was after two in the morning, and Alex had finally made it home. He pressed the button, held his cell to his ear.

Jenn’s voice, her tone upbeat, perkily forced, like someone was listening in. “Hey, Alex, where are you? We were all hoping to hear from you tonight. I guess you’re busy. Anyway, the three of us are getting together for breakfast at my place tomorrow. Hope you can make it. We’ve got lots to catch up on. Hope all’s well with you, and see you soon!”

It was like something had been inside of his lungs and chest, some thick toxic fog that had been choking him. He sighed, breathed it all out, felt his body slumping in relief. She’d said the three of them. Whatever had happened in the alley, it hadn’t happened to them. Thank God.

Maybe things would turn out all right after all.

He called her cell, let it ring to voice mail. Hung up, dialed it again. Voice mail. He left a message saying he would love to join them for breakfast, then crawled into bed and collapsed into a merciful, dreamless dark.