“Yep.” He opened the door. The bass line hit him square in the belly, thoom-thoom-thoom-thoom. The chandelier blazed above, the light making the red velvet draping the walls richer. A staggeringly hot blonde asked if he was with the movie party; when he said no, she charged him $25, told him the VIP room was closed for the night.

That’s okay, sister. I have different VIPs in mind.

Bennett walked past the staircase and through the broad double doors into the main bar. Several hundred people milled about, scattered between the bars on either side of the room and the café tables placed in clusters. The dance floor had maybe twenty people on it, that usual crew of near-professional dancers who came to be watched. Tight spotlights flashed overhead, sharp stuttering white beams. Every time light struck one of the thousands of crystals, the glass showered down rainbows. The effect made it seem like the air itself was sparkling. The beat came from everywhere, surrounding him, compressing him, ringing through the soles of his feet and the skin of his arms. He didn’t recognize the tune, a dance remix of some rap song, probably one of Too G’s.

He kept to the side, and found an unclaimed table with a good view. Daniel and Laney had said nine-thirty, an hour from now. He scanned the crowd to be sure—it wasn’t yet at the humid, shoulderto-sweaty-shoulder press that would come by eleven—but didn’t see either of them.

Bennett leaned back, drew his anonymity around him like a hood. Just a man at a table. He put the parabolic mic on a chair, ran the earbuds up under his shirt. Entertained himself by aiming the mic up at the VIP lounge, where Too G’s movie folks would later be partying.

“—heard his agent got him three for the picture.”

“Too made three, huh? Well, good. After all he been through.”

“Hard life.”

“That’s truth.”

Bennett smiled, flipped the off switch. He leaned back, eyes moving, sorting, categorizing. Marking the bouncers, the security by the bar. The employee exit that would lead to a storage room, an office maybe, probably an exit. Gauging the crowd, looking for threats.

His body tingled, and he rolled with it, that in-the-moment tingle that let him feel the flow of blood through his veins, sense the shifting weight of each body in the bar, anticipate the flicker of spotlights.

Killing time.

5

“Are you okay?” Laney had stopped just outside the doors to the main bar, her face marked with concern.

She’s lying to you. She has been since the beginning.

The woman you made your home, the wife you’ve gambled everything for. She’s lying to you.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“You were so quiet on the way over.”

“Just thinking.” Lying lying lying lying lyin— “Come on. Let’s get ready. He could be here any minute.” He stepped into the room before she could argue.

The club wasn’t crowded yet, but there were more people than Daniel would have liked. So many faces, a blur of eyes and mouths. Lying lying lying.

He took a breath, glanced at his watch. A few minutes to nine. A thousand lifetimes had passed in the past hours.

“Do you think he’s here yet?” Laney was radiant. The rainbows that fell from the ceiling bounced off the necklace and lit her skin with fire. Lying lying ly—

“I don’t know.” He stood in the entrance to the club, letting his eyes get used to the dim light. Taking in the surroundings, the same and yet so different from the room he had seen this afternoon. His pulse thudded as loud as the beat but faster, and his armpits were clammy cool. “Get us a space by the bar.”

“Daniel.”

He turned, and she stepped forward. Took his hand and stared into his eyes. “I love you.”

He made himself smile at her. “Get us a seat.” He squeezed her fingers, then fought his way toward the bathroom. Snatches of conversation as he passed.

“—two-picture deal at Paramount, with back end—”

“—should see this place, it’s magic. Maybe after we have a drink—”

“—so I said, ‘Look, I don’t care what role you played in My Fair Lady, you’re not cut out to—”

“—I mean, this girl was unbelievable. She had these eyes, man, just hypnotized me—”

“—it’s Pretty Woman meets Requiem for a Dream—”

“—get me another, yeah? Ketel, up, clean, dry, blue—”

The door to the men’s room was heavy. The space was all marble and gold plating. A Spanish-language tape played over the sound system, a resonant voice saying, “¿Puedo afilar mi lapis?” and then, a second later, “Can I sharpen my pencil?” A couple of the stalls were filled, but not his. Given the choice, men generally took stalls at the end over the middle. Daniel stepped inside, fumbled with the lock. The Sig Sauer was still strapped behind the toilet tank. He peeled the tape away. The gun was wonderful and terrible in his hands.

“Me siento enfermo . . . I’m feeling sick. Me siento enfermo . . . I’m feeling sick.”

Daniel dropped onto the toilet. The porcelain was cold through the thin material of his slacks. He buried his head in his hands. The gun pressed hard against his temple.

She’s lying to you.

But why?

Was she working with Bennett? Could this be some sort of elaborate scam?

It didn’t seem possible. No one could have planned on his vanishing, his amnesia.

So what happened leading up to that?

The parts of his life he could remember, it all glowed. But it was mostly history. Of the week or two leading to her “death” and his dash to suicide, he’d gotten nothing but the briefest of flashes. What he could remember was confusing and painful. There was guilt and shame and sickness, he knew that. Something terrible had happened. He’d assumed that was the arrival of Bennett.

But what if he was wrong? What if it was something else?

What if you discovered something that changed the way you felt about her?

What if she turned out not to be the person you thought?

An urge to retch, cry, scream tore through him. He clapped his hands against his head, hard, the hit of the gun blunt and painful.

Ever since Maine, he had put his whole trust in Laney. He’d rebuilt his identity, such as it was, around her. Even when he’d thought her dead, he’d defined himself through her.

What if she’d been the problem from the beginning?