Janie stepped back with a sigh.

Done.

She had finally completed her journey, as Dave had called it. The final painting was titled Goodbye.

She’d painted this one bittersweet. She and Dave would continue to be friends, and that was awesome, but all the other gooey, heart-swelling stuff would have to go. That part sucked.

Still, through her painting, she’d explored each facet of the experiences they’d shared, and it was one helluva ride. Even though she was sad it had to end, she couldn’t say any part of it had been unwelcome. She’d thoroughly gotten over her ex, of course, but she’d also learned a lot about her ability to feel. She wasn’t as shallow as she’d always thought. There was some emotion way down in there.

Now it would be a matter of finding someone else with whom to experience it fully.

She put down her paints and looked around the mostly empty room. Dave’s portrait was gone from the easel, now living downstairs. Standing in front of the goodbye image was sad. Sobering. Except for the blank canvas leaning against the wall, it was over. Really, really over. After she filled that canvas, she would officially say farewell and close the book on them.

She stretched, trying to work out the aches and pains from the last week or so, and checked her phone. A new message from Dave: I’ve got a plan.

She glanced at the time. Three o’clock. He was out at the galleries.

In other words, they hadn’t placed any pieces.

Trying not to let panic overcome her—she had known it would be a long process—she headed to the bathroom and checked herself in the mirror. There was one more unpleasant task to do concerning Dave’s mother.

It was probably for the best that she and Dave couldn’t make it work, because after this, she and his mother were not going to get along. The sort of come to Jesus talk she had in mind would cement that. You couldn’t be a bully and expect the victim to like you afterward.

But it needed to be done.

After a stop home for a quick cleanup, a phone call to Noah asking what rehab place Dave’s mom was in, and then an argument in which she’d learned that Noah could yell much louder than she could, she arrived at her childhood neighborhood with Noah in tow. He’d refused to let her go alone.

She parked the car next to a yellow and brown mattress littering the sidewalk. It had surely started out white. Gross.

“Leave the door unlocked,” she said, and slammed her door shut.

Noah hesitated with the passenger door open. “But someone might get in.”

“They’ll get in anyway. I’d rather not have to pay for a new window. Besides, if you lock it, they’ll assume I have something worth stealing.”

Noah glanced into the car. As a guy who did have things to steal, including his car as a whole, this was probably a foreign concept.

“Look.” She tucked Nora’s gun into the front of her pants. It was only there for show—she’d pocketed the bullets so as not to accidentally shoot off her knickers. “If we get noticed, let me do the talking. This place is usually pretty quiet until later in the day, but you never know.”

“I’m armed, too, Janie.” He pulled up the bottom of his loose windbreaker, exposing a gun in a holster, of all things. “I have a license to carry, though it shouldn’t be concealed.”

“Look at you, Mr. Wild West. Holster and everything. Wow. You’re the nerd of the thug world.” She started walking.

“The Wild West was actually mostly farmers and people working the land. The John Wayne Hollywood version wasn’t accurate. And actually, well-established prostitutes-turned-brothel-owners often made more than their clientele. Even though they were women at a time when few women had anything to do with business, they learned that money was power. They set up proper communities with hospitals and schools for children. They pushed for, and were granted, the right to vote in their states long before the federal government came on board. So really, as a prostitute myself, I’d own the Wild West.”

She was pretty sure that the frown from his long-winded explanation of irrelevance worked to her advantage, since it was better not to look too friendly in a place like this. “Right. Thanks for the…history lesson. Try not to use that gun.”

Two guys waiting off to the side checked her out before their eyes stuck to Noah. He was a big dude who, even though he was “dressing down,” obviously came from money. Even on his worst day, there was no way he’d fit in. Thankfully, they didn’t want to investigate Mr. Daddy Warbucks.

The place was just as bad as it had always been—all cracked cement and litter. A child’s crying echoed around them. Janie made her way up the stairs to her mom’s tiny apartment. She pushed open the door without bothering to knock. It slammed against the side.

Someone stirred on the couch, glancing back at her. A man, twice as old as Janie.

“Where’s Sandy?” she barked.

“What the fuck is going on?” A fifty-year-old woman with a flimsy shirt hanging off her shoulder, no bra, and holey sweats staggered out from a hallway to the side. She squinted in Janie’s direction. “Who the fuck are you?”

Janie slammed the door to cut out the stream of light. The man on the couch rolled, but he couldn’t make it up to sitting. A strip of rubber lay on the ground beneath his outstretched arm.

“Really, Ma?” Janie shifted, not going any farther in.

“Oh. Janie.” She lipped a cigarette before pulling a lighter out of her pocket. She took a drag and leaned against the wall with a smirk. “You always come back when you need something. What is it this time? Because you can’t have your old room. I’m renting it out to Gene.” She nodded at the deadbeat on the couch.

“I just need a hookup at a rehab place.”

Her mom glanced at Noah. “And who is this?”

“A friend.”

“A friend. A good-looking friend. You always did bring around the pretty boys. Will you share this one like you shared a few of the others?”

Anger ignited deep in Janie’s core, an emotion that had long ago replaced pain and embarrassment. “Listen up, old lady. You owe me. I need a name, and then I’m gone. You can carry on with your sad existence. You won’t see me again.”

Her mom smirked knowingly. “You said that last time.”

“This is a special circumstance. I’m helping a friend.”

“Is that right? Well, what’s in it for me?”

“I won’t tell T-Boz that you ratted him out a couple years ago. He just barely managed to stay out of jail. He was still pissed about it, last I heard.” Janie braced a hand to her hip. “I got a long list of people you screwed over, Ma. A long list. I’ll go down that list one by one until you get what’s coming to you—unless you give me that hookup. Up to you, but make your decision quickly. I don’t want to walk out of here with fleas.”

Her mother’s glare could turn fire to ice. The end of her cigarette flared as she took a drag. “What rehab place?”

“The Windy Hollows. I have to get in there tonight or tomorrow to talk to one of the patients. I need a pass to get her alone.”

The end of the cigarette flared again. Her mother looked her over for a long moment. They both knew Sandy had connections in all the rehab places. Usually those connections were used for smuggling in contraband items, but Janie could use them to get in.

“I give you this, and you’re gone, right?” Sandy asked in her sandpaper voice. “You don’t come around here asking for nothing else.”

“Gone for good.”

She huffed and pushed off the wall. “Just like your good-for-nothing father,” she muttered.

Janie wouldn’t know. She’d never met the man. Or maybe she would know, for just that reason.

Noah rubbed her back, no doubt gobsmacked by what he’d heard. Madison had felt the same way the few times she’d had the misfortune of coming around. Janie was long past letting this type of thing affect her. You could either dwell on the bad things in life, or you could push past them and continue to reach for the stars. She couldn’t fix her parental relationship, but she could try to help Dave fix his. There was still hope with his mother. Janie could feel it.

“Here.” Sandy waltzed back into the room, holding out a torn slip of paper. “Tell her I sent you. She’ll let you know when the coast is clear.”

“What hours does she work?”

“She used to work nights. Might’ve changed, though. It’s been months since I needed to get something through her.”

“Thanks, Ma. I’ll reward you by staying gone.”

Sandy sniffed. “Reward me with an eightball.”

Janie shook her head and pulled open the door. “That stuff is going to kill you.”

“Hasn’t yet. The trick is moderation.” Sandy cackled.

Noah was quiet as they walked out. Back at her car, he finally spoke.

“You’ve only known Dave for a couple of months. Yet you’re doing all this for him. Confronting your past, and asking your…mother for a favor.”

“I know enough about him to know that he needs help, and it just so happens that I can supply it. And so can you. Report that doctor. Hell, report the Hutchinsons. Close that part of Betty’s life down. You seem like you have connections.”

“I do, yes. Besides the doctor I mentioned, my godfather is a police captain. I also have an uncle in the high-tech crime division.”

“Good gracious. What am I doing hanging out with you? We are from two different worlds.”

“Were from. We’ll get your business up and running, Janie, just you wait. You grew up back there, but your kids won’t.” He put a light hand on her knee. “Dave is a lucky guy to have you.”

“He has me as a friend, just like all of you do.”

“He’ll figure it out. Don’t give up on him.”

Pain pierced her. She was trying to shut the door on that, not hang on to hopeless dreams. “Are you done?”

He laughed and took back his hand. “Now I am. Not the sensitive type, huh?”

“You just saw where I grew up. Sensitive?”

“Good point. Give me that gun.” He put out his hand.

She glanced over. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Throw it in a body of water…or keep it, I don’t know.”

“Yikes. Don’t tell me. I want to be able to pass a polygraph.”

He laughed, not realizing she was serious. After a moment of silence, he said, “Now what?”

“Call that number. See if that lady is working. If so, we finish what we started and I can move on.”