“No.” Alace tipped her head back, squeezing her eyes shut. “Sorry, Regg. I just…use the name I gave you. Okay?”

“Honey, you are not a Rita.” She heard sounds in the background, children shouting and the unmistakable yell of “Cannonball” that preceded a loud splash. A far cry from the distant droning of semis as they growled their way up a remote hill. “Let me give you what I’ve already got ready to go.”

“Regg.” If he wouldn’t stop arguing, she’d hang up. Hesitant to even call him and admit how she’d fucked up, she’d already determined a secondary paperwork source. Maybe it was time. No partnerships lasted forever. He had been the first one to tell her that truth, more than a decade ago. Is this it for us?

“Tell me what happened.” That was his ask. If she gave in, he’d stop arguing about the name, shredding whatever identity he’d already concocted in favor of what she wanted. Rita Quinn Perry. A mix of common and unique, followed by something that sounded like family. “Alace, I know you had to bug out, but why?”

He had been the first call she’d made, the only call that counted for anything. Telling him the identity had been compromised and discarded, she’d hung up and then waited the agreed-upon five days before contacting him again. In between, she’d run a relay of calls to her landlord and employers, not wanting to leave them wondering. When you could, it was always best not to ghost. An unexpected absence just caused memories to get long and twisted. And the possibility of cops being involved, which was the last thing she needed.

“Alace, I’m in your corner, you know that. Hell, we’ve fought each other’s battles enough. You know I’m on your side.”

He was, and she knew it. More than him spouting words just now, it was built into the partnership they’d crafted through the years. Through the gigs. He’d pulled her bacon out of the fire more than once, and she’d come through for him in different ways.

“You remember that time in Worchester when I needed an exit and there wasn’t anything around?” No taxis, no public transport, not even any cars to boost or hijack, she had been stranded in the middle of an urban desert with no egress. “His brothers were about a half a block behind me.”

Regg picked up the thread of the story, his rich voice building the scene in her head. “Yeah, you were desperate. The mark had jacked your knee, and then you had company while you were finishing up.” He paused, and she heard a rising shriek in the background followed by a silencing splash. Someone got tossed in the drink. “What was his name?”

“Joseph Montgomery. The county judge. He had killed four sex workers when they threatened to talk about his proclivities.” The name slipped off her tongue like glass shards, cutting powerfully and burning. “That we knew of.”

“It was more, honey. I know.” Regg’s voice turned soothing, and Alace let it wash over her. Montgomery was a near failure. Not only had he gotten the drop on her, but it was one of the first times she’d questioned their information. Once she got inserted, he hadn’t fit the profile. Except he did. “You called me out of breath from running and asked, ‘Get me a ride?’ and what did I do?”

“You got me a ride.” She never knew how he managed it, but when she turned the next corner, there’d been an SUV waiting with an open door. Alace had tumbled in and the driver had taken off, momentum of the vehicle slamming the door closed. She’d volunteered an address, and he’d driven without speaking for minutes, eyes hidden behind glasses, hat tugged far down his head.

“I got you a ride because you needed it, and we’re partners. I have your back. So now, tell me what you need today. I’ll turn over any rock I have to if I can get you what you need.” She listened as Regg took a long, even breath. Not a sigh, but something to bolster him through this. “You had to bug out. Why?”

She’d followed a rehearsed routine about a sudden illness in the family, so sorry. No, there wasn’t a good number to reach her, sorry again. The forwarding post office box was safe enough, and drew less attention than telling them she didn’t need those final checks. Florida would send to Ohio, which would send to Wyoming, and finally, all mail would be routed to a shredder in Texas. By the time they realized she never cashed those checks, she’d be less than a blip on their radar.

But now Regg was demanding the real story. Maybe he deserved it; he’d never steered her wrong before. I can just bounce it off him, see what he thinks. It’ll be okay. She decided this on the fly, leaning back against the door of her car, twisting to put her feet on the opposite seat.

“You know how Lena is your one?” Lena was Regg’s wife and soul mate, coming into his life about three years after Alace first met Regg. He’d gone from being the braggart king of one-night stands to a settled example of domesticity within a single conversation. Regg had talked about making every adjustment needed without quarrel, ensuring that Lena knew without a doubt how treasured she was. He’d once told Alace that the instant he heard Lena’s voice from behind him, he’d known. Without even having to lay eyes on her, he’d known she was his one.

“Yeah?” The gruffness in Regg’s voice told her he already knew what story she’d be spinning tonight. Realized, and might already regret the asking. Gravel and glass in the word, since he knew if she were calling him for a new gig, then the story she had wasn’t about to have a happy ever after ending. Happy for a moment didn’t cut it for a man who held the stars in his hands every night.

“Met mine.” She hated to be the one to shatter his illusions, the idea that the meeting was the hardest part. “He’s an unattainable goal for me. N’er the twain shall meet kind of divide. Held it in my hands, Regg. What you have with Lena.” Alace felt her throat closing, trying to cut off the sounds, as if that would keep the truth from being true. “Held it in my hands, and lost it because of who I am.” Her face was chilled. Alace lifted a hand, fingertips skating across the river of salt rolling down her cheeks. “I can’t change who I am. Can’t change who I’ve become.” She swallowed, tasting bitter regret on her tongue. “What I’ve become.”

Softly, gently, Regg asked her, “He couldn’t see past that to the you I know?”

Alace flexed her ankles, first one then the other, toes wiggling just out of sight inside her shoes, any imperfections hidden from view. “He’s a good man.” She didn’t know why she felt the need to defend Eric, but it was critical, no, necessary that Regg knew this was her decision. “A really good man, Regg. The kind of man who comes along once in a lifetime. I couldn’t ask him to take me on.”

“Will you circle back to him, love?” His voice was still so soft and sweet, taking such care of her emotions, his very gentleness making things boil over.

“No.” Her shout rattled the windows on the car, shook the springs in the seat underneath her. “No, Regg. I can’t. I can’t. He knows my name.” She forgot caution, forgot her decision to never share this detail. Forgot the danger that might follow the knowledge, because in knowing her name, Eric could learn Regg’s name, too, and Regg could always decide to mitigate his own threats. She held no illusions of anonymousness. In a world where access to millions of records was governed only by the click of a mouse and money to open doors, Eric could learn everything about her if he dug long enough. Regg’s abrupt inhale cut through her tears, his carefully controlled exhale made her sit upright from her slouch, eyes scanning the interior of the car as if Regg had the ability to teleport himself from a backyard pool party to where she sat in a highway rest area. “I can’t go back. It wouldn’t be safe for me. For us.”

In the silence following, she scoured her recent memory, searching for her mouth saying Eric’s name and coming up blank. I didn’t tell him who. Eyes closed, she took a quiet breath. Thank God.

Regg broke the long quiet that hung between them, pushing and asking for whatever guarantees she’d be willing to give. She found it in herself to reassure him, but only barely, because she suddenly hated him with a fierceness that stripped her already frayed nerves bare. Her oldest friend the target of an unexpected, consuming rage that burned like poison. He had everything: his soul mate, a child, friends, and family. A backyard pool, for God’s sake.

And she had…nothing.

“He’s a good man?” The question might have been one a father would ask a beloved daughter, seeing her face shining with joy over an outstretched hand, adorned for the first time by a platinum promise. “This man. He’s good?”

Alace released a breath she hadn’t known was caught in her throat, sobbing as she told the truth. “Yes, a very good man.” She waited, hoping Regg would leave it there, and for once in their very long association, he gave her what she wanted.

“And Ward? What about him?” No surprise Regg would wonder. Alace had never left an investigated and flagged mark alive. She’d already decided Ward wouldn’t be the first.

“He goes more places than home. I’ll keep my ears open for his itinerary and catch him out one week, see if I can’t get him alone. Not now.” She shrugged, hoping the motion would translate into her play at being nonchalant. “But not too far down the road, either. I don’t want our work to go to waste, and we both know how cold the tail gets when it’s not wagged.”

“Fair enough.” Regg’s voice turned business-brisk, and the sounds of the pool party faded as he moved through his home to his office. “It’ll take me a few days to get Rita put together. Are you sure you won’t use what I’ve already got?” Beeping, then she heard the sound of a metal panel closing. Regg had disarmed his alarm. She noted this, no reason to, but all information was always good to have. He keeps his office alarmed even when home. “Did you pick a gig yet?”

“I’ve got cash I can use for a few days while you get Rita lined out. No worries there.” Her second stop had been three towns over from where Eric lived, a long-term locker in a 24-hour gym that held a duffle with her emergency stash. Cash, her real identity, and the phone she was using right now. She’d paused for two minutes and canceled her membership on her way out the door. Her third had been an Internet café, tapping into the private cloud server where Regg uploaded potential marks to scan available targets, knowing she’d need to give Regg a direction. “The coach in Alabama. He’s hurt enough people, Regg. I know I’ve put this one off before, but it’s time.”

A high school coach who had a torturous method of incentivizing his players to win. Two of his players had committed suicide in the past year, vague notes of self-loathing goodbyes not really pointing fingers. The father of one of the boys finally had recognized the signs, too late. As a teen, he’d lived through the nightmare himself, and surprise-surprise, his predatory coach had been the father of the current one. Glad she’d had earbuds, Alace had listened to the man’s messages three times this morning, swimming through the sobbing waves of agony from a father who only now saw how he could have saved his son.

“Sounds good, Alace. I’m on it,” Regg said. “One Rita Quinn Perry, brand-new resident of Alabama, coming up.”

With a smile, Alace tried a joke to see if she could pull it off. “Did you say Quim? Regg, do not make a mistake setting up this ID. You call me a pussy and you and I will have words.”

His shout of laughter was so unexpected she found herself joining in, still giggling when he hung up with a growled rendition of an old, repeated threat she knew he’d never deliver on. “You piss me off and I’ll make you four foot tall and older than dirt.”