My coffee is cold, the creamer congealed on the top like a pale oil stain. Sitting across the metal table from me is Special Agent David Hernandez, the same stern-faced man who’d given Alexis the warrant paperwork and suggested we voluntarily accompany him to FBI headquarters.

While Alexis shouted about our rights and told him where to shove it, I’d walked across the room to get my purse.

“Eden, what the fuck are you doing?”

The horror and betrayal on Alexis’s face is seared into my eyelids. Her expression will haunt me for the rest of my days.

Like he can read my mind, Hernandez says, “You told your sister, ‘I’m freeing us.’ Are you willing to elaborate?”

I drag my gaze from the table to his face. “Before I say anything, I want protection for my sister. Immunity, whatever. She isn’t a part of Maddoc’s world—not like that.”

He sighs. “Unfortunately, Eden, that’s not on the table. Not only do we have hard evidence to the contrary, we have sworn testimony from several witnesses that Alexis is very much involved in Maddoc’s business.”

My vision sparkles. “You’re lying,” I rasp.

He glances down at the folder before him. “On November 8, 2016, Alexis Sharpe was an accomplice in the murder of Steven Adams, a businessman with ties to Maddoc Donnelly. Three witnesses watched her stand beside Christopher Daley and give the order to execute Adams with a shot to the back of the head.” Closing the folder, he sits back in the chair to give me a level stare. “So, Eden, you were saying?”

That was last year—we were twenty-two years old. I was finishing my degree at UCLA, and Alexis was… was… A scream of incoherent protest claws against my tongue. I swallow it back, closing my eyes until the urge passes. When I open them, Hernandez is still staring at me.

“I know this is a lot to take in. I also know that you just recently met your twin for the first time. Have you met your biological father?”

“No,” I whisper.

He nods. “I’m going to be straight with you, Eden, so you’ll be straight with me. Two weeks ago, we received an anonymous tip that led us to an abandoned house outside your hometown of Philomath, Oregon. We found a USB drive with enough evidence on it to put Maddoc Donnelly away for a long, long time. Now I need you to be straight with me—do you know anything about that?”

Liam.

With every fiber of my being, I know this is his doing. How the hell did he figure it out?

“Meddling motherfucker,” I mutter, slumping in my chair.

Hernandez’s brows go up. “I’m sorry?”

I shake my head, my mind racing. What if my mother was right, and I can’t trust law enforcement? What if anything I say will end up in Maddoc’s ear?

My inner conflict must be clear on my face, because Hernandez says, “I’ve been working to bring the Donnellys to justice for over five years, Eden.”

My gaze flickers to his face. Lines of fatigue bracket his mouth. His dusky skin is too pale, the collar of his shirt loose. This is a man who’s overworked, irrefutably dedicated. Obsessed, even.

I can relate.

“I don’t know what’s on the drive,” I admit. “My mother, Elizabeth Sharpe, left it with my adoptive parents. They never looked at it, just gave it to me a few weeks ago. I hid it.”

“Why did you hide it if you didn’t know what was on it?”

My already frazzled nerves erupt. “Why do you think? The chances that it held incriminating information were pretty good. I wanted collateral. Protection. Leverage.”

He’s silent for a moment, dark eyes scanning my face. “To save your sister.”

“Yes,” I hiss.

Alexis. Oh God, Alexis, what did you do?

I think of the beautiful contradictions of her personality. The jaded woman who’s seen too much, who popped little white pills when she thought I wasn’t looking, who smokes more pot than Raul, who chugs vodka like water. And the other part of her, a woman with the ability to laugh so hard she cries, to squeal in excitement when her favorite song comes on the radio, to sing and shout and dance in her underwear.

She’s had so little control over the course of her life and none over the circumstances of her birth. Did she do what Hernandez said? Give the order to kill a man?

I really, really hope she didn’t.

But I don’t know.

As I float in thoughts that make my stomach churn, there’s a cursory knock on the door. It swings open a moment later and a pant-suited woman pokes her head inside.

“What?” barks Hernandez.

“Alexis slipped surveillance sometime in the last hour. Went into her lawyer’s office and didn’t come out. He’s being questioned, but we’ve got nothing.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” growls Hernandez. He glares at me. “Do you know where she’d go?”

Fear makes me brash. “I just met her ten days ago,” I snap. “What do you think?”

Chair legs scrape on the floor as he stands and looks at his associate. “What about Donnelly? Any word?”

She shakes her head. “We’re monitoring the border and airports.”

I twitch in my seat. Maddoc is on the run. Alexis has disappeared, much as Liam did. The FBI have my mother’s USB stick. If Maddoc finds out that stick came from me… to say I’m fucked would be putting it lightly.

“You’re free to go, Eden.”

My head whips up. “What?”

Hernandez stalks to the table, leaning forward on his hands until we’re face-to-face. “I suggest you forget about your biological father and sister. Move on with your life. Don’t look back.”

Forget. Don’t look back.

Why the fuck do people keep thinking that’s an option for me?

Hernandez hands me a small white card, raps his knuckles once on the table, then heads to the door. Pausing on the threshold, he glances back. “If I have any more questions, I’ll be in contact. And if you see either of them, you’ll call me.”

I nod. He leaves, the door staying open. Voices filter down the hallway. Phones ring. The manhunt for criminals continues.

Life goes on.

* * *

I leave the massive FBI building and walk aimlessly down Wilshire. It’s late afternoon, the sun hazy and orange in the western sky.

I’m finding it difficult to care about whether or not there’s a target on my back. Whether Alexis is guilty or not. Whether Maddoc still has people looking for me. What those people will do if they find me.

Tires screech to the curb beside me. There’s a mechanical hum of a window rolling down.

“Get in.”

On autopilot, I turn and cross to the car. Open the passenger door and slide inside. Close the door. Put my purse between my feet. Fasten my seatbelt.

I don’t look at the driver.

“It’s over. You’re safe.”

Words. Words. Words. So many people, so many words. How many lies? All of it. Most of it. Nothing.

A flask tips in front of my mouth. Whiskey spills over my tongue, burns down my throat. I cough, grabbing the flask.

Three heavy swallows bring down my veil of ambivalence enough for me to look at him. I take in his worried expression. His too-blue eyes. Pinched lips. New beard.

And I laugh.

Just laugh.

Because what other option is there?