I don't see much of her the next week. That's intentional.

It's harder than I imagined sharing dinner night after night, watching her make my little girl smile, weaving herself into my life like she was meant to be its fabric.

Worse than my nightmares every time I catch her when she isn't looking. Every time I step close enough to see the emerald in her eyes, catch her scent in my house, my truck, clinging to my fucking shirts. Her perfume is a delicate lunacy, and I'm exactly ten more sniffs from needing a damn straitjacket.

Lengthening my hours at work is all I've got to keep my mind clean.

Not like it's hard, either, with more tension than ever at Black Rhino. Its poison filters through our teams.

They sense the hate between me and Victor, partners in name-only. It hasn't been a secret the last few years. Now, it's open war, and I haven't caught a glimpse of the bastard in the flesh since the day he threatened my family.

I have to hold a conference call with security and acquisitions, my departments, just to tell them to buckle down and do their work without any drama. My beef is personal. If we want this company to survive, that's where it needs to end. Can't have personal loyalty turning my death fight into a tornado that wrecks careers and profits.

What we've built is family, too. It gives me a direct line to my grandfathers. I own this jewelry mill with all its flaws, its imperfections, its taint from men who are far from perfect – including yours truly.

After the heart-to-heart with my team, I realize I've had it. I can't stay glued to the office playing babysitter. Also can't stand going more than a few days without bringing my little girl out for a solid meal, soaking in her innocent aura until it's time to tuck her in for a bed time story.

Yes, I fucking love to read. Calms me like nothing else. Probably puts me to sleep easier than it does her, or at least keeps me from spending all night in the home office, brooding over mysteries I've tried like hell to solve, and never will.

When it's evening and I swing by ma's place, I find my sis and my make believe fiancée slouching on the sectional. Lizzie's out too, napping with her head in Kendra's lap.

If this were a normal relationship, if I had the good grace to get sentimental, it'd be the sort of shit I'd share on my personal Facebook feed.

But this is as fake as the endless counterfeit diamond suppliers who try to con the company every day. I haven't had a Facebook account in years. And what little grace I ever had died with Sam fading into the ether, my constant arguments with Wright, plus several bloody supply trips to Africa.

Kendra stands, greets me with a guarded nod, and walks over before she whispers a few words about dinner. “Take out again tonight, or should we make something at home?”

“We're going out. I like to introduce my girl to flavors I don't know how to make every so often, and there's a few new places in Scottsdale I've had my eye on.”

“Lovely. I'll grab my things.” Kendra walks over to the chair across the room to pack up the mess of laptop, notebooks, and fashion mags she's probably hauled around all day.

“You guys are going out and you're not taking me?” Jamie yawns, stretching like a scorned cat on the sofa. I also don't like the sudden question in her eyes when she's awake.

“You've got homework. Just because dad left us loaded doesn't mean you piss your tuition down the drain, Jamie.” It's harsher than I intend. But I need to do something to get her the hell off our trail.

“Relax, maestro. I'm on track for solid Cs and Bs this semester, believe it or not.”

Kendra spins around, inadvertently waking Lizzie. “Jamers, that's great! Seriously proud here.”

I take the lull in girl talk to pick my little girl up, letting her wake in my arms with a smile. “Hey, peewee. Time to clean up and go home.”

“Wait a sec,” Jamie says, suddenly on her feet. Her arms are crossed and she's glaring, more suspicious than ever. “You two have been spending a lot of time together lately. Are you dating, or something?”

Red-a-fucking-lert. I don't need more complications when this situation is bursting with them.

I look her in the eyes, ignoring the shock on Sunflower's face, and tell the most important lie ever. “No. I've taken her on to help with Lizzie in the evenings, if you want to know the truth. We're also doing an art project.”

Jamie snorts. “You? Like what, Knox? Naked modeling?”

Kendra's cheeks go red. I walk over and pass Lizzie into her waiting arms. Anything to get her mind off freezing when it counts.

Play along, I tell her, hoping the darkness in my eyes gets the point across.

“I'm doing you and ma a solid, sis. Our mother needs a break, and you need to keep earning those Cs and Bs to get your damn degree.” I aim my smirk right at the sour twitch in her lips. “The company's going through some major crap right now on top of it. Kendra and me cut a deal. She helps with the kid in the evenings while I pull extra hours, steering the ship back on course. She does dinners, movie time, and laundry. I help her at the studio. It's business. Nothing more. Run along with whatever nasty little fantasies you're filling your head with.”

“Whatever, guys. I'm meeting Lorraine at the bar tonight anyway.” She shrugs, momentarily deflected. I don't let my guard down until she gives Kendra her goodbye, enthusiastically kisses her niece on the head, and pads toward her bedroom upstairs.

Sunflower saves her breath for the truck. Once we're down the long, winding driveway leading out of Scottsdale's most exclusive gated community, she lets out the sigh clinging to her lungs. “Jesus. That was close.”

“It's history. Forget it. Nothing happened, and we did everything by the book.”

She squints, fixing her eyes on me. “You're not worried about next time?”

There won't be a fucking next time if we play this right, I want to tell her, but I need a second to figure out how I'm going to soften it in front of Lizzie.

“Daddy, what's for dinner?” Peewee takes the initiative before I say a word.

I look into the rear view mirror at her and smile, before I shoot Kendra a sideways glance. “Onto more important things. I think I know just the place.”

* * *

Dinner at a luscious Latin-Asian fusion cuts the tension. Kendra makes small talk with Lizzie while my daughter tucks into her sweet chili pork, clapping happily as her mouth sings with new flavors for the very first time.

It's like any other evening when I get to tune out the bullshit and play family man. I'm happy.

I also can't stop eyeballing the woman next to me. Sunflower looks like sex in a creamsicle today. That orange dress with the white stripes running through it teases my cock when I need it to behave.

Doesn't mean I don't stare down her slip of cleavage every chance I get.

Everybody knows some sorry unrequited love case. Is unrequited lust a thing too? I really wonder, imagining the sugar I'd taste at the ends of her tits if they slipped into my mouth, and that makes me think other things I really ought not to.

Like the times I pulled myself off to her over the years. Too many times. Far too frequent to count.

Don't know if it's her aging like a fine wine that causes the ferocious need to have her in my head when I blow my load. Maybe it's just the added, twisted attraction – knowing how easily I could've had her once upon a time, and how brutally wrong it would be now.

You can't fuck your little sister's best friend, I keep telling myself.

Not even if she's my fiancée.

Not even if she's babysitting my kid.

Not fucking even if there's still a vulnerable spark in her eyes I'm sure I could rekindle with a few harsh, close breaths against her throat, a hand caressing up her thigh, or one bold kiss when she's up against the wall, asking me if I've lost my mind.

Hell, maybe I have. Because the hundreds of innocent questions Lizzie asks and a shot of straight whiskey can't switch my brain off scheming ways to erase Sunflower's dress.

“Still early,” I say, checking my watch while I settle the check. “How about a walk?”

“Only if it's to sell the Rolex, grandpa. I can't believe people wear those things in the digital age.”

Sweet merciful fuck. She doesn't know the sort of fire she's playing with today using that mouth, words as sassy as the playful smile hanging on her lips. I send up a silent prayer asking for the universe to give me strength.

Slowly, I start undoing my watch, passing it over when it's off my wrist. Lizzie watches quietly in her booster seat, so bored by our little exchange she goes back to coloring.

“Take a good, hard look, Sunflower, and then tell me again how big a snob you think I am just because I like having platinum on my skin.”

She blinks at me before holding it up. “Jeez, learn to take a joke. If I'd known it were such a sensitive subject I wouldn't have – oh. What's this?” She turns her head, mouthing the seven names captured in a thin, almost invisible script engraved on the inside.

“Martin Carlisle, 2009.” She looks up as soon as my father's name is on her tongue. Heavy as this is, the red heat blossoming on her cheeks does nothing to kill the hunger stirring in my balls. “Sorry, Knox. I mean it this time. If this belonged to your father, then I really do apologize for –“

“Bought it at an upscale place here in town just a few years back. I've taken it in a few times since to add more names since the first time it came back customized. Guessing you've got no clue who the others are?” I wait for her to shake her head, her temples bulging slightly. She's clenching her teeth, knowing the answer is bound to make her feel like an even bigger ass. “Two guys from my old Special Operations battalion. Blown to kingdom come when we went after a terrorist asshole in Tora Bora.”

“God.” A breath so raw slips out her throat it seizes her body. I hold in a smile, enjoying how her breasts move when she's upset. Goddamn, do they bring questions. Filthy, nasty, cock-teasing questions. “I'm sorry. And the rest?”

“Africa. All part of my crew who never made it home. Needless deaths. Blood for Victor's pride. He insists we keep doing acquisitions the old, dirty way. I want to start growing our rocks in a lab. Let the state of the art machines and eggheads do the heavy lifting. Not warlords and risk assessment bean counters.”

“Jesus. So, that's the disagreement then?” She leans in, whispering, her eyes wide with questions. The ones she's hanging onto cause her bottom lip to pull against her teeth, setting the pulse in my cock to full jackhammer.

“Yeah, at least the bad blood in recent history. The rest comes from Sam.” I hold up a finger, pushing it against her lips, before this goes too far. “Leave it right there. No point in ruining a nice night out with any bullshit I shouldn't be saying, and Lizzie's too young to hear.”

“Daddy, look!” My baby girl perks up as soon as she hears her name. Kendra and me both whip around, staring at her nervous face as she slides the coloring book on the table toward us. “I did a thing for you and Kendra.”

“Another masterpiece, peewee? I think you've got all the Ninja Turtles beat making art – or were those renaissance Italians?”

Kendra laughs. Lizzie just looks at me confused, too young for the Turtles reference. I'm an eighties kid through and through, but there's more than silly nostalgia flowing into my heart when I see what's on the page.

It's...fuck, I don't even know what to feel. I hold it up for Kendra to see, and watch the nervous twitch her smile.

“You like it, daddy? It's our fun tonight!”

It's that, and so much more. On the surface, I ought to be grateful it proves I have a perfectly happy, spunky little girl. But damn, if she was even five years older, she might realize the kind of fucked up message it's sending to see my stick figure self towering over a smaller one with blonde hair and green eyes, and then an even smaller figure with my matching blue eyes that can only be the artiste herself.

Everyone is smiling in the picture. Even the house behind us, the big orange sun, and the puppy next to what looks like one big happy family.

In her four year old world, it really is that simple. In ours, it never is with the backstabbing, the secrets, the hearts hardened over several ruthless decades.

“Who's the dog?” I say, giving peewee my warmest eyes, trying to deflect the awkward moment from sinking too deep in Sunflower's head.

“Knight Two! Don't you know?” She stabs her tiny little finger on the paper, as if it's clear as day to the entire universe. “Your doggie, daddy. I want a beagle someday.”

It's then I notice the dog is riding a skateboard. I'm the first to stand up, and Kendra follows my lead, gently tucking my little girl's new masterpiece in her purse. It'll find a home later on my fridge's shrinking real estate.

“You'll get one, kiddo,” I say, rifling my fingers through her hair. There's so much of myself in her before I got corrupted. Makes me proud and heartsick all at once sometimes. “Someday.”

* * *

We take a long walk through the arcade-style section full of upscale shopping. Old Scottsdale turns its charm on most at night, the Old West mingling with rich couples eager to impress their dates. Tourists stop in the middle of the road to ogle the soft string lights hanging over the streets and parking areas.

Lizzie loves staying up past her bedtime. Also loves the ice cream we pick up an hour after dinner. Kendra ducks through the clothing stores and kitsch shops open in the evening. I watch her and Lizzie from a few paces away when they're not at my side, smiling at the illusion.

It's no more real than the grinning stick figures my little girl just put down on paper, but damn if it doesn't feel like there's a family. Double damn it's bothering me less the longer I indulge in the delusion.

Who am I becoming? This isn't Knox Carlisle.

I've lived the last four years of my life protecting two precious things: my little girl and my company. There's no room for a third. I can't keep looking at Kendra like she's another possession, one more gold vein attached to my withered heart.

It's a slow, creeping madness. Stop fucking brooding and enjoy yourself, the edgy voice in the back of my brain says.

I try to take its advice for once. When I do, I'm stunned.

I'd forgotten what it's like to be comfortable. Somehow, I'm having a decent time, holding out my arm to escort my fake girlfriend through the narrow alleys while Lizzie laughs and twirls around us.

Kendra casts a sunshine smile my way when we slow, stepping over a puddle reflecting blue powder moonlight. I don't return the look because, fuck, I don't want this to end.

And it's bound to the second I slip and break the spell.

It can't last.

It's the first time Kendra and I have been out in public since our deal. Her hand brushes mine, hundred thousand dollar rock on her finger and all.

I don't even hesitate.

One fluid move locks our fingers tight, telling her without a word I don't have the patience for timidness or second guesses. If she wants this, practicing our illusion, then we'd might as well do it right.

“Oh, my. Didn't think there'd still be one open.” She slows, pressing her face close to the little boutique's glass, peering at a yellow jacket style dress, black ribbons curling through the balmy lemon. “Just my style. I'd love to try this on, if you don't mind. It's a good match for a shoe project I'm working on.”

I look at her and crack a smile. “Run along. I'll wait with Lizzie inside while you load up my credit card. Can't hurt to expand your wardrobe for future outings.”

She blushes, flashing me a grin, before she quicksteps ahead. What I told her is a lie.

I don't give a fuck what anyone from Black Rhino or the posh charity balls I sometimes attend in Phoenix will think about her attire. I want her in it now, because I know it'll make her curves hit my eyes like a merry go round.

I wait by the door, true to my word, passing Lizzie my phone so she can play a puzzle game. While both my girls are preoccupied I have a chance to look out the window, into the orange lit streets.

That's when I see the silhouette. It's a tall man, dark in his unassuming clothes, a grey ball cap pulled low over his eyes. He's too built to be a civilian, and his sideburns are just a little too uneven for the usual Scottsdale crowd.

He's so ordinary it's off.

In the blink of an eye, he's easy to miss, too. But my years in the military and mercenary trade have sharpened my senses.

A normal bystander wouldn't trip wires. In this area, on a summer night, the chances of seeing the same random face more than twice are slim to none. Odds are even longer he'd stop just across the street from us, whip out his phone, and subtly glance over it twice in the forty-five seconds I'm mentally counting since noticing him.

“Lizzie, get behind daddy, please,” I say, gently helping her behind me.

She looks up briefly, a worried expression on her little face. Can't hide how my voice means business. I hold her tiny hand, leading her to the other corner of the store, where I pretend to sift through clearance shirts.

It's ten seconds later when I hear the door open. Don't need to stare at the glass next to me to see the man's reflection. He's here, scoping us out. A woman comes by, asking if he needs help, and he says he's just looking in a California accent.

Perfectly average.

Perfectly up to no fucking good.

I don't turn around until he's moving again. When I look toward him, he's heading for the dressing area. Deliberately.

I follow, Lizzie in tow, and stop outside the dressing room where I'm able to see Kendra's feet. She's singing softly to herself. I wait impatiently.

Our uninvited guest sees me. He turns his back after a few seconds, pulling a random suit jacket off the hanger on the wall. It's at least a couple sizes two small.

I give it thirty seconds. Just enough time for the wood paneled door to swing open, and Sunflower comes strutting out, her eyes going wide when she sees me.

If this were a normal night, it'd be the other way around. The bee-sting dress clinging to her curves sends lightning to my cock. I have to ignore it, focusing on the fury entering my fists instead.

“Knox?” She calls my name, still doing a double take.

A split second later, I hoist Lizzie up, shoving her into Kendra's arms. “Take her and get back inside. Lock the door.”

“What? Hey, wait!” Surprise clouds from her throat.

It's too late. Even that three second hesitation on my part gives the anonymous asshole a head start. His speed walk becomes a run when he reaches the door to the street.

I chase him like mad, giving every bone below my waist a burn it hasn't felt since Sierra Leone. I'm out the door, closing fast. He's quick, almost as fit as I am, but I have more endurance.

Four blocks away from the boutique, he slows when his heel hits a crack. I leap like a mountain lion, closing the gap, hurling my elbow around his neck as he goes down fighting.

Mr. Peeping Fuck doesn't last long.

No man has a chance once my hand grips his throat. We hit the ground together and roll. My knee goes in his back. An agonized groan is my reward.

No more games. I'm lucky there isn't a crowd out tonight.

“Who the hell sent you? Wright?” We're cutting straight to it.

I ease my grip just so he can nod. Next question.

“What are you? Some kind of PI?” I wrack my brain, considering the possibilities. He's cut too clean for a dirty merc after a tougher job.

Detective, then. Again, his head bobs up and down meekly.

“He's looking for a slip, isn't he? Sending goons to prowl around, capture my every move, bring him scraps that show I was never serious about this family thing?” The rest is easy to piece together.

It's too much, or he's recovered his wounded pride. Peeing Fuck doesn't answer. Not until my knee digs deeper into his spine, close to a satisfying crunch. “Talk, damn it. Also want your phone.”

I don't wait for him to do me the courtesy. My free hand slips into his pocket, ripping out the black Android device I saw earlier in his hand. It's in a flimsy case, thankfully.

He groans. “Let go, Knox. Do it. Both know...you won't...do shit.”

He's right. I can't leave lasting damage, or his boss will have all the evidence he ever wanted to steal my little girl. It's hard not to collapse this idiot's lungs.

I let him stand, awkwardly, before I slam him into the nearest wall. His split-second hesitation tells me he's waiting, thinking I'll actually apologize and give back his property.

“Move along, asshole,” I growl. “If you're smart, we're finished here. You'll collect your hazard pay and go, without staying on his payroll. Because if this ever happens again, if I ever catch you sniffing around my people, we'll find a nice spot in the Sonoran desert for you, me, and a shovel. We both know you've done your homework. I know that you know how unholy I can and will fuck you up.”

I pin him with one hand, skimming his pockets with the other, checking to make sure there isn't a secondary listening device. Then, I dispatch him with one last hateful look, watching as he takes off running.

It's a small miracle Sunflower hasn't caught up to me yet. My greatest fear after losing my daughter is her ever seeing this side of me.

They probably turned down the wrong street, if they're not waiting inside the boutique, expecting me to send a text. I count my blessings, seize every spare moment, and throw his phone on the sidewalk. It rattles like rotten wood underneath my boot, blown to smithereens by the impact.

When I'm confident there isn't a single circuit in that thing left un-warped, I draw out my own phone and fire off a message.

Meet me at the car. Hold your questions until we're home.

* * *

For once, Kendra listens. Her sweet lips stay silent, as much for my benefit as Lizzie's, who's fallen asleep in the backseat. She doesn't even wake up as I grab her from the seat, carry her into the house, and lay her gently into bed. Always leave my nightly kiss on the forehead before I close her door, and tonight is no exception.

Some rituals, a man never breaks.

“Okay,” she whispers, as soon as we're in the hallway. “Why the 007 stunt tonight? Who was he?”

I keep walking. Don't say anything until we're further down the hall, closer to her room, where there's no chance my sleepy little girl will overhear us. “Loose change you don't need to worry about. Told you before, Sunflower, by doing this, we're stirring the pot all kinds of fucked up. Victor won't go easy.”

“Yeah, but so quickly? Do I need to start checking under my bed?”

“That's a start.” I watch with a flicker of amusement as her eyes pop wider, giving up their emerald perfection. “I'm kidding. Mostly.”

“Idiot.” She punches me in the arm, causing a smile like a reflex. I haven't heard her use that tone since we were both kids, or I was still nearer to the innocence she could relate to. “Seriously, where does this go from here? If he's got men like that following us around, watching our every move...”

“We take this more seriously than ever. It's the only way,” I say quietly, cornering her against the wall, one arm over her head. “Listen to me, Kendra. Every word. Follow my lead. Believe in us. Trust the lie so much it starts seeming real, like we're truly something special, embarking on our long and happy lives.”

She blinks a little too fast to be natural. “I don't know how to walk this line. You're asking me to up the ante, but you don't want Jamers and your mom finding out? Jesus. Such a tight rope.”

“Better brush up on gymnastics then.” I stare through her, cock rising in my jeans.

Throwing the nosy fuck on the ground hasn't given it amnesia. It remembers full well how cruelly delicious she looked tonight. “You looked hotter than the days I remember you bouncing around in those tights for dance squad your senior year.”

“Ew, I barely lasted a year! And since when were you looking?”

“Since always.” I stop right there, looking away. If I stare a second longer, that blood red splash gleaming on her cheeks is bound to tell me how she is to the touch. I can't put my hands on her, or they won't stop. “You were born tight. Destined to be eye candy for every immature fuckwit with his tongue hanging out in our old days, or were you blind to that too?”

“Obviously not. I just chose...not to explore my options.”

“You were too good for them,” I growl, letting my eyes roam her throat, everywhere my tongue aches to follow. “Just a hot, shy, puritan piece of ass too busy with her nose stuck in a book to give her first handjob to some hairless little chimp holding the winning numbers to your panties.”

She's blazing quick. Her palm flies across my cheek, razor sharp against my stubble. Goddamn, that feels good.

“Thanks. Now, look at me like we're still in love,” I say, boxing her face in with both my hands, back where they belong against the wall.

“Huh?”

“You're failing my test, Ms. Four-Point-Oh. If I don't believe you still want to be with me after that, how the hell will the creeps Victor has watching us every time we're outside this house? How will anybody else?”

“Knox, please.”

“Sunflower...” I bring one hand softly across her face, lifting her by the chin. “I'm not playing games.”

Oh, but I am.

“I can't lose my little girl.” I'm completely serious about that part. “Show me the fire in your eyes even when I don't deserve an ember. Show me you get how serious this is, and you're willing to punish me for being a bastard later when I act up. Because we both know I fucking will be sometimes when it's all I'm good at. Show me, darling. Your mask, your game face, your best poker scowl. We're in this together, and the stakes could not be –“

Higher? That's where I'm flying the instant her lips reach for mine. Kendra grows a few inches on her tip-toes, more than a tentative little peck when our mouths collide.

Hot. Sweet. Surprising.

On second thought, screw the pep talk. I take what's mine, giving it back to her better than she gives, throwing her against the wall with my chest. Our lips dance with hunger, find their delights together, and skip to the moon on a ten second mote of x-rated fairy dust.

My hand is in her hair. Her moan is in my mouth. I'm pulling, sucking, and biting her all at once, manic like I haven't been for years with the need to mark a woman inside and out.

And I do, down to this flower's roots. She groans, soft and supple, when our hips grind once.

Then it hits me how far this is bound to go if I don't stop.

Stop, you bastard! I tear myself away, hoping a swallow of oxygen will ease with the withdrawal breaking away from her lips. It never has a chance.

Kendra looks at me, her eyes lidded, bright, and wanting. Takes everything I've got to hold her gaze without my hand between her legs, pushing them open, finishing where we just left off.

“I have to go. Early day tomorrow. Watch what you say when you're outside in the gardens if you decide to take a walk or whatever. Victor shouldn't have had the time to get his place bugged. It was clean the other day when I checked, and I'll do another sweep in the morning. But until then...you never know. Didn't expect him to send the dogs after me so fast, trailing us in town tonight. You wait for my all clear, understood?”

She nods, slow and messy. “Jesus, Knox. I –“

“If the next words out of your mouth aren't goodnight, then we've got nothing to discuss.”

Anger flashes in her eyes. Then disappointment.

She doesn't get it. I have to shut her down cold, or we will fuck.

And if the lid comes off this sick attraction we've been nursing for years, I know I won't have nightmares knocking at my brain. I'll be living them.

“Whatever,” she murmurs, barely under her breath. “Goodnight.”

We share one last look before she backs into her door, walling off our tension when it closes.

That last look, I recognize. Not across the years, but in the present. It's in my blood, my bones, fogging up my mirror when I look into my own strange eyes.

It's fear. It's hatred. And it's love – the forbidden, impermissible, fucked up thing with a thousand consequences.

Every last one a new disaster.

* * *

I can't sleep. When counting sheep and melatonin won't work, ritual does the trick.

My office has a secret in the bottom drawer that's gnawed at me since shortly after Lizzie was born. I sigh when I open it, pull out the little box, and wonder why I think I'll do anything except work myself into an exhausted frenzy.

There never are any answers. The FBI team dedicated to Sam Wright's missing person's case gave up and put it into cold storage years ago.

But there I am, three o'clock in the morning, sifting through everything I know about the last days on earth of a woman I despise.

She left me with something beautiful. Lizzie deserves closure about her mother someday, and that's half the reason I keep trying to break the enigma.

The rest is hoping I'll find something damning about Victor, blunting his threats forever. Even after all these years and not a shred of proof backing it, I think the chance he was involved in her vanishing is greater than zero.

My hands go to work, faster than my brain, flipping pages. Old photos, investigative field reports from the countless detectives I've hired, test results from a forensics lab I paid out the nose for.

Always the same damning artifacts.

Never any conclusions.

I see the name Jake Burton, the fucking bum who fed her addictions. We played pool a few times at the same watering hole attached to the back alley where my beautiful little girl was conceived. He opened his new place in LA to her when she blew Phoenix without any notice.

Supposedly, she stayed with him for under three weeks before disappearing forever. The beat up gas station across the street from Jake's place took her last photos on a crappy security cam.

Her eyes are too grainy, too dark to really see in those photos. But I've tried to stare, even hovered a magnifier over them.

I don't need a picture perfect view of her crazy eyes to know she looked like hell. I want to regret, worry, fear – emotions that might lead me somewhere on this maddening chase.

Wright made sure Jake was hauled in for questioning and held for months as the main suspect. Or at least he gave the appearance.

The bum had nothing. Just a half-cocked story about how she went out for beer one night and never came home. Too much corroborated it. He was released in under a month and moved upstate to Redding. Never had the opportunity to question him myself. Running dope for a rival gang on Grizzlies Motorcycle Club turf got him beat to death in a biker war roughly a year later.

My fingers move with an angrier energy the longer I flip through the pages. An hour passes, and I'm no closer to anything. Not even sleep.

When I hit the last page, I stop as I always do, my lips turned up in a vicious smile. My greatest mistake smiles up at me, the last decent picture she ever had taken, laughing with her drunken eyes. “Where the fuck did you go? Someday, you'll tell me.”

I shove the pile off my desk and hear it clatter on the floor. I see the other box tucked under my desk while I'm cleaning the mess up I've created. By the time I've finished tucking everything back into its neat folder, I'm smiling for real.

Why suffer more agony tonight when I can have a little fun before sunrise?

I pour myself scotch night cap and sip it slowly while I grab my finest stationary, plus the pen I only use for multimillion dollar deals. I scrawl a quick note on it, pop the container open, and tuck it inside.

Then I carry the box with Sunflower's dirty little secret upstairs, bend down next to her door, and leave it for her to find in the morning.

I can't decide whether imagining her reaction when she finds it makes me want to stroke my cock or laugh more. So I hit the sheets and sleep instead.

It's the first time in a good, long while I drift away without the steady darkness staining my soul.