“Hello, Ariel Gatling. Please look around and let me know if you have any questions,” I said. My knuckles ached from shaking hands. It was a good problem to have. We’d had a steady stream of interested buyers and lookie-loos through the Hutchins Street house all day. I had thirty more minutes before I could lock the doors and sink into numb exhaustion. Again, a good problem to have. It kept my mind off Chase.

He’d given me an ultimatum whether he meant to or not. If I wanted a life with him, it would have to be all that came with it. Three days ago, my answer would have flown out of me. Certain. Primal. Yes. God, yes. In some ways, I felt like my heart hadn’t truly started beating until he came into my life. I loved him. I wasn’t afraid to tell him. But he’d answered my toughest question with his silence.

If I chose a life with Chase, there might come a day when I’d lose him. Whether it was to gunfire or handcuffs, he walked a knife’s edge as a member of the Dark Saints. There could be no separation of the two.

I thought of Josie. She was tough, smart, centered. She’d been with Bear for thirty years or more and survived the turbulence. Could I?

“I just can’t get over this place, Ariel!” A high-pitched voice drew me out of my head. It belonged to Leslie Marion, one of the true sharks of the Gulf Coast real estate market. She had hard lines running from the corners of her eyes and wore thick pancake make-up, applying lipstick with no regard to the natural contour of her lips. Leslie had a pile of Lucille Ball-type red hair pulled up in a bouffant, the texture of cotton candy. But she was the best there was at what she did. If Hutchins Street impressed her, I could almost guarantee an offer on it within the next twenty-four hours.

The last of the lookers exited the front door with smiling waves, leaving Leslie and me alone. I could relax a little and let out a sigh. “Thanks,” I said. “This has been a challenge unlike no other.”

“I’ll bet. I gotta be honest, when I heard you bought it, I thought maybe you’d lost your mind. I couldn’t see what you saw and you know that’s a rarity for me.”

I stood in the kitchen and leaned across the quartz-topped island. I slid a cinnamon roll to Leslie and sank my teeth into another.. She picked hers up and touched it to mine in a toast.

“Good. Now go out there and bring me a killer offer. I love this place, but I can’t wait to get it out of my life and move on to the next one.”

“That’s my girl,” Leslie said, eating her cinnamon roll in one bite. How she managed that feat without messing up her lipstick made me marvel. She slapped her palm against the countertop and pushed off it. “Okay. I’ll let you lock up and get the heck out of here. We should go out and celebrate. I’ve got a good feeling, honey. I sent pictures to three of my clients already. I think we’re both going to make some bank on this one. Feel like meeting me at The Watering Hole in an hour? First round’s on me.”

“That is a fantastic plan. You’re on.” In truth, the last thing I wanted was a night out. But even though the open house was over, I was still on the clock if Leslie was buying. Staying in her good graces was a must for anybody in the house flipping game. I’d learned so much from her already.

“See you in a bit,” she said, waving behind her and heading for the front door. She let out a laugh as it swung open. “I’ll get a table. You’ve got one more live one,” she said, sidestepping as she let one more potential buyer into the house. He was tall, middle-aged with silvery hair and a dark complexion.

I plastered on my best smile again, straightening. Extending my hand, I came out of the kitchen. “Ariel Gatling,” I said. As I got closer, my radar tripped. This guy had money. He wore an expensive-looking tailored black suit. The ring on his right hand flashed, gold with a big ruby at the center and diamonds all around. Another real estate agent, maybe. But Leslie didn’t seem to know him. No wonder she shot me a grimace as she walked out the door. He wasn’t her client either. If this guy were interested in the house, only one of us would be making money on it. I wondered if that would make her withdraw her offer to buy the first round at The Watering Hole.

“Good to meet you,” he said. I waited for a beat, expecting him to introduce himself, but he didn’t. Instead, he walked around me to explore the house.

“Have a look around,” I said. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re finished if you have any questions.”

My new guest was already halfway down the hall though, headed for the master suite. I don’t know what pricked my senses. It was always better to give potential buyers space during a walk-through. If they felt crowded or pressured, they’d soon be out the door. Still, I found myself edging down the hall.

He stood in the center of the bedroom. We’d staged it with a king-sized brass bed with white linen. A rare cool breeze blew in from the north and I left the French doors open. I hung back for a moment. The man looked toward the now attached bathroom. His posture was odd to me, almost too straight. He tilted his head to the side and his eyes were closed. A slight smile curved the corner of his mouth.

He was handsome, Latino, with smooth, dark skin and a glorious head of hair. It had been black once, but now mostly silver and combed back in thick waves.

“It’s a great room,” I said, clearing my throat. His eyes snapped open and he regarded me. The smile on his face unsettled me. It didn’t seem quite genuine. “We opened up this wall and turned this into a suite. I think the view from the balcony is one of my favorite things about the house.”

He didn’t answer me at first. Instead, he walked to the entrance to the bathroom. Barely poking his head in, he ran his hand along the wall.

“It’s like a different house,” he finally said. “Or maybe I just don’t remember very well. It’s been a long time.”

“Oh, are you from the neighborhood then?” It would make sense. I put him in his early fifties. If he lived on the north side twenty or thirty years ago, this had to seem like stepping off to another planet. I got a lot of curiosity seekers and old-timers every time I held an open in this neighborhood. I grew impatient. If that’s all he was, this was becoming a waste of time. Still, he clearly looked like money. If he wasn’t looking for himself, maybe he’d take my card and spread the word.

“Me?” he said, turning to me. “Do I look like north side trash to you?”

I blanched. “Excuse me?”

He set his jaw to the side and went over to the French doors. His perfectly coiffed hair blew back. “Trust me, honey, anytime I came down this street, I was slumming.”

“Well, you’re here now. You can see this just isn’t the same neighborhood it used to be. And wherever you came from, you look like you’ve done well for yourself. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

I extended my hand again; this time, I held my business card between two fingers. The dude was an asshole, but until I knew if he was a connected asshole, there was no point in being rude back.

He took it, running a finger over the raised green lettering. “Gatling. I didn’t recognize the name when you said it the first time. I’m afraid I still don’t.” His tone was dismissive. As if his lack of recognition was a deficiency on my part.

“Ariel Gatling,” I said again. “My father would have been close to your age if you frequented the neighborhood. His name was Thomas.”

He pursed his lips and tapped the card. “Doesn’t ring a bell. What are you selling these houses for?”

I blew a strand of hair from my face. Now we were moving into a territory that felt more comfortable. “High two hundreds, low two hundreds. Depending on what you’re looking for. Single-family with a yard like this, the comps are better. You can get your hands on a fixer-upper for a lot less. But why do all that work when you can just move right in? Right?”

“Right,” he said.

“What was your name then?” It was the third time I’d asked.

He paused, turning to look back down the hallway. Then he made his way around the bed. He did something odd then. He took short, pacing steps back and forth in the corner. It was where I’d knocked out the closet. He tested the floorboards, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Original floors,” I said. “That was really a no-brainer. Solid oak. You don’t find them like this much in these houses. Everything was intact. All it needed was some sanding and a coat of finish. Aren’t they beautiful?”

He reached down and ran his hand along the planks. Cocking his head to the side he closed his eyes again. My spine turned cold. He tapped one of the boards as if he were looking for a weak spot. No, I thought. It was just a coincidence. When he found no defects, he opened his eyes and straightened.

Horror snaked through me as I realized he’d picked the exact spot where I’d found the praying hands statue and rusty rags.

“Rivas,” he said. “It’s Rivas. Forgive me for being so nosey, but a friend of mine used to live here a long time ago.”

I took a step back. This was wrong. All wrong. His eyes held not a drop of warmth. Rivas came toward me. He still held my business card between his fingers. Pausing, he slid his hand inside his jacket, feeling for the breast pocket. My heart started to beat again; he was just looking for his own business card. Surely.

“I really do appreciate your stopping by,” I said. “I don’t know if you’re in the market, but feel free to give my card to one of your friends, maybe. This property is going to go fast, I’m afraid. You just can’t get them on lots this size very often. Certainly, I’m biased, but I know my market.”

Rivas smiled. His hand froze inside his breast pocket. “I don’t think you know it well enough. I imagine a lot of the traffic you got today was from curiosity seekers.”

“That’s true with every open house. I don’t mind. Anything to get my name out there and my work in front of new eyeballs, you know?”

“Sure. Anything.” When he withdrew his hand, it took a moment for my mind to register what my eyes saw. I took an instinctive step backward, weighing my options. Then the light seemed to change as it reflected off the cold, hard silver of the gun he pointed straight at me.

“You knew Rochelle,” I said. It was as if I existed outside myself. The rational part of my brain told me to stay calm. Don’t escalate this. But then, my other half told me to run. The French doors were open. It wasn’t a long enough drop to hurt me unless I landed wrong. Except I couldn’t outrun a bullet.

“Don’t say her name to me,” Rivas said.

I couldn’t process it all. Rivas. Rivas. Had he been one of Rochelle Raines’s johns? Whoever he was, he knew. He knew it all. That cold knowledge stared me in the face as Rivas’s eyes seemed to turn black as coal.

He moved so fast. I tried to run. But Rivas pressed the hard barrel of his gun into my stomach and grabbed me by the hair.

“Why?” I asked. A single tear fell from my eye as I realized I was looking into the stone-cold eyes of Rochelle Raines’s killer.

“I was going to come back for it, you know? But then, nobody ever found it. Why risk questions?”

Something shifted behind his eyes. This guy was crazy. He was seeing something play out in front of him that had nothing to do with me. Had Rochelle known he was going to do it? Had he planned any of it? Instinct told me to keep him talking. Time was the only ally I had.

“Find what?”

“Was it here?” He kicked his foot backward, pounding it on the floorboards. I’d found the statue directly under them.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s okay. It won’t mean anything if nobody’s around to tell them where that stupid bookend came from. Case falls apart. That bitch you brought it too? I can tear her apart on cross-examination in a second. She lost all objectivity the second she started fucking Benz Bass. Why is it good girls like her and Rochelle are so willing to debase themselves with scum like that? Huh? I tried to tell her. For years. Just the idea of letting that biker thug touch her. She’d have spread her legs for all of ’em if they’d asked. He made her a whore. I would have made her a queen.”

“She didn’t want you.” I meant it as a question; it came out as an accusation. Panic set in. “That’s what burned you the most, isn’t it? That she was still in love with Brian Cutter.”

“Fucking scumbag, he was! She wouldn’t stop crying. When she said his name …”

Rivas’s eyes went wide as he remembered something. God, it was so sick but so clear. Rochelle Raines had been an addict at the end, Chase told me. Maybe she slipped and called out for Brian when she was with this Rivas. Is that what set him off? I felt sick to my stomach. He was in love with her.

“It was me or no one. She didn’t know how good she had it.”

“Let me go,” I said. “This is only going to be worse for you. I have people looking for me. People who care. If you hurt me, the club will come after you.”

Rivas’s eyes went wild. I’d said the wrong thing. “You too?” He laughed.

“Brian Cutter had a son. He’s going to know what you did.”

“We’re going on a trip,” Rivas said. He grabbed my arm, bruising me. “If you run or scream, you die.”

As he shoved me backward, I knew his wild eyes were the last thing Rochelle Raines ever saw.