Dave pulled up at a dingy apartment complex in a run-down area of Sacramento. Trash swirled on the sidewalk and into the street, caught up in a gust of wind. Cracks lined the walkway, and one discarded shoe stuck out of a brown bush.

Colton’s Porsche parked next to Dave’s Beamer, followed by Noah and Ethan, who’d ridden together in Noah’s Range Rover.

“In this neighborhood, our cars make us look like drug dealers,” Noah said as he glanced around. A faded and heavily dented Dodge Dart sat next to them with a flat tire and broken window.

“What we look like is a small penis convention, with everyone insisting on taking their ride.” Ethan stepped out of the Range Rover.

“Call me a small dick all you want, but I’m not riding bitch when I’m trying to be manly and shit.” Dave cracked his neck.

“Ethan had it right. He doesn’t have to worry about a car window getting smashed.” Noah peered in the back of a neighboring Saturn, the interior of which closely resembled the contents of a trash can. “One of us should probably stay behind and watch the cars.”

“This won’t take long.” Dave stalked forward. Rage welled up from deep inside of him. Instead of forcing it back down like he usually did, trying his best to hide the scars of his childhood, he let it overflow. He couldn’t fix what had been broken in his youth, but he could help Janie crawl out of the rut she’d found herself in. He could offer her a hand, like he’d always hoped someone would do for him.

“Which one?” Colton asked as they climbed the steps.

“Two-oh-four.” Dave read the numbers as he walked by.

“How’d you find this guy?” Noah brought up the rear, having apparently decided the vehicles were safe for the moment.

“Got the name out of Janie and looked him up. It wasn’t hard.” Dave stopped in front of the splintered door. “He sells shitty art. His information is everywhere.”

“Is that right? Huh.” Ethan tried to peer in a window off to the side.

“Can you see anything?” Noah asked, rolling his shoulders. “I feel like I’m in high school again.”

“Glory days, huh?” Ethan leaned away. “Not much. The curtain’s covering most of the window. It’s dark in there.”

“How’re we going to play this?” Colton asked quietly.

“We’re going to huff, and puff, and knock on the door.” Dave did as he’d said. He layered the peephole with his thumb. A moment later, when nothing happened, Dave knocked again, heavy and loud. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

“Now you’re just getting creepy,” Colton said, failing to suppress his smile.

“Try the handle.” Noah edged toward the balcony and looked over. Probably trying to see the cars. He needed a woman so he would stop worrying so much about a hunk of metal.

Dave moved his hand to do as Noah had suggested, but the deadbolt clicked over before he could reach for the handle. The door swung open, revealing a guy less than six feet tall with a lean kind of muscle and a scowling face. His dark hair was tousled, as though he’d been sleeping. Or in bed with someone.

“You Atticus?” Dave said, his voice rough.

“Atticus.” Ethan huffed out a laugh. “What kind of a name is Atticus?”

“Who are you?” Atticus glanced from person to person, fear sparking in his eyes. “What do you want?”

Dave flexed his arms, giving the situation a little juice. “Janie in there?”

Atticus shifted, anger rolling through his expression. Dave had seen that look before. His stepfather had worn it right before shit went down.

That was the only prompt his rage needed. Dave lunged forward, grabbing Atticus by the neck. Colton and Noah were there a second later, jostling them. Trying to pull Dave off.

“Where is she?” Dave demanded, not letting go.

Atticus used both hands to grip Dave’s wrist. His face turned red. “Not here,” he wheezed. “I ain’t seen her.”

“Are you lying to me?” Dave shook him, ignoring his buddies, who were trying to push him back and jostle him out of his rage stupor.

“No! I swear,” Atticus choked out. “Not since she ratted me out to the police. She won’t return my calls. She ain’t been around.”

Dave squeezed harder, closing Atticus’s windpipe. He wanted to send a message. “If you ever contact her again, I’ll be back, and next time, I won’t have these guys to pull me off. Do you hear that?”

“C’mon, bro,” Colton said in his ear. “Loosen up.”

Dave shoved as hard as he could. Atticus couldn’t back-pedal fast enough. He fell, landing first on his butt then falling onto his back. He clutched at his throat, coughing.

Inviting himself in, Dave crossed the threshold and glanced around at the tiny apartment. He was going to make damn sure she wasn’t hidden away in here.

Fast-food wrappers and an empty pizza box littered the kitchen counter. Grease splatters and stains dotted the stove. Dirty dishes filled the sink.

“No. I cannot bear witness to this.” Ethan shook his head and backed out of the entryway, forcing Noah back with him. “The mess is… The carpet alone is riddled with crumbs. Is that an ant? No. I have to get out of here. Someone take a picture of any art.”

Dave crossed the living room, ignoring the art station off to the side, surrounded by splatters of paint. Colton didn’t. He got his phone out and took a picture of what was on the easel.

The focus on these guys wasn’t always acute.

The bedroom door stood open. Stale air carried a funk that would probably make Ethan break out in hives. The comforter half hung off the bed. Twisted sheets spoke of a bed that was never made. Empty.

The smell of stale urine wafted out of the bathroom. Also empty. And in need of a good clean.

The apartment was clear. Wherever Janie was, it wasn’t with this asshole.

Dave passed the sniveling wretch, still lying on the ground. The other guys had already adios-ed, but he turned to look down at the asshole. “I hear you like beating on people in alleyways. If you go near Janie again—hell, if you even contact her—I’ll find you in a dark alley and finish this.”

“I’ll call the cops,” Atticus shouted.

Hand on the door handle, Dave paused in closing the door. “I’ll say you started it, and I was defending myself. Who do you think the cops are going to believe? A guy with a record, or a guy with no priors and an excellent lawyer?”

The color drained out of Atticus’s face.

“Exactly. Leave her alone.” Dave closed the door and took a deep breath. He flexed and unflexed his hands as the others shadowed him toward the cars.

“I think that went well,” Ethan said in an upbeat tone. “Can I have a look at that art?”

Colton passed him the phone. Ethan took one look and started laughing. “I hope he has a day job.”

“It still leaves our question unanswered. Where is Janie?” Dave clicked the button on his fob as he noticed a man walking too slowly on the sidewalk, staring their way. “Problem?” Dave called, his adrenaline still keyed up.

The guy had a last look at the cars before speeding up, moving on.

“Strange that Madison wouldn’t know.” Noah frowned. “I thought they were big in each other’s lives.”

Colton shrugged as he opened his car door. “Usually, yeah. Like I said, Janie has disappeared before. Maddie always assumed it was to the boyfriend’s house, but looks like that might not have been the case.”

“I feel the need for a little detectory,” Dave said, trying to ignore the worry lodging in his chest.

“Hooked on phonics, bro. Look it up.” Noah shook his head with a smile before opening his car door. “Keep us in the loop.”

Twenty minutes later, Dave let himself into Madison’s apartment with the key she’d given him. They had a standing agreement that he would stop by now and then to check on Janie. Usually it didn’t matter that he had a key—Janie constantly forgot to lock up—but this time it saved him from kicking the door in.

Clean and organized—it definitely looked as though Janie hadn’t been there in a while. She blew through a place like the Tasmanian Devil, turning order into chaos.

The bare fridge wasn’t abnormal. The woman did bachelor better than he did. As evidenced by the healthy amount of alcohol and mixers on hand.

In her room, he went full-on creep, looking through drawers and on her nightstand, trying to find clues of where she might’ve gone. Normal people didn’t secretly go off the grid. It rang of something wrong. Something illegal, maybe. Possibly something damaging. He didn’t like any of those options.

In the top of her nightstand, he pushed aside the condoms and found a bank statement. Grimacing, because this was a severe invasion of privacy that one-upped the pre-established invasion of privacy, he glanced at the date. Last month. It probably wouldn’t help him. Still, no one used cash anymore. If she had ongoing activity of a questionable nature, it would probably show.

He glanced at the balance, a force of habit.

$104.23.

Not much. Still, a lot of people lived paycheck to paycheck. Dave had been there, too, getting down to pennies or negative numbers before payday. But there was something weird about it. He didn’t see any deposits. Not one, all month. Her purchases were small, and most of those came from the grocery store. She hardly ever ate out.

Madison paid for the apartment, he knew, pleading deafness whenever Janie asked to pay, pretending she wanted it for reasons of her own. This had to be why. It looked like Janie’s problems with words or numbers or whatever prevented her from keeping a standard job. A good job, at any rate. She was flat broke.

So how the hell could she afford her time off the grid?

Soft rattling came from the front of the house. He paused to listen.

The sound of a key turning in the lock sped up his heart. The front door swung open with its telltale soft squeak.

A surge of adrenaline and guilt made him jump. He quickly folded up the statement and jammed it back into the dresser before flicking the condoms over it. The wood of the drawer banging made him wince before he hurriedly dashed for the door.

His phone dinged. A text message.

He froze near the doorway as the rustling stopped by the door. He waited a moment, hoping she hadn’t heard. Also hoping she would head to the kitchen and he could pretend he had been in her bathroom.

Another rustle.

His phone dinged again.

“Dave?”