Standing in the middle of Noble Art, even amidst the chaos of setup, is surreal.

Setup for my showing that is happening in two days.

I’ve taken Kane’s words to heart and haven’t let my worries over Rafe’s situation detract from my excitement about what is a dream come true for me. I can still stress about Rafe and the man he’s hunting down, and yet enjoy this too.

Like right now, I push it all away and let giddiness sizzle through me like a kid who’s just spotted a massive pile of presents under the Christmas tree.

But this is better than Christmas on every level, even though it’s slightly terrifying. Like facing a firing squad and hoping the guns shoot confetti instead of bullets.

Valentina’s employees bustle around the room, setting up pedestals for my sculptures. I’m supposed to be helping, but all I can do is stand here dumbfounded, bubble wrapping clutched in my fists as I watch them treat my work like it’s precious art.

Which they think it is.

Insanity.

This is the life I couldn’t even have dreamed of. This is the life I wouldn’t be living if not for Kane pushing me to go after it. Tears prick the back of my eyes, which seems to be a regular occurrence lately, and I blink them back.

“Pretty crazy, isn’t it?” Valentina returns from the back room and hands me a bottle of water.

I accept it and twist off the top, taking a sip for no other reason than it’s something to do to distract me from the urge to blubber like a baby over the reality of what I’m seeing.

“I remember the first time I saw an entire wall covered with my paintings, and my name was actually beneath them. It’s not something you ever forget.”

I stare at the wall ahead of me and the canvases that I know are Valentina’s. “You must have been so proud,” I say, glancing from the nudes to her face.

“I wanted to throw up, run out of the gallery, and never come back.”

“No way. You?” I decide not to mention the fact that I feel like I might need to escape to the restroom and puke in the next five minutes.

She nods. “Absolutely. If you think it’s easy to dig something out of the very depths of your soul and then display it in public to be judged by your friends, family, peers, and complete strangers . . . you’re insane. This isn’t for the faint of heart.”

“Thank you for saying that,” I whisper. “Because right now I’m mostly excited, but there’s this other part of me that wants to puke and then rock in the corner and cry for a week.”

Valentina slides an arm around me and squeezes. “You’re going to be totally fine. It isn’t easy to expose our true self to others, especially those who might not appreciate it. But I can tell you this—if anyone says anything cruel or stupid or hurtful about any of your pieces, that says a lot more about them than it does about you.”

My gaze locks on the large piece I did that is a different version of the one I made for Harriet. Nudes, but in metal. Clearly locked in a carnal position.

“I know not everyone is going to like them. Some people will come to throw rocks, literally or figuratively.”

Valentina squeezes me again. “Don’t waste a minute worrying about them. Bad reviews are as inevitable as the sunrise. Just remember, even Picasso thought everything he ever painted was crap. You’re going to do great. If anyone says a cross word to you, chances are Rix will put them in cuffs, and they’ll spend the rest of the night dealing with paperwork and lawyers at the police station.”

The laugh that bubbles from my lips is genuine, and I send up a prayer of thanks that I’ve found people like Valentina in my life who have stepped in and changed its course.

But no one has changed the course more than Kane. And if he heard someone say something bad about my sculptures, I’m pretty sure that someone wouldn’t end up in the police station. Maybe the hospital. I’m ruling out the morgue. For now.

Today Kane’s off chasing down a lead on a human-trafficking shipment and trying to find out if it’s connected to the Lagarto shipment Rafe is tracking from his end. Even though I wanted to be involved, it feels good to be doing something that moves us forward, instead of focusing on digging us out of the mess my brother got himself in.

It’s been over two months since I’ve seen Rafe, and that time barely counts because I thought I watched his murder. I’ve recovered from that. Mostly. But I’m still desperate for a hug and dinner at our favorite restaurant. But until they make sure they cut off the head of the snake—or the lizard—that can’t happen.

I haven’t seen Magnolia since she left my apartment, and part of me wonders how she’s handling this, and if she and my brother are making plans to run off together. Even though I’m not sure whether I should trust her, if she’s the woman my brother is in love with, I’m going to welcome her to the family with open arms, regardless of whether she likes it or wants it. That’s just the way I am.

Valentina and I stand there in silence, staring at the sculptures and each lost in our own thoughts, when the front window of the gallery shatters with a crash.

“Oh my God!” Trinity, Valentina’s assistant, screams as all three of us instinctively hit the floor.

Tires squeal in the street and we brace, our arms over our heads, waiting for a wash of drive-by bullets to hit.

But they don’t come, and the roar of the engine fades away to be replaced by regular street noise.

Valentina tenses beside me. “I have to get to my phone. I have to call Rix.”

Her words sound as if they’re fueled by the same adrenaline dump that just hit my system. I’m poised and ready to fight for my life, if necessary. I don’t trust that the threat is gone just because a car drove away. I have to call Kane.

That’s when it hits me—this has to be connected to me. I brought this on the gallery. I put Valentina and Trinity in danger. My stomach twists into a knot, and now I think I really am going to vomit.

“Val? Is it safe? What do we do?” Trinity asks with urgency coating the fear in her voice.

Valentina stares at something on the floor, and my gaze snaps to it.

It looks like . . . a pipe?

What the hell?

“Trinity, go to the back room. Stay there until I tell you to come out,” Valentina says with the tone of authority. “I’m calling Rix. Someone is going to pay for this.”

I open my mouth to tell her it could be because of me, but snap it shut. I can’t tell her anything.

I have to cancel the showing. It’s too selfish to take the chance. I should have never agreed. Lagarto has to know that either Rafe or someone who knew him is alive and hunting him, because his entire organization has been wiped out.

Then logic kicks in. But . . . if it was a human trafficker seeking revenge, wouldn’t they have taken me or killed us all to prove a point? He wouldn’t have just broken a window with a pipe. Right?

Then I remember the man at the scrap yard . . .

This is connected to me. I know it.

Now, what the hell am I going to do about it?

An hour later, behind a boarded-up window, Rix looks from me to Valentina and back at the security footage from the cameras he had installed for situations just like this.

I texted Kane, and he responded a few minutes ago that he’s on his way. I’m hoping we have this figured out before he gets here, because whoever threatened my safety will definitely fall into the needs killing category, and I don’t know how to balance that situation while I’m standing next to a cop.

“Do you recognize this prick?” he asks as Valentina leans closer over his shoulder.

I watch as he replays the tape again, studying the thin man who hurls the thick metal pipe through the window.

“He looks familiar,” I say. “I’ve seen him before.” I squint at the screen, ninety-nine percent certain it’s the guy from the scrap yard, but I don’t want to say until Kane gives me the all-clear.

“Or you’ve seen him a hundred times since we’ve replayed the video over and over,” Trinity says.

Valentina claps her hands. “Wait. I know who he is. Shit. I know. That little douchebag . . . How could I forget him?”

“Who?” Rix asks. “Because the last time someone put a brick through your window . . .”

“We all know that was my fault, so let’s not dwell,” Trinity says.

Valentina reaches out to squeeze the girl’s fingers. “Don’t worry about that. Because these two things aren’t related at all. That,” she points at the screen, “is Gregor Standish’s assistant. Protégé. Or whatever the hell you call the man’s hanger-on.”

As soon as she says the name Gregor Standish, my stomach drops to my feet. Fuck. I knew it.

“Are you sure?” I ask, my gaze locked on Valentina.

“Positive. He came in a few months ago complaining that we didn’t have any Standish pieces in the gallery, and that made us subpar and without vision. Then he tried to get me to take a sculpture on consignment, and was adamant that I price it at two hundred thousand and not a penny less. I told him to take a hike.”

“Why in the fuck would he be throwing a pipe through your window now?” Rix asks. “Wait, Standish . . . isn’t he the artist who killed himself?”

I bite my lip because I know there’s no way in hell Standish’s death was a suicide.

Valentina answers his question. “Yes. His pieces were ugly-as-hell modern art. He was supposed to have one auctioned off at the Seven Sinners benefit . . .” She looks at me. “But yours went up in its place.”

Heat burns my face and my throat until there’s barely room to breathe. As much as I want to tell her what I know and even more, what I suspect, we’re standing in front of a cop, and I’m not stupid. I won’t say a damn thing that implicates Mount.

Rix’s gaze locks on me. “You know something about this?”

I attempt to wipe any guilt from my expression, but it’s nearly impossible. I’ve carried plenty of guilt about the situation along with me for months. The knowledge has been eating at me that if Standish’s artwork hadn’t been accidentally switched with mine, he’d still be alive . . . and I wouldn’t have this dream of an opportunity.

“Temperance?” Rix prompts me when the silence stretches awkwardly long.

I have to say something. Anything. Because with each moment I stall, I sound guiltier and guiltier, even though my only crime is withholding my suspicions—that Mount had him killed for his smear campaign against the distillery, which upset Keira. And I know for certain that Mount would kill men for less than what Standish did.

“Standish was pissed that my sculpture was accidentally auctioned off under his name, like Valentina said,” I tell him.

“And?” Rix asks.

“And nothing. I never spoke to him again after we argued about it. He died shortly after.”

Rix’s pale, silvery eyes bore into me like he’s digging for the truth and can see directly inside my brain and soul. “Have you had any other issues that could be related to this?”

My brain reels. So much shit has happened lately in my life that I don’t know what is connected to what, but I can’t tell him anything without potentially jeopardizing Rafe or Kane.

I hate keeping secrets, but I have no choice. I keep my answers short and pointed. “I didn’t know he had an assistant or protégé.”

“Could he be out for revenge?” Trinity asks. “I mean . . . if your stuff got auctioned off in his place and he was upset enough to kill himself, that seems like a motive for revenge. At least, on TV it would be.”

Rix studies me longer. “Do you know anything else about Standish’s suicide? Anything that would make this guy want revenge?”

From the knowledge in his silver gaze, he knows that Keira is connected to Mount, and there’s a chance that suicide could have been murder. Even so, there’s no way in hell I’m going to confirm that, because even I don’t know for sure. And I don’t want to.

Valentina elbows him. “Babe, instead of interrogating my newest featured artist, why don’t you go out and arrest the guy who threw a pipe through my window and interrogate him. He’s the criminal here.”

Rix rises from the desk and looks from me to Valentina. “If there’s anything you’re not telling me, I need to know now, Temperance.”

I shake my head and tell myself I’m not lying because there’s literally nothing I know about Standish’s assistant. I didn’t even know he existed until this moment, so I’m not lying when I reply.

“I don’t know anything about this guy.” I glance at the shattered glass. “Except that if he’s after me, then I’m going to be footing the bill for the new window as an apology.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Valentina says, her tone decisive. “That’s what insurance is for, anyway. Although, with two days to go before the showing . . .”

Rix leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t worry, duchess. I’ve already got someone coming to replace it tomorrow. I had the measurements from last time it happened. The show will go on.”