That new feeling of hope lasts for all of three minutes after I leave. Just long enough for me to hear the thwump-thwump-thwump of a tire on the Tahoe going flat as I coast toward the side of the road and an empty parking spot.

I stare up at the tan headliner and send a seeking glance skyward.

This is not a sign. This is not a sign. I repeat it to myself over and over until I start to believe it.

I’m a capable woman. I’ve got this.

After I park the Tahoe, I hop out and circle the SUV to see the damage. Rear tire, passenger side.

Not a big deal. I can change a tire.

I crouch down to check the rubber treads for whatever caused the flat, and freeze when I see a half-dozen nails in a grouping no bigger than my fist.

What the hell?

This isn’t some random flat tire. This was vandalism.

In broad daylight.

A creeping sensation, like the one I’ve felt for the last day, sends a shiver of concern down my spine, but I beat it back. I’m not going to live in fear.

Regardless, there’s no arguing that someone did this on purpose. Someone wanted me to get a flat tire. I rise to my feet and turn, scanning the street for anyone who may be watching me.

No one stands out.

Not the woman carrying several bags from a shop up the street. Not the man walking his Pomeranian. Not the two kids texting and not watching where they walk.

Finally, my gaze lands on a dark SUV idling in a parking spot at the end of the street I just turned off.

Mount’s guy keeping tabs on me?

I stare harder at the blacked-out windshield like I’m suddenly going to be able to see through the limo tint, but it doesn’t help.

Either way, I’m done here. I open the passenger door of the Tahoe, yank the keys out of the ignition, grab my purse, and wrap a hand around the edge of the door to slam it closed.

Remembering what Mount said about the keys to the warehouse, I pause.

Do I want them? Do I want anything from him? From either of them?

Screw it.

I open the glove compartment and a card falls onto the floorboard. Mount’s card.

I only pocket it because I don’t want to drag Keira into my life if things goes sideways. And besides . . . you never know when you might need to call the devil.

My gaze lands on the set of keys on a leather fob.

Make a decision, Temperance.

I debate leaving them, but if I take them, it still doesn’t mean anything. I don’t have to go there. I grab the keys and shove them in my purse before locking the Tahoe and striding home with all my senses on high alert.

When I walk into the courtyard, Harriet has white sheets spread out on the grass.

What in the world could she possibly be doing next?

She walks out of her house wearing a black silk caftan that billows behind her, a tray in her hand and a smile on her face.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Her head snaps up like I’ve disturbed her meditative state, which, knowing Harriet, I might have.

“You’re back sooner than I expected. How did it go?”

I glance at the tray in her hand. “Is that paint?”

“Body paint.”

She says it like the statement requires no explanation.

“For . . .”

“Immortalizing myself in rainbow color. At least,” she glances over her shoulder, “I will be if my gentleman friend arrives to paint me.”

“Oh . . . okay. So, this is a good time for me to find somewhere else to go.”

Harriet tilts her head to the side. “Only if you have an issue with nudity. My tits may not be as perky as yours, but they’re younger than you. My plastic surgeon was a genius in the mid-nineties.”

As always, Harriet manages to wrangle a laugh from me.

“How did the gallery go?” she asks.

I tell her about the showing Valentina wants to do.

“That’s phenomenal. You’re incredibly lucky to have the opportunity. Don’t fuck it up.”

Her no-nonsense wisdom is always appreciated, as is yet another reminder from her that I could be doing so much more right now than going upstairs and holing up in my apartment.

“I won’t.”

“Good.” She gives me a pointed look. “I’m sure you have better things to do right now than watch two paint-covered septuagenarians fornicate outdoors—like make some art.” She glances at her watch. “Actually, you should plan to be gone until at least nine. Maybe ten. I’m feeling frisky tonight, and he’s got the little blue pills.”

I glance down at my purse, which holds the keys to the warehouse. The warehouse that holds all the scrap metal Kane had delivered for me.

Can I really face it?

Yes. Yes, I can.

Because I have a list to work on, and not just the one Valentina is going to send me. The list that Harriet forced me to start.

A list Kane would have approved of me making.

Another gut-wrenching slash of pain stabs into me, and I breathe through it.

“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay, Temperance,” Harriet says to me. “But you will be. You’re stronger than you know.”

With a decisive nod, I take another deep breath. I’m stronger than this.

I look up and meet her concerned gaze. “You’re right. I’m not okay, but I will be.”

“Good girl.”

“I’ll just go change and get out of your way.”

I climb the stairs, and with each tread, I forge my resolve. I will be okay.

As soon as I walk into my apartment, my gaze locks on the crumpled ball of paper I kicked into the fireplace with every intention of burning it, but I haven’t yet. The crumpled ball of paper that snapped me out of my haze. The one that wouldn’t let me keep pretending I was dreaming this nightmare.

I hate you, Kane. I fucking hate you.

And yet I drop to my hands and knees, reaching into the ashes to retrieve it.

The words blur as I spread it out on the floor, tearing it in several places as I rock back and forth, attempting to fend off the tears that prick at my eyes.

I will not cry for you again. I’m done.

I grit my teeth and focus on the address, memorizing it before pushing off the floor to stand tall with steel in my spine and my chin held high.

I will be okay. Fake it until you make it.

With a deep breath, I head into my room and change my clothes. I’m going to turn trash into dollar bills and buy myself a new life that is so full of everything, I won’t have time to think about the hit man who betrayed me and then broke me.