Weaving back and forth, clutching a bottle of scotch in my hand, I stared at the phone on the counter and tried to focus on the words coming from the machine.

I had to rewind twice and lean in, squeezing my eyes shut so the world spinning around me wouldn’t throw me off-balance. If it did, I’d have to start all over again.

For like the tenth fucking time.

A woman giggled and came up behind me, pressing her tits to my back and hugging me. “Did you bring me up here so I could listen to messages with you, or so we could have some fun?”

“Lemme the fuck alone for a minute,” I told her, trying to make sense of the words I’d just heard.

It was from the cop who’d been calling me ever since the explosion so many months ago.

Ever since Isabel.

Bile churned, and the booze in my throat threatened to make a reappearance, but I fought it back.

“…hate to tell you this, but at this point, we still haven’t been able to link Marcos Castellanos to the events of that night…”

The woman behind me stiffened.

“Castellanos?” she said.

I hit the button, silencing the message. I wasn’t clear-headed enough to figure out what the detective was talking about, and I didn’t know this woman—at all—so I didn’t need her hearing my personal shit anyway.

Putting the bottle down, I turned and leaned back against the counter, pulling her up against me. “Jus’ a job,” I lied, smiling at her.

She stared at me from under furrowed brows.

I tugged her even closer and pushed a hand through her hair. “Come on, Valentine.”

That was the name she’d given me…right? I was almost sure it was.

“You told me you could help me forget alllll my problems…” I wagged my brows at her and bumped my hips against hers suggestively. We’d met when I’d gone to the liquor store a couple blocks away. I’d had to walk.

At some point, one of my brothers had stolen my keys—and my rental.

Bastards. Guess they didn’t trust me not to do something stupid, although maybe they were right. What I’d really wanted to do today was go for a long, fast drive, and I hadn’t been sober when I’d entertained the thought. If the rental car I’d gotten had been there, I might have done just that.

Maybe I would have gotten lucky and wrapped the damn thing around a pole.

Would have squared things up.

Valentine stared at me with big, somber eyes. “You’re sad.”

I lifted the bottle to my lips and took a heavy pull off it.

“Somebody died,” I said bluntly.

Her eyes didn’t widen the way I expected. Maybe a lot of guys came to her with their hearts ripped open and their wallets hanging out.

She smoothed my hair back.

“Was it because of your job?”

I’d never given her my name or told her what I did. It would be so easy to lie.

“No,” I said hoarsely. “It was my wife. And it should have been me.”

Something that might have been sympathy moved in Valentine’s eyes, and she swayed forward, pressing her lips to mine. “I bet she’d hate to hear you say that,” she whispered as she kissed me, light and soft.

“It’s the truth,” I said raggedly.

She braced a hand on my chest, just over my heart. It raged like a caged beast. “Did she love you?”

I thought about Isabel. How we fought. How we laughed. How she’d acted the past few weeks before she was killed. And the way she looked at me as she pulled away when I kissed her…just seconds before my world exploded.

“I think she did.” It hurt to even say that.

“And if it had been you…would you want her wallowing and feeling sorry for herself?” Valentine said it boldly, the words a challenge.

I caught her face in my hand, glaring down at her.

She didn’t look away. Shoving my fists into her hair, I cranked her head back. “I think I’m paying you for sex, not therapy.”

“Okay.” Her lids drooped. “Then stop feeling sorry for yourself and fuck me.”

The chasm in my chest widened.

“Get on your fucking knees,” I told her.

The thought of taking her to bed, to the bed I’d shared with Isabel, almost made me physically ill. And judging by the way Valentine looked at me, she knew it too. She went to her knees in front of me, eyes challenging, no longer soft.

She was a chameleon, this girl.

I lifted my bottle to my lips and drank deeply as she dragged the zipper of my pants down, then slowly freed my cock. Thanks to her tantalizing stimulation, I was hard even before she closed her mouth around me. Bracing one hand on the counter, I closed my eyes and tried to forget there was ever anything other than this moment.

But my mind didn’t want to work that way.

I kept seeing Isabel.

I kept seeing her on her knees in front of me. But there’d be a glint in her eyes, like she knew she could make me kneel with just a look, just a smile. And she could. She’d loved driving me right to the edge and back. Maybe she’d even loved it too much.

Valentine hummed in her throat, and I groaned, reaching down with my free hand to cup the back of her head, thrusting deeper into the wet cave of her mouth.

Is this how you remember me, baby?

It was like Isabel was right there.

I tried to shove the voice out of my head…but couldn’t.

“What the fuck—”

Valentine jerked back.

That was the first indicator that those words hadn’t come from inside my head.

I’d been having WTF moments off and on for the past two hours. No. Weeks. Months. Longer. But usually, they stayed inside my head, and this had clearly been outside it.

Forcing my lids open, I stared at the tall figure standing in the doorway, limned in light. It was instinct that had me putting the bottle down and fumbling my zipper up, not any real sense of decorum. That had left me long ago.

“Get out,” Brooks said.

I scowled at him. “This is my fuckin’ apartment,” I told him, the words slurred and thick.

“Shut up,” he snapped. “I’m not talking to you.”

I opened my mouth to argue and swayed. Valentine’s soft, steady hands caught me, steadied me.

I peered down at her and found that I was smiling. She had a pretty face, I decided. And a young, sweet smile. Not too young, I hoped. Abruptly, I scowled at her. “You’re not a kid, are you?”

“No, Sean.” She tugged my pants the rest of the way together, the gesture gentle. “I’m twenty-two. You didn’t ruin your nice-guy image.”

That made me laugh. I all but collapsed against the counter and nausea welled up inside. “Nice guy image?” I choked out.

She backed away slowly, eyes wary.

My muscles melted away, and I slumped to the floor, still gripping the bottle of whiskey.

I couldn’t see her anymore. She’d disappeared around the counter, and while I could hear her talking, I knew she wasn’t addressing me.

I wasn’t surprised by the soft sound of the shutting door a few seconds later. I wasn’t even surprised when Brooks came around the bank of counters and crouched in front of me. His dark blue eyes took me in from head to toe. Although I’d already known I’d been lacking as far as the Downing family went, I couldn’t help but flinch at the disappointment I saw in his eyes.

Shoving it aside, I sneered at him. “Wha’s a matter, brother?” I demanded, pushing into a somewhat upright position. “Was I supposed to report in for duty today?”

“Why are you doing this?” Brooks asked, his eyes sad and somber as they explored my face.

“Doing what?” I demanded belligerently.

When he didn’t answer, I shoved until I was almost completely upright and glared at him. “Doing what?” I demanded. “All I’m doing is sitting around and killing time. That’s all I ever fucking do. All Dad ever let me do. So, I guess I’m wondering if maybe things wouldn’t have been better if I’d been the one to get in the car. Fuck, it’s not like we don’t all know the bomb wasn’t meant for me anyway. Don’t you—”

Brooks shot out a hand.

I flinched but couldn’t evade the hand he buried in the front of my shirt. He jerked me up against him and locked his other arm around my neck. “Don’t say that, you little shit. You hear me? Don’t you ever say that,” he said, his voice ragged and harsh in my ear.

I stayed silent, and after maybe a minute, he let me go.

I sank back against the counter and stared at him with dull eyes. It took almost all of my strength to lift the bottle to my lips as I held his gaze. His eyes grew tight around the corners, and I hated myself just a little bit more but didn’t stop.

“Why the fuck not?” I countered. “We both know it’s true. My fuckin’ car. Nobody had any reason to kill Isabel. And Marcos sure as hell wouldn’t kill his own sister.”

“Marcos is a cold piece of work,” Brooks argued. “There’s no telling what he might do.”

But I shook my head. “He’s cold, yeah. But he’s scared to death of his father…and Duardo. He wouldn’t do shit that might make them go after him. He’s an evil fuck, but he ain’t stupid.” Tipping my head back to rest it on the couch, I stared at my older brother. “You forget. I know the bastard better than you do. Spent more time with him. He could’ve had Cormac plant that bomb and—”

“No.” Brooks shook his head and turned away.

I stared at him. “Don’t tell me he’s suckered you like he has Dad and Briar.”

“I’m not suckered by him,” Brooks replied. He turned back, arms folded across his chest. “But I’ve spent more time around the guy than you have. And I know what guilt looks like. He feels like shit for what happened to Isabel, but he isn’t responsible.”

I snorted out a laugh that hurt my aching head. “What, is your spidey-lawyer sense tingling?”

Brooks opened, then shut his mouth. After a few seconds, he pierced me with a hard look. “You know, I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

“Then why did you come?”

“Because you’re my brother. I love you. I’m worried about you.”

I lifted the bottle to my lips and drank. As the scotch burned its way down, I said, “Don’t. I didn’t do shit-all to deserve it.”

He tried to talk to me again, but I just took another swallow then put the bottle down and stretched out on the couch.

Closing my eyes, I tuned him out.

After a couple of minutes, I fell asleep.