I didn't know there were so many ways to make a woman's heart scorched earth. Not before I lost everything in less than two hours, and I had to flatten myself against the wall just to breathe, completely hollowed out.

She doesn't have a mommy again. His last words echo in my mind, over and over, a monstrous taunt bent on breaking the last thread holding my sanity together if I don't start moving now.

Thankfully, the elevator chimes. I step in, grab the banister, and let it carry me to the ground floor. I say a silent prayer for him to be gone, out of the parking garage and away from this place. If I see his car while I'm waiting on the curb, I might step in front of it.

He's already killed me emotionally.

A minute later, I'm at the end of the block, watching my ride criss-cross its way through Phoenix. I don't even look at the name when I see the Incoming Call, thinking it's probably my driver.

“Hello?” What I really mean is, please, God, can it just be over?

“Traitor! Did you really think I'd never find out?” Jamie's shrill voice stabs at my ear. “You were dating my brother the whole time and hiding it. Marrying him! What. The. Hell. Kendra? I thought we were friends.”

I see it now. The last domino to fall today is my oldest, closest friendship. If I hadn't just lost everything else in my life, maybe I'd give a damn.

“Jamers –“ I sigh. “Look, it's not what you think. And I'm pretty sure it's over. The engagement is off.” My eyes are on my ring when I say it. Just looking at it brings waves of nausea, regret, heartache.

Where is that stupid Uber? “Listen, I can't talk right now.” I mean it.

“No, don't fucking bother. No need. If you're planning to elope with another dumb story, don't bother hiding it from me. It's mom who's really crushed.”

My phone makes its familiar clicking sound as she hangs up. It takes two more minutes before my ride pulls up on the curb.

Plenty of time to hold in an internal scream.

* * *

It's been at least an entire day since I fell back to earth. So far from the asshole's majestic estate, lovely finishes, sprawling bed, and irresistible kisses. A chasm separates my cluttered old bedroom studio from the beautiful garden shed surrounded by citrus and sunflowers. I swear a lifetime has passed since I heard his little girl's laughter.

My little girl. The only one who ever called me mommy.

I'm tearing up when I hear the hushed voices outside. My parents know to leave me alone, let me recover, give me privacy while they talk quietly about 'something troubling me' that has to do with my best friend and that 'nice young man.'

If only they knew the truth.

The Nice Young Man is Mr. Hyde when he thinks I've done wrong. He's a quick-to-shoot, heartless, wounded asshole.

Yet still, somehow, the asshole I loved.

I bury my face in the pillows again. That's where it stays until the knock. “Honey?” Mom's voice, an octave higher than it usually is with concern. “I brought you some dinner.”

The door creaks as she pushes it open a crack. Probably just checking to be sure I'm alive. “Leave it on my dresser, please. Thanks.”

She does, and slips out quietly. There's a lot we don't see eye-to-eye on, but kicking me when I'm down has never been her style. My parents are also introverts, just like me, and I'm lucky they understand how important it is to try healing alone.

Assuming there's any coming back from this. I don't know that there is.

Frankly, I don't know anything. Nothing changed since the grim discovery.

I've only had a few hours without a pounding headache to contemplate how someone duplicated my handwriting perfectly, framing me for a crime I'd never commit in a trillion years. Unless I was drugged and hypnotized to write it and forgot – an angle I've honestly considered – then someone with a PhD in foul play sprung their trap flawlessly.

That evening, I'm sitting by the tiny pool in my parent's backyard. The moon glows overhead, but it's not a healing energy. It's swollen on my pain, glowing with my loss, hanging high in the glossy night sky. Mysterious and unreachable as the pieces of my life just pulverized.

This shouldn't be so hard. I had my new life no more than a few weeks. That ring I've stuffed into a dark corner in my drawer didn't feel real until this month.

Why does it feel like we were already a family for years? Why am I sitting here staring at the soft, cool waters, knees tucked under my palms, sweating because I'm going through withdrawals.

I don't want to live without him, or that precious little girl.

“How?” I mutter to myself, biting my lip. This is the first time since it all blew to hell that I've been able to focus.

I can't figure it out. I don't know where to begin. I wrack my brain for possibilities, anyone who would've had the skills and motive to ruin my life in the cruelest way possible.

Wright had to be involved. Sam's reappearance was coordinated with my fake statement to the court and the snap custody decision. Several articles I've read say there's nothing normal about this. Victor clearly leaned on his connections and wealth to ram through a decision, a real shock when the legal system typically moves at a crawl.

I remember sitting down with Charlie the first time. He looked on while his secretary dictated everything I said about Gannon, word for word, from the moment I took the internship until he went berserk.

It's a cold, creeping realization when it comes. My jaw drops, and I whisper two words. “Gannon. Crap.”

I bolt up. I don't know how, but the artist is involved. He's the only one with the talent to string together words I never said. I remember reading about last year's exhibition, when he created a letter-white bridal gown covered in ink, love lines he duplicated by hand, lifted from the famous romance notes between Napoleon Bonaparte and Josephine.

There's no time to contemplate more. I don't know how he intercepted my statement, or how he got it out of Charlie's office, but right now it doesn't matter.

I need evidence.

I'm halfway to my car, planning to drive downtown into Phoenix, when I realize how utterly alone I am. I freeze, one hand on my car door, drawing deep breaths in the cool night.

I shouldn't do this alone. If I run into Gannon, it's game over, and waiting for him to call the police to haul me out in handcuffs would be getting off lightly.

He's violent and insane. If I go to the studio, and he corners me alone...

I don't want to think what would happen. If he's truly capable of framing me with false words, then I have no doubt he's perfectly able to hide a body, too, if rage makes him do the unthinkable.

I'm sighing as I take out my phone. Searching my contacts, I find the number, and press call, then wait for her to pick up.

It rings four times. Just when I think I'm getting voicemail, Jamie's angry voice snaps on the line. “What do you want?”

“To apologize, Jamers. I know I hurt you, but I really didn't mean it. This thing between me and Knox...it wasn't real at first. Our relationship was a fraud. A strictly business relationship.” I hesitate, remembering not to call it an engagement. I don't know what the hell happens with us next, if there's still an us to happen. “It was just a ploy to make sure he kept Lizzie when that asshole started threatening him. I played girlfriend, fiancée, loving mommy for a few weeks...and, well, things happened. It wasn't just play anymore. That ring he gave me meant something the longer I wore it. We were planning to tie the knot for real, and I was going to tell you when –“

“Girl, just stop. I don't need your whole life's story. I pieced together enough from the announcements and my idiot brother shrugging off my calls. I'm pissed that you thought you had to hide it.”

“We didn't have a choice,” I say quietly. “It wasn't meant to last. A few months, until the end of summer at the latest. Then we were supposed to go our separate ways. Technically, I guess we are.”

“That's where I want answers. What the hell's really going on? Knox is absolutely crazy over something. He won't tell me and mom.”

Shit. How do I tell my best friend her lovely little niece is gone? And she might never be coming home if we fail, if we can't find what we need, and fix this.

“It's a long story. I'd start at the beginning, but you've known more about Sam longer than me, so let's skip ahead. She's back.”

I tell her everything that's happened this summer, from the day he made that insane proposal to my internship ending abruptly with that crazy thief. Right to the day Sam showed up at Knox's place, and stole our baby girl away from us.

I lose twenty more minutes to the story, the grief, the endless curses and threats that gurgle from her throat when she tells me all the ways she'll end the Wrights in graphic detail. She's so much like Knox at his scariest it almost makes me smile, how much the need to shoot first and kick ass is part of the Carlisle bloodline.

“I did nothing, Jamie. I swear. You've seen the times I sat with you and Lizzie and your mom. Even when Knox was a complete asshole to me, and I tried to forget him all those years, I never had a grudge. I never saw a bad father. They made up everything, and somehow got it to Knox's lawyer, and then to him when he was hurt, not thinking straight...”

Holy hell. Stop a sec. Am I forgiving the man who crushed my beating heart in front of me?

The good news, when it's finally over, is that I'm no longer her enemy.

Unfortunately, we've lost twenty more precious minutes.

“Can I come over now?” I whisper, holding my breath as the question I've been waiting for slips out.

“Duh. We'll knock some sense into my stupid brother later. Right now, we have a peanut to save.”

* * *

I'm not alone anymore. Thank God.

It almost feels like old times when I'm in the car with Jamers, zooming into downtown Phoenix, the city's lights pulsing with hope. Teenagers scrape the sidewalks skateboarding, lending the night a rowdy soundtrack.

Everything is dark, exciting, and alive.

Then I remember how everything is still on the line, and I shudder.

My brain tries to freeze, but I won't let it. The stakes are just too high. I'll fix this mess, clear my name, and save Lizzie. After that, I'll slap my man across the face, and find out whether he wants to continue being an asshole, or get on with the life I think we're meant to have.

“There it is. Next turn. Should be an empty space in the alley,” I say, pointing.

Jamers hums to herself, switching the radio off, while she pulls into the gap. The engine dies, leaving an eerie silence. No other cars around. The absence and the late hour makes me hopeful we've beat Gannon.

Now for my other worry – the code on the rear door. I'm holding my breath while Jamie walks with me, stands at my side, and watches me input numbers from memory.

I can't exhale until I hear the thunk, and the light flashes green. Another miracle.

I'm grateful the egomaniac puts himself above trivial housekeeping, and Lydia the receptionist never goes above and beyond her pay grade. “Come on,” I say, leading us inside.

It's very dim. Like stepping into an underground tunnel. I expect to see the old exhibits and experimental dresses hanging off the mannequins with an extra creepy vibe.

Instead, it's weirdly empty. Boxes sit in the corner, stacked to the ceilings, too much like a move.

He's planning to skip town soon.

There can only be two reasons. His humiliation and hurt by Knox was either too great...or he thinks he's gotten his revenge, and he's planning to get out while the going is good.

“What are we looking for?” Jamers whispers impatiently, her eyes darting around the room.

“His office.” I see the door half-shut, praying it hasn't been picked as clean as the studio. “If there's anything here, it'll be in the files. Lydia was always really slow to organize anything on paper. He'll tend to his art first, too, and leave the less important stuff to linger until the very end.”

Jamie nods, more sure than I am. Of course, I have no clue when the end is supposed to be. He could be moving in a few more days, for all I know.

I push into his office and flick the switch for the lights. Loud fluorescent lamps hum to life, temporarily blinding me. It's messier than I remember.

Jamie walks past me and rips open a drawer, dumping out its contents on the ground. I'm standing there, deafened by the noise it makes, hand briefly covering my mouth. “Holy shit, keep it down. We're supposed to stay quiet.”

“We're alone and we're wasting time every second we're not digging. Help me, Kendra.” She drops to her knees, sifting through the mess on the floor, scowling when she sees the contents.

She isn't wrong. I'm technically breaking and entering, doing things that are all kinds of illegal. Why get timid now?

Lizzie's smiling little face throbs in my head while I walk across the room, and open another drawer. I'm doing this for her. Nobody else. Not even the gorgeous ass who won't keep his piercing blue eyes out of my head at the worst times.

Rage, frustration, and fear are a potent cocktail. I put them to work, demolishing three more drawers in the next few minutes, hitting the floor and emptying the files while Jamie swears across the room.

So far, it's useless. We have a mountain of old tax returns and licensing documents from the city. A commendation letter from Gannon's old school. Worn notebooks with his ideas – who knows how many are original?

Even a file full of faded nudes on Polaroid and a few blank videotapes labeled PRIVATE. I wrinkle my nose, doubting he's kept them all these years just for his muse.

Half an hour later, the room is a total mess. It's like the aftermath of a raccoon raid, junk scattered everywhere, and we're still empty handed.

“God damn,” Jamie says, wiping the sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand. “Is there anywhere else he'd keep the incriminating stuff? We've ransacked everything here!”

She leans against a stack of boxes in the corner, letting the drawer she's just yanked from his computer desk hit the floor. Metal goes everywhere, mostly paperclips. My eyes scan past her, to the top of the brown packages. They're a worst case scenario waiting to unfold.

“All these boxes,” I say sadly, squeezing my hands, one after the other. They're already dry and sore from the rapid fire digging we've wasted our time on. “They're our only hope.”

Jamers does a slow turn, backing off the stack she's leaning on, hands balling into fists as she looks the ten foot stack up and down. “You mean...shit! Fuck. We don't have time for this. It'll take all night to go through a tenth of what's here.”

“We'd better get started,” I say, words heavy in my throat, the darkness pooling in my belly heavier by the second.

She looks at me like I can't be serious. But I am. More than ever, knowing this is our last shot.

I walk past her, step just outside the office, and pull the first box I see next to me, fishing out my keychain. It has a tiny folding sharp edge attached I use to cut the tape.

Jamers swears again, angry and incomprehensible. Part of me regrets bringing her here. She's lost focus. We might have another hour or two tops, before we risk late night police patrols or a visit from security making the rounds, assuming Gannon hired a service.

It isn't enough time to find anything. I'm losing it when she walks out a second later, stopping next to me, stretching with her hands above her head. “What about the violins?”

I don't know what she's talking about until I look where she's pointing. There, up against the wall, is a neat stack of violin cases, at least half a dozen.

“Odd. Never saw those in the studio before...” My heartbeat fumbles. I did my research on Eric Gannon before I interned for him.

He's done plenty in art and fashion, but music was never part of his resume.

I walk toward them, hand out, ready to lift the top case. It's possible the violins are just pieces of an unfinished project, something from his more eccentric days, when he...

Scratch that thought. Something inside rattles. Not like an instrument should that's a good fit for its case. Jamie gives me a wide-eyed look, noticing the questions swirling in my eyes. “Kendra, what the hell? Do we need to bust them open?”

Before I can say anything, or flick the smudged silver holding the case shut, my best friend yanks it from my hands, pops the clasps, and gives the case a furious kick.

We gasp as it hits the floor, spilling the contents. My heart thumps loud in my ears as I crouch, running my hand through the mess where the non-existent violin should be.

Papers. Tools. Something that looks like a grid, one molded for duplicating letters like a pro when it's held over a page.

Jackpot? I'm not sure it is until I hold up the pages with messy ink scrawled across them. It's a jumble of words. Random phrases I recognize, lines I gave Charlie when I tried to defend myself from Gannon, and then the hellish words I read just yesterday.

My statement.

Emotional discipline.

Angry and violent.

Cold and indifferent.

“Son of a...” Jamie trails off, whistling through her teeth. She doesn't understand what we've found, but she knows it's important.

“Yeah. My handwriting, copied from the note I gave Charlie after psycho attacked. It's almost like a cipher without the code. He used it to make the fraud...and it looks like he's had a lot of practice.”

Thumbing through the pages, I see he practiced words many times. Sometimes crafting new ones from my letters, over and over again until they looked just right, until he had enough for his soul killing lie.

“Um, what are we still waiting for?” Jamie stands up, rushes to the tall stack of cases, and begins pulling them apart. There's plenty more where the damning evidence in the first came from.

I find copies of my original statement with Charlie. A torn note with a header from Black Rhino, desk of Victor Wright, nothing on it except what looks like his signature and a number.

Eight hundred thousand.

Is this the payoff? The bribe? The extra incentive Victor used to get Gannon involved, assuming revenge against me and Knox wasn't motivation enough?

I'm shaking. It's not everyday a miracle comes, even a little one. This is like an angle appearing in front of us, glowing hand pointed to exactly the right spot, and saying a single word in their best James Earl Jones voice: Look.

How lucky can we be? How stupid would I be to squander it?

I have to keep going. My hands move furiously, documenting everything, snapping pictures, laying it out and kicking it with my shoe, capturing as much we possibly can in case everything disappears tomorrow.

There's also stuff tucked in the last few boxes I think is just junk. A makeup kit, dye, directions to a lonely spot in the Sonoran desert, where I'd guess he's involved with some other bad juju.

Hopefully nothing that has to do with this. There's also a passport, and tucked behind it in a flimsy cardboard box, a cash wad, at least fifty thousand dollars, which Jamers pries apart, stuffing a few crisp thousand in bills into her pocket.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” I grab her shoulders, spinning her around.

“Payback for our pain and suffering. No way does he get to keep a single dollar after what he pulled. I'm not letting that asshole leave the country before he's paid with everything here.”

“Jamers, no. We're already tampering with evidence. Let the police sort what's here tonight, and we get going, we'll actually report it soon.” I give her a sharp look, glancing at my phone. It's low on battery and late, well past midnight. “We have to get going.”

“Fine,” she says reluctantly, fishing the money out of her pants, tossing it around like confetti. “I don't really care if it winds up buying some Fed new rims for his cruiser. If this crap gets Lizzie back safely, we've done our job.”

She steps aside, still throwing handfuls across the room, leaving a total mess.

I let myself smile. If we're quick, and we get out now, the odds of this story having a happy ending are improving. Showering cash is a fitting way to end this.

If it weren't for human greed, this wouldn't be happening. Gannon and Wright wouldn't need to play these games, destroy our lives, and do God knows what to the fragile psyche of that poor little girl.

“You good?” I ask, throwing a hand on her shoulder that says, you'd better be. “We need to go.”

“Yeah, I've had my fun,” she says, rubbing her eyes. A low giggle escapes her lips. I haven't seen blue eyes burn to electric since the last happy night with Knox, and the memory tugs on my heart.

I turn, ready to lead her out, but the lightning is all wrong. It's darker where the door to the alley should be.

It takes me several seconds to realize it's a shadow, a silhouette, a man blocking our path. His arms are crossed, and he looks pissed.

Jamie whimpers first, covering her mouth with both hands from the shock. I'm too numb, my heart in my ears, pondering why our miracle luck couldn't last for just one more minute.

“This is how you thought you'd get to me, Ms. Sawyer?” Gannon's low, vicious voice fills the room a second before he steps into the icy light. His face is colder, a white bridge across the nose Knox broke. “I'm disappointed. I expected more hissing, more screams, a gun to a knife fight, perhaps...”

“Kendra!” Jamie sputters my name, and holds her hand up as he creeps forward, closer and closer, twisting something sharp and deadly in his hands. It's a switch-blade. “Step aside, creep. Leave us the fuck – oh, Jesus!”

Alone. I close my eyes for a split second longer than I should, finishing the sentence. I don't want to open them again.

Because when I do, I know I'll see Gannon throwing her against the wall, his hand on her throat, the shiny blade in the other.

Because I know there's no help coming, and no one even knows we're here.

Because when I have to look at what I've done, what's left of my heart is in ruins. I gave my best, and it wasn't good enough. It just let us into a living nightmare.