I woke knowing something was wrong. It took me a few minutes to place it as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Dani. I scanned the room, but there was no trace of her—not a pair of jeans tossed on the carpet, not an indent in her pillow, not a sight or sound of her anywhere.

My feet hit the carpet and I padded to the bathroom for a quick piss. I half wondered if I’d imagined the whole thing, right up until I stepped in a puddle of water. The whole counter was sprinkled with splattered spots of it, and when I glanced into the mirror there was a stain along the collar of my shirt. Just a small blotch of black. Mascara most likely, but proof nonetheless.

I rubbed the back of my neck as my thoughts spun back to the wee hours of the morning, the look, the haunted, fractured reflection in Dani’s eyes. One second she was cuddled against me, sleeping, the next she was screaming. Screaming like I’ve never heard someone scream. So full of terror and despair that the hair on the back of my neck, my arms had stood straight up. Goosebumps had flourished across my skin everywhere.

That hadn’t even been the worst of it. The way she’d frantically scrubbed her hands and arms, the way her whole body shook like she was suffering from some inner earthquake had scared the ever-loving shit out of me. Even that hadn’t prepared me for her words. There’s so much blood, she’d said, she’s dead, Gav.

Who was dead? Whose blood was she trying to scrub from her hands? And dear God, I hated to even think it but, had it been Dani that killed her?

I shook my head, trying to force the thought out. No way. There was no way she could do that. Not the girl who sat at the table yesterday and defended Bianca, the one who had a soft spot for Elvis—shit, where was Elvis?—and fearlessly stood up to Ben. But she wasn’t just that girl. She was a riddle, a walking contradiction. She was the girl who took down the guy at the bar who touched her wrong, the girl who’d pinned me to the bed just to prove she could take care of herself. She was the girl with the bullet wound who’d almost died.

Gentle and fierce, caring yet ruthless.

There was no reason I needed to theorize and concoct worst case scenarios. All I needed to do was find her and ask her. The odds of me getting the entire story were slim, but I’d settle for the slightest sliver of information about what the fuck happened last night.

I practically sleepwalked down to the kitchen, my feet following the urges of my nose. Coffee and bacon lured me forward until I spied Rachel bustling around the kitchen. There wasn’t a flash of red hair in sight. I slumped onto the stool at the kitchen counter. “Morning, Rach.”

“Good morning.” Her lips quirked to the side as she looked at me. “Nice hair.”

“It’s fabulous, I know.” I covered a yawn with the back of my hand and then let it drift to the epic bird’s nest that was my hair. “You seen Dani around?”

Her gaze dropped to the French toast sizzling in the cast iron skillet. “She’s . . . not here.”

“Like she went for a walk on the beach?”

“Like she took off in your Jeep about two hours ago.” She still wouldn’t look at me.

“Oh.” My heart dropped, settling like a weight in my stomach. “Did she have her bag with her?”

She nodded, gently cracking an egg against the side of a ceramic bowl. “Can’t you just . . . call her?”

“I don’t have her number.” Saying it out loud made it sound even more ridiculous. I’d never asked, she’d never offered. Other than her vague reference to needing to be places on short notice which I took to mean she owned a phone, I’d never even seen her with one.

Was that it then? Was it over? Would I go home and find her behind Mick’s bar or was last night the last time I’d ever see her? Was that how the story of us was going to end?

I swallowed, tried to twist my lips into a smile and failed. “Should I bother to ask why you were up at the ass crack of dawn to catch Dani’s exit?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Her cheeks pinkened.

There was a story there, I was sure of it, but I couldn’t muster my usual wit to try and charm it out of her. My heart just wasn’t in it. I sighed. “You haven’t seen Elvis anywhere, have you?”

Rachel swiped the spatula to the right. And hell if the damned dog wasn’t sitting in a chair of his own, tongue lolling, ears perked, just waiting for someone to set his breakfast in front of him. “Beggar,” I muttered.

Grabbing an overdone piece of bacon from the counter, Rachel snapped off a small chunk and tossed it to him. He snatched it out of the air, swallowed it whole, and went right back to his begging pose.

The French doors slammed closed and voices drifted our way.

“How long has he been calling you?”

“Weeks. Almost a month.” That was Bianca.

“And you didn’t think to mention it?” Ian’s words were tinged with anger.

“Why?” She stomped—well not stomped, she was too sophisticated for something like that—into the kitchen. “It’s not like anything’s going to come of it.” She took the two of us in with a quick sweep of our gaze and added for our benefit, “My father, repeatedly asking me to join him during the last few months before the election.” Then back to Ian, “Like after everything that happened I’d just crawl back to them and do them a favor.” She spun back to us. “Do I look like some pliant political pawn?”

“No,” Rachel and I said in unison.

“Definitely not,” Ian added.

Something approaching a growl rumbled through her lips as she slammed the refrigerator door shut, yogurt in hand. Well, no, not slammed—closed the refrigerator enthusiastically. Her spoon clattered across the granite, and I swore I could feel the rage emanating from Bianca as she sat next to me, hitting me like a heat wave.

“Someone change the subject. Distract me.” Her spoon slashed through the air, luckily without any yogurt on it.

“Dani left,” I said and immediately regretted it.

“What?” Bianca gaped. “Why? What happened?”

“Beats the hell out of me. Clock struck midnight and pfft she turned into a pumpkin.”

She stuck the spoon in her mouth backwards and licked the yogurt off it. “Man, she was great. I was so looking forward to hanging out with her today.”

Ian widened his eyes at her.

“Oh no, I mean good. What a bitch. Good riddance.”

Felix rolled into the kitchen. “Who’s a bitch?”

“Dani,” Bianca said. “We hate her.”

“She’s gone?” Felix asked me. “Like for the weekend or . . . ?”

Wasn’t that just the million dollar question? I shrugged and leaned my head into my hand. I knew I’d spend the rest of the weekend pondering that exactly. The suspense was going to kill me. And if this was really it, how could she have just left without a fucking word? I wasn’t even worth a damn note this time?

Felix gave me a once-over. “Let’s get some food in you.”

Food. Just the thought of it made my stomach turn. All the feelings I’d been swallowing down were like a pure acid bath in my gut, churning violently. “I’m not hungry.”

Ben chose that moment to saunter into the kitchen. “You’re not hungry?” His eyes flared, jaw hardening. “What happened?”

I stood. I couldn’t talk about it anymore. “Someone else can recap it for you.” My feet paused on my way out of the kitchen, re-directing me to one of the cabinets. I reached inside and plucked out a bottle of bourbon—it was the only company I could stand at the moment.