“Hold on.” There was a rustling and then his voice was distant. “No, you goddamn fool. Anslam, I’m not doing any acid. Jesus—yeah, gimme some X.”

She closed her eyes and wondered what exactly she was doing. He was in mourning. And maybe she was just being paranoid.

“Parry?” There was another rustling and then he took a drink of something. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry.”

“You’re still coming out with us?”

“Not right now,” she said. “I’m going to my dad’s work. I, ah, I did something stupid last night.”

“What was that?”

“I took something from the apartment.” She stared at the photograph, and then had to put it facedown on her desk. Even without seeing specifics, it was too gory. “I didn’t mean to. That picture I found?”

“The Polaroid? The other one?”

“Yeah, I need to give it to Butch and Marissa. I slipped it into my pocket without thinking. I figure the Brotherhood’s out fighting, and I can’t go back to the training center, so I’ll stop by the audience house and someone can take it to them later on tonight.”

“Yeah. Good plan. Then come out with us?”

“Okay—I’m just going to take a quick shower and get dressed.”

“You’re always beautiful. See you in a few.”

Hanging up, she stared at her feet. God, what if one of the trainees was involved in that death?

With a curse, Paradise brought her phone into the bathroom with her, and as she put it down on the counter, she rolled her eyes at herself. But, yes, she was going to pick up the phone if Craeg called. Although, no, he probably wouldn’t. And yes, that was definitely a good thing.

In all the ways they could have crashed and burned … what a mess.

And frankly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to work it out with him even if that was possible.

Lust, she told herself. She had been in lust with him, not love. How did you fall in love with someone after six nights, anyway.

God, she wanted to vomit, she really did.

Twenty minutes later, she was dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a cashmere sweater. She put on her regular loafers, because although it was cold, there wasn’t snow forecasted yet; then she took out the coat she’d worn the night before. Putting the photograph back in the pocket, she snagged her wallet, her cell and her—

Over on the bedside table, the house phone rang. Going over, in case her father was calling to check up on her from his work, she picked the receiver up. “Hello?”

“You have a visitor.”

She frowned at the voice on the other end. “Anslam?”

“Yup, it’s me,” he said easily. “Peyton told me to come get you.”

“He did? But I’m not going to Sal’s yet. I’ve got to do an errand first.”

“I’ll go with you, then.”

“No, thanks. It won’t take me long—”

“Are you coming down?”

Oh, for godsakes. But she didn’t want to be rude. “Yup. Hold on.”

“Don’t hurry on my account.”

Hanging up, she double-checked her hair and then left her room. As she headed for the front stairs, she hoped she could get Anslam out the door fast. She felt like hell because of the fight with Craeg, and all that yuck was compounded because she couldn’t believe she’d spaced taking that Polaroid from the scene without telling anybody.

As well as the very real possibility the investigation was going to have to focus on the trainees.

Cresting the grand staircase, she saw Anslam standing down below on the black-and-white marble floor, his Saks Fifth Avenue clothes and his Gucci cologne announcing what class he was in as much as his even, rather unremarkable features did.

There was something just so … pasty about him, she thought.

How he’d gotten that reputation for being aggressive with females she had no clue.

When a step creaked beneath her foot, Anslam turned to face her. “Hey, girl,” he said. “You look good.”

“Thanks, so do you.”

When she got to the bottom and he opened his arms, she went to him and kissed him on both cheeks. “Listen, I’m sorry, but I’m really just going to—”

A strange sound let off in her father’s study, and she frowned, looking toward it. It was a kind of squeak, or a—

“You were going to go do an errand?” Anslam asked. “What kind of errand?”

She refocused on him. “It’s nothing important. I just … what is that noise?”

Turning away from him, she walked forward and glanced around the ornate jamb of the library’s archway—

“Oh, my God!”

Her father’s butler, Fedricah, and her maid, Vuchie, were tied up in front of the desk, their mouths gagged, their feet bound.

“What in the world happened—”

Anslam grabbed her from behind and spun her around, tripping her up and slamming her face-first into the floor. As the shock and pain momentarily stunned her, he flopped her onto her back. Putting his face in hers, he looked mildly annoyed.

“Where’s the photograph. What the fuck did you do with my photograph?”

While she tried to recover her bearings and pinwheeled her arms and legs, he roughly went through her pockets.

“Ah, good girl.” He put the Polaroid inside his suede jacket. “Goddamn it, Paradise—why the fuck did you have to find that? I don’t want to have to do this to a female like you. It’s not part of the plan.”