Sam zips her leather jacket all the way to her chin, the collar popped. The knapsack is strapped to her back. Its weight makes her list sideways as she says, “Thank you for helping me in there. After the shit I said tonight, I wouldn’t have blamed you for letting me rot in a holding cell.”

“You’re welcome,” Jeff says. “I’m not such a bad guy now, am I?”

He gives us a pleased-with-himself grin. I turn away. Although I know I should be grateful, a rash of annoyance creeps across my skin. Sam, though, is grateful. She thrusts out her hand, her SURVIVOR tattoo peeking from her sleeve. Jeff looks to me as he shakes it, sensing something is wrong. I refuse to meet his eye.

Instead of a handshake, Sam gives me a quick hug. “Quincy, it was good to finally meet you.”

“Wait—you’re leaving?”

“I think I’ve caused enough trouble,” she says. “I only wanted to see how you were doing. Now I have my answer. You’re doing great. I’m happy for you, babe.”

“But where will you go?”

“Here and there,” Sam says. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

She starts to walk away. Or maybe she only pretends to, knowing I’ll stop her. It’s hard to tell, with the knapsack giving her a slow, uneven gait. Still, I know I can’t let her slip away again. Not like this.

“Sam, wait,” I say. “I know you don’t have a place to stay.”

Wind whips hair across her face as she turns around. “Don’t sweat it, babe. I’ll be okay.”

“You will,” I tell her. “Because you’re coming home with us.”

CHAPTER 10

The minute we get home, Jeff and I confer in the bedroom, the door closed, our voices emerging in exhausted half-whispers so Sam can’t hear us from the living room.

“She can stay one night,” Jeff says.

“The night’s almost over,” I say, still mad at him for reasons I can’t articulate. “Two nights. At least.”

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Why are you so against this?”

“Why are you so gung-ho about it?” Jeff says. “She’s a stranger, Quinn. She didn’t even bother to tell you her real name.”

“I know her name. It’s Samantha Boyd. And she’s not a stranger. She’s a person that went through the same things I did who now needs a place to stay.”

“We’re in Manhattan,” Jeff says. “There are thousands of places she can go. Hotels.”

“I’m pretty sure she can’t afford a hotel.”

Jeff sighs, sits on the bed, kicks off his shoes. “That alone should give you pause. Who travels from God-knows-where to New York without any money? Or any plan, for that matter?”

“Someone who’s really upset about what happened to Lisa Milner and now wants to do something about it.”

“She’s not our responsibility, Quinn.”

“She came here to see me,” I say. “That makes her our responsibility. My responsibility.”

“And I got those charges dropped. I think that’s enough charity for someone we don’t know.”

Jeff shucks off his shirt, slides out of his pants and crawls into bed, ready to put the whole night behind him. I remain by the door, arms crossed, sending out waves of unspoken anger.

“Yeah. You did a swell job.”

Jeff sits up, blinking at me. “Wait. You’re actually mad at me for that?”

“I’m mad that you were so quick to play the victim card. All it took was one mention of The Nightlight Inn.”

“Sam didn’t mind.”

“Only because she didn’t hear you. I’m certain things would be different if she had.”

“I’m not going to apologize for keeping her out of jail.”

“Nor should you,” I say. “But you can at least acknowledge that there might have been a better way to do it. You should have seen the way that cop looked at Sam. Like she was a wounded dog or something. That’s why she changed her name, Jeff. So people would stop pitying her.”

But I’m angry at him for reasons that go beyond Sam. When he whispered to that cop, I caught a glimpse of Jefferson Richards at work. The lawyer. The shark. The guy willing to say anything to help his client, even if it meant reducing her to an object of pity. I didn’t like what I saw.

“Listen,” Jeff says, reaching out for me. “I’m sorry I did that. But at the time it seemed like the quickest way to resolve the whole thing.”

I tighten my arms across my chest. “If the roles were reversed and it was me who had been arrested, would you have done the same thing?”

“Of course not.”

I detect a streak of falsehood in his voice. There’s a thinness to his words that brings the annoyed prickle back to my skin. I scratch my neck, trying to make it go away.

“But that’s what I am, right?” I say. “A victim? Just like Sam?”

A frustrated sigh from Jeff. “You know you’re more than that.”

“So is Sam. And while she’s staying with us, you need to treat her that way.”

Jeff tries to utter another apology but I cut him off by whirling around and throwing open the bedroom door. When I leave, I slam it shut so hard the walls shake.