I wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

“How about you let him do what he’s got to do without interference?” I suggested.

“I want the man who hurt my daughter to pay, Rebel,” she clipped.

I shut my mouth.

“I want my husband to have closure, so he can . . . whatever it is he needs to do,” she went on.

I said nothing.

“I lost her, now I’m losing him and I’m barely surviving losing her. How will I survive if I lose him?”

I reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. “You’re not gonna lose him, Amy.”

Lying again.

Maybe.

Totally going straight to hell.

Amy pulled her hand from mine, looked away, took in a breath, and I prepared for it.

Then I got it.

“I miss her,” she told the wall. “I miss those stupid volleyball games. I miss standing at the finish line in the freezing cold after she’s run some race to raise money for fibromyalgia or breast cancer or whatever then taking her to brunch. I miss her trying to convince me we’d be the perfect team for Amazing Race and scheming how to make the best video so they’d take us.”

She looked back at me and I had to press my lips together at the stark longing in her eyes.

“I miss my baby girl. I miss her, Rebel. I miss her,” she whispered.

I reached out again, took hold of her and whispered back, “I miss her too, Amy.”

Her voice was broken when she announced, “I can’t do this without him.”

It was time to jot a chat with Paul down on my list of things to do.

I’d have to catch him sober.

Or close to it.

Shit.

“How about I find a time to talk to him?”

She brightened.

Oh yeah.

Lunch at Amy and Paul’s had not been a good idea.

Shit.

“He doesn’t listen to me. He barely looks at me. But I think he’d listen to you,” she said.

I wasn’t so sure.

But for her, for Paul, and for Diane, I’d try.

“Maybe breakfast, Sunday?” I suggested. “You guys can come over, you step out, we’ll talk.”

She nodded. “I think . . . yes. No time wasted. Too much time has already been wasted.”

She was right.

I still feared this would be a waste of time.

But for her, for Paul, and for Diane, I’d try.

“Okay. We have a plan. Now let’s just eat these amazing-looking paninis and then I have to get back to work.”

She drew in a ragged breath and forced some curiosity into her, “Work?”

“A little video. It’s kinda confidential,” I lied. “But it’s fun.” Another lie (mostly).

Her face fell.

She wanted her mind turned.

“But I met a guy.”

She brightened again.

God.

Why did I tell her I’d met a guy?

“Really?” she asked, genuinely interested.

Damn.

“Yeah. He’s . . .” I smiled at her (that was genuine too). “He’s really cool, Amy.”

“Yes?”

I smiled bigger at her and leaned her way. “And he’s a really good kisser.”

And for once, that was the truth.

Though it wasn’t the truth, it was the truth.

Rush Allen could kiss.

And he could take a tease.

And he could listen, be gentle, be firm without being a dick, and he didn’t run a mile when Essence told him her Woodstock orgy story.

The kiss was the best.

But the Essence thing said a lot.

Amy giggled a little, it wasn’t much, but I’d take it.

We chatted minimally about Rush.

We avoided chatting about why Paul was not at work or the fact he had not returned to his panini.

And we ate our paninis chatting more about Essence and Diesel, Molly and Maddox’s commitment ceremony, what dress I’d wear to their festivities and then what kind of dress I’d wear when I was nominated for an Academy Award.

Then I left, giving Amy a hug goodbye and telling her to extend that to Paul since he was nowhere to be found.

And I drove back to the set thinking Amy was right about one thing.

They needed closure.

I also needed closure.

I had not lied about the fact that Hank and Eddie had not given up on Diane.

But something had to give.

And soon.

And maybe Harrietta was playing me.

The woman might be weaselly but she was weak, and if I put the lean on her, she might deliver.

And Valenzuela liked me. He was hanging around more and more these days.

It made me sick to my stomach just at the thought, but I could finagle more time with him, maybe get him to trust me, overhear phone conversations, I didn’t know . . .

Something.

Anything.

What I couldn’t do was get any of that if I pulled out.

So maybe I shouldn’t pull out.

The very idea of this was going to tick Rush off.

Big time.

But maybe he’d get it.

Maybe I could talk him into getting it.

He was into me.

Maybe he’d get it.

But everything was falling apart even worse than it’d already fallen apart, and someone had to do something about it.

And since there was no one else to do it (but Hank and Eddie) . . .

There was no way around it.

That someone was me.

It was kind of exhausting, the fact that someone seemed to always be me.

But that didn’t make it less true.

That someone was me.

So I couldn’t pull out now.

Snapper

It was an itch.

And not a good itch.

And it wasn’t the first time he’d felt it.

It’d been happening off and on the last couple of days everywhere he went.

But when Snap parked, cut the power to his bike and swung off his ride, he looked around.

And as usual, saw nothing.

Cars parked on the street.

No people walking.

No one in a car hanging and watching him.

He pulled out his phone as he swept his surroundings while moving into the pizza parlor.

He engaged it, found Rosie the minute he entered, shot her a smile, got hers in return and headed to the bar.

“Yo,” High answered.

“I’m being followed.”

“Say what?” High asked.

“I’m being followed. Haven’t made him yet. But I know it’s happening. I’m being followed.”

“Fuck,” High muttered.

“I’m at Rosie’s work, havin’ a slice before she gets off and I’m takin’ her home. Send someone to do a scan?”

“On it.”

“Thanks, brother.”

High said nothing. He just disconnected.

“Pepperoni and mushroom, honey?” Rosalie said at his side.

Rosie was in work mode.

He didn’t mind.

He still was gonna give his woman shit.

“Hello to you too, babe,” he replied, sliding a hand along her waist and pulling her to him where he sat a stool.

She leaned into him, gliding both her hands into his cut to round him and tipped her head back.

He gave her a kiss.

And felt that itch.

So he lifted his head and looked around.

There were a couple of folks looking at them, probably because Rosie was gorgeous and worth watching, maybe because he was in a Club cut and a curiosity, but none of them were the ones behind the itch.

His attention went to the windows.

“Snap?” Rosie called.

He looked to her.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, baby. And yeah again. Pepperoni and mushroom.”

Her eyes roamed his face before she pressed in, smiled, kissed his jaw then pulled away to get him his slice.

He turned to watch her.

Then he got up, moved stools, taking the last one against the wall.

“You moved,” she said, behind the bar now, sliding a bottle of beer his way.

“Better people watching.”

And that was the truth.

She grinned. “I won’t be long. Join you in the slice after I clock out.”

“Okay, babe,” he muttered, reaching for the brew.

She bounced away.