I’m so absorbed in berating myself for my own stupidity that it takes me a moment to notice Pippa’s face has gone sheet-white. She looks…she looks horrified. “Oh. Yeah, I can imagine how that would have been embarrassing,” she says, lifting her teacup to her mouth. She takes a sip, though the liquid is still way, way, way too hot to drink. “What did he say?”

Puzzled, I look down at my hands, not sure what to tell her. Admit that he fled the scene while looking murderous? Hmmm. Maybe not a good idea. “He was pretty silent on the matter.”

“Did he definitely hear you?”

The image of his stricken face is not one I’ll be forgetting any time soon. “Oh, yeah. He heard me alright.”

“So what are you going to do?”

I tap my nail against the side of my cup, thinking on that one. “I don’t know. Things are complicated.” I let my head rock back so it’s propped against the back of the couch. “Everything is so fucking complicated.”

Pippa clears her throat. I let my head roll to the side so I can look at her. Her eyebrows are halfway up her forehead. “What? What is it?” She’s probably going to tell me it’s only complicated because I let it be complicated—that I can walk away any time I see fit. That I most definitely should walk away. That’s not what she says, though.

“It’s nothing. I’ve just never heard you swear like that before.”

My swearing? I did say fuck just now, but I’m sure I’ve said in front of her before. Haven’t I? I can’t even remember. “Sorry, Pip. I don’t even know where that came from.”

“I do. You’ve been spending more time with people who might use that kind of vocabulary.”

My hackles rise at that—a not-so-subtle dig at Zeth, who punctuates his sentences with the word. It just sounds so perfect tripping off his tongue, though. He’s made it into an institution for me. My skin prickles every time I hear him say it, because it reminds me of when he’s whispering it into my ear, telling me what he wants to do to me. Pippa’s going to have trouble making me feel bad about that.

“He’s changing you. You realize that, don’t you?” she asks quietly, not looking at me. “You’re not the same person you were at the beginning of the year.”

I just look at her. She’s seriously going to pull that card? The whole you’ve changed bullcrap? My mouth feels suddenly very dry. “Pippa, I thought my sister was being raped repeatedly against her will for the past two years. I thought some disgusting pimp had put the hook in her and she was addicted to heroin or something. I’ve thought she was dead. I’ve hoped she was dead, just so that she wouldn’t be going through everything I’ve been imagining. I moved heaven and earth to find her, only to discover she’s been absolutely fine this whole time. So yeah, if I’ve changed since discovering that information…” I exhale, trying to keep my cool. It won’t help either of us if I start screaming right now. “If I’ve picked up a few curse words along the way throughout this hellish journey, I think I might be entitled to use them, don’t you?”

Pippa looks stung. Her cheeks are a little red, though I have no idea why. We’ve had much bigger disagreements before and she’s been as cool and collected as they come. But right now—

“Look, Sloane, I—”

A knock at the door cuts her off. Pippa swallows whatever she was about to say, blowing out a quick breath. I know just by looking at her that something awful is about to happen.

“What have you done, Pip?”

Michael is on his feet in a split second, pacing quickly toward the door, casting a sharp eye over Pippa. She shrinks away from his glance, turning to face me. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I really am. You just…you just left me no other choice.”

I know something’s up as soon as I drive by Newan’s apartment block; there are two black SUVs parked down the side street that runs parallel to the building. One of them sitting there would have been easy to explain away—some suburbanite soccer mom taking her kids to play in the park across the street. But two of them? Parked one after the other? The same make and model?

Seriously, guys. Get a fucking clue.

I pull out my phone. Dial Michael. He picks on the first ring. “We got trouble,” he tells me.

“I can see that. DEA?”

“Sounds like that bitch from back at the hospital. She wants us to open the door.”

“Fucking pitbull¸” I snap. “Got a way out?”

Michael makes an affirmative sound. “Side window. Leads out onto an emergency escape. We’re leaving now.” I can hear muffled voices in the back—one of them belongs to Sloane. It sounds as if she’s freaking out.

“Put her on the line, Michael.” I park the Camaro, find a dark blue ball cap in the glove compartment, put it on, and then climb out. Make my way across the road toward the SUVs. If I had time, I would so be slashing some of those fucking tires.

Sloane’s voice grows louder. “I can’t believe she’s done this. I can not fucking believe it.”

“Sloane, you there?”

“Yes. Oh my god. Lacey’s freaking out. You have to make sure they don’t arrest her. She keeps on saying something about a guy named Mallory.”

My blood ices over—Mallory. I know who that is. I think I know why Lacey’s losing her shit, besides the obvious, of course. “Mallory was her last foster parent. Just try and keep her calm. Go with Michael, okay? Now.”