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IN THE QUIET confines of her car, Sloane gave up trying to drown out her thoughts with music. Instead, she tried to stew on her irritation over having to do her first trial with Ralph as a form of redirection.

As if that chode can teach me anything useful, she grumbled, leaving the downtown high-rises behind as she eased onto the causeway. The road was on a narrow strip of land surrounded by endless ocean on both sides.

In fifteen minutes, she’d be through the idyllic Main Street of her small island town, beyond stretches of palms, mangroves, and pines concealing secluded beaches and exclusive marinas. A nameless road, nondescript by design, would take her to a walled and gated community hermetically sealed o from the rest of the world.

But all she could think about was Frodo. The nickname tasted like sour milk on her tongue. She hadn’t always called her that. They hadn’t always reviled and resented each other.

As Sloane waited for the massive gate to part, she remembered what Arwyn had been like. How they’d spent hours studying together in a co ee shop. After a while, they’d stopped asking each other. They just knew that the other one would be there, saving their favorite table in the back. When Arwyn split with her long-distance girlfriend, they’d gone out to a karaoke bar and spent all night singing the best breakup tunes of all time.

Sloane’s stomach clenched. The ghost of Arwyn’s laugh echoed in her mind, her dimples cutting deep into her smooth skin. Her huge dark eyes glittering with amusement at some wry joke Sloane made.

How had it gone so wrong? Sloane knew the answer before she even asked the question.

The friendship she’d been pretty sure was leading to something more lasted three months. That’s how long it was before first semester grades were released along with their ranks. When they’d returned from winter break, Arwyn didn’t come back to the co ee shop. There were excuses before there was silence, and at some point animosity grew with surprising ferocity.

Sitting in her car, Sloane closed her eyes and forced herself to relive all the things that had gone wrong. All the ways her dreams had slipped through her fingers.

Even beating herself up wasn’t enough to make her forget the sensation of Arwyn pressed against her back. It sent her stomach into free fall. Equal parts sinking and exhilarating.

At the top of the roller coaster just before the fall, she admitted the shameful truth. She wasn’t really concerned that Ralph was going to slip something in Arwyn’s drink. If

he was going to make a move, Arwyn was more than capable of rebu ng his advance.

She wasn’t just being protective. She was jealous. A useless emotion. After years of going after each other, they couldn’t go back to the beginning.

The damage was done. Arwyn would never see her as more than the competitive bitch always standing in her way.

Dragging herself out of the car, the bitter truth punched Sloane in the gut. Maybe that’s all she was.

CHAPTER 19

IN THE WEEKS since Sloane crashed Ralph’s happy hour, they’d reached a nice rhythm. It was mostly silent, but not hostile.

Ari was deep into researching the legislative evolution of the domestic violence statute when Sloane’s phone rang.

Jolted out of her focused state, she tried to ignore it and get back in the zone.

“Sloane Medina,” she answered before continuing to type. “Oh, um,” Sloane hesitated. “Do you speak English?

No? Okay let me just . . . Hang on. Uno momento, por favor.”

Ari looked to the side, shocked at the heavy American accent warping the Spanish words and adding a sharp edge to the soft sounds. As Sloane continued to ask the caller to please bear with her, she typed into an online translator.

What the hell are you doing?

Struggling, Sloane read the phonetic lines on the screen.

They made a little sense, but the grammar was all wrong and her pronunciation was painful. Judging by what Ari could piece together, she had a victim on the phone, and she was losing them.

Ari waved until Sloane looked at her, panic in her eyes and beads of sweat building at her temples. “Do you need help?” she mouthed.

Sloane’s eyes darted from Ari to her computer screen. In her conflicted silence, Ari made the decision for her, snatching the phone out of her hand.

“Buenas tardes,” she started before reaching for a blank pad and a pen.

Half an hour later, Ari had filled the page with answers to the questions Sloane fed her. She’d even arranged for the woman to come into the o ce when she finished work so they could talk more in person.

“Thank you,” Sloane said without looking at her as she read through her notes. “I didn’t know I needed a translator, or I would’ve arranged for one with Victim’s Services.”