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Or what if he didn’t tell me because he knew I’d lose my freaking mind at the idea of him being in danger again?

“I…” I stammer stupidly. “I’m just his little sister. He doesn’t tell me anything.” As I say the words, I feel the truth in them. And it makes me feel sicker still.

I turn to face the lake, trying to steady myself, trying to tease apart what Edward actually said from the terrible conclusions I am jumping to in my mind. “I wonder if he will go back”is not at all the same as Trent on a dusty Syrian rooftop, taking aim at the enemy, in mortal danger all the time.

I push my lips together and stand, smoothing the skirt of the yellow dress that Trent asked me to wear. I make my way to the mantel, to the family photos arranged there.

One of them is smaller, in a simple oval frame. Trent is probably twelve and I’m around five and we’re standing in a pumpkin patch. He’s looking at the camera, smiling, confident and handsome even then, even with braces and awkwardly between childhood and adolescence. Me, on the other hand, I have my hand on my hip and I’m looking up at him. Furious. Outraged. Mystified by this almost-teenager that had invaded my home, that played military exercises withmyMy Little Ponies.

But the look in my eyes, it makes me smile. If only I knew then, standing in that pumpkin patch, that he would be the one to take my virginity and capture my heart.

It all seemed so surreal.

“So, you want me to take you anywhere when they’ve finished moving your stuff?”

I close my eyes slowly, take a deep breath, and ground myself in reality as best I can. Because everything else aside—war, and love, and lust—there is something I need to do, and I need to do it as soon as I possibly can.

“Yeah. I gotta go back to the apartment really quick.”

Edward narrows his eyes. “For what? To take the baseboards? Trent and I and the movers cleaned that placeout.And scared the crap out of that shitass landlord of yours, too.”

I don’t doubt that they did, on both counts. But I have to go back. For a little box, hidden behind the air vent in the bathroom, with all the evidence of what happened on that terrible night.

I know that somehow, some day, I will figure out how to get justice for Mom and Dad. And that little box is my only way to do so.

But I can’t have that little box falling intoanybodyelse’s hands. It holds the key to my parents’ killer. And the evidence that kept my own life in jeopardy for years.

I look at Edward, keeping my gaze steady, and faking as much courage as I can muster. There’s no time to lose. I have to get back before my landlord gets his shit together and changes the locks.

“If you really want to know, I replaced all the switch plates myself. And as a point of principle, I am not letting that disgusting landlord keep them.”

Edward cocks his head. “Switch plates.Really?”

I open the drawer in the kitchen and take out a butter knife. “Really.So either you go with me, or I’ll find a way to go by myself. What’s it going to be?”

Sixteen

Kat

He goes with me but he isn’t happy about it. He pulls angrily into the parking lot, with the Humvee’s wheels crunching over Styrofoam fast-food containers and old soda bottles and much, much worse. “Get in and get out, you hear me? If anything happens to you, Trent won’t just re-break my leg. He’ll take my head right off my goddamned shoulders. I’ll be here, engine running, waiting for you to come out. I’ll keep my eyes on the office make sure that shit-lord doesn’t come back out.”

Edward’s worry isn’t my problem. Not right now. I glance quickly at the flickering OFFICE sign that really says “F IC”, with its dusty, faded blinds down as always, but watching close for a thick, dirty finger to spread the yellowed plastic louvers to have a look at what’s going on outside.

But the louvers stay shut. Time to seize my chance. Without a word to Edward, I pop open the door and book it inside,holding my breath as I pass through the filthy entrance area. Up the steps and down the hall, with my butter knife in hand.

I slip my key into the lock, say a mini-prayer, and turn the key.

The door swings open and I blow out a breath of relief as I step inside the empty space.

It’s cool in the apartment, with the shades shut and the AC blowing. I lock the door behind me and tiptoe across the faded carpet into the bathroom.

My heart races as I balance myself on the unsteady lid of the toilet. On tip toes, I reach up and use the tip of the butter knife to loosen the two screws in the rusty, chipped vent.

Within seconds, I’ve got the little box and I’m fastening the vent back into place. And I think I’m home free until I hear the sound of the door creak.

“Ayyyy, where you at,mujer? I was next door, heard your door close.”

Damn it.I try to tuck the box under my arm, next to my breasts, but I’m not wearing enough clothes to hide it. This stupid yellow dress. If only I were in a hoodie, then I really would be home free.