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T he text comes in at midnight from a number I’ve been ignoring for months.

Dickhead

Need to talk. Twenty-first and Delancy.

Me

Fuck off.

Dickhead

I have news.

Me

I don’t care.

Holding the button until the phone goes dark, I fall into a sprawl on the couch, pull a baseball cap over my face, and try to shut off my brain. If the news was good, I’d already know.

My eyes close.

Open.

Rinse and repeat for another hour, until I turn the phone on and see the last notification.

Dickhead

I need you to hear this from me.

Dammit—he knew that would get me.

Twenty minutes later, I’m here.

“Hey there, handsome.” I’m barely through the door when a bottle blond wearing a red sequined strip of material steps in my path. “Buy me a drink?”

“I’m busy.” I push past her, crunching the discarded skeletons of peanuts beneath my feet. Behind the bar, Sascha meets my eye, tilting her chin toward a table in the back corner and giving a quick headshake to Sequin Girl, who’s still following me.

Must be new.

A hypnotic rhythm carries over the stage where a dancer has one leg wrapped around a pole, her arched back rendering her nearly upside down as she waves a curtain of dark hair before a throng of mesmerized men. The beat pounds slow and steady, in time with my heart.

Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump.

Inhaling a lungful of smoke-infused air, I give the area a habitual scan and head for the back. On the surface, I look no different than the rest of the clientele weaving through the dark, navigating tables, chairs, and several dubiously sticky puddles I refuse to think about. But I’m not here for pleasure. Tonight, I’m on a mission.

Though I pride myself on my well-honed instincts, they aren’t necessary to locate my target: he’s waiting in our usual booth, nursing a glass of whisky, his dirty-blond hair reflecting the flash of fuchsia moving lights.

Luke Tanner.

Pretty sure I’m one of three people who realize his first name isn’t Tanner.

Stopping in front of the table, I pluck the glass from his hand. “You couldn’t just come by my place?”

“Why? You got something better to do?” He snatches the whisky from me like the world will end if I encounter alcohol.

Fair enough; he’s seen me at my worst more than once.

“Good to see you, too.” He tilts his head toward the glass of carbonated liquid across from him. “Sascha made that one just for you. There’s lime in it.”

“You’ve got thirty seconds to convince me not to turn around and go back to bed.” I ignore the invitation to sit. “Some people are asleep at one a.m., you know.

“You aren’t one of them.”

“Not the point.”

The point is, I hate this place. Not for what it is, but because a meeting in this hole in the wall gentlemen’s club off Delancy pretty much guarantees I’m not going to like what my former partner has to say.

Back when we were a team, this used to be our go-to for connecting with informants and holding other covert meetings. One glance at the smattering of distracted patrons, half with their dicks in hand, and it’s clear no one gives a fuck about the conversation happening in the booth tucked away in the shadows. That’s the beauty of this club: privacy without the danger of seclusion.

Even comes with its own bouncer.

Tanner aims that notoriously charming smile at someone over my shoulder, dipping his chin. “I miss this joint. It’s got a great selection of beer. And women.”

“You don’t drink beer.” I turn in time to shake my head at the server before she gets too close. “And my place has zero people. I win.”

“Ah, but the women…” He waves a hand toward the stage.

“Last I checked, women are still people.” I don’t discriminate; I just don’t like anyone all that much. “Why am I here?”

“If I’d knocked on your door, would you have answered?”

“No.”

“Have a seat, Porter.”

A glance at my nonexistent watch. “Ten seconds.”

“Isaac.” His expression turns grim. “Please.”

My stomach sours. He never uses my first name. Only once that I can remember, back when?—

Suddenly, my curiosity has turned to cold dread; I no longer want his news. “I’m gonna go.”

I’m mid-turn when he drops the bomb. “Sommerfield took the credit.”

The credit.

My throat burns with the rise of an acidic cocktail of bile and bad omens. “What?”

“He added her to his list.”

“No.” I blink stupidly. The look in his eyes is the only confirmation I need. “It wasn’t him,” I growl through a jaw clenched tightly enough to grind glass. “It wasn’t—Motherfucker… Tell me they didn’t buy it.”

But I already know the answer. Collapsing into the booth, I scrub a hand over my face until my eyes blur. Tanner pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his front pocket.

That means it’s serious.

“He wasn’t arrested for the Jenson girl until the day after…you know.” Mercifully, he doesn’t say it. “Theoretically, he would have had time.”

“ Goddammit. ” I slam my hand on the table, sending the ashtray rolling. “It’s bullshit, Tanner. Taking the word of a fucking serial killer already pinned for life. It’s the easy way out. They can’t?—”

“You know I agree with you, Porter. I do.” His hands lift helplessly. “But the DA is buying it. Chief, too.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re not just buying it; they’re eating it up with a spoon.” And I’m no longer there to fight back. I rub at the ache developing in my forehead. “It’s not anything like Sommerfield’s M.O. The pattern fits the unsolved cases. I have piles of evidence supporting that. Why won’t they open their damn eyes?”

It’s the same argument I’ve held for almost two years. They listened, at first, because my track record as a detective was stellar. Then the trail died. The case went cold. But I never stopped pushing. Never stopped until the day I pushed so hard I got pushed right out the door.

“It. Wasn’t. Sommerfield.” I’ll say it until the day I die. It’s a feeling in my gut, and my gut is never wrong.

“They didn’t have anyone else to point to.” It’s too soft, the way he says it. Too gentle. Makes me want to punch him in the face.

“They closed the case.” The realization drops like shattering glass.

“Yeah.” Tanner looks like he could cry. “They did.”

And they didn’t even see fit to break it to me first. “They can’t close it on the unsubstantiated word of a monster. What if she’s still alive? What if?—”

I can’t catch my breath.

“I’m sorry, Porter.”

There’s nothing else he can say.

It’s over.

I grip the hair at my crown in clenched fists, ready to rip it all out and burn down the world.

No, no, no.

“What’s their proof?”

He opens the pack of cigarettes, slides one into the corner of his mouth, and hands me another. When I don’t take it, he sets it in front of me like an offering.

“They got a lead that suggested he was at the coffeehouse that night. Showed Sommerfield her picture and he confirmed it; said she was number nine.” Apology clouds his face.

Number nine. A confession on a cold case like that is too tidy for the DA to question.

“Fuck.” I close my fists, digging my nails into my palms; anything to distract from this aching pit of darkness in my chest. “He’s lying.”

“Well, he’s a psychopath; it wouldn’t be unheard of. But how do you prove that?”

“They need a body. Where’s her body? Pointing at a picture isn’t proof .” I pin him with a glare that could spontaneously combust. “I want her goddamn body. Where is it?”

“I don’t know what to say, Porter.” He holds his hands out to the sides. “What do you want me to say?”

As much as I want to punch someone, he’s just the messenger. No doubt I’ll get an “official” phone call tomorrow. Tanner did me a favor, warning me first.

No one will convince me that loony toon isn’t sitting behind bars, racking up a tally just to feel important. Serial killers act like they’re competing against each other for the Guinness Book of World Records, and he wouldn’t be the first to make an unsubstantiated claim on a cold case.

But does it really matter, in the end? Either way, she’s gone. And the reality is, I could have stopped it. If I’d been there.

All the air squeezes out of me, like my lungs are in a vise. My extremities go numb. Shock should have set in two years ago, but I’ve been busy. Seems it’s finally caught up with me.

My head sinks into my hands. I can’t breathe. Can’t think.

It’s my fault…

Tanner lets me process like that for God knows how long.

“Are you okay?” There’s a light touch on my shoulder. A flash of red in the corner of my eye. Sequin Girl.

Lucky for her, my reactions are about as fast as molasses right now.

“Not now, Serendipity. I’ve got him.” The urgent clip of Tanner’s warning does the trick, and the hand jerks away like she touched lava.

“She’s new. She didn’t know.” He gives her a look that speaks volumes about the eggshells he’s walking on and turns back to me. “Are you, though?”

Am I? “What?”

“Are you okay?”

“What kind of stupid fucking question is that?” I snatch the lit cigarette from his hand, put it to my lips, and inhale like my life depends on it. With the first hit of nicotine, the shock is dulled.

Slightly.

“It’s a normal question one friend asks another when they’ve heard something upsetting.”

“I don’t have friends.”

“Well, I do. And for reasons no one understands, I’ve chosen you. Deal with it.”

My rage spikes. “Yeah, you’re such a great friend. Yet when they wanted me out, you agreed.”

Tanner tried, for a while. But when the shit hit the fan at the department, he agreed that it was time for me to go. Fucking said as much to the chief, right in front of me.

I couldn’t forgive him for that.

“Dammit, Porter, that was for your own good. You’d lost it.” His hand tightens around his glass. “I’m trying to be your friend now. Why do you think I’m here?”

“Maybe you feel guilty. How the hell should I know?”

“Or, maybe I have a sense of loyalty that borders on masochism.” Now it’s his turn to glare. “No matter what you might think, I’m looking out for your interests. And I know it’s not the same, but what happened…it hit me hard, too. You know I loved her like a?—”

“You told me to sit down and shut up.” I point the cigarette at him like an accusation. “Trust the department. But they failed me when I needed them and tossed me to the curb when I got pissed.”

He gives me a look like I’m full of shit. “No, I said that more people would be willing to listen to your theories if you played nice. Most people don’t exactly jump at the chance to deal with your hot-tempered ass.”

“Well, things have changed now, haven’t they?” I flatten my hands on the table and lean in. “I’m a free agent. And maybe it’s about time I started using that freedom to my advantage.”

“Careful.” His voice lowers. “You’re walking a dangerous edge once those lines blur.” Unlike most people, he holds eye contact. He’s always been one of the rare people who doesn’t falter when I get riled up. Even the chief used to back down and let me do my thing; however unorthodox my methods might be, I got the job done. Then several months ago, I let my temper flare a little too publicly and it couldn’t be overlooked.

Turns out, showing up at a congressman’s party with all his politician friends present and demanding they get their heads out of their asses, acknowledge the unsolved disappearances of their citizens as an epidemic, and put their money where their thoughts and prayers were gets you labeled a loose cannon.

There also might have been a few tables flipped in the process, and a small fire…

Tanner watches me warily. “Employed or not, it’s still your responsibility to respect the law. You got lucky last time, but I wouldn’t count on it happening again.”

We were both surprised no charges were pressed, but the potential media circus was what ultimately saved me. There’d been too many missing persons cases in the past couple of years—seemingly random situations, with vastly different victims. If it got out that an L.A.P.D. detective believed they were all connected and had been shoved aside because he was related to one of them , the citizens would demand answers.

So, under the guise of understanding my grief, I was given options. I could stay on the force, submit to an investigation and probably get canned…or door number two, the one I took: mental health leave, followed by early retirement.

My preference would have been shoving their “options” straight up their asses. It was Tanner who convinced me I could still do some good in the private sector if I stayed out of jail.

But…

Exhaling a stream of smoke, I thank the nicotine for steadying my nerves and giving me some clarity. Just because I don’t work for the law now, doesn’t mean I’ve left my skills behind. I happen to have been the best undercover agent the department had seen in over a decade, goddammit. That hasn’t changed.

“What are you thinking?” Tanner knows me well enough to see a plan forming in my head.

Suddenly, I’m calm. Resolved.

“You should go home.” I nod toward the door. “Dana hates when you stay out all night.”

“I’m sure she’s asleep.” The skin around his eyes tightens the slightest bit. He looks at the cigarette like it’s suddenly turned sour and jabs it into the ashtray. “And you’re changing the subject.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

There’s a strange dynamic between us now—one that’s entirely my fault. Trying to be my friend is a no-win situation, and it’s to his credit that he held out as long as he has.

In the end, I was too angry. I couldn’t stomach the give and take being around other humans requires and cut everyone off.

Everyone, meaning him , since there’s only been one other person interested in putting up with my bullshit, and she’s?—

Never mind.

Tanner looks tired, and not just because it’s the middle of the night. I know the guy better than anyone, and I’m finally calm enough to notice the little things. The growth of much more than a five o’clock shadow on his normally clean-shaven jaw. The tie balled up in his jacket pocket, like he hasn’t been home yet. The cigarette pack, slightly caved, half empty, and the slight tremble of his fingers when he lit the end.

He’d quit smoking cold turkey the night before he got married. I was there, at the rehearsal—much to the bride-to-be’s chagrin—coerced by Tanner into being his best man. We had one last smoke together out behind the church’s maintenance shed while the wedding planner called for the groom to take his place. Then he was done. After that, he only kept a pack around to calm me down whenever I got…agitated.

He’d bought a new pack the day before I told him to fuck off and never talk to me again.

“You’re planning something.” Suspicion etches in the two lines between his eyebrows.

“I still don’t believe it was Sommerfield.” I lift one shoulder. “I never will.”

“I know you won’t.”

“What’s your stance on it?”

“I think it looks like it was him.” He swirls the alcohol around the bottom of his glass. “And I also think you’ve got the best instincts of anyone I’ve met. If you say it wasn’t him, I won’t be the one to say you’re wrong.”

“That’s all right. Everyone else already did it for you.”

“Because you were too close.”

“Don’t.” The word snaps out of me. My recently lowered blood pressure rises again. “I’m aware of the argument. It’s fucked me over since the beginning.”

Bias is what they called it. Familial bias. Basically, it just gave them an excuse for everything they disagreed with.

He exhales a long breath out his nose, steepling his fingers in front of his chin. “I really am your friend, you know.” The look he gives me is rife with nostalgia. “Gone to bat for your ass more than once. That means I get to be concerned.”

Pretending my drink is something stronger, I down it and push the glass away, watching it slide through a puddle of condensation.

“Don’t make me go to your funeral, Isaac.”

I widen my eyes in mock surprise. “Wow, two Isaacs in one conversation. Feels like a bad omen waiting to happen. Do me a favor and don’t make it three.”

“I’d rather not visit you in prison, either.”

“Consider yourself absolved from both, then.” Sliding out of the booth, I remove my wallet from my back pocket and pull out a couple bills. “No one else will be there, why should you?”

“Is having someone actually give a shit really that painful for you?” His parting shot makes me pause, but only for a second.

I look back over my shoulder. “What’s the point? We’re all here one day and gone the next. No one is permanent. It doesn’t mean anything. Why set yourself up for that?” For this never-ending ache in my chest, is what I mean. The hollowness. “I’m not worth that.” I toss one of the bills onto the table. “No one is.”

The last sentence jabs like a knife in my heart, and I regret it.

Tanner, with an expression like he’s already mourning my impending and likely messy passing, looks away. Pulls out another cigarette.

I’ve barely made it two steps before Sequin Girl appears, roaming the area. Serendipity. Can’t say she isn’t persistent.

She stops in her tracks, brow pinching as she finds her balance on heels so high I’m surprised she doesn’t topple face-first. Her expression softens when she notices Tanner and his bleeding heart.

Now that I’m less distracted, I see her for what she is. A pretty, doe-eyed thing, a bit on the young side and slightly out of her element. Empathetic to the point that it hurts to see someone upset. In a place like this, that could either serve her well or destroy her.

Her gaze snags on me. The tendons in her neck tighten, her throat moving when she swallows. She sees me for what I am, too. Her foot slides back.

But I’m too fast, and before she has time to make eye contact with the bouncer, I’m close enough to brush those cheap sequins with the crisp bill I hold between us. Close enough that she cranes her neck to accommodate my considerable height, despite the heels.

She tenses as I lean in, my nose inches from her thrumming pulse as I inhale the honey and vanilla of her perfume. Smells like an entire dessert menu.

Perfect.

“Do me a favor and give that guy a dance or two, will you?” I angle my chin toward Tanner, who is visibly debating whether to step in and keep me from scaring the girl.

Her gaze lowers, widening when she sees the one-hundred-dollar bill. With a nod, she slides the bill from between my fingers, hesitating when my breath brushes her ear.

My next words are just for her; a quiet secret between the two of us. “Treat him nice, okay? His wife just left him.”

I leave them there without looking back, my plan solidifying with every step.

If the law has officially thrown in the towel, then it’s time for me to stop playing by their rules and make up some of my own.

The wheels in my head are turning, rifling through the contacts I’ve made through years of mingling with the members of society who are less concerned with legalities. I’ve played my part well enough that they believe I’m one of them, and with every day that goes by, it’s closer to the truth.

By the time I’ve wound past the stage and out the door, I know my next move and the five after that.

The smoky club air is replaced by a late October bite, sharpening my resolve. I look to my left, toward the main street, then in the other direction, down the alley, where the shadows move. In this unsavory part of town, there are always individuals wandering, some looking for trouble, others with nowhere else to go. Even at two in the morning.

Pulling a secondary cell phone out of my pocket, I bring up a number that can only lead to trouble, gazing at the clear, starry sky as it rings. Then I turn right.

It’s time to go hunting.