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The first thing Alex did when she got home was shower. Everything hurt. Her muscles, her joints, even her bones.

But her headache had thankfully faded.

She was careful not to get the bandage at her hairline too wet and just did a rudimentary wash of the tips of her hair, trying, and mostly failing to get most of the sand and powder from the airbag out.

When she finished, Alex stared at her naked body in the mirror.

There was a horrible bruise that ran from her right shoulder straight through her breasts and ended in a twisted knot above her left hip.

Her back was purple and blue between her shoulder blades from the Midnight Matinee altercation.

All in all, though, Alex considered herself exceedingly lucky.

She should be dead.

Con was right. He’d fucked up. This whole thing about his sister was a liability that had nearly cost Alex her life.

Of course, she didn’t believe that Con had seen Valerie. It was just like the phantom coyote.

It was all in his head.

Her thoughts came around to what Con had said at the hospital.

“And when we do talk to Marcus, I want you to tell him the truth, Alex. I want you to tell him everything.”

He didn’t know.

Con had no idea that she’d already tethered herself to him, to what she now knew, without a doubt, wasn’t just a sinking ship but one that had already imploded.

Was it too late to save her job?

If she just admitted everything to Marcus, would he feel compassion toward her, an understanding that this was her first case? That she was just a rookie?

Alex wasn’t sure.

If she had to bet, she’d put her money on no .

Maybe if the offending party hadn’t been Con Striker, if it had been anyone else, the story might have been different.

Alex had left her phone on the counter before showering and it buzzed.

She picked it up.

Tori was calling.

Alex let it ring out.

She considered reaching out to her father for more advice, but ignored this urge, as well.

This was on her.

This was one decision she had to make on her own.

***

Con had lied to Alex.

He clearly remembered the three digits of the license plate number.

They were burned into his mind as strongly as his sister’s aged face: 6LY .

To her credit, he thought that Alex wanted to believe.

Even tried to believe him.

But she hadn’t.

Con’s heart was pounding as he sat in the Audi, gas tank full now, outside the small, one-story ranch-style house with a modest front yard, a concrete driveway, and a simple porch.

The car in the driveway was a blue Toyota Camry that had the tag number: 6LY99Z .

Con looked down at the printout that he’d obtained from the DMV records.

Anna Holstein. Thirty-two years old.

Dark hair. Similar facial structure.

Con flipped to another sheet, another DMV license printout.

Only this one belonged to his sister.

Valerie was younger than Anna, of course, considering that the photo was taken more than twelve years ago.

But the similarities were uncanny.

It broke Con’s heart to think it, but they almost looked like sisters.

He folded up both sheets and jammed them into his pocket.

Then he got out of his car and walked up to the porch.

The gods were punishing him today, it seemed. The sun was doing its best to melt him before he confronted Anna.

Or Valerie.

He couldn’t be sure but as he reached up to knock on the door, but Con thought he heard a coyote howl.

That fucking rabid coyote that seemed to follow him everywhere.

“Hello?” The door opened only a crack. “Can I help you?”

Con tried to see into the house but couldn’t. He also tried to remember his sister’s voice but that too was impossible.

“I’m… I’m looking for someone,” he said simply.

The woman started to close the door and Con’s hand flew out, stopping its progress.

“No, please. I’m looking for my sister. Here, this is her.”

What he wanted to say was, Is that you, Valerie? but was worried that he’d scare her off.

Con scrambled to pull out the papers from his pocket. He flipped to Val’s ID and held it in the opening. The door opened a little wider and he finally got a glimpse of the person behind it.

His breath caught.

It wasn’t her.

Goddamn it, it wasn’t Val.

Tears started to form in his eyes as Anna Holstein observed the page.

“No, I’m sorry. I’ve never seen this woman before.”

Once more, Anna leaned on the back of the door, intent on closing it.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Please remove your hand.”

“Can you…” Tears flowed freely now, and Con was helpless to stop them. “Can you please just tell me where she’s buried?”

“I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let go of the door or I’m going to call the cops.”

Con pushed and the woman was forced backward.

“Please ,” he begged. “She was using your car, just a few days ago. Driving out in the Mojave Desert. You must know where she is. Just tell me. Please. ”

The woman’s voice hardened.

“I’m calling the cops. I’m—”

Con finally let go of the door and it slammed in his face.

He stumbled back to his car.

And then he buried his face in his hands and wept.