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a few more minutes, smelling of sex, half drunk with it. That, and the dope he went to get.”
    â€œWhose house is that?”
    â€œMine.”
    â€œAre they your drugs?”
    â€œYes.”
    She was silent. She’d gone through all the mandatory drug-education classes, she knew the dangers. She’d been around marijuana enough to know the smell, to see people get giggly with it, then numbed out. “Are you a dealer?”
    â€œWhy? You looking to score?”
    â€œNo. I was just curious.”
    â€œI think you ought to stifle that curiosity, sweet cakes,” he said. He glanced at his watch, a cheap Timex, and swore. “Maybe Nate’s being more creative than usual.” He looked over at her, considering. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”
    â€œWhat?” It came out as a nervous little squeak.
    â€œCome here.”

3
    J amie woke up in the shadowy gloom, lost, disoriented, fighting back panic. There was a loud, roaring noise coming from somewhere, she was cold, her back hurt, and for a moment she had no idea where she was. The neon light flashed on again, illuminating the small room for a brief moment, and she remembered. And felt her panic increase.
    She sat up, taking deep, calming breaths. She never liked sleeping in unfamiliar beds—one of the many reasons she’d driven straight to Wisconsin without stopping at a motel along the way. Even in the familiarity of her own bed she seldom slept well—the slightest sound would jar her awake and she would lie there, for hours on end, staring into the darkness.
    At least this time she had a reason. The windowsill was eye level from her seat on the floor, and she looked out over the alleyway, into the dismal gray light of a November dawn. She had no idea how long she’d slept—it might have beenhours, or minutes. The room was cold, and in the unforgiving light of day it looked like a cell. Though she could finally identify the roaring noise as heat pouring into the room from a vent near her mattress. At least this place came equipped with an extremely noisy furnace.
    She lay back down again, closing her eyes. There was no use getting up—Dillon would be sleeping off the effects of whatever he’d had the night before, and he wouldn’t be in any shape to help her. Not that he’d be interested in doing anything for her—they’d never gotten along. But he’d be motivated to get her out of there, if for no other reason than he’d never liked her.
    She shivered. It had never really left her—that haunted night so long ago. Months, even years, went by without her thinking about it, without remembering the painful embarrassment and shame, but one look into Dillon’s cold blue eyes had brought everything back, with a vengeance. The rough pleasure in his hands. The shattering misery of how it ended.
    She took a slow, deep breath, willing her tense body to relax. Long ago, she reminded herself. And by the end of the night Dillon had been so wasted there was no way he could remember any details. If he even remembered that night at all.
    She must have been out of her mind to think that she could come here unscathed. Though maybe that was part of the reason she’d come, jumped in her car before she thought better of it, taking off into the dark November night like an angel on a mission. She wanted answers about Nate’s death. But she needed to face Dillon Gaynor and put any lingering emotions to rest. To let go of the past before she could get on with her future. And like it or not, Dillon was part of her past, inextricably entwined with Nate.
    She’d been wearing the same clothes for forty-eight hours, and she was feeling beyond grungy. As soon as she got away from here she’d stop at the first motel she found, take a two-hour shower and even try for a nap. And then drive straight back to Rhode Island, with no more answers than she’d had when she started on this