“Miles also got one of the cokeheads to talk, but he didn’t know much.”

I turned for a moment to catch my breath. “What did he say?”

“He doesn’t remember exactly where he was buying his product. Just that it was a tall skyscraper down on the waterfront.”

The bag once again became my outlet for my anger. “How the fuck doesn’t he remember the address?”

Loosening up, Declan reached for the gloves I had tossed and put them back on. “He’d moved on. That was two dealers ago. Miles is going to walk him down there tomorrow night and get him to point the building out. He needs five hundred, though.”

I slammed the bag over and over. “Yeah, okay, I’ll drop it off when I leave here.”

Declan started punching again and we each took our pent-up frustration out on the bag.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed, but I was drenched in sweat before my hands began to ache and my muscles burned—this was what I needed.

Declan pointed under the bag. “Hey, man, I think that’s enough.”

I looked down and sure enough, blood was dripping on the floor. “Probably time to hit the shower.”

In the locker room, I let the water sluice down my body. I had to get my shit together. This anger, rage, frustration, or fear, whatever it was, wasn’t healthy. I couldn’t change the situation Elle and I were in, but if I kept up the way I was, I might just drive her away.

Having realized this, I emerged, feeling like I could handle things better. My goal was right in front of me—bring them all down and close the door behind me.

“Want to talk about it?” Declan asked as he tied his boots.

I slipped a T-shirt over my head. “I was a dick to Elle this morning.”

He stood straight. “That’s what’s bothering you?”

I shook my head. “Yeah.”

“Look, man, that’s the one thing that has an easy solution.”

I furrowed my brows.

“You do what all groveling men do when they fuck up.”

Shoving my feet in my sneakers, I glanced over at him, “And what would that be?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and laughed. “Come on, man. Don’t you watch the movies?”

My look was one of question.

Declan shook his head. “Buy her candy and flowers.”

This time I raised a brow. “That’s a little cliché.”

“Then do something sweet and romantic. Women can’t stay mad at a man for long when he gets all romantic on her.”

I shrugged. “Not really my thing.”

His quirked smile wasn’t making me feel any better. “Well, if you fucked up, you better learn how to make it your thing or get used to sleeping on the couch.”

I winced at the thought.

“Trust me, man, and do it. Take it from someone who has way too many ex-girlfriends, if you don’t, she won’t be your girl for long.”

With a sideways glance, I considered what he said.

ELLE

I was ready to scream.

The day had been an endless parade of casseroles, neighbors, Michael’s colleagues, and I didn’t know who else.

It just all seemed so fake.

None of those people knew my sister.

Erin seemed to be doing a good job as hostess and was talking to just about everyone.

At seven thirty, I read Clementine a story and put her to bed. And then when I felt like I couldn’t take another moment of “I’m sorry for your loss” from another person who didn’t know my sister, I excused myself.

My fingers were just reaching for the handle of the door in the kitchen that led outside when a hand grasped them. “You’re Michael’s sister-in-law?” a man asked. It was the same man I’d seen with all the flowers in the driveway earlier.

Something about him seemed off and I didn’t look up. “Yes,” I answered.

“He is very fond of you.”

My eyes stayed trained to the floor. “We have a common goal of making sure Clementine is happy despite the sadness surrounding the death of my sister.”

“Hmmm . . . yes, the child.”

I didn’t like the way he’d said that. “Clementine,” I reaffirmed.

“Yes, Clementine.”

Chills ran down my spine. I didn’t like the way he’d said her name.

“Are you going outside?” he asked.

“No, I was just making sure the door was locked,” I lied and then stepped back, not sure why but knowing I didn’t want to be alone with him.

“Seamus.” Michael’s voice sounded like a warning.

The man turned and walked toward Michael. “There you are, we need to talk.”

With a deep breath, I tuned them out and went back into the living room, where I sat on the sofa and watched Michael and this man discuss something heated. When they went out the back door, I took advantage of the coast being clear.

Frazzled and done, I slipped out the front door without saying goodbye to anyone. Peyton was waiting for me outside and I didn’t want to chance another uncomfortable conversation with anyone today. I’d call Michael tomorrow and explain. Mental exhaustion had long since set in and I just wanted to go home. I needed to see Logan.

Peyton drove a silver Prius, and she had parked as close to the house as the trail of cars would allow. I walked down the sidewalk in my black pumps that were demanding to be taken off, and when I saw her flash her lights, I was thankful I didn’t have much farther to go.

Bracing myself for an onslaught of questions I didn’t want to have to answer, I swung open the passenger door and collapsed into the seat.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

The concern in her voice was hard to deny and it eased my agitation. “I will be. I just want to get home and out of these clothes.”

She pressed the gas and started driving. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I looked down at the new black trench I had bought—guaranteed to repel the rain—and surprisingly found myself wanting to tell her everything. “I do, Peyton, just not today.”

“Okay. No pressure from me,” she said.

Mascara came away on my fingertips when I rubbed my eyes, suddenly more tired than I’d felt in a very long time. To avoid the awkward silence, I simply said, “Like I said in my text, the new nanny’s car broke down and Michael needed his back.”

She nodded. “Yeah, I get it. He’s still an asshole.”

“Peyton, he’s not. He wants the nanny to be able to take Clementine where she needs to go. I get it. And besides, it feels wrong driving my dead sister’s car.”

The traffic was light but still she eased up on the gas, perhaps to give us more time. “As opposed to driving your drug addict sister’s car?”

I hated that I couldn’t tell her the truth. Tell her that Michael had told everyone my sister was in rehab when in reality, he had no idea where she had been. But that information was linked to the missing drugs, and the fewer people who knew about that situation, the better.

Michael and I had gone to the police station separately this morning. We were both told trace amount of drugs were found in Lizzy’s system but there was evidence of long-term addiction. This only reaffirmed the preliminary police report that she was, more than likely, a victim of a drug deal gone bad.

During his visit, Michael had to fess up to not knowing her whereabouts for the past three and a half months, and that didn’t sit well with him. It was on record that Lizzy wasn’t in drug rehab, and now he would have to watch what he said during his campaign so as not to contradict what he had already told others. Of course, he wasn’t talking about it to me.

That was all I knew.

However, I was certain he had to be a suspect.

He hadn’t told me that, though.

He hadn’t told me much.

Peyton’s eyes were on me. “Elle, did you hear me?”

When I turned to look at her, out of nowhere, I found myself laughing so hard I couldn’t even get my words out in one cohesive sentence. “When you . . . put it . . . that way . . . I guess it shouldn’t really matter.”