“What kind of trouble is Race in?”

“I thought you didn’t know anyone named Race?”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “You have four minutes.”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out. I’ve been . . . indisposed up until about eight hours ago. I’m trying to put all the pieces together.”

She bit the corner of her lip and looked even younger. I didn’t know what this chick’s deal was, but I had a really, really hard time seeing her as one of Race’s pieces. He was all about long legs and big boobs with nothing between the ears. This one had the legs but she was obviously sharp, and her figure, from what I could see, was nothing to daydream about. She was too sweet-looking. Guys like Race didn’t do sweet, neither did guys like me, but that was because I never got the chance. Sweet ran the other way when it saw me coming.

“Can you help him?”

“I can try.”

She reached over and flicked the light, green eyes looking up at me.

“You’re Bax, right?”

I tried not to show any surprise at her question. I nodded stiffly. She bit her lip again and started to twirl a bright curl around one of her fingers.

“He told me if anything bad happened, if anyone came looking for him, to say we didn’t know each other. He scared me, but then the guy in the suit showed up with his thugs. I told Race and he freaked out. He told me to lay low, that he would take care of it. He told me if a guy came around, a guy with a tattoo of a star next to his eye, that I should trust him. He told me his name was Bax.”

That was all fine and dandy, but it didn’t help me figure out what kind of mess Race was in or who this chick was and the part she played in it.

“Who are you?”

“Dovie.”

I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest to mirror her pose.

“Who are you to Race?” If she told me she was my buddy’s old lady, I was seriously going to have to question what he had been doing while I was locked up.

She blinked at me and I could almost see the wheels turning in her head. She cocked her head to the side and furrowed eyebrows that were the color of rust.

“I’m his sister.”

I stared at her for a full minute before bursting into harsh laughter. It hurt my head, so I rubbed my tired eyes and shook my head at her.

“Lady, I don’t know who you are or what’s going on with Race, but I don’t have time for this. I just spent a nickel in the pen, I need to sleep, need to get laid, and need to figure out what kind of shit Race stirred up. If you don’t want to help me the easy way, fine. I can do the hard way.” I took a step toward her, but she held up her hands in front of her.

“No, I swear. Race is my older brother.”

I swore. “I’ve known Race since I was a kid. He is an only child, Copper-Top.”

She let out a shrill laugh and moved toward the kitchenette that was the size of a closet. She took something off the fridge and handed it to me. The picture was a few years old, but there was no mistaking Race’s elegant good looks or the way he was smiling at the camera with his arm around this strange girl.

“What rich, powerful man do you know that keeps it in his pants? I’m the Hartmans’ dirty little secret, only no one kept it very well and Race came looking for me about four years ago just after I turned sixteen. Different moms, different last names, same asshole father. If you can help Race, I’ll tell you anything you want to know, and if you can’t, I’ll find him on my own. He’s the only family I have and I love him. He saved my life.”

I looked from the photo back to her face. Race was a handsome dude, refined and regal. This girl was basic and ordinary, aside from that hair and her smart mouth. Those green eyes stared at me unblinkingly, and I saw it. It was all in the evergreen gaze that was watching me like a hawk. Race and the copper-top had the exact same eyes.

“You aren’t going to do anything but fill me in. Race is family to me too, which means I’ll do whatever I can to pull his ass out of the fire.”

Hell, I had already done five years for the guy; going toe-to-toe with Novak would be a walk in the park.

I HAD BEEN AROUND long enough in the worst parts of town to know the difference between a bad boy and a boy who was just bad. Bad was stamped all across Shane Baxter and it had nothing to do with the star tattooed on his face or the ominous and deliberate way he moved, like a coiled snake ready to strike and eager to fill you with poison before you could blink. His dark eyes were flat, like his emotions had long ago been switched off and he had no interest in tapping back into them. I grew up poor. I grew up where sometimes it was a luxury to just be poor because that meant at least you had a little bit of money. So I had seen that look more than once, but I had never seen it worn in a face you just knew could destroy everything you loved and not even blink a ridiculously thick black eyelash. This was a young man who had seen more—lived more—in his short years than most people did in a lifetime. You survived in his world by being the best of the worst and there was no doubt in my mind that was exactly what Bax was.

Sure, Race had given reassurance after reassurance that Bax was a good guy. That once he was out, he would be able to help my brother fix the situation with Benny and Novak, that he was just a guy who had been handed a hard lot in life and did the best with what he had. But looking at him in my run-down apartment, I could see that Race was way wrong. My brother wasn’t familiar with desperation, with having to suffer without; he couldn’t see what I saw in the man before me, and that was the undisguised willingness to do whatever it took to survive. Five years in prison hadn’t beaten him down when he went in as a scared kid. It had made him stronger, made him a bigger threat, and if I wasn’t mistaken, probably a better criminal. I didn’t want him anywhere near me, but if he was my only option to help Race, I would do whatever it took, give him whatever he wanted. Race was that important to me.

Bax didn’t bother to ask if I cared if he smoked, just lit a cigarette and put it between his lips. The bottom of his mouth was puffy and cracked like he had smacked it on something. His dark eyes roved around my space and I felt like he was taking stock. I hated it. I lived on what I made, I supported myself by working my ass off, and I knew how to live and protect myself in the slums. I wouldn’t let him judge me and find me lacking. He was a convicted felon after all. I might not have had much, but everything I did have I came by honestly.

“What do you know?”

His voice was scratchy, rough, like he didn’t use it often. He walked over to the cracked window and pulled the sheers I had over it away so he could look at the diner across the way. He was probably worried about his precious car.

“Not much. Race showed up at the group home I was dumped off at when the last foster family I lived with moved right after you went away. He told me he was my brother. He gave me the basic rundown on the Hartmans and I realized my father was as much of a nightmare as my mother. Race took me out of a really bad situation, gave me a pretty good life for a brief minute, made us a family, and then he brought me back here to wait.”

“Wait for what?”

I shrugged and flopped down on my ancient couch. “Wait for you, I guess.”

I sent Carmen a text to let her know so far things were okay. I had the entire neighborhood keeping an eye out for the elusive thief with the star tattoo for the last week. It was almost a relief he had finally shown, even if he thought breaking and entering was appropriate. It bugged me that I had missed with the Taser. I needed to spend a couple more sessions at the local Y working on self-defense. A single girl in this kind of neighborhood could never be too safe or take too many precautions.