“For now. What’s up?”

“Any chance you’re free for dinner?”

“Blue Agave do-over?”

Allie could almost hear Harper salivating over the phone. “Sure.”

“Excellent. Let’s make it early so I have an excuse to skip the gym.”

In spite of everything, Allie smiled.

“Oh, and do you have a costume? A few bars are waving cover charge if you dress up.”

Allie had completely forgotten it was Halloween. “Let me text you when I know what train I’m taking.” She stopped at a red light and pulled the schedule out of her purse. Trains out of Lake Forest weren’t as frequent in the afternoon, but there were a few options that would get her back into the city in time to meet Harper for dinner. And with any luck, she’d have a new roommate by the end of the night.

“Train?”

“Yeah, I’m headed to my parents’ house now, but I’m taking the Metra back.”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

Because I can’t very well tell them to let me live my own life and then drive away in the car they bought me, now can I?

“I’ll explain everything tonight.” Revisiting the events of the last week wasn’t something Allie wanted to do over the phone. In fact, she’d probably wait until she had at least one margarita in her system before laying it all out.

“You better. And I want the director’s cut, not some PG-13 version.”

“I promise I’ll tell you the whole story,” Allie said as she drove through the gates of Mayflower Place. She knew Harper would be disappointed when she realized there were no juicy details to share. But she also knew her friend would be livid when she heard what had happened. Julian and Hudson both better hope they didn’t cross paths with Harper Hayes anytime soon.

Then again, maybe that’s exactly what they deserved. And then some.

***

Four days.

Four days since Hudson last saw his brother. Four days since he’d resigned himself to the fact that Nick was so far down the pharmaceutical rabbit hole he wouldn’t hit bottom until he was six feet under. With no words adequate to describe the terror of the what-if’s, Hudson had found himself slammed facefirst at a crossroads that left him with only one choice: admit Nick to rehab.

Strict policies had prevented Hudson from seeing Nick during the detox phase, but now that he was moving into the treatment wing he was allowed visitors. As Hudson approached the reception desk, he found himself not wanting to be alone in this. The impulse to reach out to the one person he knew would reassure him was overwhelming. Except when his fingers curled, all he got was a handful of air.

“May I help you?” a nurse asked.

“I’m here to see Nicholas Chase. He’s being moved from the medical unit over to the rehab facility today.”

“And you are?”

“His brother.”

She arched a brow as she pulled a thick blue file from a slotted stand.

He exhaled an exhausted breath. “Hudson Chase.”

The nurse scanned the file with efficiency before closing it and returning it to its place. “You’ll have to wear this.” She set a visitor’s badge on the Formica counter. “It must be visible at all times.”

Hudson picked up the badge, and clipped it to the V of his cashmere sweater.

“And I’ll need your phone,” she said, holding out her hand, all business as usual. “You’ll get it back when you leave.”

He hesitated a moment.

“Protocol.” She wiggled her fingers, coaxing him to get the lead out. Reaching behind him, Hudson yanked his cell out of the ass pocket of his jeans and glanced briefly at the screen. He’d left numerous voice mails for Allie and all of them had gone unreturned. Her message was loud and clear, and waiting for the when-hell-freezes-over phone call was futile.

Feeling like he’d been popped in the chest, he shut the phone off and handed it to the nurse. A moment later a lock slid with a click. Hudson moved through the detox center not wanting to disturb the stillness. The atmosphere was just too calm and serene. And that wasn’t the reality of his life.

He pushed open the door to the lounge. Like the rest of the joint, the room was stripped down to the basic, most functional components—hospital-grade couch, chair and table.

He shrugged out of his leather jacket and tossed it over the back of the couch, uncertain of what to expect when Nick finally showed. He thought back to the day he’d checked him in. There’d been no promises of joy or sustainable satisfaction on Hudson’s face. Just a longing, a hope for happiness for his little brother. And the only information the doctors had given him was a fuck-ton of “he could be’s” or “he might be’s.” Bottom line, they didn’t have a clue how Nick would be once he emerged from his binge session.

The knob hitched, the heavy door opened, and Nick entered. “Hey.”

Hudson turned around and assessed Nick from head to toe. His dark hair was loose and clean; his eyes exhausted after what had undoubtedly been a rough week of DTs.

Nick shuffled into the sparse room and parked his ass on the chair. Hudson followed his lead, sitting on the tweed couch opposite him.

“How are you feeling?”

Nick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his eyes before refocusing on Hudson. “Like I’ve woken up from the world’s biggest fucking hangover.”

“I bet.”

The silence between them was hairsplitting. They’d always had something to bullshit about, tease each other with. Now? Not a damn thing was coming to his mind.

“Hudson.” When Nick finally spoke, his voice was low. “I don’t remember anything but some random shit. It’s all a blur. Tell me I didn’t do it.”

There was a long pause before Hudson replied. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Oh God . . . Fuck.” Nick cleared his throat as if he intended to continue, but nothing came out when he opened his mouth.

“You’re not to worry about it, clear? I’ve handled it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I said don’t worry about it. Focus on getting yourself clean.”

Nick dropped his head in his hands and his shoulders began to shake. Hudson shifted over and pulled Nick against him. The feel rather than the sound of his brother weeping busted through the first layer of the walls Hudson had built up. They both had endured a lot in their lives, and this was just one more tragedy stacked up against the others.

“Everything will be fine, Nicky. You just focus on getting yourself clean. I’ll take care of the rest.” The conviction in Hudson’s words was absolute, but he felt as if his feet were planted on quicksand and he was slowly sinking.

No matter what the cost, he’d never lose his brother again.

***

Julian pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the breast pocket of his suit, not giving a rat’s ass about the no smoking policy at the Peninsula Hotel. The Marlboros were still wrapped in cellophane and Julian slapped them on the heel of his hand. “Fils de pute!” He cursed when the last tap came in contact with the bandage on his palm. That whore had cost him twelve fucking stitches.

His mouth drew back in a sneer as he stared down at the nondescript manila envelope; a little gift from the private detective he’d hired. The guy charged a small fortune but had proved invaluable when it came to a few of his less savory business transactions, not to mention the more personal matters. Sources and silence were worth any price.

He slipped the cigarette between his lips, cupped his hand over the end, and lit it with a quick rasp of his lighter. He tossed the gold-plated torch onto the coffee table and ripped open the envelope. Inside was a complete dossier on Hudson Chase. He’d asked his guy to look into the mysterious Mr. Chase the night the SOB pledged a million dollars to dance with his fucking fiancée, but till now he hadn’t had a reason to open the file.

He had one now.

Julian thumbed through the first set of documents. Lists of property, corporate holdings, a few charitable foundations. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then he reached the surveillance photos. A few of Chase leaving his penthouse, one of him ducking into a limo outside his office, and one of him with a man who bore a striking family resemblance. Julian flipped the last photo over and read the back. Subject: Nicholas Chase. Age: 22.