Sirens cry out in the canyons, nonstop. The FBI, pursuing me after I failed to show for my appointment with Agent Jonas? Does that mean they’ve been tracking me somehow? Panic tightens my chest. I should leave before they arrive—skip town with Addison. We could go somewhere in Central America. Although she seems to be entertaining the idea of selling me out—again.

The same thought keeps running through my head with this woman: Addison Stern always puts herself first, so I should stop pretending otherwise.

I scan the room. Search for a way out of this mess. Peter has the back hallway to the kitchen blocked, and the gun he wields keeps us all captive, anyway. Genevieve is so still on the love seat she might be having a stroke.

Placing a tentative foot behind me, testing the floorboards, I move toward the front door.

Addison’s face lit up while we were listening to Phinneas’s memoirs. Said we had to hightail it to her client’s house right that instant—but this is not how I thought things would go down. Emilia Winthrop, celebrated actress, shot dead in her own home—a new victim in our proximity—complicates everything.

Peter cocks the gun and points it toward Addison. “What’s your decision? Or will you let the police make it for you?”

She glowers at him. “You targeted me from day one. Why Connor?”

“Collateral damage, I’m afraid,” Peter says. “Phinneas made such a scene at the Hollywood Walk of Fame event, and made it clear his ethics—or whatever CEOs of drug companies have—wouldn’t allow him to keep quiet. When Enzo visited Phinneas the day of the pharma gala to fix our problem and found his laptop open to his memoir recordings, and a sent email to Devon Lim containing a link to them, we realized we’d need to cast a wider net to resolve things. Mr. Windell’s investigation of Devon made him fall under that net.”

I take another step toward the door. Then another. Lift a sailboat tchotchke from an end table.

“Devon and Annalise Meier were found together in Monaco,” Addison takes up. “Did she also hear how you’d been dosing clients?”

“Most likely,” Peter replies. He casts an eye at me but doesn’t object to my change in location, the gun always lifted. Always watching. “Ovid Blackwell’s IT analysts hacked into Phinneas’s cloud. They confirmed that other IP addresses accessed the voice notes. Annalise Meier’s was one of them. You really must have more confidence in your colleagues, Addison. Being a lone wolf these days is not very appealing in a partner.”

“Oh, and I so desire to be appealing to a murderer,” she snaps.

“But why Velvet Eastman? She did nothing wrong.” I move closer to the armchairs, less than three feet from Peter. Almost in range. I rest my hand casually behind my back.

“Ask the conservative news networks if that’s true.”

Addison toys with something in the deep pocket of her jacket. Car doors slam shut outside in the driveway below. Footsteps fan out near where I parked the rental.

“Addison,” Peter says, simpering. “Whoever will you coerce and abuse in federal prison, I wonder?”

I step wide, then dive to Genevieve on the love seat and yank her to a standing position. Jerk the sailboat paperweight high above her white bun, like an anvil ready to drop. “Peter! You don’t care about this woman. You barely knew she existed until now, but she’s ruined my life a thousand times over. Let me have my revenge, then we can get back to you pinning murders on us.”

“Connor, what the hell are you doing?” Addison shouts.

I tighten my grip on Genevieve’s shoulders. “If we’re going down, Addison, I want it to be for something I deserved.”

“Are you mad?” Genevieve whimpers. “Get off me, boy!”

“Peter!” I bark again. I slide a foot behind, dragging Genevieve with me away from the love seat. My elbow hitches up and under her jaw. “It’s now or never, isn’t it?”

More voices shout outside. Peter narrows his gaze, raking over Genevieve’s terror with cool indifference. “She’s not my problem.”

“What?” Genevieve yelps as I force her, lug her small, kicking frame, toward the hallway beside the front door. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Mr. Huxton? I’m just another old woman to be discarded?”

I grunt. “Genevieve Aspen, I’m not your only victim. But you will be mine.”

I rear back, wielding the three pounds of aluminum above her head, then bring it crashing down to the floor. Twisting the knob, I rip the door open, then shove a screaming Genevieve outside to the whitewashed porch.

“Freeze! Hands in the air!”

Genevieve’s cries erupt as more voices rush to her aid. I slam the door shut and turn back to face Peter and Addison where they stand alone in the sitting room.

My chest rises then falls, triumph pulsing through my limbs. “She didn’t deserve to be caught up in this mess. Even if she deserves a whole lot else.”

Peter glowers. “You realize I could shoot you right now and the police wouldn’t bat an eye. You all but confirmed that you are the aggressor I made you out to be.”

“Connor Windell, we’ve got you surrounded!” someone shouts on the porch. More footsteps sprint along the perimeter of the property. The same route that Enzo chose when he left.

“See?” Peter smiles.

I shake my head, though I don’t break eye contact with Addison’s former boss. “It was a risk. But it was the right thing to do.”

Despite the adrenaline still flooding my veins, I feel a certain peace. At last, I took action in a way I know my granddad could get behind.

“Huh. I didn’t realize you associated with Boy Scouts, Addison.”

“I doubt I’d be allowed anywhere near a den meeting, honestly. Too many dead bodies in my past for that”—I shoot Addison a look, using her words from a few weeks ago—“but I’m not that person anymore.”

She returns my steady gaze with a tight smile. One hand remains deep inside her pocket.

More knocks on the door, louder and heavier. Peter presses his mouth into a line. “Whoever you are doesn’t matter to me, Mr. Windell. But it will to the police.”

Addison’s got a glazed-over look on her face that says she’s only partly listening. She wore the same expression when I asked her to noodle through a Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon question.

We need to distract Peter. At least until the police come indoors.

Lingering at the threshold of the sitting room, I try to channel a movie star’s charisma. Stage presence. Expert-level bullshitting. “You think you have everything figured out, don’t you? But it’s not just about a dance. Not anymore.”

More shouting that cuts into my Footloose reference: “Addison Stern! If you’re in there, come out now!”

Feet pound behind us, where the backyard must be located. I grab the sailboat paperweight from where I dropped it on the hardwood, then reenter the sitting room with slow steps, luring Peter’s attention toward me.

Peter glares at me. “Be careful, Mr. Windell. You might get what you’re asking for.”

Addison clears her throat. “Peter, the FBI already has everything. They’re currently ransacking Phinneas’s computer files. Your deeds will be broadcast across the legal system any day now.”

Peter narrows his gaze. “That could be true. But truth is relative. Truth is power. And right now, I hold all of it.”

“Do you? The truth is, I’ve worked for you for three years,” Addison says. “Done everything that was asked of me and more. Why target me in your grand takedown of people who mistreated the Ovid Blackwell name?”

Another order is barked behind the house. The FBI agents are almost ready.

I take a step forward to reach the love seat. Peter shifts the barrel of his gun to me, no longer content to let me roam. “Because, Addison. You have burned more bridges in this industry than an on-air tirade against Hello Kitty. Although we never issued hush money on your behalf, the damage you caused to Ovid didn’t go ignored. You’ll take the fall for the deaths—then we’ll start fresh, catering to the youth demo in a new chapter.”

“Exactly as I have been pushing for the last year?” She scoffs. “How brilliant.”

The police are outside. Genevieve is safe. Addison and I are probably going to jail, but we’ll get out of here alive. All we have to do is wait. Keep Peter off-balance until the police break in. I shoot Addison a smile. A fringe of brown hair falls across my eyes as I reach for just the right Kevin Bacon quote: “I thought this was a party. Let’s dance.”

“You’re right, Peter.” Addison lifts an eyebrow to me, but she stays focused. “I should be applauding everything you’ve done in the name of the firm I love so much.”

“Obviously.”

“Thank you for having the clarity to protect Ovid Blackwell at all costs.”

A loud bang hits the door. “FBI!”

My heart races in my chest, so close to freedom. Or to incarceration.

“I was brash—arrogant to not follow your directions.” Addison speaks faster, lowering her voice, her eyes. Like some strange, cowed version of herself.

“Peter, I don’t know why I didn’t see it before,” she continues. “But the way you planned the…deaths of Phinneas, Devon, and Annalise is almost too perfect. I get it—you asked me to step back from my job, knowing I wouldn’t be able to resist investigating on my own. I would be seen asking questions about Phinneas, meeting with questionable investors, visiting rehab, having Connor look up old acquaintances, and acting as suspiciously as if I were Phinneas’s killer, when in fact it was Enzo who attacked each of them. You painted me into a corner, Peter, and I have to admit…” She hesitates, as if steeling herself.

“Peter.” She swallows. “You bested me.”

Iron floods my taste buds. What is she doing? We want him off-balance, not feeling so smug and powerful that he can dispose of us like Costco samples.

Peter clears his throat. “I did. I meant what I said earlier, Addison. You are an asset to Ovid Blackwell. It’d be a shame to waste all that talent in prison—especially when there’s a clear culprit right beside you. Connor was seen on camera breaking into Devon Lim’s house in Bel-Air. He knew each victim, or he was at the scene of each crime. Are you sure he hasn’t been working against you all this time?”

Hold up.

“That’s deluded,” I say. “You think that would really stick in court, that I attacked—”

“I could see it.” Addison tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “The part of me that has always chosen myself over others—in the name of survival, just like you said, Peter—would be a fool not to consider your offer. With the FBI at our literal doorstep, it’d be stupid not to.”

“Exactly.”

“What?” I try to catch her eye, but she ignores me.

Where the hell is the FBI? Why aren’t they in here already?

“It could work if we both confirm that Connor was behind everything,” she continues. “Especially if you then made me partner.”

“Addison.” I wave a hand in her direction. Try to break the spell. “You can’t be considering this.”

The memory of Addison’s horror, when she discovered me in her condo weeks ago, flashes to my mind. Followed by a different memory—the mortifying shock in my car when I realized a client of hers could hear Addison and me in the throes of passion.

Her fury when she realized I stole information from her laptop, and more recently the disgust she wore when I outright accused her of involvement in Devon Lim’s death.

The sensation of her body pressed against my chest in the Amalfi Coast, warm and comforting as we lay in bed together.

Her hand in mine during the closing ceremony of Fashion Week as I led her out of the exhibition hall to the safety of the adjoining alleyway.

The light puff of her breath against my neck as we worked to uncover the secrets of Phinneas’s computer files.

More sharp knocking pummels the door, searing through my masochism. I jump, anxiety twisting my gut. “Addison? Addison, look at me.”

“Clock is ticking, Addison.” Peter grins. “Ready to join the elite circle of Ovid Blackwell?”

She finally tears her gaze from the fireplace to meet my eye. “Connor is many things to me: enemy, colleague, source, lover. He’s betrayed me, lied to me, and hurt me deeper than I’ve allowed anyone to in years.”

“Addison,” I plead. “You know I’ve apologized for every—”

“But the most important role he holds in my life is partner.” She pauses. “The only kind that I want in this moment.”

“Really? You’d prefer prison to a spot on the board?”

Addison simpers at her former boss, “Peter, if I want someone to gaslight me, then dangle a carrot in my face, I’ll call my mother.”

He lifts a skeptical eyebrow. “Does that mean—”

“No. My answer is categorically no.”

Relief courses through my body as new shouts carry from the porch. “Three…two…one!”

The door bursts open, and federal agents descend through the front entry. “Drop your weapons!”

I throw my hands sky high, the sailboat long forgotten.

“You can’t arrest me,” Peter says, struggling with a federal agent, who places handcuffs on his wrists.

“I really wasn’t planning on it,” the agent says. “But my boss just radioed in to say otherwise.”

“Who’s your boss?” I ask.

“Agent Jonas. He said something about a social media thread?”

Peter stares at Addison with wide eyes. “What did you do?”

She withdraws her cell from her deep jacket pocket. “Come now, Peter. Anything near a phone is fair game these days. If you’re dumb enough to allow yourself to be livestreamed without your knowledge—well, that’s your problem.”

“Holy shit!” I laugh, punching my fists at the ceiling.

“Addison, listen to me.” Peter turns over his shoulder as two federal agents begin to drag him to the door. “My offer still stands—you can have everything you ever wanted at Ovid.”

She eyes him skeptically. “What’s done is done, Peter. Gen Z already tuned in to your confession—all 1.2 million of them that follow Phinneas’s Boom Boom account—and everyone knows your dark secrets now. It’s just as you always feared: The youth have arrived, and they’ll be taking your job away.”

His jaw drops as agents push him through the doorway to the front porch. Someone outside shouts for a paramedic. Genevieve’s voice carries into the foyer: “My God, that was terrifying.”

New uniformed men and women wearing jackets emblazoned with “LAPD” enter the sitting room from the kitchen, while I soak in the moment. We did it—Addison did it—the right way. With only a few bent rules, and a lot less morally gray area. A granddad-approved win.

A man in a suit jacket whose name I don’t catch peppers me with questions, until Addison crosses the room toward me. I step forward, meet her in the middle. Brush the hair from her neck as if to kiss the sensitive skin on her body—my favorite place. Instead, I lean in close. “Addison Stern, you just made a big mistake.”

“Oh?”

“You had the opportunity to wear the latest in iron accessories and to place a concrete wall between us.” I smile. “But now you’re never getting rid of me.”

Police officers shout orders above the noise of feet and protocol to secure evidence while the FBI barks about the crime scene being in its jurisdiction. In the maelstrom, I focus on the heat emanating from Addison’s frame, so close to mine. The sensual touch of her fingertips on my arm.

“You know I don’t like to be threatened, Connor.”

I nod, holding her tighter, removing any space between us.

“But you know what?” she adds.

“Hmm.”

“That may be the first threat I actually enjoy.”