Straightening, Lacey dabbed at the blood beneath her nose. In the dim light, Mia could already see bruises forming beneath her eyes. “Which one of us looks like they’re the victim here?”

Mia didn’t call attention to her state of undress, but Lacey must have noticed the way Mia couldn’t help but grip her own arms, her body hungry for warmth. Lacey shrugged out of her own coat and tossed it to Mia. “Put it on,” she said, with a little jab of the gun.

Despite whatever part the jacket was about to play in the scene Lacey had planned, Mia was grateful for it. The heat from Lacey’s body lingered in its fabric, and Mia sank into it, ignoring the intimacy of the action. Tears gathered behind her closed lids at the reprieve from the cold.

Lacey tilted her head to study Mia, then nodded once, satisfied.

They both heard it at the same time. A tiny scrape of boot against stone.

Izzy.

Lacey flashed her one more bright smile and then whispered, “Catch.”

On instinct alone, Mia grabbed the gun from the air, the weight of it so welcome and familiar that she didn’t stop to think before she pointed it at Lacey.

In the next heartbeat, the door swung open, and Izzy was in the room.

Mia knew it looked bad. It was designed to.

“Drop the gun,” Izzy said, as she charged through the door, her fingers fumbling for the light switch. The bulbs buzzed to life above them. The glow wasn’t enough, but at least they were no longer dealing with shadows.

“No.” Mia stayed calm, her gaze mostly tight on Lacey, but she couldn’t help glancing at Izzy’s weapon, which was firmly trained on her.

Lacey’s eyes were wide, her breathing shallow. There was blood on her face, smeared across her cheek, while blue and green spread out from the bridge of her nose. She blinked at Izzy but didn’t try to say anything.

A picture of the perfect victim.

Christ, she was good.

Izzy’s tongue darted out over her bottom lip, her hands trembling around the grip of the gun. “Just drop the gun for now. Okay? We’ll get it sorted, Mia.”

“Don’t—” Mia’s voice was tight, harsh, when it came out. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the crazy one with a gun.”

The silence was damning. Come on, Izzy, fucking trust me. She tried to say it with her eyes, but Izzy’s were completely shuttered. It was the same way she’d watched Mia throughout the case—a little wary, a little secretive.

Mia wondered what memories were flashing through Izzy’s head, wondered how they’d be viewed under the light of Mia now holding a gun.