“Thursday night,” the guy said. “I didn’t know you. I didn’t know her. I should have told you, but to be honest, when I saw the pair of you together, I didn’t want to fuck things up. It was a mistake and I’m goddamn sorry—mostly that you found out from someone other than me.”

The whole time he was talking, Heron’s arms hung loosely by his sides, like he was ready for a fight if things went that way, and his voice was as steady and even as his eyes were. No prevaricating. No artifice. No bullshit.

And as Vin faced off at him, instead of rage, which was what he’d have expected himself to have toward the guy, he just felt exhaustion. Exhaustion and the thumping pain of his hand.

Abruptly, he realized he was getting tired of channeling his fucking father when it came to women. Thanks to that legacy, over the past twenty years, Vin’s suspicious nature had found so many shadows where none had existed—and yet essentially missed the actual time when someone he was sleeping with cheated on him.

So much energy wasted, all in the wrong place.

God, he just didn’t care about Devina. At this moment, he really didn’t care what she’d done while they were together.

“She lied about what happened here last night,” Vin said roughly. “Devina lied.”

There was absolutely no hesitation in the reply: “I know.”

“Oh, really.”

“I don’t believe a word she’s said about anything.”

“And why’s that.”

“I went to the hospital to see her because I was having a hard time believing any of this shit. And she gave me this hearts-and-flowers routine about telling you what had happened Thursday night, how that was the reason you went after her. But you didn’t know, did you. She never said a thing to you, did she.”

“Not a peep.” Vin turned away and headed into the duplex. When Jim didn’t follow, he said over his shoulder, “You just going to stand there like a statue or do you want lunch.”

Food was evidently preferable to playing marble, and after they were both through the front door, Vin locked it and put the chain in place. With the way things were going lately, he wasn’t taking any chances with anything.

“Holy fuck,” Jim said, “your living room…”

“Yeah, it’s been redecorated by Vince McMahon.”

In the kitchen, Vin got out some cold cuts and the jar of Hellman’s using his left hand. “You got a choice between rye or sourdough.”

“Sourdough.”

As Vin grabbed some lettuce and a tomato from the crisper, he braced himself. “I need to know how it went down. With Devina. Tell me everything—Shit…not everything. But how did she come on to you?”

“You sure you want to go there?”

He took out a knife from the drawer. “I have to, man. Need to. I’m feeling like…I’m feeling I was with someone I didn’t know at all.”