“Can I get you something to drink?” Not liquor, of course. At least, not in the living room. God knew there was none of it left there.

Marie-Terese headed toward the banks of glass. “This is quite a…” She hesitated as she came across a stain in the carpet and then looked around at the room and less at the view.

“It was even worse before I tried to clean it up a little,” he said. “Christ…I have no idea what happened here.”

“Why would your girlfriend lie?”

“Ex-girlfriend,” he reminded her.

Marie-Terese glanced into the broken mirror to meet his eyes, and the sight of her features all scrambled in the field of cracks freaked his shit out—to the point where he had to go over in hopes of getting her out of its torturous reflection.

As she turned to face him, her eyes were scared. “Vin…that man who was attacked. He was the one I helped in the bathroom—we went in together and talked about this girl he wanted to impress.” She put her hand over her mouth and trembled. “Oh, God…he was with me and then he…”

Vin went over and wrapped his arms around her, holding her closely. As she took a deep breath, he felt it from his thighs to his ribs, and goddamn it if he didn’t want to kill to protect her.

“It can’t be Mark,” she said into his shirt. “But what if he’s sent someone to find me?”

“Come here.” He took her hand and started for the couch. But then, did he really want to talk to her amid the remnants of whatever violence had occurred?

Pausing, he thought about the study…but had memories of being with Devina on that fucking rug. Upstairs…yeah, right, the bedroom was a total no-go, and not just because asking Marie-Terese up there had letch connotations he didn’t intend: too much Devina there as well.

Vin settled for the dining room table, walking her over and angling two chairs so that he could face her.

“You know,” she said as she put her purse down and they sat together, “I’m actually a tough cookie.”

He had to smile. “I believe that.”

“You just seem to have come along at a hard time.”

Vin extended his hand and touched one of the curled locks of hair by her face. “I wish I could do something to help.”

“I’m leaving Caldwell.”

His heart stopped. It was on the tip of his tongue to argue with her, but he didn’t have that right—not by a long shot. Besides, he was hard-pressed to deny the decision: It was probably for the best.

“Where will you go?” he asked.

“Anywhere. I don’t know.”

In her lap, her hands tangled and twisted as if they were paralleling the thoughts in her mind.