And yet here she was, putting herself and her career at risk on the off chance she could talk a total stranger into going straight. If the police had shown up—or did, there was still time for that—getting arrested as a spectator would have had her booted from the Massachusetts bar faster than she could say, “But, Judge, I was only there for my client.” She’d already put up twenty-five grand, which would hardly break her bank . . . except how much farther could those funds have gone if put to use on some program for at-risk youth?

As her head started to pound, she regarded her actions since around nine a.m. with a clear eye. And what do you know, she saw not so much someone doing good in the world, but an out-of-control woman who was—

Daniel appeared on the far side of her car, his ghostly face dead serious. Get in, Grier. Get in the car and lock the doors.

“What?” she said. “Why—”

Do it. Now. Her dead brother seemed to focus on the air behind her right shoulder. Damn it, Grier—

“I remember who you are.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Oh for God’s sake, this just kept getting better, didn’t it. The meth head was back.

Turning around to give her erstwhile suitor another—

The man grabbed her arms, and with a shove that left her teeth singing, pushed her up against the car face-first. As he held her in place with his body, she was reminded that men were in fact built differently from women: They were a hell of a lot stronger. Especially when they were high and desperate.

“You’re Danny’s sister.” The breath on her cheek was hot and smelled like roadkill in August. “You showed up a couple of times at his place. What happened to him?”

“He died,” she croaked out.

“Oh . . . God. I’m sorry. . . .” The addict seemed honestly sad. In a Tim Burton, distorted-netherworld kind of way. “Listen, can you spare some cash? Rich girl like you . . . hafta have some cash on you. But only if you can manage it.”

Uh-huh, right. She knew she was going to give him what he wanted whether she liked it or not—which was how, in spite of the way he phrased it, a mugging worked.

Rough hands rummaged around and her purse was ripped off her shoulder. She thought about yelling, but the weight bearing down on her rib cage made anything more than shallow breaths impossible, and besides, she had parked way around the side in the shadows. Who was going to hear her?

As her wide eyes tracked the departing cars and trucks that were so close and yet so far away, she had an absolutely absurd memory of the opening scene from Jaws—where the woman was being dragged under by the shark and saw the glowing lights of houses on the shore.