“Hey, Kitty. It’s cool. It’s me.” Luke lowered one of his hands and pressed it against his chest. “It’s me . . . Luke.”

The strength went out of Kitty’s legs and she slumped to the floor, crying and trembling. Luke went to her, moving slowly.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m here. It’s all good.”

She caught her breath and after a long moment said, “Jesus, Luke. You scared the shit out of me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Luke inched closer. “You were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Jesus Christ.”

He reached out and carefully removed the glass from her hand.

“I was going to throw that at you,” Kitty said.

“Yeah,” Luke said. “I’m glad I didn’t leave you the gun.”

“You said six-thirty at the latest. I was worried.”

“Right, yeah.” Luke rubbed his eyes. “I lost track of the time.”

They were in the living room. Luke had assured her it was safe, but she made him pull the blinds anyway. She sat on the sofa, sipping a valerian tea—good for the nerves, apparently—looking at Luke over the rim of her mug. He was in the armchair, hunched forward, swigging from a bottle of Bud.

“Did it work?” Kitty asked.

“Better than I could’ve hoped,” Luke said, and told her how it went down—everything from how good it felt to be back in character, to the nervous way Xander kept plucking at his earlobe. She had never seen Xander nervous. He’d always been rock-like, mostly expressionless. That Luke had gotten him agitated spoke to how convincing his performance—not to mention those awful photographs—had been.

“You’re in the clear,” Luke said. “Now you just have to get out of town, keep a low profile.”

“I can do that.”

“Maybe give it a few weeks before heading to Kentucky—”

“In case Johan has someone sniffing around?”

“Right, but I don’t think he will. He’ll call off the dogs, and pretty soon he’s going to have bigger problems to deal with.”

“Phase two,” Kitty said. She did feel calmer. Maybe it was the tea, or maybe it was the fact that this plan—so far—was working.

“Yeah,” Luke said. “Some people deserve to be ruined.”

She showed her gratitude with an earnest smile, and they sat without talking for several minutes, a silence disrupted only by the hum of the refrigerator and the air conditioner whirring to life. Kitty finished her tea, set her mug down on the coffee table, and looked at Luke. His eyes were glazed and distant. Tiredness, perhaps, or something else.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“Your body language. You’re distracted. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Oh right, yeah.” He pressed a finger to the middle of his forehead, then shrugged. “It’s a different thing. Don’t worry.”