“I’ll find a way to help you,” he said, recalling what Floyd had said on their final afternoon together: You need to rediscover your sense of purpose. And here was something he could sink his teeth into—that could offer a sense of value after three destitute years.

This was important, but there was another reason, one of self-preservation. Tera Montecino had seen Luke and Kitty together. If Kitty’s brutalized corpse were discovered in a dumpster, or—far more likely—she disappeared without a trace, it’d be Luke’s head on the chopping block. Shit, Montecino had warned him about this very thing. Anything happens to her, Luke, I will chase you down like a hound out of hell.

Luke’s throat was uncomfortably dry. He refilled the pitcher, poured a glass for himself, and drained it in one hit.

“Okay,” he said to Kitty. “What are the options?”

“There aren’t many, and none of them are good.” Kitty closed her eyes for a moment, her fingers lightly pressed to the gauze taped across her forehead. “I’m increasingly thinking that going to the police might be the best approach. Just tell them everything and hope they can protect me.”

“I don’t know,” Luke said. “I haven’t had the best experience with the police in this city. You’d be putting all of your trust in a system that doesn’t run as effectively as it should, especially for African Americans.”

“Sad but true.”

“And remember,” he continued, “Johan is a slippery son of a bitch. You’ll need evidence to take him down, and I guarantee his bases are covered.”

“Also true,” Kitty said. “I heard him talking about cleaning up and putting an alibi into place. He is not afraid of the police.”

“One of the benefits of being a privileged asshole.”

“I know, right?” Kitty rolled her eyes. “But I was looking at this from an insurance point of view.”

“What do you mean?”

“Will Johan still come after me if I involve the police?” Kitty winced and shifted her weight in the chair, finding a more comfortable position. “They won’t have enough evidence to take him down, but he’ll know that if something happens to me, he’ll be prime suspect number one.”

“He’ll only be a suspect if there’s a crime,” Luke pointed out. “And there’s no crime without a body. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

“That he’ll tie a concrete block to my ankles and dump me in the Pacific?”

Luke shrugged, thinking the means of disposal would be more . . . graphic.

“But he knows someone would report me missing,” Kitty said, looking for any chink of light. “That might be enough to deter him.”