In the meantime, Vincent gave me the go-ahead to talk to Stewart. What I’d hoped would be a constructive conversation turned out to be destructive, because Stewart and I agreed that he’d pre-emptively inform Los Angeles about the situation. There was a chance I was about to blow my contract to bits and ruin my future hockey career, but Stewart assured me that getting ahead of it was the best way to go. I had no choice but to trust him.

It was after eight by the time I met Vincent. The grimy pub we were meeting at for the second time was located on the other end of town in an industrial park. Vincent claimed it was “a secure location,” but the area was more than a little shady. He obviously knew what he was doing, though, so I kept my mouth shut. Maybe the cockroaches moonlighted as security.

I headed to the back corner and slid into the booth across from him. He was dressed in head-to-toe black, with hard features amplified by a jagged scar down his left cheek. How he blended in easily enough to be a PI was a mystery, but Stewart said his nickname was the Ghost. Hopefully, he’d live up to it.

Vincent laced his fingers on the table, looking at me over his half-empty pint of beer with a grim expression. He was a brand-new addition to my shortlist of terrifying people—one notch below Stewart. I got the feeling if I asked Vincent to have Morrison offed, he’d give me a price and initiate plans.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered it.

“Before we go any further,” Vincent said, “we have a don’t ask, don’t tell policy with sources. Which means it’s not admissible in court.”

“That’s fine.” My foot landed on something sticky on the floor beneath the table, and it made a ripping sound as I repositioned my legs. “I need to know.”

“As we discussed, I have a copy of the full video,” Vincent said. “Or rather, I have both clips, as it was digitally split into two.”

Nausea brimmed in the pit of my stomach. “Can I see the second one?”

From across the table, he stretched his arm out, offering me his phone. I accepted and adjusted the volume to its lowest setting, hesitating briefly. Revulsion bowled into me as I hit Play.

Clip 2 of 2

Location: Private residence, 9516 32nd Ave

Date saved: Saturday, April 21st at 1:27 AM

— RECORDING STARTS —

[1:35:02 AM]

Nicole: Come on already.

Chase: Wait, I need to grab another—what the fuck, Kristen? How long have you had that out? Put that shit away.

[background noise]

Chase: Get off me, Nikki.

Nicole: (unintelligible)

Kristen: It’s not on, Chase. I’m just messing around.

Chase: I don’t care. Let me see your phone.

Kristen: But you look so good on camera.

Chase: What? You better not be recording this.