The most ridiculous thing about the day was that nothing had been accomplished. Nine hours of discussion and strategizing, and we were no closer to proving any of our innocence. We’d been questioned ad nauseum, but so far not one of us had been arrested. The cops were apparently strategizing as well. We weren’t yet considered suspects, other than Lacey. The rest of us were merely “persons of interest.” Reid and Rock both maintained that we needed to stay one step ahead of the police. If we didn’t, we’d all fall.

I agreed with them in theory. In practice? I wasn’t sure. Yeah, we had the money to hire the best people, but we weren’t our father. We wouldn’t use our money to “get rid” of damning evidence.

At least I wouldn’t.

I barely knew Rock.

But Reid had been under the tutelage of our father.

Our father had been a bad man.

A very bad man.

I knew something my siblings didn’t, something that needed to stay embedded in my mind forever. I couldn’t even let myself think about it, for fear it would come out. I’d buried it so deep, I wasn’t even sure what it was anymore. All I knew was that it had to stay fossilized in the rock of my brain.

Or my life would be over.

I began mixing oil paints on my palette, when—

I jumped.

My intercom had buzzed.

Strange.

My intercom never buzzed except on the rare occasions I had food delivered at odd hours. I usually went out to eat or fixed a sandwich at home.

I clicked the button. “Yeah?”

“Hi.”

The voice was familiar. My groin tightened. “Who is it?” Though I knew.

“Charlie Waters. May I…come up?”

“What for?”

A sigh. “Never mind. This was a mistake.”

Let her go, man. Just let her go.

Yeah, right.

“You can come up.” I pressed the button to open the main door.

The loft was a mess. I wasn’t the best housekeeper in the world, and I didn’t let anyone come in to clean. I was afraid they’d mess up my supplies. I was wearing old jeans and a T-shirt with my painting smock over it. My hair was up in a messy man bun.

Fuck. No time. This was me. The artist. She’d have to take me as I was.

A minute later, she knocked softly. I quickly put down my palette and walked to the door.

She stood, still in her work clothes, looking worn and tired but still delectable.

“Hi,” she said meekly.

I held the door open. “Come in.”

She stepped in slowly, saying nothing.

I said nothing.

When I finally decided to speak, she spoke at the same time.

“Go ahead,” she said.

“No, you go ahead. You came here, remember?”

“Yeah.” A pink blush crept into her cheeks. “I wanted to apologize.”