“Okay, no going back. I need to go through those files. Be good, Pen.”

He ignored me as he pigged out on his food. That rapidly growing ache was back in my chest. I rubbed at it, trying to erase the oncoming bout of loneliness that used to lead to another bender. Penelope was amazing; he kept me alive. But sometimes it felt like I was still missing something.

I don’t have time to ponder my depressing ass life.

I settled back in on the bed and returned to searching the files. There was a lot more information than I thought. Small things; hangouts, known associates, history. Most of it was probably useless, but I was praying for a needle in a haystack.

My phone buzzed, and I snatched it up.

“Yo,” Chelsea said, her voice heavy. “Good to know you’re not dead. I might have checked your security cameras when you got home.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Are you okay?”

“No,” I said truthfully. “A line of coke never sounded so good in my life.”

“Don’t do it,” she said softly. “I know it’s hard when things go upside down, but you know where it’ll send you. Besides, you don’t want to lose your job and have to start all over. Should I come over?”

I smiled at Chelsea’s concern. We were old friends for a reason. She was one of the few people who knew all my dirty little secrets, and I knew hers. Whenever I was about to slip up, Chelsea was the first person I called to keep me sober.

“Tex?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you could—” My fingers slipped over the papers on my bed, and I paused. I sifted through them until I uncovered a familiar face. “Woah.”

“Woah what?” she asked. “Tex?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. I searched the page. Brycen Grennan. Enzo’s former lover. My stomach twisted into a tight knot. If I kept going at this rate, I would develop an ulcer. Then I really would be just like my father. “I think I’m okay for tonight,” I told Chelsea. “I need to sleep if I’m going to figure this out tomorrow.”

“Figure out what?”

“Who the fuck I’m dealing with.”

* * *

I knocked on the door again, peeling green paint sticking to my knuckles. Rubbing my fist against my jeans, I froze when the door cracked open half an inch. An eye looked me up and down, and the smell of cigarette smoke wafted into my face.

“What?” a woman asked.

“Are you Abigail?”

“And who are you?”

I took out my badge. “Officer Caster. I wanted to ask you a few questions about your brother, Brycen Grennan.”

“Why? I’ve already answered every damn question I can think of. Unless you found him, what’s the point?”

I put on my best official-sounding voice tinged with authority and sympathy. “It’ll only take a few minutes. Please, ma’am.”

She sighed and shut the door. The sound of a chain sliding off echoed in the empty hallway before she stood before me. Abigail looked like Brycen. They had the same hair and eyes. Dark circles were beneath her eyes, and a cigarette dangled from her fingers.