“You sleep,” her mom said gently. “I’m here.”

It was two or three hours later when Natalie awoke drenched in sweat, disoriented and panicked. It took her a moment to distinguish her surroundings, to remember that she was home, for now. The apartment was dark except for the light slipping from under the bathroom door. Her mom was in there, talking softly on the phone. She must have called home to chat with Derek, to check on Astrid and Oliver. Allana was still on Pacific time. It was not as late for her. Quietly, Nat got up to change her soaked nightie, her mom’s voice just audible in the still space.

“She’s doing okay, all things considered,” her mom said. There was a long silence, followed by a muffled response that Nat couldn’t make out. And then: “I don’t know, Derek. But she’s my daughter. I’ll stand by her no matter what.”

Natalie pulled a cool, dry T-shirt over her head as she absorbed her mom’s words. Her own mother thought she was capable of murder. Had Allana seen a darkness in her even when she was a little girl? Was there something in her childhood that had foreshadowed her ability to take a life? Or was it only now, since Nat had moved to New York, since she had sold her body to a rich man, that the evil act seemed within her bailiwick?

And yet, Allana was here. She had left her young children to support her eldest. And Nat’s dad was here, too. She crawled into bed, exhaustion softening her angst. Soon, she had fallen back to sleep.

* * *

The weekend passed in an anxious, monotonous blur. Nat’s mom had visited New York only once before, when she was a teen, so Nat played tour guide. But there was no joy in it. The city that had once had her so enamored, now felt cold and harsh. Her dad joined them on a few outings, but it was tense and forced. After the weekend, he flew back to Vegas.

“I’ve got some business to take care of,” he told her, “and then I’ll come back.”

Nat nodded, but her ingrained mistrust of her father’s word was hard to overcome. Even if Andrew didn’t return, never returned, he had done enough. He had bailed her out of jail; he had hired her a defense attorney; he was paying her legal bills. Andrew Murphy had been her dad when she needed him to be.

And Nat was a murderer. She had no right to ask for more.

51

The Lawyers

Natalie and her mom met with Matthew Hawley at his office in Midtown. The lawyer had offered to come to them, but assuming his hourly rate, they didn’t want him to incur travel time. Nat and Allana took the subway uptown to the intimidating tower that housed the Blacklock Law Firm. A polished receptionist led them into a meeting room, where they were soon joined by Mr. Hawley. In his rumpled suit two sizes too big for his slight frame, the attorney stood in stark contrast to his cold, sleek environment. Accompanying him were two attractive associates—a white female, a black male—who fit the decor so precisely they seemed almost ornamental.