“We could talk calmly,” he ventured as Daniel stayed silent, “or you could hit me and see what happens. Either way, I’m not leaving till you’ve answered my questions.”

Daniel lunged forward and pushed the bat against Paul’s throat. Their bodies lined up squarely as he pinned him to the wall. There had been a competitive edge to their past “friendship,” which had seemed to come from their similar builds, and perhaps from the fact that Paul had made an effort to mirror Daniel’s body language and way of speaking. It was something they taught you in training, how to make someone take to you, but it could work the other way, too, could set you up as a rival.

Their gazes met, almost exactly level. The wood bit into Paul’s neck.

“Where’s my daughter?” he wheezed. “What have you done?”

Daniel slammed his weight behind the bat. “You’re the bad guy here. I can’t believe you’ve shown your face.”

Paul’s vision slipped in and out of blackness. He closed his eyes, sucked in shallow breaths.

“You don’t even feel bad about my sister,” Daniel said, “do you?”

Paul blinked open his eyes. “Every day,” he choked. “I loved her.”

The fist took him by surprise, punching him in the stomach before he’d registered that the bat had lifted from his Adam’s apple. Air shot into his throat just as it was thumped out of his abdomen, a mix of heady relief and deep, low pain.

“Don’t disrespect her even further by lying,” Daniel said.

“I’m not lying. I loved Nathalie.”

“I loved her.”