The stars pinwheeled above me, pressing down. The pressure pushed inward on my ears like I was underwater, and I tried to yawn but nothing popped. If we’d gone to the police, Ellen would still be alive. But maybe we would all be in jail right now. If it had been me and only me on the hook, that might’ve been all right. But it wasn’t only me—it was Lou and Jackal, too. The long line of what-ifs stretched out in front of me: I could’ve picked a different girl. If I’d parked one street over, I might never have met Lou. If I could’ve looked ahead, I might’ve told her to get lost after that plate of pie. Or stopped things that night after the first mark, when Lou had been waiting for me. I wished I could unzip my own skin, get out of Jo for a moment.

I closed my eyes, but waiting behind them was the bright picture of Ellen’s face with her mouth open, screaming, choking. I gasped and shuddered, covering my face and rubbing, rubbing at my eyes.

“Are you all right?”

My head snapped up. A few feet away, Mitch Carrigan stood on the pavement, eyeing me warily. But not unsympathetically. I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I nodded a little. He moved a step closer.

“Are you sure? Maybe I can help.”

He was inching forward, like walking toward a wild animal, afraid it would bolt. But it was also the first time he’d looked at me with any real interest all night. His face was kind but serious, his mouth twisted down in sympathy.

“Sorry, I didn’t get your name before.” His eyes gleamed in the twilight. He brought a whiff of honeysuckle with him as he moved.

Men, I thought, disgusted even as my stomach clenched—in hope. Hardwired to be drawn to the damsel in distress. I blinked rapidly, working up a moistness, and bit my lip. From a nearly forgotten place inside, I heard Lou’s voice: For a certain kind of man, the worse you can make that pretty face look, the better.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief, handing it to me. I dabbed at my eyes with it, noticing that it was both starched and pressed. His eyes were locked on my face the entire time I tidied it with his linen square.

“I’m Mitch,” he said. I gave him a watery smile of thanks, and his hand lingered a bit on my own as I passed him back the crumpled and mascara’d handkerchief. “Do you need a ride home?”