If Aimee was pale before, she is a ghost now. I can see her heartbeat in the pulsing of her uplit jugular. Even so, as if in a trance, she pulls a five-dollar bill from her denim pocket.

“No,” says the woman, closing Aimee’s fingers on the money. “Be well.”

Aimee stands up.

“Come on, let’s go,” I say. “This is creepy.”

She comes to my side, putting a sweating hand in mine, and we quickly leave. Once gone, I could swear I hear the woman’s voice far off in the wind saying, “Drive safely, girls.”

Or maybe that’s just how I remember it.

CHAPTER ONE

present day

The gun feels cold and hard where I hide it against the small of my back.

I lean on the rolltop desk and watch Kim cross in front of me, her chiffon pantsuit hanging loosely around her frame. I will the tears to come to my eyes. It’ll be better if I look upset.

“It wasn’t my fault you left. That was your choice,” I say. I try to sound strong, but I don’t hide the sadness and anger either.

“You couldn’t accept that you were wrong; you forced me to leave. It was your fault and you couldn’t stand that you made such a huge mistake!” She puts her hands on her hips and stares me down, the massive fake diamonds around her neck catching the light. I allow my eyes to be drawn to them only momentarily before I lift my gaze back to hers.

“No,” I say, exuding calm, despite my voice shaking a little.

“You were too damn proud to listen,” she says, a humorless smile playing at her lips.

“Proud?” I scoff, blinking the tears away, and underplay the next words where someone else might scream them. “If there’s one thing in my life that I’ll look back on with pride”—I pull the gun out from behind my back and aim it squarely at her exposed, ample cleavage—“it’s this.”

I pull the trigger. Kim falls back against the grand piano. Her underweight body drapes against the keys, sounding a discordant crash before she slides down to the ground.

I walk over to her, and before her eyes go blank, I yank the necklace from her. “I’ll think of you every time I wear it.”

She struggles to speak, and I lean closer to hear her say, “You … bitch.”

I laugh. A little. Then a lot. Maybe too much.

“Cut!”

The grin falls from my face and I clear my throat and stand. “Did we get it?”

The director, Devon, bursts out of the control booth and comes over, tearing his headphones off. He puts his hands on my shoulders and his voice echoes through the cavernous studio. “Lana. You knocked it right out of the park. I’m not kiddin’, you knocked it right out of the city!”