Even in the midst of everything, Juno found that ludicrous. How dare you bite me after I shot and killed your husband! What she also found more than ludicrous was that none of the neighbors had called the cops. How was that possible? Where was Mr. Nevins? Something thumped heavily, and Juno ran toward the sound. He was going to shoot Winnie, she was certain of it. He didn’t just want to hurt the elusive Manda, who had wounded his pride by not taking him back, he wanted to show his family what would happen when they didn’t prioritize him. Juno realized something else as well: he was going to kill himself. She could see now that Dakota had planned this out; she’d seen his truck circling the house and had thought nothing of it. And for Dakota’s final act of power, he needed to hurt everyone who’d hurt him.

She took a resigned peace in her final evaluation as a therapist—even one who had lost her license—as she moved toward her destination, the mantel. Winnie’s garish decorating provided five-pound weights; the busts and the statue of David Juno hated were expensively heavy. The orange one was dead center—the one that reminded her of Joe and his orange juice. She ran for it, darting past the open door of the den and grabbing it by the neck. Beyond the den, in the apartment, Dakota was pulling his twin to her feet. She had a brief glimpse of Winnie’s back, and then the fireplace was in front of her. Juno wasn’t sure if he’d seen her. The weight of orange David made her knees dip; as she straightened up, she moved out of sight, hiding behind the open door to Nigel’s den.

Juno closed her eyes and said a silent prayer, her heart hammering so hard it hurt.