Alex felt a punch to the gut, but he wasn’t about to let Kent see it. He shrugged, looked dismissive. “Get a grip on yourself, that’s impossible. So Briscoe got Juliet to come to New York. Now, that does surprise me. Pleasant, shy, nonconfrontational Juliet. Wonders never cease. So what did she say to you, Kent? Wait up a minute, you need a drink first. You look like you’ve been shot.” Alex turned and walked to the glossy black sideboard, splashed whiskey into two glasses. He handed one to Kent, tapped his glass.

Kent downed the two fingers of whiskey in one gulp, savored the jolt of heat in his gut, and leaned back against the leather sofa. He hated he was afraid, hated it. He closed his eyes and saw Aolith—her face blurry from passing time—but there she was, excited, laughing up at him. Then he saw Mia Briscoe’s bruised face. His eyes flew open and he jerked forward. He saw Alex had moved to stand behind a winged chair, his whiskey in his left hand, looking impatient. With him? Of course with him.

Kent said, “Mia had bruises on her face, Alex; it was obvious she’d been hurt. I couldn’t believe it when she asked me which of us tried to run her over last night, you or me.”

Alex jerked back. “What? Run her down? That’s ridiculous. Sure, I saw the bruises. She told me it was an accident, most likely some drunk. Now she’s accusing one of us of trying to kill her? Why would either of us do that? That’s beyond stupid, it’s crazy. Kent, I’m running for mayor of New York City!”

He looked both insulted and disbelieving. Was Alex that good an actor? Kent could never be sure if Alex was telling the truth since they were three years old. He remembered the first girl Alex had roofied as a lark at Bennington. She was sixteen years old and her nickname was Perky. She’d been unconscious for eighteen hours, and it scared the crap out of everyone. But not Alex. Not that he let on anyway. When she surfaced, she didn’t remember a thing. Alex had calmly told Kent what he’d done then, that now he knew to use a smaller dose. The two of them could have at it, a banquet lay spread out in front of them. And Kent had gone along. No, Kent could never be sure if Alex was telling the truth. But to try to kill Mia Briscoe? Could he be that reckless?

Alex said finally, “So somehow Briscoe got Juliet to come to New York, got her to come see you. Tell me exactly what happened. And don’t tell me Juliet threatened to go public, accuse us.”

“She’s not the Juliet we knew two years ago, Alex.”

“What do you mean by that?”