It’s a start, right? She’d even gone to AA a couple of times. Needed to go more—she got that. And she would. She definitely would.

As long as she was breathing, she had an obligation to do right by Pauley. He’d left his business and this place to her.

And she needed the whole truth. All those missing pieces. Some part of her wouldn’t let go of the idea that those pieces were essential to something she didn’t fully understand.

With Asher’s murder, those pieces were even more important. Something or someone from her lost past was relevant to his death. She had to find that thing or person. Maybe the whole concept was simply a reason to seek revenge. Revenge was a powerful motive.

The warning that someone was on the fire escape chimed. She stalled. A fist against the door confirmed it was neither cat nor another four-legged animal.

Pound, pound, pound. “Cross, I know you’re in there.”

Falco. Sadie gritted her teeth. She was not going to answer his questions tonight.

She started forward once more, and the pounding began again.

“We know you were working with Walsh more closely than you told us,” he said, the hushed accusation leaching through the wood of the door.

Sadie turned around and moved toward the sound.

“I understand,” Falco said, his voice softer now, “what it must have taken for you to trust him.”

She pressed her forehead against the cool wood surface and closed her eyes. He couldn’t possibly.

“I just need to understand what he was doing. It’s the only way we can find his killer. You know that, Cross. You have to help us. We can’t help you unless you help us. You can count on Devlin and me. You know that.”

Sadie twisted around until her back was against the door, then tipped up the bottle and guzzled another deep swallow. With the fire burning in her gut, she slid down the door until she folded into a heap on the floor.

“Go away, Falco. I don’t need your help. Or Devlin’s.”

“We know about Naomi Taylor. We found Walsh’s working notes at her house. We need to understand what the pieces mean, Cross.”

Join the fucking crowd.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she lied. Anything to get him gone. She needed peace. Darkness. Quiet.

“What time tomorrow?”

Sadie gritted her teeth. “Just go, Falco, before I change my mind.”

He knew she would too. There were only a handful of people, and several of those were dead, who understood her. Falco was one of them. He even knew a few of her secrets.

But not all of them.

Hell, she didn’t even know all of them.

“Tomorrow, Cross. I need to hear from you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

She listened to the clomp of his footsteps fading down the stairs. The security system chimed again, confirming he’d gone.

Good. She angled up the bottle once more and focused on cutting her own path away from here.

8

Session One

Three Years Ago

“I am Dr. Oliver Holden. With me is my patient, Sadie Cross, age thirty-one. This is regression therapy, session one.”

The sounds of rustling papers float up from the recording.

“Sadie, are you ready to begin?”

“Guess so.”

“I want you to close your eyes and relax. Allow your muscles to loosen. Start with the muscles in your neck and shoulders. Let them soften; release any tension. Slow your breathing. Slow and deep. Now your arms. Allow them to lie beside you. No tension. No anticipation. Just lie there. Deep breath. Slower. In . . . out. Your legs should be relaxed. Soft. Pliable.

“I’d like you to count down in your mind, starting with three hundred. Slow, going down, down, down. The numbers slip away. The thoughts and senses that hold you to this time and place are slipping away with the numbers. Away. Away. Away.”

Slow, deep breaths whisper from the recording.

“It’s eighteen months ago, Sadie. Fall. September 7. Remember September 7?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about that day.”

“I was working undercover to infiltrate the Osorio drug cartel.” The pitch of her voice rises as she speaks.

“Deep breath, Sadie. I’m with you. Tell me where we are.”

“At the dump where I lived for my cover. Shitty little place in Druid Hills.” A gasp rises in the quiet. “He’s there. He came back. Like he said he would.”

“Who is he, Sadie?”

“Eddie—Eduardo Osorio. My target.”

“Your target.” Pause. “What do you mean by target?”

“The son of Carlos Osorio, the leader of the largest, most ruthless drug cartel in Mexico. Their reach extends up into the United States. From Atlanta to Houston. New York to Chicago. Everything in between,” Sadie explains. “Their primary base of operations in the Southeast was Atlanta. Had been for years. But, at the time of the operation, they were moving things for some unknown reason. Here. To Birmingham. Eduardo did all the face-to-face business. His father never left their Mexican compound. He was too afraid of being executed or grabbed by law enforcement. Still is, if he’s alive.”

“You’d met Eduardo before?”

“Yes. He stopped at my food truck every time he was in Birmingham. That was my cover: food truck operator. I stationed my truck near his hotel. He always stayed at the same place. A strange ritual that could’ve gotten him killed but he didn’t appear worried about it. He gave the impression of being fearless. Fierce. Powerful.”

“You sound as if you admired him.” Holden’s tone is tinged with a note of surprise.

“It was my job to understand him. To know his MO. How he moved, reacted.”

“All right. Explain to me how you were ordered to approach this target?”

“I was tasked with finding a way to get close to him. To lure him into trusting me. The goal was to get invited back home to meet Daddy. No one had ever gotten into that compound and survived to talk about it. I wanted in. Whatever it took.”

“Why was Eduardo back in Birmingham on this particular day?”

“It was Friday. I was supposed to go home with him for the weekend. He said he’d come, but I wasn’t sure. It was happening faster than any of us anticipated.”

“Who is us, Sadie?”

“The task force. We expected the infiltration to take far longer.”