“You need to do it,” Laraya said firmly. “Don’t worry—I’ll be able to handle most of it on your behalf. But since he’s trying to have charges filed against you, you need to get your side on the record.”

“I also told Jude Lazare. She’s my sister’s friend. She works for the mayor’s office—she’s in communications. I didn’t know where to go after Aubrey slimed on me. I was kind of dazed afterward. He lives a block from City Hall Park, and Jude’s office was right there.”

“You went there immediately afterward? That’s perfect.” He looked delighted. “Every witness, every detail is invaluable.”

It was helpful, having someone else jog my memory. Through his questions, I remembered I’d told Reagan as well. Then Laraya turned his attention to Snapp.

“You can sue them, you know. They knowingly put you in a dangerous situation.”

“They did, but the police just raked me over the coals about some things in my past. I don’t want that being dredged up.”

“Legally, they can’t do that, but of course the law works in funny ways for people with money,” Laraya said. “But it’s also an option to sue them and settle. Unless they’re stupid, they’ll want this to go away.”

“Wouldn’t I be telling the world I was a victim if I did that?”

“They abused you, Deirdre. Snapp was in a position of authority, and they acted like a pimp. They knew what they were sending you into. There’s no shame in speaking up and telling the truth. Silence protects them, not you.”

There was a hard knot in my throat that made it hard to answer. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course. I know you’ve had an awful week,” Laraya said. “I haven’t even told you yet how sorry I am about Caroline. She was such a warm, lovely person.”

“You met her?”

“I was at their wedding,” he said.

I didn’t remember meeting him there. I’d mostly lurked in the shadows, eventually ducking out early. Jude had been Caro’s only bridesmaid.

“Theodore mentioned you’re friends with Theo,” I said.

“We were best friends in college, but Theo has never forgiven me for doing legal work for his father.”

“Really?”

“There’s some antagonism between the two of them,” Laraya said. “I pointed out to Theo exactly how many Filipino lawyers the white-shoe firm of Casper Peters McNally has: just me. They hired me on his father’s recommendation. But Theo sees it as a sort of betrayal. ‘You’ll get caught up in his web’ is how he put it. He says his father always expects interest on any favor he does.”

I was tempted to ask Laraya about the money-laundering allegations, but I knew that was pointless.

“Did you know Theo’s in Berlin right now?”

“Are you kidding?” He shook his head. “Damn it. That’s what I get for trying to help.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry. I should keep my big mouth shut,” Laraya said. He was quiet for a minute. “Do you have any idea why things went so wrong between your sister and Theo?”

“Caro never talked about it.”

“Well, neither of them talked to me about it.” He gave me a small smile. “I always wondered. They were so close at one time.”

“All I know for sure right now is that my sister gave me a small fraction of the truth.”

“I don’t want to sound like a cynical lawyer,” he said. “But I think that’s all anybody ever gives anyone.”

CHAPTER 28

THEO

Mehmet Badem’s address was in Prenzlauer Berg, an area I knew all too well from my student days. Drugs and fetish clubs existed in every Berlin neighborhood, but if you wanted something dangerous, you were sure to find it there. Badem’s address was east of Mauerpark—a reminder of where part of the Berlin Wall once stood—and the charming boutiques and cafés of the Sch?nhauser Allee.

His building looked industrial, with four boxy floors and an African restaurant on the main level. There were two dozen apartment buzzers, and I pressed them until someone answered. “Anlieferung,” I said, hoping that was the right word for delivery—my German had always been lacking—and I was buzzed in.

Badem lived on the third floor, and he answered when I knocked. I had immediately recognized his photograph, but if I’d encountered him on the street, I wouldn’t have realized it was the same man. He’d been a solid muscular type at one time, but he had morphed into a skeletal wreck. His skin was sallow and sagging, and his eyes were sunken. His dark hair was streaked with gray and slicked back.

It was like looking in a dark mirror. If I’d continued to use all the drugs I’d once been on, I had no reason to believe I’d look any better.

“Mehmet Badem? Entschuldige.” I wanted to apologize for showing up at his door unannounced, but I could only get as far as saying excuse me in German. “Ich bin . . .”

“I know you,” he answered in English. He stared at me intently, barely blinking.

“My name is Theo,” I said. “You used to work for my family at the Thraxton Hotel.”

Badem’s eyes widened, and his mouth made a squishy gurgle. “Oh, shit,” he murmured.

“I heard you had an accident at the hotel a few years ago . . .”

He stepped back, as if I’d pushed him. I used the opportunity to step inside, quickly shutting the door behind me.

“That’s right.” Badem took another step back.

“What happened?” I asked him.

“You’re a Thraxton. You know what happened,” he said, never taking his eyes off mine.

“All I know is that there was an accident five years ago. What kind of work did you do?”

“Security,” he said warily.

Of course it was security.

“Cigarette?” he asked me.

“No, thanks.”

He retreated further, picking up a pack from the sofa and lighting a cigarette. He may have looked like a wreck, but his apartment was relatively tidy. I took in the big-screen television, video-game console, and new laptop; he wasn’t well, but his pension seemed to be supporting him. An annoyed yip came from one of the cushions. A mutt with mottled black-and-white fur sat up and started barking at me.

“Shhh, Snoopy,” he chided.

“Cute dog,” I said, even though the bundle of fluff was baring its fangs. It was small and probably harmless, but I still had to fight my instinct to flee.

“He gets nervous,” Badem said. “Strangers, you know. He doesn’t like them.”

“I have a few questions for you.”

The dog barked again.

“I’ll put him in the bedroom,” Badem said, scooping the pup into his arms. “Then we can talk.”

I walked to the window and stared at the bustling street outside. My first year of school in Berlin, I’d been in Prenzlauer Berg most nights once I discovered it. BDSM clubs were a dime a dozen, but this area was where I’d discovered bloodplay. As often as I could manage, I would pay pretty girls to open my veins. It was how I slipped away. At a certain point, whenever I bled enough, my mind shut down. That was when the voices in my head stopped, when I am full of hidden horrors was silenced. No matter how much I worked with Dr. Haven to recover my memory, I never expected to get those moments back—after all, they were dark voids where time and place had no meaning. That had been the entire point.

I stared out the window, wondering why I’d always been so desperate to escape from myself. In my sessions with Dr. Haven, she’d gently guided me into conversations about my parents and how their divorce and my mother’s subsequent abandonment of Juliet and me had affected us. But I didn’t blame my mother; I believed she’d run away to save herself. My stepmother had said, Marriage to a Thraxton is sheer misery. I didn’t doubt that.

At that moment, I could hear Mirelle’s voice. What could be more romantic than getting married, Theo? Let’s run away and do it. It will be our little secret. I had agreed immediately because I couldn’t imagine life without her. We’d only been together for a short time, but I’d stopped going to clubs because of her; she understood bloodplay and yet was kind and warm and nonjudgmental. But standing in that apartment, overlooking my old bleeding grounds, something about the memory curdled. Mirelle had been everything I wanted, but she never asked for anything back. It was as if she existed for my happiness, and as a young man, I’d accepted that as my due.

Lost as I was in my thoughts, I heard the sharp click behind me and turned away from the window. Mehmet Badem was standing behind me, pointing a gun at my chest.

CHAPTER 29

DEIRDRE