The first thing I did when I got home was sleep. The second thing I did was jolt awake in a panic as my phone went off. As I flailed around trying to throw off the covers, I lamented what my life had become. Death threats. Kissing dead sisters' fiancés. Calling them my ex-husband's name.

Yep, I was fucked up. More than I thought.

My fingers finally found the phone, and I read Clarissa's name on the screen. I answered, making sure she heard the sigh before my dull, "Hello?"

"Maisye! Guess what!"

I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it. Could she not take a hint? Why was she so damn excited at—I glanced at the time—two o'clock in the afternoon?

"I fixed it."

I frowned even though she couldn't see me. "Fixed what?"

"Your problem."

I rolled my eyes. Which one? My car? Or the fact that a murderous psychopath was out to commit manslaughter by vehicle? Or the fact that Ciar Cosgrave was an annoying piece of shit, or that he seemed to only exist to help me when I least wanted it and then turn around and mock me later? Or just Ciar in general?

If she could fix him, I might have forgiven her for everything else.

It took my groggy brain several long seconds to catch up and remind me that I hadn't told her any of last night's events. I hadn't spoken to her since I'd complained that Donovan wasn't talking to me anymore.

"Wait," I tried to head her off, throwing my legs over the edge of the bed and padding to the kitchen.

"I finagled you an invite to a sweet birthday celebration this weekend," she said anyway.

"Well great, but I'm not interested in crashing family parties and I don't need your help."

She laughed. "You don't understand how the affluent do birthdays, do you? Half the suburb's invited. Including Donovan."

I knew she was exaggerating, but I still tried to imagine half of Charlestown's population fitting into the average apartment there. It sounded a lot like five hundred people in a single elevator.

"I don't need the stupid party. I fixed it on my own."

Clarissa's silence conveyed her disappointment clearly, but she still felt the need to express it out loud.

"Why didn't you tell me, Maisye? You're supposed to keep me updated on these things."

I sighed. What could I say? "You're using me and I don't like it"? She'd just deny it.

"I shouldn't have to remind you that this is still an investigation, not a free-for-all. Everything you have here is contingent on you working with us."

Anger bristled in my gut, rushing upward to render me lightheaded. She'd sent me in to deal with a potential murderer, but she was the one making threats. Not him. And she wondered why I didn't tell her everything.

"Fine. Then I'm sure you'd like to know that I almost got killed last night. Which wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been driving, which I only was because you were stalking me like a narc."

The logic sounded weak even to my ears, but Clarissa didn't call me out right away. Instead, I heard rustling on the other end, like she was shifting in her fancy Bureau chair behind her fancy Bureau desk.

Finally, she broke the silence. "What happened?"

I hesitated. I hadn't anticipated how dumb I'd feel about not telling her the first chance I'd got. She was the law. If someone was trying to kill me because of her case, she should know, whether I trusted her or not.

"Someone tried to hit me with their car," I said.

"Did you get their license plate?"

"No."

"Did you see what kind of car it was?"

My descent into stupidity continued as I repeated myself. "No."

She sighed. "This is serious, Maisye."

"You don't think I know that? I almost died!"

"Are you okay? Why didn't you call me?"

"I didn't have my phone."

A soft groan echoed in my ear. "Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds in this day and age?"

"I'm not lying," I said. "It happened."

"I believe you." A creak filtered through the speaker, as if she'd stood up. "It's just not much to go on to find this guy."

"How far do we have to look?" I pointed out. "This is about the Cosgraves. It has to be somebody associated with them, right?"

Clarissa hesitated. "Maybe."

I frowned into the receiver. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"No. I just don't understand. Where's your car now?"

"Ciar picked it up."

"Ciar?"

"Yeah." I understood her surprise. He wasn't exactly the helpful kind of guy.

"How did you call him if you didn't have a phone?"

"He just showed up."

In her pause, I felt the implication of my own words. I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, she said it for me.

"He just happened to be there at the same time you say you were targeted?"

"I...guess so."

I imagined her running a hand along her face, as if she could press away the worry wrinkles. "This is why I didn't want you to get involved with him. He's bad news."

"Because he got arrested?" I asked. "For street racing? You said his brother might have killed four women, including my sister. You don't have a problem with me hanging out with him."

"Donovan isn't negotiable," she said. "Ciar is. He doesn't have to be part of this investigation at all. And if he knew what was good for him, he'd stay out of it."

"But that's the point," I said slowly, wondering if it was even true. "He doesn't know."

Nothing.

"Does he?"

"Of course not," Clarissa snapped. "Look, all you need to worry about right now is that party."

"But I don't need it anymore."

"Why waste an invitation? Besides, Donovan will be there. It can't hurt."

I sighed. "This weekend?" I had no concept of time. Not in days, anyway. Only in chunks of time spent between her and the Cosgraves.

"Day after tomorrow," she said. "Do you need a ride?"

"No, Donovan let me borrow the—"

I stopped abruptly as I pulled back the curtain to peek at the tiny white car in my driveway. It still sat there, blinding in the afternoon sun, but its tires curled in ribbons around the wheels.

"The Fiat," I mumbled shakily.

"Maisye, are you okay?"

I cleared my throat. "Yeah."

I started to pull the phone away from my ear, but her shout caught me. "Don't you dare hang up! What did we just say? Talk to me, Maisye."

"The, um...." I fumbled for words, staring at the rubber spaghetti pooling at the car's feet. "The tires—someone slashed the tires."

"Are you alone in the apartment?"

I immediately spun in a circle, listening for the same creaks and thumps I'd heard earlier at Donovan's house. If I tried hard enough, I could convince myself I heard the echo of footsteps creeping across the lopsided wooden floor, or that someone was lurking just behind me, matching my motions so that they always stayed just out of my vision.

"I think so," I squeaked, not at all sure.

"Lock the door."

I rushed to the door, my hands trembling like tree limbs in a hurricane. "It's already locked."

"Good. Don't move. I'm coming over."

"Clarissa?" I asked before she could hang up.

"Yes, Maisye?"

I swallowed. "Remember what you said, when I agreed to this? That I wasn't going to die?"

After a moment of silence, she simply said, "Yes."

She waited on the other end of the line, but it took me a solid thirty seconds to gather my courage. Finally, I took a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly.

"What if I asked you now?"

For a moment the only sounds were her soft breaths over the line and the whisper of traffic from the street outside.

"I'd say the same thing," she eventually answered. Her voice had lost its authoritative ring, softening into something almost recognizable as friendship. "I know you don't trust me, Maisye, and I still want to know why. But I am here to help you, and I'm not losing anyone else to the Cosgraves. You have my word on that."