"Where are you taking me?"

It was the second time I'd asked. I should have thought longer about hopping back in a car with someone I despised—someone who could still be as dangerous as Clarissa believed his brother was.

As the night whistled by outside, I shivered. What if he was driving me to the middle of nowhere to kill me? What if he pulled the car over and did it right there, just reached across the seats and grabbed me by the throat?

His mugshot floated to the surface of my memory. He had the eyes of someone who would kill.

"I could get out right now, you know."

"Not without a hell of a road burn. Those clothes aren't exactly made for jumping out of speeding cars. Too much skin."

I rolled my eyes. "How anti-feminist of you."

"Just sayin'. I have no desire to turn around and pick your shredded ass up, so you'd be on your own."

"At the moment, that sounds wonderful."

"Don't be so dramatic." He flipped the left blinker on, and the old car bumped up a gravel drive. I barely made out the shape of a parking area in the darkness, and for a split second I was relieved that at least he'd chosen a public place. But the lack of light or movement clearly indicated that it was empty at this time of night.

He cut the engine beside a roped-off road, and we both got out. "We're gonna have to walk a bit," he said, stepping over the rope.

It bounced back into place, and I hesitated. Out here near the road, there was still a chance someone might pass by if I needed help. Who knew how far out of civilization he would lead me?

"Where are we?" I asked.

"You'll see," was all he said.

Sighing, I followed. On the whole, he'd probably be doing me a favor by killing me. Someone already wanted me dead—possibly him—so best to get it over with, right? At least then I'd be able to tell Clarissa "I told you so" in the afterlife.

"What if you're taking me somewhere to murder me?" I taunted as soon as I'd caught up.

Do you want him to do it? I scolded myself, then paused to think about it.

Maybe I did. Or maybe I just didn't care.

"If I was, would you even turn around and run?" Ciar asked.

I blinked, my mouth opening but refusing to release words. Was it that obvious?

He laughed. "Come on. Back there, in the river...we both know you weren't coming out because of the danger. Was there anything else I could have said to get you out of there?"

I gaped at him for several more steps, wondering where he got the nerve to psychoanalyze someone he barely knew.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "You're just as reckless as I am."

We stepped off the road and onto a thinner footpath, the darkness thickening as we entered a tunnel of trees that hid the moon. I waited for him to draw a pocketknife or something. I knew he had one—I'd seen it lying out in the garage on more than one occasion—but he just kept walking.

Ahead, the path turned to wooden planks, and the gentle splash of water made me glance down. On either side, it lapped at the dock we traveled, our footsteps echoing hollowly in the night.

Finally, he reached the end and turned around, raising his arms out to his sides to include the whole body of water. "You can't swim in the Mystic. This is as close as you'll get. Upper Mystic Lake."

I listened to the water's ripples as they caressed my soul. Was Tilda out there somewhere right now? If I dipped my toes in, would I find her?

"This is where the river ends?"

Ciar's rough laugh shattered my quiet awe. "The lakes drain into the river, so not exactly. Not the way you mean. But it's the best I can give you."

The breath left my lungs. He had no way of knowing the echo his words brought to life in my memories. In a flash, Mark stood before me, holding my hands as I stared at him through a veil of white lace.

I don't have much. Just my last name, but since you won't take it, I promise you, every day, the best that I can give you.

He'd laughed along with the guests. The crinkles by his eyes were still burned into the undersides of my lids. I saw them every time I tried to sleep.

He'd loved me for my independence. Maybe that was why he stopped. I'd needed psychiatric care. Then I'd needed meds. And I'd never stopped needing since.

Independent me would have hated me now, if she'd survived.

"Maisye?"

I jumped, blinking at Ciar as though to clear a heavy fog.

He sighed, the corner of his mouth pulling back into an impossibly sad smile. "It's okay," he said, even though it wasn't. "You're allowed to be underwhelmed. My best has never really been good enough."

"It's not that," I blurted, then stopped. Why did Ciar deserve my comfort? Not half an hour ago, he'd been a complete asshole. What if this wounded version of him was all an act to lull me into a false sense of security so he could pounce?

He'd be doing you both a favor.

I shoved the intrusive thought away and turned toward the lake. It called to me; without Donovan's tight grip around my thighs, it wasn't a need to reach for Tilda, though. I wanted to wash everything away, disappear under the water and rise to its surface a new woman.

Maybe one that was whole.

I slipped out of my shoes and took one long stride. My toes curled around the edge of the dock. I stood there, simply breathing in the pureness of air unadulterated by inner-city traffic.

Just do it, a voice in my head prodded.

I set my camera down carefully on the dock. With my eyes used to the darkness, the moonlight illuminated us just as well as a streetlight, and as I started to slide Tilda's skirt off my hips, I knew Ciar could see everything.

So what? Let him watch. It wasn't anything he wouldn't see if I'd worn a swimsuit.

The skirt fell on the dock with a soft thump. Behind me, Ciar's throat cleared.

"Maisye..."

His voice was low. Raspy.

I hesitated. It carried a warning, too, but I wasn't exactly sure what of. Still, I stood there in my underwear and played with the hem of Tilda's red blouse for a solid minute, wondering if jumping into a lake at two in the morning with a guy I barely knew was really a good idea.

I gasped as two hands slipped under the blouse from behind, lifting and tugging. Obediently, I raised my arms to let it pass, and then it fell in a heap beside the skirt.

I whirled around just as he backed away, but not before I realized how close he had been.

Inches.

He shifted, eyes flickering warily as he tried to gauge my reaction. I couldn't comprehend anything beyond the goosebumps stinging my arms. Ciar looked almost...afraid, and it was such a departure from his usual overdone self-assurance that it jolted my brain into overdrive. What could Ciar Cosgrave possibly fear?

Or who?

I couldn't bring myself to ask, because I didn't want him to give me the one name that would break what little stability I had.

Finally, he swallowed. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

My eyes narrowed a fraction, and he quickly gestured at the lake. My face flamed. I hadn't thought he meant that at all.

Still, how would Donovan feel if he knew his brother, who he'd trusted to bring me home safely, had technically removed my clothes? Not even hours after I'd kissed him, too.

Who am I?

I turned back toward the water, trying not to think about Ciar's eyes on my back, and threw myself off the dock. The lake enveloped me, chilled but not cold, and I floated just below the surface for as long as I could.

Eyes closed, lungs bursting, I wondered if this was what she had felt in her last moments. If I inhaled, I could truly be her, see her, ask her why.

Why had she jumped? Why had she cut me off? Why had she changed her name? Why hadn't she suspected anything when Donovan owned a house he shouldn't have been able to afford?

So many "why"s.

They filled me as I sank.

Inhale.

It was her voice in my ear. Or was it mine? No one had ever been able to tell the difference.

Just breathe, Maisye.

That was definitely her. She'd whispered those words to me when we were kids, and I'd woken hyperventilating my way through a panic attack that no one had cared enough to investigate.

Breathe.

A single bubble escaped my nose, floating up toward the murky surface.

Just breathe.