Four hours later, I found myself alone while waiting in Alex's dark apartment. Sheer adrenaline and obstinance was the only thing keeping me awake. I didn't even pour a glass of bourbon from his obscene collection because of the effect it would have. It wouldn't take much to drag me into the darkness of sleep, and with every passing moment and every new bit of information collected, I was afraid I would find a way to stay asleep.

Tonight was one of the few times I was grateful of the doors my name and money opened. With only a little effort, we learned Alex hadn't actually been arrested, just brought in for questioning. He was a person of interest, not a suspect—at least, not yet, and the subtle difference between those two things was everything.

Not that the public would care. Most had condemned him the moment the reporter uttered his name. They were all too glad to see someone pushed from a pedestal.

With assurance from the police that they would release him once he was questioned, I dropped James off at the office to begin digging into the connections between Melnyk and Karen Whitethorn. Resisting the urge to call him a hypocrite for choosing work over rest had been difficult. Instead, I filed it away for the next time he tried to mother me.

Light from the refrigerator made my eyes water as I rifled through the slim pickings of a bachelor's groceries. Lots of take out boxes. A dozen eggs. A mystery sandwich meat with what appeared to be mold growing over seventy-five percent of the surface. Not a single tempting thing, but I needed calories to keep going, so I settled on a Coke I discovered wedged behind the ketchup and expired milk.

The can hissed when I popped the tab, and I took a long swig, enjoying the burn of the liquid in my throat. Sugar and caffeine hit my bloodstream like a sledgehammer. Hands shaking, I took another drink. And another. Grip tightening on the aluminum as it emptied until on the last sip it crumpled in my hand.

"Fuck," I shouted, throwing it across the room as the door opened.

"Guess that makes us even since."

Dropping onto a barstool, I propped my elbows on the countertop and dug my fingers into my scalp. "You threw a hundred dollar Waterford tumbler at my wall and broke it. I hardly think a coke can makes us even."

Keys clinked as Alex dropped them onto a console table. He didn't move. "Do you think I killed her?"

Nails bit into my skin as I dragged my hands down my face. They caught on the beard covering my jaw. When was the last time I shaved? Or showered for that matter?

"Did you?"

"You know I didn't."

I looked up. "I know you didn't."

A keening groan tore past his lips as he stumbled across the room and dragged me into a tight hug. I hesitated. Just a moment. Then I threw my arms around my brother and held onto him, both of us crying without the slightest sense of shame. It wouldn't fix anything—wouldn't bring Millie back—but for right now, each shed tear felt cleansing and renewing. Whatever it took to keep me going until she had justice. After that...

"What now?" He asked when we separated.

I wiped my face and straightened my shirt. "For you? Nothing. You keep your nose clean and let me handle things. We've already called your lawyer to do damage control."

"No."

"No?" Warning edged the syllable. "That's your only option. In case you haven't figured it out yet, someone is playing the long game, and you're the new target."

Alex turned on the kitchen light and dragged coffee from a cabinet. With the light on, I could see how haggard he looked. Not as bad as me but close. His dark blonde hair stuck up in all directions. Shadows hollowed his cheeks, and his mouth, always so quick to turn up in a smile, was anchored into a grim line.

"Even more reason for me to help, Loch."

"No," I repeated.

"You don't get to tell me—"

I shoved him hard enough he hit the counter, making dishes rattle in the cabinets. "No. What I'm not going to do is listen to another phone call with your mother crying because she's lost her only living child. She cannot take losing you, Alex, and that means you're going to let me be the one to figure this out."

"Who said anything about losing anyone?"

"I'm not just talking about your life, Alex. I'm talking about what we might have to do to end this. I doubt my hands will be clean after this. Why should we both pay that price? You're going to let me do this."

"This is bullshit!" Alex shouted. "You're doing what you've always done and playing the martyr. My mother... Our mother would be just as devastated to lose you, and you fucking know that."

"Fine!" We were toe to toe and shouting loud enough the neighbors could hear. "You want to hear the truth. I don't want you involved more than you already are because I can't lose you. I can't lose another person."

"Loch."

He moved as if to hug me again, and this time I moved out of his reach, shaking my head. The embrace earlier had held me together. If he touched me now, I would shatter.

"What did the police say?" I asked. "Why did they decide you were a person of interest?"

Alex glared at me but didn't call me out for changing the topic. "Apparently, the last text Millie sent on her phone was to me asking me to meet her, and the time of that meeting lined up with the time of her death."

Fury bubbled in my gut. "Why didn't you tell me she contacted you?"

"That's just it. I didn't have a message from her. I showed the cops my phone, and there was nothing. Of course, they told me it didn't mean anything. I could have deleted it. They're going to subpoena my text records."

The next question turned my stomach. It still didn't feel real. "Do you have an alibi for her time of death?"

"Sort of. I was with Marcus, but no one can find him."

"Of course not."

"And Loch—" He hung his head. "He's the only other person who had access to my phone that night."