I turned back to Hugh and he looked at me, smiling. How did he even recognize me? My hair, shorter and with long bangs, was died with henna to a deep copper. The scar under my left eye puckered pink. The line of tissue that ran above my eyebrow was covered by the bangs that drifted into my gray eyes, so much colder than they used to be. My body was taut and balanced, always on edge, ready for a fight, sculpted for protection. The difference between me and the girl in that picture seemed unfathomably vast. Almost as if it was impossible we'd ever been the same.

  How much had Hugh changed? I thought of the crime scene photos I'd looked at with Mulberry on the flight. The close-ups of blood splattered across pinstriped bed sheets. Lawrence Taggert's ripped fingernails. The way his suit jacket floated around him as he lay face down, trapped between the roots of an everglade apple tree. Did Hugh knock him out? Lock the man in his trunk? Ignore his pleas for mercy and incessant banging while he drove to the swamp? Where Hugh then pushed Lawrence to his knees and shot him between the eyes? Finally kicking his corpse into the water for the gators to eat?

  Hugh reached across the kitchen counter and took my hands. Perhaps his scars weren't on his face. But there must be something left of those people in that photograph. I glanced back at it. Hugh stood on the other side of James, his hand wrapped around James's hip. He grinned at the camera, his smile full of youthful exuberance and a touch of alcoholic euphoria. His dirty blonde hair was pushed off his forehead and sand coated one bare shoulder. Was James the only ghost in that picture?

  Hugh followed my gaze to the photograph. "That was a fun day," he said.

  "Yeah," I agreed, turning to him.

  "It's good to see you," he smiled.

  "It's good to see you, too," I said, feeling close to him. No matter how far we traveled and changed there was an unbreakable tie between us. Perhaps there was a little left of that girl in the picture. I hoped that Hugh hadn't changed as much as me.

  Bobby cleared his throat and we both turned to him. He stood next to Mulberry, his fitted suit sleek and dangerous-looking compared to Mulberry's rumpled jeans and white linen shirt.

  "We will give you two some time to catch up," he said and with a small bow Robert turned, Mulberry with him, and left.

  #

  "We should have a drink," Hugh said, grabbing a bottle of whisky out of a cabinet and turning toward me.

  I nodded my agreement. He grabbed two glasses off an exposed shelf above the sink, then splashed whisky into them. He passed me one. I took it and Hugh leaned his hip against the counter. "God, so much has changed, Joy. Everything." His face tightened. "How did we get here?"

  I sipped the whisky, it was warm and burned my mouth, filling my sinuses with its powerful smoky scent. "I don't know."

  Blue barked. I turned to him, he looked at the sink, then back at me. "Oh, sorry, boy. Hugh, can I have a bowl for water?"

  "Yeah, of course, sure." Hugh put down his drink and opened a bottom drawer to pull out a bowl. Filling it with water from the tap he placed it on the floor for Blue, who lapped at it.

  "Did you really kill Kurt Jessup?" Hugh asked gently as he returned to his full height. Jessup, the man who murdered my brother, the maniac Robert Maxim let run wild, protected, and eventually killed.

  I shook my head. "No, but it wasn't from a lack of trying." Hugh frowned. "He was already dead when I got there."

  "But everyone in the world thinks you did it. Why haven't you denied it?"

  Ignoring his question I asked one of my own. "Did you kill Lawrence Taggert?"

  "No, I don't think so. I never wanted to. I don't know," Hugh turned away from me, placing both hands on the counter and looking out the giant windows. "I can't remember anything. This is so out of control."

  I sipped my whisky and then put it down on the counter next to me. "I can help you, don't worry," I said, placing my hand over his. He looked down at me, his blue eyes filled with tears.

  "How?" he asked and his eyebrows raised. "How are you even here? I thought you were dead, Joy!" His voice hiccuped and Hugh turned away from me.

  I looked at his profile and watched his Adam's apple bounce in his throat. "I'm sorry," I said.

  "You said you'd call," he answered, his voice stronger, almost angry.

  "I know." I wet my lips. "I should have but..."

  "What?" he asked, turning to me. "Why didn't you just let me know you were alive?" He shook his head, his eyes filling with disgust. "How could you let me think I'd lost you too, Joy?"

  "That's the thing," I said, grabbing at his hand as he tried to pull it away. "I'm not Joy anymore, Hugh. My name is Sydney Rye and I don't think you want to know me, but the fact is that you're in trouble and I can help you. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you."

  He pulled free from me. "You already hurt me," he yelled, backing away.

  "Hugh - " I reached across the counter for him, but he stepped further away.

  "Don't, Joy."

  "My name is Sydney now. Trust me Hugh, you need me. I think you're in even deeper shit than you realize."

  "What?"

  "I'm almost positive Robert Maxim is behind all of this. I think he set you up to lure me back here. Hugh, I think we're both in a shit ton of danger and my suggestion is fleeing. We need to go before they have a chance to realize we're gone. We need to go now."

  Hugh stared at me, his face dropping, the anger and hurt draining away. "I don't understand."

  "And I don't think there is time to explain.” I glanced around the apartment. James's fruit bowl, the paintings on the walls, the cookbooks that lined the kitchen shelves, pots and pans suspended above a six burner stove. How could I explain that he would have to leave all this behind because of me? "You'll be able to come back," I decided. "But we've got to go now."

  "Why does Robert Maxim care about you?"

  I came around the counter and took Hugh by the shoulders. "Listen to me," I bit my lip feeling the rough edge of my teeth as I raked them across the sensitive flesh. "This is my fault. I never should have gotten involved in New York. I got James killed and then I stupidly tried to avenge his murder without any concept of what was going on, the bigger picture. Do you understand?" I realized I was rambling. "The point, Hugh, is that I've learned a lot since then. And one thing I know for sure is Robert Maxim is dangerous."

  Hugh moved away from me. "Who are you?"

  "Sydney Rye, Hugh, and we need to go."

  "This doesn't make any sense. My lawyer recommended Fortress Global Investigations. He said they were the best."

  "They are, so let me ask you this: if Robert isn't behind all this why is the head of the company working on this case?"

  "It's pretty high profile," he said. "Lawrence and I are both minor celebrities." Hugh had partnered with Lawrence on his restaurant Defry after winning the cooking competition Sliced, which Lawrence produced.

  "This is my fault, Hugh," I said. "Please let me help you."

  Hugh bit his lip. "I think," he blinked. "I think it's like lightning. You know how if you're struck by lightning it's more likely to happen again."

  "Hugh, what are you talking about?" I asked.

  He shook his head slightly and wet his lips again. "I think that violence is like lightning. If you get struck once you're more likely to be hit again."

  "Hugh, I brought this here."

  "A lightning rod?" he said with a weak smile.

  "Please," I started again, but he cut me off.

  "I'm not going to run away. I need to know what happened."

  "Hugh, just... Just trust me, please."

  "Joy -"

  "Sydney."

  "Fine, Sydney." He took a breath. "I'm not running away. I have to find out what happened. Don't you understand? I have no idea what happened." Tears sprang to his eyes again.

  "I'm sorry," I said. Watching him cry broke something inside of me and the wall of bluster and fight that kept me alive seemed to crumble under its weight. "We'll find out," I promised.

  "So you'll stay?"

  #

  Blue left my side and I felt a chill where the dog's warmth usually touched me, against the scar on my thigh. I watched him move quickly but quietly across the room until he stood at the end of the hall with a clear view to the front door. Hugh followed my gaze and in the silence I heard footsteps approaching.

  Blue's hackles raised off his shoulder and back, changing his appearance from something slick and powerful to a wooly, gigantic beast. A sound at the door and his lips pulled back from sharp, bone white canines. As I heard the doorknob turn Blue growled in a pitch so low it was almost just a vibration humming through the air.

  The whoosh of the door opening was quickly followed by an "Oh shit" and the door slamming.

  "That's my friend," Hugh said, pointing at the door.

  Hugh's phone rang and he grabbed it up off the counter, hitting the speaker button. "Santiago, I'm sorry-"

  "Oh thank Jesus, you're okay. Hugh," the speaker took a quick breath, "I don't know how to tell you this. But," he paused for a moment and then blurted out, "there is some kind of wolf in your house. It may be a zombie. I don't know. Thing is scary!"

  Hugh motioned at Blue, waving his arm, signaling for me to do something. "Blue," I said, "it's okay." He turned and looked at me, lowering his lips and deflating his hackles. They remained a bit puffed but they would smooth soon. "Come." Blue hurried to my side, his tail wagging, looking the picture of a normal, happy, giant, zombie wolf.

  "You can come in," Hugh said into the phone as he crossed the living room toward the entrance. I heard the door open again and followed Hugh to greet our guest, Blue back in place by my side. "I'm so sorry," Hugh said as a tall man with dark, short cropped hair, a strong jaw line, wearing a white T-shirt and jeans walked in holding his phone and ladened with grocery bags .

  "What is going on?" he asked. "Corazon, I thought something happened to you."

  Hugh smiled and leaned forward, kissing the man on the cheek then took some of the shopping from him. "Hi," I said. "Sorry Blue gave you a scare. He can be protective."

  Santiago looked down at Blue. "As long as he listens to you, I don't mind. He isn't really hungry for human blood is he?" Santiago asked, a playful twinkle in his eye.

  "No," I said, smiling. "I'm Sydney Rye," I continued, extending my hand. "I'm working with FGI on Hugh's case."

  Santiago raised his eyebrows and shook my hand. "You're a detective?" he asked, eyeing me up and down.

  "Yes," I said, reaching down to pull at my skirt. "I just got off a plane," I continued and reached up to touch my hair, feeling it was a mess.

  "You're here to help with Hugh's case. Fantastico." Santiago gave me a dazzling smile and I realized how gorgeous he was, then I wondered if this was Hugh's boyfriend, then I wondered how I felt about that. While I stood there thinking, Santiago continued into the kitchen and placed the bags on the counter. He began to unload the first one but paused. "Wait," he said, looking over at the photo of Hugh, James and me. He stared at our smiling faces for a second and then turned to look back at me. "Are you Joy?" he asked.

  "No," I said. "My name is Sydney Rye."

  Santiago cocked his head at the photo and then looked at Hugh who stared intently at his toes. "Hugh?" Santiago asked, drawing out his name, playing with it the way only a Colombian tongue can do.

  He nodded. "It's her."

  Santiago gave a little jump of excitement. "Oh. My. God. I knew you weren't dead. I knew it." He stepped toward me. "And you're here to help with Hugh." His eyes widened with the sudden realization. Before I could prepare he embraced me in a bear hug. Santiago smelled like black pepper and leather. He shook us back and forth and squeezed. His body was hard and comforting. "I'm so glad you're here."

  "Thanks," I said, it came out muffled against his shirt.

  Santiago held me out at arm’s length and then looked over at Hugh who smiled sheepishly at us.

  #

  It turned out Santiago was not dating Hugh. They were friends. Period. They met in a victims support group in a church basement "under fluorescent lights," Santiago pointed out, gesturing toward me with his wine glass. "Or maybe something would have happened. Ah, Corazon, we'll never know," he said, swinging his head around to Hugh and batting his long, thick black lashes at him. Hugh laughed and the tension around his eyes seemed to ease as the sound escaped him.

  "When I found out he knew the real Joy Humbolt, well, I just couldn't believe it," Santiago told me. "We are both on Joyful Justice, you know?"

  I shrugged and turned away. Joyful Justice was the website that sprung up after my escape from New York. It was based on the idea that I was some brave warrior princess who avenged her brother's murder and exposed corruption at the highest levels when the truth was totally different. I got my brother killed, then I fucked up avenging him and got myself exiled. But the people on Joyful Justice thought Joy Humbolt was a hero. And while I'd met people through it, people who had helped me in my work and whom I now considered good friends, I knew it was dangerous. "I don't have anything to do with that," I told Santiago. "I'm Sydney Rye now. Really, it's not something I like to talk about."

  Hugh, seeing my discomfort, changed the subject. He told me how he and Santiago had worked together at the restaurant Hugh had created with Lawrence. Santiago was Hugh's sous chef, "vitally important to the whole operation," Hugh told me. To which Santiago responded:

  "He just likes looking at my ass."

  They had both been there the night of the fire. The event that precipitated the fight on the street which was one of the last things Hugh remembered.

  "Lawrence was crazed," Hugh said as we sat back from a meal of freshly made tortellini (Hugh and Santiago both agreed that making pasta was a great way to relieve stress). "He came at me, saying the whole thing was my fault and that I'd ruined the restaurant. I thought it was over the top. I mean, restaurant fires happen. I thought we'd be back up and running in no time but he was out of his mind." Hugh shook his head and Santiago refilled his wine glass, emptying our second bottle.

  "He left after screaming at me in front of our staff,"—Santiago nodded to that—"the paparazzi, and our guests. Totally inappropriate," Hugh said, picking up his glass and taking a quick sip. "But I certainly didn't want to kill him. I just don't understand."

  "What happened next?"

  "I sent the staff home and waited until the fire department let me back into the kitchen so that I could assess the damage myself. It wasn't that bad really, at least I didn't think so. While the overhead fire suppression system had failed, we kept several fire extinguishers in the kitchen so were able to put it out pretty quickly."

  Santiago cut in. "There was no ‘we’ about it. Hugh ordered the staff out and put out the blaze himself."

  Hugh laughed. "You make it sound so dramatic."

  "It was," Santiago said as he stood up and headed to the kitchen. He grabbed another bottle of wine off the shelf and came back to the table. "Hugh is a good man, you know that, Joy."

  "Call me Sydney," I said.

  "Oh, yes, sorry. Sydney," he said with extravagant eyebrow movements.

  "What happened next?" I asked Hugh.

  "I called a couple of contractors and left messages about getting the work done. And I called our insurance company and reported the fire. By then it was probably around 9 at night. I headed home, exhausted. Lawrence called right as I was getting out of the shower and asked me to come over. He apologized and said he wanted to talk. I told him I was tired but he insisted." Hugh took another sip of his wine. "So," he shrugged, "I drove over to his place." His lips pursed. "And pulling into his driveway is the last thing I remember until waking up with the police banging on my door." He looked toward his door and then took a glug of wine. "I let them in. I had no idea what happened. They asked to look around. It never occurred to me I'd done anything horrible." Tears filled his eyes and I reached a hand across the table covering his.

  "Maybe you didn't," I said. "And if you did, it obviously wasn't you. Not the real you."

  "Does that mean there is another me? One that kills people?"

  "No," Santiago said emphatically. "Of course not! You were drugged or something. Right, Sydney?"

  "Absolutely," I said, squeezing his hand.

  He shook his head as if to clear it and smiled at me. "Tell me what's been going on with you? I'm sick of this topic."

  I smiled, my cheeks struggling with the gesture. How could I explain myself? I didn't need drugs or blackouts to commit murder. All I needed was an excuse.

  I sat back and picked up my wine, sipping it to buy myself some time. "I think the story is too long for tonight," I said. "It's late and I've been traveling for days."

  "Fine," Hugh said. "But before you go I want to know what's going on with you and Mulberry."

  "Oh, who’s Mulberry?" Santiago asked, his eyebrows dancing.

  I couldn't help but laugh. Hugh turned to Santiago. "He's the detective who originally investigated James's death but was removed from the case for getting too close to the truth. And he's kind of a super hunk these days. I remember him being less cute and more stressed. Man looks like he's relaxed a bit," Hugh said, bringing his attention back to me. "And damn, girl, the way he looks at you. Talk about a blaze."

  I laughed and blushed, taking a quick sip of my wine. "It's complicated," I answered honestly. "And I'm sorry, but I really do need to go." I stood up.

  "You can stay here," Hugh said.

  "While I love that idea my stuff is probably back at the hotel and I need to touch base with Mulberry."

  "You sure that's all you need to touch with him?" Santiago asked, dropping his voice.

  I laughed again, feeling lighter just for the secret being out. Hugh walked me to the door and we embraced, leaning into each other, unwilling to let go again. "Don't worry," I told him. "I'm going to fix this."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Run, Run, Run

  Claude and his limo were waiting when Blue and I got down to the garage. He took me to a hotel in South Beach. The streets were teeming with well-dressed hard bodies looking for a good time. When Blue and I walked into the lobby of the hotel Robert had booked for us, a stylish woman about my age, but better dressed, led us to a suite with modern furnishings and that veneer of impersonality that every luxury hotel room in the world shares.

 

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