Ray stood, tossed two bills on the table. "Then I hope you're a better shot than he is a liar."

The click of the hammer being drawn back was loud as a gunshot itself.

Leo closed his eyes. "Then do it."

"Drugs are the excuse. The money is the escape." He opened the folder. Inside were photographs—a beach house in Costa Rica, a boat, a passport with a different name. "Cora is an identity forger. Best in the state. She's not my mistress, Elena. She's my ticket out."

A lamp clicked on.

Outside, she got into her car, sat in the driver's seat, and finally let herself cry—not for what she'd lost, but for what she'd almost become.

She pulled the revolver from her purse.

"You look like hell, Elena."

She stepped forward, pressed the barrel of the gun against his chest. Right over his heart. The same heart she'd fallen asleep listening to for twelve years.

"You want to know what crazy in love looks like, Leo?" She opened the door. Rain soaked her sleeve. "It's not following you into the dark. It's walking out while I still recognize myself."

Elena's fingers wrapped around her mug. The ceramic was warm. Her blood was ice.

Leo laughed, but it was hollow. "Rehab. That's sweet. Did he tell you about the money? The two hundred thousand I've been saving?"

"You lied to me, Leo."

"Elena—"