Page 90

“Help,” I say.

The man sighs. He turns around and stomps into my kitchen. The distance helps make out more of him. Thick, broad shoulders. Short, dark hair. The faint smell of artificial vanilla extract.

“Vincent?” I ask.

He returns with a dish towel and a glass of water. “Milo…” He kneels and lifts my shirt. “Who shot you?”

“Uh…”

Water splashes me in the face. I jolt, instantly more alert, but that might be more annoyance than anything else.

“Who shot you?” he repeats.

“Partner,” I get out. “Anna’s…”

He frowns. “Trevor Rhys?”

I nod, pointing a weak finger. Vincent takes hold of my arm and moves me like a rag doll, sitting me up. He runs a hand along my back and nods, though he won’t say why.

“Lean back,” he says.

I try to, but he does most of the work, sliding me out of the pool of blood to rest my back against the wall.

“Ouch,” I say.

Vincent folds the towel and presses it into my wounds. “Hold this,” he says, forcing my hand. “Put pressure on it.”

I tap into whatever strength I have in me and do as he says. I might not die here, after all.

I clear my throat. “Don’t think I’m not grateful, Vincent, but what are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you,” he says, chill as ice.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“Milo, when it comes to my family, I can be very, very scary.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Also, we’re all on this neat family plan that lets me log in and see where everyone is whenever I want.”

I nod. “That’s handy.”

“And last night, my sister lied to my face, left her daughter with me, and came here. Until dawn.”

He glares at me with that protective brother frown.

“Okay, yeah,” I say, coughing. “She did.”

His nostrils flare. “I have issues with you, Milo,” he says. “Anna’s not the family screw-up. I am. Then, she meets you and suddenly, she’s abetting a criminal. I don’t like it.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried once already to get out of her life for good. I don’t want this for her.” I catch my breath. “I sure as hell don’t want it for Charlotte.”

Vincent nods. “Get up.”

I flex my hands, just to see if I still can. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but… I’ve been shot.”

“A man of your height and build should be able to walk a half-mile with a wound like that before the nerves in his legs give out.”

I scoff. “How would you know?”

He lifts his shirt, revealing a deep white scar along his left side.