A man was standing there, one of the two who’d been in the car with me during the longest, most uncomfortable, most terrifying ride of my life. The whole time I felt like I was going to get sick not only because of my hangover but because of my f**king life and the fact that I knew they could never have Joe’s phone without having Joe. I didn’t know what they had to do to get to a man like Joe. I just knew it wasn’t good.

“I’m in the middle of something,” Hart said to his minion.

“We got a situation,” his minion replied and Hart stared at him looking unhappy then he turned to me.

“Change,” he ordered.

“You gonna kill me if I don’t?” I snapped.

He leaned forward and barked, “Change!”

I leaned forward too, too far gone to read the warning behind his quick shift in mood from Mr. Charm to Mr. Mean and shouted, “Fuck you!”

“Danny! For Christ’s sake, we got a situation,” the minion repeated.

Hart didn’t turn to him. Instead he said to me, “I recommend you get smart pretty f**kin’ soon.”

“And I recommend you go f**k yourself,” I shot back and then suddenly I was on my hands and knees. This was because he backhanded me hard.

I’d never been hit, not in my life, and it hurt. I stayed still, blinking away the pain and felt him lean over me.

“Change,” he whispered then I felt his presence move away.

I didn’t move while I waited for the pain to clear and then I decided I wasn’t going to change. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him!

I got to my feet and sucked in a long breath. Then I looked at the pool and I looked at it for a long time.

Then I decided that my beautiful daughter Keira was never going to stick even her toe in that pool.

I didn’t know how I was going to get out of this but I knew I was going to have to get out of this. Then get to Barry. They might not take someone hanging out on your street and sending you gifts very seriously but they sure as f**k better take kidnapping seriously.

That ass**le was going down.

And I was going to get on with my life. Again.

Without Joe.

I should have been like Theresa and taken pictures, loads of pictures. Pictures of him sleeping. Pictures of him with the girls. Pictures of him drinking coffee. Pictures of him mowing the lawn. Pictures of him watching TV. Pictures of him breathing.

Joe was so wrong to get rid of his pictures of Nicky. I needed pictures. I needed the memories. Lots of them.

I only had one picture of him. The one with him and Nicky already on my Dead People I Love Shelf.

Well at least that was a timesaver. I wouldn’t have to move it.

I laughed, the sound was harsh and the feel of it bit at my throat.

Then I felt a tear slide down my face.

My mind moved to my daughters. I didn’t know what time it was but they’d know when they got home something was wrong. Then they’d have to find out Joe was never coming home. Then I’d have to find a way to put the pieces of us together again.

I felt another tear slide down my face but this time it coincided with a sob sliding up my throat.

I choked it down and put a hand to the glass as my legs started trembling because I knew I was clean out of emotional glue. This one had broken me. I knew it. I felt it. I was broken. There were no strong arms to hold me together. No big, hard body to climb into bed with and hold onto. Not this time. Never again. Not… ever… again.

“Let’s move,” I heard an impatient voice saying and I whirled around to see one of Hart’s henchmen moving closer to me.

“What?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. He grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the room.

I dropped the robe on my way out.

* * * * *

“I’m Frankie,” she whispered.

“I’m Violet,” I whispered back.

“Cal’s woman,” she said and I swallowed.

“Yeah,” I replied and that one word broke because I was, for a short, glorious period of time where me and my girls were able to make him smile, make him laugh, give him what he always wanted.

Hell, just that morning he was teasing me.

And I’d told him to go away.

And he did, to tell my girls good-bye for me after seeing to it that they got ready for school.

I closed my eyes tight as the memory assaulted my brain.

She was silent a moment then she said, “He’ll be okay.”

“They killed him,” I told her.

“What?” she asked, her voice getting louder, tighter, pissed.

“Quiet!” the henchman barked.

Sitting in the back of the car, Frankie and I got quiet.

Then she reached out and took my hand.

Then she squeezed.

* * * * *

“House’s clear. They hauled ass,” Pryor told Cal and Benny.

They were standing on the sidewalk outside Hart’s house. There were cop cars everywhere, Chicago PD and Feds crawling all over the place.

“Any clue where they’d go?” Benny asked.

“Got men out everywhere,” Pryor answered, his eyes on Cal. “They musta got a tipoff that we were comin’.”

“Frankie,” Benny muttered.

“Boss,” a uniform called as he walked to their huddle. “We got film,” he said when he stopped and all the men’s eyes turned to him but he was eyeing up Cal.

“Film?” Pryor prompted.

“Civilians,” the uniform murmured, using his chin to indicate Benny and Cal.

“Spill it, Krakowski,” Pryor bit out.

The uniform looked at Pryor and nodded. “They took him,” his head jerked to Cal, “to a warehouse with cameras. Feed went to the house. Boys figure they hauled ass when he,” another jerk of the head to Cal, “took down Hart’s two boys then drilled rounds in their legs.”

“Self-defense,” Benny stated instantly.

“Right,” the uniform replied, his gaze shifting to Benny, his mouth hard, “by the way, did I mention we got film?”

“We’ll sort that out later,” Pryor cut in then went on, muttering to himself, “so he saw Joe got loose and took off where?”

“More film,” the uniform said and Pryor’s eyes focused on him.

“Jesus, Krako, spit it out,” Pryor snapped.

“Security of the house. They got a brunette too. She was sittin’ in her car outside,” he pointed at a sweet, old model, red, Nissan Z car at the curb. “They nabbed her, took her into the house, five minutes later both women were in a car with a coupla Hart’s boys and headin’ out. Hart followed in another car. Got the cars and plates. They’re already out on the line.”