“Only a little.”

“A little? From what I understand, you set fire to the world while I was out.”

“Just one tiny corner of it.” She held up her thumb and index finger to show me just how tiny.

“And I sounded stupid when I tried to talk to Uncle Bob.”

She wrung her hands. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for you to sound stupid.”

I folded my arms at my chest. “So, are you finished? Can we discuss my ingenious plan to keep you out of prison now? Or were you still planning on killing yourself?”

The surprised look on her face told me… well, that I’d surprised her. That was pretty much it, but I knew the signs of suicide. She’d gotten her affairs in order and had every intention of killing herself tonight. I couldn’t help but wonder what stopped her. Or if a trip to the morgue was still in order.

“No, I —” She pressed her mouth together and let a tear slide down her cheek.

“Nice try, sweet cheeks,” I said, taking her arm and leading her back inside. “But I’m not falling for that act again. You’re stronger than I ever imagined.”

“No, I’m not. I’m meek and fragile.”

“Tell it to the judge, sister. Right now, we have to synchronize our watches.”

“I don’t actually wear —”

“Figure of speech.” I pushed her into her apartment, then closed the door. “And if you think you can make some coffee without doping it, can I get a cup?”

“Okay.”

She headed toward the kitchen. I followed. Watched her every move. Meek and fragile my ass.

Kim didn’t buy my plan 100 percent. She had every intention of walking into a police station and turning herself in, confessing to everything. While that was an integral part of my plan as well, there were steps to be taken to guarantee her fair treatment. Once I convinced her of that, and stopped threatening to press charges for the roofie, she came around.

But would Uncle Bob? Would the captain or the DA? Kim refused to bring that part of her life into our negotiations, but her entire stint as a pyromaniac was based on that part of her life. She was burning those memories. Trying to protect Reyes, to get rid of the pictures in the walls. To sterilize her past. If she didn’t want to talk about it, I would respect that, but I still had one bit of evidence in my arsenal. The picture itself. The one I had of Reyes. If I showed it to the DA first, then negotiated a deal for Kim if she were to confess and pay back the insurance companies, surely they would agree. If anything, she did the city a favor. Every place she burned down, everywhere they’d lived, was an eyesore.

I ran up both flights of stairs and barreled through my door before remembering I had company. I stopped short, surveyed the room, and though I didn’t take an actual head count, I would guess there to be exactly twenty-seven departed women in my apartment, which was twenty-seven too many.

One clawed at my carpet, desperately trying to get out. And another pulled at her hair, ripping it out by the handfuls. I couldn’t take any more. I hurried over to her, knelt down, and took her hands into my own. She continued to rock but calmed a bit. I drew her into my arms and watched as women scurried over my cabinets, up my walls, under my desk.

We found the mass grave, but now what? What did these women need? If they were waiting for their killer to be found, it could be a long wait. I might have to camp out on my fire escape.

When the woman in my arms calmed enough for me to leave her, I wound through the masses, careful not to step on fingers or toes, and went to the dresser drawer where I kept the picture. I started to get worried when I didn’t find it. I tore through the other drawers, a little thrilled when I found my boxers with enjoy responsibly across the ass, then searched through my socks and sweaters and scarfs. No picture. By the time my room looked like it’d been carpet bombed, I realized the picture had disappeared.

Then understanding dawned. Reyes. He’d been upset when he found it. He must’ve taken it.

I grabbed my key to his apartment and marched over there. It was a short march.

“Where is my picture?” I asked after finding him. In his bedroom. In a towel. Still dripping wet. Holy mother of —

“When were you going to tell me your plans for my sister?”

That brought me up short. His eyes glittered with anger. He hadn’t talked to her in years. How the hell did he always know every time I went to talk to her?

“Do you know what she’s been up to, your sister?”

He busied himself with putting on a watch with a thick leather band. “I thought we had an agreement. You stay away from her, and I don’t slice you in two.”

“No,” I said, walking up to him. I jabbed an index finger at his chest. “You don’t get to threaten me.”

“Who said it was a threat?” The guy liked to talk big.

I stepped closer. His scent, like a lightning storm in the desert, enveloped me. His heat, radiating off him in waves, seemed to grow hotter by the second. “If you ever threaten me again —”

“What?” he asked, crossing his arms as he examined me from behind hooded lids.

After clearing my throat, I said, “If you ever threaten me again, I’ll bind you.” I had bound him once, tied his incorporeal body to his corporeal one so that he couldn’t leave it. He was stuck. It was not a place he liked to be.

His brows shot up and the room got even hotter. He closed the distance between us. “And just how do you propose to do that,” he asked, his irises shimmering, “if you cannot speak?”