Todd’s heart raced at the thought of her all alone and suffering. “I’m going over there. My business partner is quite handy with picking locks. Is she all right? Should we just call 911? She wouldn’t harm herself?”

“No. She knows the pain of losing someone; she wouldn’t do it to me and Adrian. But she’ll be in rough shape I’d wager.”

“I’m going over there right now. Thank you.”

“Call me.” Brody handed him a business card. “So Aid and I know she’s all right.”

Todd nodded as he jogged back through the shop toward his car. On the way, he called Ben and told him to get his ass down to her building ASAP.

14

“Okay, here’s the deal, I know the codes to get upstairs and also her internal code on her alarm.” Ben held up a hand. “Don’t ask how. I just do.”

Ben punched some numbers into the pad on the elevator from the lobby and they rose skyward.

“I brought you an overnight bag.” Ben held it out. “I had Cope shove your toothbrush and some underwear in it. A few T-shirts. Don’t get mushy. We just figured you might need them.”

Todd smiled his thanks. When they exited the elevator, they went to Erin’s door and knocked. She didn’t answer. There was no noise from inside and Todd shielded Ben with his body as his friend made very quick work of all three locks.

“Get her to put a chain lock on, will you? I like her, she sucks at cards, but she never gives up. Strong.” Ben opened the door and stepped inside, where he punched numbers into an internal keypad stationed behind a pretty wall panel. “Go. I’m out of here. Call me if you need anything.”

Todd took a deep breath, sent a thank-you to Ben and shut and locked the door behind himself.

“Erin?” he called out. He tried to calm himself enough to walk slowly, but his fear, the fear born of walking into more than one crime scene and finding disaster, made him jog into the main room.

A mess. Not her normal level of artsy-fartsy chaos—scribbled song lyrics, colorful batik-patterned scarves, bags, books and bass and acoustic guitars. No, this was disquieting. Takeout containers left on countertops. Empty soda cans. Clearly her descent had been happening for several days. Even as she’d been working and smiling to his face, she’d been aching inside.

He walked through and a stack of photographs caught his eye. He picked them up and saw Erin with short, inky-black hair, holding a chubby, cake-faced one-year-old. The baby had her mother’s eyes, and mischief as well as frosting on her face. Erin in the picture was the Erin he’d met ten years ago. Fearless because she held the best thing on Earth.

“Erin? Goddammit, where are you?” He put the picture down carefully and stepped over a pile of stuff to head back down the hall where the bedroom was.

Her office was empty, but thank god it wasn’t trashed.

He heard something in her room and rushed inside. She was there, lying on her bed. An empty vodka bottle lay on the floor to one side.

Her shoulders shook and he moved to her, his heart breaking to see her like this.

“Erin? Honey, it’s Todd,” he said softly as he moved to her. He’d yelled her name loud enough that she should have heard him, shouldn’t be startled or scared by his appearance. But she had to be on edge, more so than usual, so he took it slow even though he wanted to dive on her and hold her now that he saw she was all right.

She burrowed her face deeper into the covers, still crying. “G’way,” she slurred quite loudly, around a snuffle.

“We both know that’s not going to happen.” He moved to the bed and got on it next to her. “Honey, let me in. I want to be here for you.”

“I canhanle it,” she stammered, her head still beneath the blanket.

He pulled the blanket back and pushed the hair from her sweaty face. She was pale, clammy and three-sheets-to-the-wind drunk.

“Bright!” she squealed and dove back under the covers.

He got up and pulled her curtains closed. The room closed in, dark and cool. “Okay, let’s get you cleaned up. It’s dark now. I’m going to turn on your shower to get the water heated up.”

“G’way!”

He laughed, even as he hurt for her. “Told you, that’s not going to happen.”

He cleaned up her bathroom enough to get to the bathtub and tossed the towels and dirty clothes into a washing machine he’d seen on an earlier visit.

Divesting himself of his clothes, he moved back to the bed and grabbed a foot and pulled her free of her cocoon again. “For a pretty thing, you do not smell good,” he muttered as he peeled her tiny tank top off before picking her up carefully.

“Gonna puke.”

“You’d better not, missy. That’s an order.”

“Canorder me.”

He managed to lever her to get her panties off and took her into the shower stall with him. She sputtered and jumped from his arms to scramble out and to the toilet, where she did indeed puke.

Stepping out of the stall, he pulled her hair away from her face and let her get it all up. No doubt she’d feel better.

She curled into a ball on the floor, crying again, and he simply picked her back up and returned them both to the shower.

“It’d be a lot easier if you stood so I can get you clean,” he said. “Hold on to me if you have to—hell, even if you don’t. I like you holding on to me.”

She sighed, but held his hips once he set her on her feet. She stood still while he lathered her hair and soaped her body, all the while trying not to think about how beautiful she looked there, even as she cried.