“No. Stop.” Tyler caught her shoulders, gently, securely. “She’s your mother. I understand.”

Quinn hated tears. Hated them. Especially hated that they were flocking to her eyes right this very second.

“We don’t have to go inside,” said Tyler. “Knock on the door, make sure she’s okay, and we’ll leave.”

“And then what?”

Tyler sighed. “We’ll go back to my place. You can figure out what to do.”

She shrugged his hands off. “Try not to sound so enthusiastic—”

He spun her around and seized her arms. “Stop it. Do you just need someone to call your bluff? Fine. Called. Get your ass up there so we can get out of here. You don’t need to be afraid.

I’m right here.”

Quinn stared up at him and gritted her teeth. She wanted to jerk away from him.

Sort of.

Okay, not at all.

She took a long breath. “I’m worried he’s still here,” she said, her voice small.

“Tony?”

The dark-haired creeper. She shook her head, then nodded.

“Or my brother.”

His expression softened. “Do you want to call your mom again?”

Quinn had been trying all day. Her mom’s mobile phone had been ringing straight to voice mail every time. She routinely let the battery die, so it wasn’t really a sign of anything.

But it bought her another thirty seconds, so Quinn tried again.

Voice mail. Quinn checked her texts to see if her little brother had written back yet, but he hadn’t. A phone call to him had gone unanswered, too.

Wind swirled through the open staircase and Quinn shivered and thought of Nick. She should have been dancing tonight, stretching her muscles in a warm studio, leaping and twirling through Adam’s routine.

Not trembling on her apartment building’s staircase, wondering if her mom was lying dead in her apartment.

She steeled her nerve and turned for the steps again. “Come on.”

Quinn pulled her key ring out of her pocket, but when she slid the key into the deadbolt and turned, she discovered that the lock was already thrown. Feeling her heart in her throat, she reached out and twisted the knob.

As always, the foyer was a well of quiet stillness. Quinn stepped lightly anyway, moving slowly along the carpeting. Tyler was a shadow at her back, mirroring her movements, creeping into the apartment as if they didn’t have a right to be here.

Everything felt wrong. The air carried tension. She expected to step on a dead body.

Stop thinking of dead people, she told herself.

Her cell phone blared into the silence. Quinn almost broke an ankle from jumping so hard.

She fought for the correct button to stop the call, but then she realized the display was lit up with Jordan.

She pressed the button to answer. “Hey,” she said quickly, her voice a whispered rush. He was fourteen and jaded, but he wasn’t an addict or an alcoholic. If she could help anyone in her family, it was Jordan. “Where are you? You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

He didn’t sound fine.

“Have you heard from Mom?” Quinn said.

“Yeah.”

That was all he said. Quinn could hear him breathing, heavy and rough on the other end of the phone.

“Where are you?” she said.

“At Kurt Culpeper’s. Mom said—she said—” His voice broke. She heard snuffling.

“Jordan,” she said. “Jordan, what happened? Where’s Mom?”

“Hold on.” His breaths were jagged now, and she heard a door close. “She said I can’t come back there.” Another shaky breath. “She said she couldn’t—she couldn’t—”

And then he was crying.

Quinn sank onto the couch, distantly aware of Tyler sitting beside her, probably close enough to hear half of what Jordan was saying.

Her younger brother barely talked to her except to ask when she’d be done with the television so he could play with his PlayStation. It was unthinkable he would be crying to her on the phone, and Quinn didn’t know how to deal with this.

And where the hell was her mother?

“Are you okay?” she said. “Jordan, are you safe where you are?”

“Yeah.” He sniffled loudly and got it together. “Kurt’s mom said I could stay through the weekend. I told her Mom and Dad were going out of town. I was going to stay at Jeremy’s, but his mom always wants to call.”

“What happened with Mom?”

“I came home for clothes and she—she—” Crying again.

Tyler leaned into her and caught her eye. “Tell him we’ll come get him,” he said. “See if he can get you an address.”

“Do you want us to come get you?” said Quinn. “I’m with a friend.”

Jordan’s voice tightened right up. “Gross. I don’t want to hang out with you and your boyfriend.”

Fear and tension caught up with Quinn. “Damn it, Jordan, I’m trying to—”

“Stop screaming at me, Quinn! I’m sick of people screaming at me!”

She so didn’t need this. Quinn inhaled to lay into him, but Tyler plucked the phone out of her hand. “Hey, man, this is Quinn’s friend Tyler. Are you all right where you are, or do you want us to come get you?”

His voice was level, easy, very we’re-all-bros-in-this-together.

And Jordan was responding, from the bits she could hear.