"When did it start?"

I release the four words into the stiff kitchen air. There are too many people for an average-sized room. Just like that day.

"The detective talked to me in September," Ed says. "But not about your father. It was something about a vehicle they were looking for."

September, when Bast and I became partners in Ethics.

"And then he was waiting for me by the gates in November," Celeste chimes in, twisting a lock of her bright Auburn hair around her index finger. "I don't remember what he wanted...ah, right. Now I do. The girls. He showed me two pictures and asked if I'd seen them around. And I laughed. Where do y'all think I'd see them? In the woods? Not here, that's for sure." She purses her glossy lips and gives a noncommittal shrug.

He wanted me to move in with him because he didn't have a choice. Right after Halloween. He acted like a jerk but apologized when I didn't think he would. Because he hated me. "When in November?" I ask with a traitorous tremor in my voice.

"The beginning of the month," Celeste says. "And then two weeks later, the detective showed me pictures or two more girls and asked about my schedule."

It could have been anything. I sit on a stool next to Cara, and her warm hand cups my knee.

"So, why do you all think it has anything to do with my father?" My gaze roams the employees' faces. I hope they're wrong. I need them to be.

"After Christmas, the questions changed." Ed shifts his weight, and Cara spears him with a glare.

I cover her hand on my knee. "Let him speak."

"He wanted to know our schedules. When we had a day off. When others had theirs. He and a colleague of his asked us the same questions as if they were hoping to catch us lying. But we have nothing to hide, right?" Ed looks at the group as if he needs confirmation.

"And since your father gave us more days off in the last year than in all the years we've worked here," Tom speaks for the first time, fiddling with his grass-stained cap, "we started to get suspicious. Also because that Hutches guy told us to keep quiet, otherwise, there would be consequences."

So, Bast's dad has been collecting info for a while. For almost as long as I've known his son. Bile climbs the back of my throat. "So, you didn't say a thing to my father?" I ask.

"He's hardly been here this week." Cara tells me. "And he didn't come home last night. I called him, but he didn't pick up."

"Then I should ask him what's going on." I unzip my purse and fish out my phone. Everyone except Cara says their goodbyes and files out of the kitchen.

I unlock the screen. There's a missed call from Sadie, but none from my father. Nothing makes sense. If he had financial troubles, why would they question our people? What does it matter when they have a day off work?

My call to my father goes to his voicemail. "Hi, it's me," I say after the tone. "Please, call me as soon as you can. It's important."

I leave the cell on the marble countertop and rest my elbows on my knees, hiding my face in my palms.

Cara rubs circles on my back. "It'll be alright, my sweet baby. I'm sure it's nothing."

"It's never nothing," I mumble, straightening. "Were you even going to tell me?"

"I'd never lie to you." The look she gives me is a blend of indignation and tenderness. "But you've been through too much. What's the point in worrying you before we're sure something's going on?"

"Everyone seemed sure. And worried."

Cara tsks, waving her hand. "They're afraid of losing their jobs. Your dad pays people well, and there's nothing else in this area. He paid us even for the days we weren't here. No employer does that."

"That makes sense, I guess."

"Will you stay for dinner? I'll make your favorite."

Cara's eyes are pleading, but even if she didn't ask, I wouldn't be able to go home to Bast.

Because there are too many coincidences. Too many overlaps. His dad was always a bit cold toward me. I get it; I can't and don't have to be everyone's favorite person.

But what if Sebastian knew? What if he used me?

Dread balloons in my throat, and the bad kind of shivers blankets my skin. Why would he be with me?

Only one answer seems obvious. Helping his father accuse mine.

And sex.

"I'll spend the night," I say, and Cara claps. At least she loves me. At least there's someone in this world who does.

***

Absorbed in my miserable thoughts, I keep my gaze on the ground as I stroll toward Mav's house. Splotches of new bright green grass make the lawn a bit less depressing, but someone needs to fix the yard. Someone needs to plant flowers and paint the porch. Blanche doesn't have time, but maybe Mav and I could do it.

It's already dusk. Dark shadows creep from the woods, chasing the last bits of daylight away.

It's so quiet I can hear my breaths. The windows in Mav's house are dark, and disappointment tugs at my stomach.

I need my friend. Even if he doesn't speak. Even if he wordlessly stares at the garden, I know he understands me.

He understood me when I hid behind the logs in his yard after they buried Mom. He took my hand and sat with me until it got dark, and the beam of Cara's flashlight bounced off the trees while she yelled, looking for me.

I stop and gyrate toward the garden. A dark figure stands against the backdrop of bare apple trees, and a hand flies to my chest.

"Mav." I exhale, fisting my jacket, and stroll toward him. "You scared me. I thought you weren't home."

He remains glued to the spot. I extend my arm to hug him, and he steps back.

"Go away."

I blink. "What?"

"Go away. Stop coming here. I don't want to see you. I'm not kidding, Tara. Go away right now."

The words - measured, confident - feel like bullets tearing holes in my heart.

He's not stuttering. There's no hesitation between syllables. I've never heard him speak this way. His voice is deep. It's the voice of a man, and I recoil.

"What's wrong? Mav?"

He closes his eyes. Taps his foot. Exhales, and pins me to the spot with an icy glare. "Go. Away. Now."

"As you wish." I swallow past the lump of tears and turn around. Everything blurs as I sprint across the yard and out of the rusty gates.

Once I'm on the road, wetness fills my eyes.

I hate crying. It never brings relief, but then again, nothing does. I allow myself a moment of weakness as I stand in the dark. Blanche's old truck pulls up to their house, and I hurry home before she sees me.

I try all breathing techniques doctor Jennings taught me. Some work because the urge to bawl my eyes out subsides the closer I get to the mansion.

When I step inside, my nostrils catch a whiff of something that makes no sense.

Then I hear a familiar voice, and my heart jackhammers, painfully pressing against my ribcage. What is he doing here?

I leave my jacket in the closet and take off my shoes - whatever to delay seeing him.

I enter the kitchen, and Cara squeals. "Tarita! Look who's here."

Bast grins, sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee mug in front of him. So does Cara.

I want to die.

"Hi," I whisper. "What are you doing here?"

He touches the back of his neck - a nervous gesture - and clears his throat. "Um, I... I was just worried."

Or his dad told him to check if mine was home.

"You shouldn't be," I say. "I'm okay."

Bast rises to his feet, frowning. "Are you? Doesn't look that way to me."

"I'll go watch the news." Cara's voice rings in the kitchen, and she slides off her stool.

"No need," I tell her. "Bast and I will be in my room."

I walk out of there with Bast in tow and climb the marble stairs. On the second floor, I stroll along the hallway and pause in front of a white door almost at the end of it.

My hand wraps around the doorknob, and I twist it. "Welcome."

My room is pink. It's stuck in the happy period of my life, in the beauty of innocence. I haven't touched anything because Mom decorated it and spent days visiting stores until she found the wallpaper with a princess and a dragon.

When I lay in my bed the day after giving Ian my virginity, I wondered if she'd feel guilty. So much teaching me to value myself and never settle. So many talks about the right guy who'll worship the ground I walk on.

"Tara."

Bast curls his hand around my shoulder, and I shrug it off. "Did you know?"

I finally allow myself to look at him for longer than a second. He's still wearing the shirt I gave him, and he styled his hair. He must have thought he'd run into my father.

"Did I know what?"

"That your father was investigating mine."

Shots are fired. I clasp my hands and wet my lips.

Please, say you don't. Say you don't because I trusted you. I believed you. I let you touch me and slept in your arms every night. I cared about you.

"Fuck," Sebastian says on an exhale. "I knew, but I couldn't say anything. He asked me to wait so he could talk to you first."

"What did my father do?"

He shakes his head. "I can't say. I really can't. Believe me; it wasn't what I wanted. I hated keeping you in the dark, but it's how they work. They were afraid you'd-"

"Warn him?"

His perfectly-shaped mouth opens. He's going to say it's not what he meant, but I've heard that lie too many times to believe it.

He knew. He knew, he knew, he knew.

But he doesn't know me.

"No. You don't understand."

"I do," I say, swallowing the tears. "It's how they work. They need proof. It takes time, and I'm my father's daughter. But if what you're saying is true then why did you hate me so much?"

Feelings blind the best of us. I let his tender kisses and affectionate gestures fool me into thinking he had a wrong first impression and changed his opinion of me once we became friendly. How naive and gullible of me.

"Tara...I promise nothing of what you might think is true."

"Then just tell me why. Give me a reason to believe you."

"Trust my word," Bast says. "Please. My father would never ask me to gather info. He can do it himself."

"So why did you hate me?"

Bast traps his bottom lip between his teeth and releases it. "I..."

My stomach sags with understanding. The truth never needs so long to come out of someone's mouth. And I didn't pay doctor Jennings all these years to fall for another man's lies the way I did for Ian's.

"It's okay," I say, holding back a sob. "Ask Cara to show you around; she wouldn't mind. Say whose son you are. Maybe she can tell you what your father needs to know."

I bolt out of the room and run to a guest bedroom on the other end of the hallway. As soon as I've locked myself inside, I let the tears flow.

Bast's footsteps thump in the hallway two minutes later, fading the farther he gets from me.

What do you think about the events here?