I stare at him, seething from the inside out. “Who the fuck do you think you are, lecturing me about Felicity? She’s my kid.”

“She’s not your kid, Vaughn. She’s your partner in crime.”

“We didn’t hack into anything to get those records. She asked around, she paid them off. She did nothing illegal.”

“But she’s done plenty for you in the past. And maybe it’s all pretty harmless, but you’re not dragging her into this.”

I stare at my brother. I give him a long, hard look. “If you’re sleeping with her, I will beat the motherfucking shit out of you.”

“I’m not sleeping with her, you asshole. I’m trying to do damage control.”

I’m not sure I believe him, but this is not the time or the place. “Conner, are you here to help me or not?”

“I am. We looked at that computer from the other day and it’s clean.”

“Fuck.”

“With one exception.”

“What?” He hesitates and I just want to shake him until he talks. “What? Just fucking tell me.”

“The IP address on that video upload comes from the free wireless network at the Hollywood Gold Theatre.”

“So he’s a local?” Conner hesitates again. “What, dammit?”

“He’s not a local, V. He’s you.” Conner puts his hand up as I begin to object. “He’s trying to make it look like you did this. The timestamp on the upload we found of the video happened during your IM2 premiere.”

“So?”

“That means he’s framing you, Vaughn. He’s trying to make it look like you’re the one sending these messages because the security for that event was so tight, only those associated with the movie were allowed in. And furthermore, only those who had major roles got invites to the premiere because that theatre is so small. He’s trying to pin this all on you. So if those guys downstairs get a hold of this info, they’re really gonna think you’re guilty.”

“That makes no sense. How could I be the guy who took her ten years ago?”

“No one gives a fuck about ten years ago, V. They only care about last night. And you were the last one to see her alive.”

“Don’t you fucking dare insinuate she’s dead, Conner.”

He lets out a long breath. “I’m not, V. I’m just playing devil’s advocate. People are going to assume you did it and they are going to assume the worst before they ever give you the benefit of the doubt. So I’m just telling you—expect questions about your involvement in her murder.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I had nothing to do with this. And there’s no murder. She’s alive. He took her, I know it. Now I need you to find her, Conner. These assfucks are not going to do shit. Just like they didn’t do shit the last time he took her.”

Conner nods and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, and that Twitter stuff is bad too. They’re just gonna say she ran off. They probably won’t even look for her.”

“She’d never do that, Conner.”

“I dunno, V. She’s run away from you plenty of times before.”

“That was different.” Wasn’t it? She couldn’t have run off on her own. Could she?

“It wasn’t different. You married her when she was drunk. She didn’t even know about it. The reporters got a hold of the girl who lives downstairs. She said she heard you guys arguing about it last night and that’s why you had to sleep on the couch in the lobby.”

I sigh and lean up against the washing machine.

“So, is there any possibility that she just ran off like she implied in her last tweet?”

I think about it. Like, really hard. I try to run this through in my mind, try to see it from her perspective. But I just can’t picture Grace being such a coward that she’d take off like that. Yes, she ran from me on Saint Thomas, but she went home. And yes, she ran from me in Vegas, but she came back once I found her. And yes, she threw me out last night, but she’d never walk off and leave all these loose ends. She just wouldn’t. Grace likes to keep thing organized. She’s a planner. She’d plan the hell out of an escape like this. And nothing about what’s happening feels planned.

I look Conner straight in the eye. “No, Con. She did not run off. He took her.”

Conner nods his head at me. “OK then. He took her. I think you’re right about the police. You’re the number one suspect right now until they decide if she’s missing or ran off on her own. And they don’t seem to be doing a whole lot right now besides standing around feeling important. Maybe if the FBI gets involved we’ll get more help. But until then, we need to proceed on our own.”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“I was talking to Felicity and she thinks she can profile this guy. Narrow down who he might be by adding up all the clues. Figure out who he is and where he might take Grace through process of elimination.”

A long breath escapes me and I feel myself relax for the first time all day. “OK. When can she get here?”

“She’s here. She’s across the street, though. She doesn’t want to be seen by the media. So I’m gonna go help her and you’re going to distract everyone here. You do that by cooperating. Answer every question, six times, if necessary. You are not guilty, they can’t paint you into corners, but the lawyers are already at the airport, I got a message before I came in to see you. They’ll be here in like ten minutes.” He stares at me, waiting for an answer. “OK? You got it?”

I nod but I’m not happy about this at all. I feel like they’re wasting time. Like Grace is getting farther and farther away from me with each passing minute.

Chapter Six

“WHY?” I growl. I know I’m risking him getting violent, but I don’t care.

“To run tests. I told you.” His words come out labored, like he’s breathing very hard. Like he’s the one who’s having a panic attack instead of me.

I know that’s what’s about to happen. I used to get them almost daily during the eight months I spent locked in this house. But I’ve perfected my relaxation techniques. I might not’ve participated in therapy, but that’s only because it was a waste of time. Who gives a shit why something happened or how I feel about it?