Pretending she was tired, Becky locked herself in the guest room after dinner. Later, on my way upstairs in search of spare paper towels, I thumped my feet extra hard to give her sniffles a chance to quiet before I passed. We both knew she wouldn't sleep, but it was a lie we were comfortable believing.

Einar and I cleaned the kitchen, thawed a pound of bacon, then zipped to a convenience store for a dozen eggs and English muffins. After Becky picked a few pepperonis off a slice and called it a meal, I was determined to get a hearty breakfast into her.

Easier said than done, but come noon she'd eaten twice and we'd gone to a professional to turn her hair into a proper pixie cut. Einar kept himself busy reading background reports on Becky's mother that he'd obtained from God-knew-where, and left Becky and I to retreat upstairs to get dressed and plan.

While she arguably had more experience, it made sense for me to cuff Einar. He was my bodyguard and probably wouldn't punch his employer in the process. That, and her best idea was going WWE on him and knocking him out with a folding chair from the storage closet.

Restraints hidden in my strapped clutch, I tossed loose blonde curls to one side, bared my throat, and worked on adequately concealing my hickey. Touching a powder brush against the spot rushed warm feelings into my cheeks. I almost left it intact, especially since I'd rather show that than the scars on my collar bone and shoulder. But tonight was about appearances and information. Looking approachable was a must.

Taking her own advice, Becky forced herself to retreat to her post-Darcy days and dressed to impress, but I was most impressed with how she held herself in the face of a crushing situation.

Her apartment currently inaccessible, she borrowed a pair of tight jeans and wore an olive corset tank and matching boots she'd purchased after forensics entered her clothes into evidence. Absent her usual flowing hairstyles and flirty dresses, she still carried herself with exquisite confidence. That sort of poise, it never leaves, whether the lioness beneath the mascara and rosy cheeks suffered one thorn in her paw or a hundred.

Black tights set off my cinched-waist dress, the old charcoal classic, and a pair of calf-high, slouchy leather boots completed the look. A quick brush through my hair brought my game up to Casually Tousled. Not half bad, for my first night on the town in centuries. It was too bad the occasion wasn't happier.

"Ready?" I asked, tugging the strapless ensemble higher on my chest. Years and excessive use had worn down the elasticity of my department store dress, something I hadn't noticed until palace designers spoiled me with clothes fitted to my frame. Still, I felt more comfortable tonight than I ever had in any of those pricey gowns.

Becky draped herself across the side of the tub, shoulders pressed into the tiled backsplash, counting the beads on her bracelet for the fourth time.

"Yeah."

Einar's eyebrows rose as we thudded and giggled downstairs like a pair of conspiring elephants. He'd reclined in Mom's chair, where the nearest cuffable object was a standing lamp. Lucky for me, upon seeing our attire he dropped his paperwork and stood.

"Dad made a reservation for us at his restaurant," I announced. Becky coolly slunk to the door, adjusting her hair in the hall mirror. I gripped the clutch tight, suddenly as nervous as that time in high school where Josh picked me up on his motorcycle for a dance. My parents had thought we were attending a track team dinner until he'd rung the bell all spiky haired and sultry-eyed. "Can we go alone?"

Might as well offer him a chance.

Dark eyes narrowed, a concentrated storm. "Now?"

I flipped my hand on my hip to hide crossed fingers. Please say yes. "Didn't you hear me yell like half an hour ago? They open for dinner at four but we can go early to grab some food and take leftovers for Darcy's family if they're hungry after visiting the hospital. You don't have to come. We'll be an hour, tops. Just tell me how you want your filet cooked."

"You seem like a rare man," Becky purred, smooth and even as ever. I admired her ability to turn on the charm at the drop of a hat. My fingers popped the clutch open, stealthy in their attempt not to disturb the links and draw attention.

Einar looked her over from head to toe, grumbled "Wait," and brushed past for his jacket.

As his arm moved I slapped the cuff around one wrist and twisted it behind his back. His posture stiffened. His head twisted slowly, until my determination wavered in the strength of his vexed glare. That piercing look was defeat, as much as he'd ever display.

All my breath escaped in a long sigh. "Down, Becky."

In my periphery she returned Mom's eighteenth-century vase to the side table and started scooping dumped potpourri off the floor.

"Other hand," I demanded of my captive, gentle but firm in grip and tone. Obediently he turned back his wrist and I drew the two together. We guided him to kitchen floor, looped and knotted a couple of my chain belts around his cuffs and the oven door, then stepped back to admire our handiwork. We'd debated the banister, but that seemed too easy for him to smash through. Being attached to an opening oven would at a minimum earn several curses.

Becky set a sleeve of crackers, an apple, and two water bottles at his feet. Sort of a pointless offering, hands where they were, but I felt as guilty as she looked.

"Comfortable?" I asked. "At least it's clean."

He stared at the tile we'd mopped last night. "Why?"

"No one's gonna believe you aren't a cop," I explained, patting his shoulder. "Where's your cell? Please don't make me grope around. This-" Insert flippant gesture at his figure. "-belongs to your wife."

His chin dipped toward the front pant pocket.

With a reassuring smile (more for myself than him) I inched my hand inside and extracted the phone. A toss sent it to Becky who spirited it upstairs and out of sight.

"We'll either be back to let you out, or Darcy's family will arrive and they can, if you don't terrify them. We'll leave a note on the door about the man chained in the kitchen." I shook a water bottle. "Want a sip before we go?"

A nod indicated his agreement, at which I popped the cap and set it carefully to his lips. He swallowed his fill and as I recapped it, spoke. "You think you can redeem yourself for what you've done."

The oven glass darkened my carefully impassive smile. "Who says I am?"

"You can't," he continued in a flat tone that left my heart still as the grave. "Once you fall down that rabbit hole there's no climbing out. This will only make it worse."

My eyes flashed to olive movement on the stairs. "I only care about making it better for her," I whispered.

"That's not true. You cruised into the throne on a bloody wake. Saving one life won't make up for those you've taken. "

I frowned, running a hand over cool chains. "I don't know how long it'll take you to get free, but if you come after us I'm screaming bloody murder and aiming straight for the groin."

A bulldog couldn't match his scowl. "You need protection. You aren't just some girl anymore."

"I'm not," I agreed. "Neither is Becky. She's a mother." He kept a small handgun holstered to his back, and this I gingerly took to conceal in Becky's larger purse. Were it not for his prompt, I would've left it, but he was right. We needed to take care of ourselves and sometimes the best defense was offense (or at least the threat of it).

My best friend curled her fingers around the door handle. Her green eyes were full and round, anticipating the chase before we'd rounded the block. "Let's bounce."

Nodding, I glanced back at Einar. "There's a girl out there who needs us."

*

There was the Boston I knew, the Boston the world saw, and the one people like Becky's mother ghosted through. Streets and buildings I walked past took on a different light as the afternoon sun warmed sidewalks and kept those fragmented people out of the public eye. At every stop Becky knew the faces and attitude to take, slipping bills for information and leads. They all traced back to one man- a heroin dealer known as the Baker. From what we gathered in the fishy shadows of the piers, she owed thousands and had arranged to meet him yesterday.

And so, just as a warm dusk settled in and we were exhausted and hungry and the soles of our boots wore thin, we hit one last bar, a club nothing like the student-mobbed scenes around Pentworth's campus. This one was dark and smoky and the music pulsed with a slow, rhythmic beat that transformed dancers from ordinary men and women into shadowy nymphs.

This early, the crowd wasn't dense, but in the heavy air the place felt packed. We sat the bar, the sort of beer drenched counter where ids were only checked if you didn't look relaxed. And we were composed, leaning our chests over the walnut surface, accepting drinks and flashing smiles as we sought our prey based on a few sparse details. Mousy brown hair, blue eyes. Clean shaven. Possibly a college grad. Hung out at the high tables in the back. Paid and dressed well.

A Red Sox shirt loomed in my periphery as its owner huffed his way onto the vacant stool beside me, smiling and tan like a golden retriever. "You ladies new in town?" he asked, setting an offering of two beers before us. "Don't see many women in the Rabbit's Hat."

Smiling, I peered past his black man-bun to a pair of men huddled at the other end of the bar, double-checking that they weren't who we were after. Blonde and green-eyed. Nope and nope. "Arrived yesterday, actually," I said, abandoning my strawberry daiquiri for the beer. Strawberries and vodka masked some of that alcoholic taste I hated; beer was a tough swallow, but I sipped politely and did my best not to resemble Dracula biting garlic. I'd had some practice at the palace, and one very unflattering photo in the local news.

Becky kept watch, not that he seemed to mind her rejection.

Brown eyes zeroed on mine, curious but friendly. "What for?"

"Family reunion." I patted Becky's forearm. She turned to flash the obligatory grin and cuddle. "We're cousins."

"Lucky family." Nonchalant confidence steered his posture nearer mine as our arms touched. He leaned forward and I caught a wiff of aftershave and (faintly) mouthwash; for what attention I'd fielded thus far, this guy was an outlier. He answered a few general questions and asked some in return. I felt stiff and stupid, like I was trying to break ice with a rubber mallet. Was this how people got dates out there in the real world? Logan had caught me stealing a turtle and Marc- well, my shoes were stained with seal carcass when I met him. Cinderella I was not.

At last the part-time yoga instructor, apparently undeterred by my awkward hemming and hawing, clinked his empty beer against my almost-full one. "So you got a name?"

The query caught me off guard, enough that I spun to fully face him and we bumped legs. "You don't know it?"

He gave me a long, long stare. "Rumpelstiltskin?"

Even Becky laughed and I had to remind myself not to get too relaxed. "Nope!" I trilled, wondering if I should snag his number and give it a ring a few months down the road when I was home for good. I didn't want to think about that, or the fact that I had yet to break the news to Marc. Pushing it down with another sip, I tried to look happy.

In the smokey atmosphere genuine interest had him stretching away from the counter in surprise.  "Are you famous or something? I don't want much television."

Flashing him a killer smile, Becky held her hand to my ear and half-whispered "Earth to Dorothy. You're back in Kansas. No one knows you're queen of Oz."

"Not exactly, no," I began, pushing her away. "Hope that doesn't disappoint you."

Dark eyebrows rose expectantly. "So you are...?"

 I nearly knocked my beer over as I rushed to give him a handshake. "Oh, sorry. Dorothy."

"Ethan." Firm grip. Nice. "Some fierce scars you've got there, Dor."

"I, uh, thanks." When he glanced away, back towards the two men on the far side that were definitely friends of his from the way they grinned, I pulled my hair onto my shoulder to hide the marks.

"Up for a dance?" Ethan asked as I battled with now-frizzy blonde locks. "My pals are getting antsy to get on the floor and I'd love introduce you."

I chewed my lip in debate, watching the twisting shadows on the floor. Dancing, my style. The physical, hip-shaking, carefree kind I performed in Gull's stall when no one but my stalwart mare could see; none of that fancy waltzing around they made me learn for seemingly the one ball a year the palace hosted. "Sorry, we're kind of waiting for someone."

"Shame." His eyes hinted at more disappointment than his cheery tone allowed.

An idea in mind, I caressed the tendons of his wrist and made sure I angled my head into a sweetheart tilt. "Well, my cousin is. I'm just keeping her company until then. If you've seen him, I might have some free time."

He immediately asked and I described the Baker, leaving out the heroin and kidnapping details.

"Wish I could say I have," Ethan said, "but I'll keep an eye out."

"I'm sure I'll see you soon." In a few months or never.

"Pretty good for a prude," Becky drawled when he rejoined his friends. She licked salt from her margarita's rim. "You've grown up since I've seen you. We didn't even celebrate your twenty-first, did we?"

"We'll celebrate it after I've thrown up a half dozen times tomorrow morning," I said, mouthing my daiquiri's straw. I didn't want to drink too much on an empty stomach and didn't want her to, either. "Are we sure he's coming?"

"He will." She promised, resting her elbows on the counter as she surveyed the newest arrivals through the double door. "So what's the deal with this Marcus guy anyway? You feeling guilty because you want to jump his bones before you settle down with Mr. Wonderful, or because you want the whole nine yards with him?"

"Both."

"Do you love him?"

"Pretty sure you have to have a relationship to say that." I laughed, more nervous about answering that than meeting the Baker. "We haven't even gone on a date."

Her eyes rolled. "One, you're hot on making out with him. Two, he hiked like a million miles to find some tooth for you." She bopped my shoulder. "Three, you forgave him for fucking shooting you. How many dates do you need?"

"We're friends."

"So you want me to mention that he put his life at risk trying to save yours?" she challenged. "Dates are what the rest of us go on when we don't have wild adventures."

My shoulders sagged. "Let's say I like him. Like," I repeated despite her incredulous stare. "I can't erase all my time with Nik. I loved him and I know we can get back to that. What if I start something with Marc and it fails? I'll have cast Nik out for nothing."

To confront the Baker Becky didn't need liquid courage, but she took a sip regardless. "That's the sucky part. But if it doesn't work then you live with your choices."

"I want to make sure it's the right choice."

"And you need a break because of that. Do something casual. Have a fling. Remind yourself what fun and games are all about. And if you can't do it with someone else, do it with them. Slow down and live in the moment."

"Nik's proposal ...It feels like cheating if I went that far with Marc-"

"Or someone."

I sighed. "Or someone, and then said yes to Nik."

"If Josh hadn't been such an ass this would've been a non-issue. You and Logan- sorry, Nik- would've gotten together years ago and you'd have at least two notches on your bedpost. Adding a third would be a piece of cake."

"But that's not what happened."

"I guess, but you can uncomplicate. Find a random guy. You've got to know a few. Gets you over all the lusty urges and you can focus on more spiritual mojo or whatever." The crowd filled in as the hours ticked by. I half expected Einar to arrive before the Baker at this point. Becky observed each new arrival, but I could see the toll of every failure in her eyes. "If it were me running off to the races and I got the chance to peak under the hood, hell ya I would. I'd rather miss their touch than wonder what it might've been like."

A tear slid down her cheek. Movement toward the back of the club caught my eye. Two dancers headed for a figure alone at a haze-steeped table.

"Becky?"

"Love and loss. That's me now, and I don't regret it, not for a second."

I tipped her chin and directed it toward the figure as they shrugged their coat. "Hun, he's here."

She reached over the counter for a bartender's cloth to wipe her eyes. "Where?"

"He might know we're after him," I warned, winking at my new, vigilant friend across the bar. I grabbed my drink and pulled Becky into the edge of slow-writhing bodies. Settling into a chair was a mousyhaired man with eyes like an eighth grade lookout.

"Good," she said, peeling my hand off her arm. She broke like a thunderstorm, anger flashing in short strides, until her drink sloshed down onto the tabletop. His shoulders stiffened, hand balling. Becky's eyes were on his, oblivious to everything else.

I pushed her as his fist extended. Dull pressure grazed the corner of my mouth and cheek. I skidded backward elbows-first, smashing glasses and upending the nearest table. My palms hurt more than my face did as I staggered upright and slipped.

"Al!" Becky screamed, clinging to his shirt. He ripped from her with a wild snort and bullied past astonished dancers and security.

"Keep up if you can!" I yelled, shoving a startled Ethan aside.