Chapter One

Sloane Markwell’s handgun was pointed at Kanzi’s face. “You know how I feel about giving people second chances,” she said, her tone conversational. “But after seeing how well you dealt with the shipment delay this week, I’ve…reconsidered.” Her expression was mockingly benevolent, as if the man should recognize just how rare this second chance was and that he should be groveling in gratitude.

Kanzi swallowed, the irregular bob of his Adam’s apple betraying the panic he kept from his face. After a quick moment of eye contact, he dropped his gaze. “Yes, boss. Thank you, boss.”

“Good. Remember my kindness.” Sloane’s pale blue eyes were hard as she flicked her wrist, the gesture indicating in no uncertain terms that he should move and do it quickly. “Now get out of my sight.”

Kanzi dipped his head in submission and after backing up a few steps, turned to walk away. His strides were short and quick, as if he expected her to shoot him in the back and was barely able to keep himself from sprinting away. A ridiculous fear. Everyone in Sloane Markwell’s crew, hell, everyone in the city knew she would never do something as cowardly as shoot a man in the back.

The sound of Kanzi’s shoes echoed through the warehouse as he rushed away from Sloane and the four men shadowing her. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Until Kanzi was halfway to the huge sliding doors that led out into the alley and Sloane called, “Kanzi?”

He stopped and slowly turned around, his eyes locked onto the suppressor Sloane was casually screwing into the barrel of her gun. Both Kanzi’s hands came up to shoulder height. “Boss…I—” He laughed nervously. “C’mon.”

“Yes,” she mused, her mouth quirking sardonically. “I’m the boss. Which means I know everything that happens around here. And I know it was you who told the Carmichaels. That was dumb. I loathe worms. And now you’re worm food.” She raised the gun and fired two shots into his chest. Kanzi dropped to the floor and Sloane walked over to where he lay gasping and writhing on the concrete. She stood in the pool of blood spreading out from underneath him and fired another shot. Kanzi went still.

Sloane inhaled deeply, stared at the body for a few moments then gave a small nod as if satisfied. She spun to face the men. “Is anyone else feeling disloyal?” she asked, waving the pistol around. When none of them answered, she unscrewed the suppressor and holstered the gun on her hip. “No? Good. I’ve already ruined one pair of shoes tonight.” She made a vague gesture with the suppressor before tucking it into an inner pocket of her designer leather jacket. “Get rid of that mess. And do it fast. We have a shipment coming in and I need to make myself presentable for my evening of…entertainment.”

Sloane spun around and walked away through the high stacks of plastic-wrapped bricks filling the warehouse, the sound of her stilettos clicking sharply against polished concrete. The camera lingered on her ass then panned down to the three-inch heels that made her legs look out…of…this…world. She left a trail of bloodied footprints as she walked. Click, clack, click, clack. The screen went black.

My blinking feels too fast, like my brain can’t process what I’ve just watched. The episode was so intense, so incredible that the only words circling through my brain at top speed are, “Holy shit.” The usual next-episode trailer rolls, telling me Greed will return next week for its final episode of the year and promising things are going to get bigger, more exciting, and more dangerous. It seems Sloane Markwell, a.k.a. undercover LAPD detective Jessica Meares, has a problem with her handler-slash-partner. He’s worried about her, worried she’s too deep into her Sloane Markwell persona, and feels like he doesn’t know who she is now.

I try to ignore that too-close-to-home sentiment to focus on the teaser of Meares’ badass fight scene in the next episode. I wonder if she’ll shoot her handler too and shed her detective skin once and for all to dive fully into her undercover drug-lord role. That would be an epic cliffhanger for the Christmas break.

Once the credits start rolling, I turn off the TV and lean over to Bennett who’s lying in a dog bed by my feet. For a few moments I’m unable to say anything and when I finally manage words, all I get out is a rushed, “Holy fucking shit, Bennie. I cannot believe Meares just smoked Kanzi. I mean, he totally deserved it but I did not think she’d go through with it. That’ll seriously complicate matters with the department. Like, it’s homicide, even if she’s undercover, right? Because it was so not self-defense. Fuuuck,” I breathe. “So good.”

Without raising his head resting on his massive paws, my Rottweiler-boerboel cross gives me his best side-eye. This time with a little eyebrow lift that clearly conveys he thinks I’m being dramatic and that he wishes I hadn’t stopped rubbing my bare feet along his back and sides for scratchies. Bennett is used to my outbursts during our weekly viewings of Greed—the award-winning television drama about a vice detective who went undercover to infiltrate a drug ring, rose quickly through the ranks with the help of departmental arrests removing key players until she eventually took over the crew, and over the course of the past one and a bit seasons found her morals blurring at the edges.

Every Tuesday night when we watch the show together, I wonder if Bennett recognizes Meares-slash-Markwell. Or, as he knew her when he last saw her a year and three months ago—Elise Hayes.

Elise. Hayes. The woman who used to sneak Bennie morsels of prime steak while she was preparing it for my dinner. The woman who bought him his most favorite toy in the world, the rubber elephant. The woman who would drag him out in all weather for a walk because she insisted it was good for both their mental health. The woman who thought he should be allowed on the couch and our bed, because his super-duper comfy doggo beds weren’t good enough, and who made this point repeatedly despite our agreement when Bennett arrived as a puppy that he was going to be far too big to fit comfortably and I wanted to sleep, not squirm around one hundred and sixty pounds of dog all night. The woman who walked out on me and that dog because she wasn’t ready to show the world she was in love with a woman.

Quick FYI? It’s hard to get over your ex-girlfriend when your breakup came out of nowhere and you’re still in love with her. It’s even harder to get over her when you see her everywhere advertising the country’s top-rated drama show and when said show is actually really damned good and you watch it every week. Apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment.

Bennett wouldn’t understand what happened but I know he knew how miserable I was in the months following the breakup. My huge dog is a huge baby and when I was in my post-breakup funk he turned into an even huger baby, probably due to my general meh mood and because Elise was his second mom and he loved her. Maybe he still does. I know I do, even though I know how pathetic it is to be in love with your ex, especially when you’ve accepted what happened and moved on. Kind of.

I finish my drink and after upending the glass into the dishwasher come back to find Bennett still in his bed by the couch with his head on his paws. When I indicate he should come to me, he stands and yawns then stretches first with a bow then one hind leg at a time. But he doesn’t move toward me. It’s his classic reaction to nighttime potty, like he thinks if he doesn’t move then maybe I’m not serious and he can just go back to his bed.

“Bennie, come on. Time to put out the trash, and you need a walk.” And I need to take a walk to shift my brain from Elise or I’m going to have weird and uncomfortable dreams about her all night, which sometimes happens after watching her show. My subconscious is a shit.

Bennett’s slow approach is the epitome of I was comfortable, do I really have to go outside? I point at the door. “Yes, we’re going out. I don’t need you waking me up at three a.m. because you gotta go pee. I’ve got a full day of work tomorrow.” I slip into laceless sneakers and clip the leash to his collar while my dog manages to make me feel like a monster. Yeah, Bennett, I get it. I’m the worst dog mom in the world for caring about your needs and health. I never wanted to be a dog mom but when my brother left his puppy with me almost five years ago, I was stuck with the gig.

Bennett makes a perimeter check for his nemesis, Mr. Opossum, and apparently deeming us safe from the beast, sits down to wait for me to put the trash out. I hook the handle of his leash over a fence paling so he won’t get in my way while I deal with my eighty-two-year-old neighbor’s bins. On top of one of Mrs. Obermeier’s trash bins is a Tupperware container of baked goods, with AVERY written in Sharpie on the lid as if I wouldn’t know it was for me. This week it’s blondies. She knows my sweet spot. The weekly trash-for-treats is a good system, one we’ve had almost since I moved in and is maybe part of the reason I haven’t moved out of my house of memories.

Once I’ve set two households’ worth of trash out, I nab Bennett and with the Tupperware under an arm to load me with provisions for a mid-walk snack, we begin our usual nighttime route around the block so he can smell every single thing we pass before finally peeing. For a dog who tells me nightly how much he doesn’t want to go out before bed, he really seems to enjoy going out before bed.

I hear a distant plane overhead climbing to cruising altitude after its departure from Los Angeles International Airport and make a mental note of tomorrow’s workday. I’ve got a full day in the air, and waiting in airports, an out-and-back flying LAX to ORD return—what we call the seven-thirty-seven-thirty where we depart LAX at seven thirty a.m. and land back at LAX at seven thirty p.m. It’ll be an ordinary day for those traveling around the country. Just as it is for me every time I step into a plane cabin to keep those on board, and those on the ground, safe.

We loop past the park and onto the main street and while Bennie is preoccupied with a tree, a yellow hydrant and a bus shelter I sneak a blondie out and eat half in one bite. I’ve just tucked the Tupperware back under my arm when a truck roars past, the wind catching the hair half-heartedly pulled into a ponytail and sticking it to my face. I turn away from the street and spot something new on the bus shelter. They’ve changed the poster and now it’s an ad for Greed. My ex-girlfriend looks like a million bucks and is holding what looks like a million bucks. Sigh. I really can’t escape her.

I almost choke on the remainder of the blondie I’d stuffed into my mouth to hide it from Bennett and with cheeks bulging, try to chew and swallow while juggling a baggie of dog shit and the Tupperware while I pick bits of hair from my mouth. If anyone saw me now? Well, let’s just say…thanks, universe, for reminding me who is doing better after the breakup.