I’m about ready to order him to leave when my second unwelcome visitor bursts through the door.

  “O, em, gee, Blake! Did she really throw herself off the balcony in nothing but her Louboutin slippers?” Natasha sweeps in, with her royal-blue Yeezy puffer coat wrapped around her shoulders like a cape.

  “No.” I’m not letting that rumor take hold. “She was wearing her Versace robe.”

  “Debbie was always such a drama queen.” Rainey, Natasha’s underage minion, scratches at my frayed nerves.

  “I’m going to my room.” Hana stands, vodka in hand, and curls her nose at the two females. “It’s stuffy in here.”

  “Perhaps you should try coffee for breakfast,” Natasha quips before turning her eyes on me. “How are you holding up, B?”

  Exhaustion radiates in my bones, and I just want to be away from the city, away from these remoras. They attached themselves to my sister while I was in Connecticut, and I haven’t been able to get rid of them.

  “I’m not great. None of it makes sense. I’m having a hard time believing it.”

  “Do you think the rumor mill is right? Do you think–”

  “No.” I shake my head, remembering my sister’s plaintive cry. Who would want to kill Debbie? “I know Debbie. She wasn’t mixed up in anything shady.”

  “But how well do we truly know anyone anymore?”

  I don’t like thinking that way. Debbie and I had been friends since forever, and while she was a playgirl, she was always in control.

  Speaking of which, “Where’s Greg?”

  Trip was Debbie’s plaything, but Greg was her actual boyfriend, at least that’s what they told everyone. He has yet to make an appearance.

  Natasha waves her hand, plucking a strawberry off the breakfast cart. “Oh, you know Grisha. He’s not one for big family gatherings.”

  “It’s not a family gathering. It’s a wake.” A bitter memory of a similar, horrible night flickers through my mind.

  Of course Greg isn’t here. Like Trip, he doesn’t act like normal people, and it’s because he’s into shady dealings, always too smooth, always paying with cash.

  Debbie was worried the last few days. She was always looking over her shoulder. If I say anything about the traffic in Milan or about the traffic anywhere, it’s a signal I need help. She’d had too much to drink the night she said it to me, and I dismissed it as nonsense while giving her a hug and reassuring her I’d always be there to help her.

  I didn’t help her last night. Oh, God, she wasn’t mixed up in anything shady, was she?

  I think back to the anonymous note left on my table at the bar. It was a QR code for a file server. I didn’t look, but it claimed to be a porn film starring Hana, and someone named Papi-O wanted twenty thousand dollars to keep it off the Internet.

  Could the two events somehow be related? Shaking my head, I rub my fingers over my eyes. My sleep-deprived brain can’t connect the dots, and I’m probably just being paranoid.

  “Will they even have a funeral?” Trip polishes off his vodka and lies back on the sofa as if he’ll nap. “Their family tradition is cremation.”

  “Is that a tradition?” Rainy snorts a laugh.

  “If they do, it’ll be at the family vault. How many people can even fit in the space?” Natasha is still picking off the breakfast cart.

  Their voices are sandpaper on my skin. Their callous remarks are too cruel, too unfeeling. My breath grows shallow, and I can’t seem to inhale all the way. Am I having a panic attack? Shaking my head, I can't do that. I have to keep it together.

  Hana was right. It’s stuffy from the cheap perfume and the hot air coming from people’s shitty mouths. I’ve had enough of their insincere concern–or total lack of concern. I need fresh air. I need to get out of this apartment.

  Crossing the room, I pause at the small table in the foyer. A stack of mail waits to be opened, and right on top is a monogram I recognize. It’s the initials of a man I value as much as the father I lost seven years ago.

  Taking the linen envelope from the stack, I slide my finger along the seam. He never calls. He doesn’t pressure me. He only suggests. Gently.

  Dearest Blake,

  On the occasion of my eightieth birthday, my greatest gift would be to have you and Hana come for a visit to our family home in Hamiltown. I’ve prepared rooms for you. You only need to arrive. Included are two train tickets and passage from the station to the house.

  All my love,

  Hugh

  I study the elegant script on the crisp sheet of folded paper. Sure enough, paper tickets are tucked inside, like something out of an old movie.

  Lifting my chin, I scan the room of high-fashion vampires with too much money, too much time, and no souls. “Why don’t you all go home?”

  Trip arches an eyebrow, “Are you channeling Bette Davis?”

  Natasha makes a pouty face. “I’m sure you're tired, B.” She nudges Trip in the ribs. “We’ll take this party down the hall. Shower and join us when you and Hana are ready.”

  I tilt my head as if I’ll nod, but I don’t. We won’t be joining any of them.

  Trip leaves his empty tumbler on the table, pausing as he passes to kiss my cheek. “You’ll let me know if you need anything?”

  He’s annoyed, but I couldn’t care less.

  He annoys me. “I don’t need anything.”

  My tone is dismissive, and he turns, wrapping his arms around Natasha and Rainey’s waists. “Come, girls. Time for an Irish wake.”

  The door closes, and I carry the letter down the long, mahogany hall to my sister’s door. What I said to Trip isn’t true. I do need something badly. I need to be away from this place. I need something real, fresh air, peace.

  With a soft knock, I step into Hana’s plush, white bedroom. She’s lying on the bed, and I go to her, sitting beside her and smoothing her long, spiral curls away from her face. Her eyes are closed, and the empty tumbler is on her nightstand.

  “Why did she do it?” Hana’s small voice breaks, and I blink against the heat stinging my eyes.

  I don’t know the answer to her question. I can’t fix this, and I don’t want her getting any ideas.

  Clearing my throat, I speak softly. “Uncle Hugh invited us to visit the family estate in Hamiltown. He’s turning eighty, and I think it would be the perfect escape from what's happening here, don’t you?”

  I hold the letter where she can see it, and her brow furrows. She squints at it then turns away without even reading. “Whatever you think, B.”

  Like always. “I’ll wake you in a few hours. We can be on the train by lunch.”

  She’s not responding, but the decision is made.

  We’re getting the fuck out of here.

  3

  Hutch

  This is my fault.

  The van Hamilton mansion is eerily quiet. Not a portrait is tilted, not a corner of a rug is upturned. I follow the butler across the parquet floors out to the small greenhouse, where I last saw Hugh. The small bonsai tree is still where he left it, tiny pruning shears on the table beside it.

  I lift the tool, but it’s too small to do any real damage. “The last time you saw him was when he went to bed last night?”

  Norris flusters like a gray-haired, overheated penguin in his uniform. “He has to take his pills. He needs his medicine. How can I give him his medicine if he’s not here?”

  My lips tighten as I survey the area, remembering our conversation. He all but told me this was coming, and I didn’t take him seriously, or I accepted his clumsy cover, when I know damn well Hugh van Hamilton doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean.

  He said coming home would be the last thing he’d ask of Blake and Hana.

  Keep them safe was the last thing he asked of me.

  My fist flexes. Dammit, how could I have let this happen?

  “Oh, Mr. Winston, we’ve got to find him.” Norris is making me uneasy, so I wave him off and head to the back entrance.

  The four-car garage is also quiet, clean, with no signs of struggle or forced entry. An Audi sedan is parked beside a black, Lincoln Town Car. Beside it is an unused Bentley, and in the fourth space is an overused golf cart.

  My partner Oscar rises to his full, six-foot-four height from where he’d been crouching behind the limo. His skin is covered in ink from his neck to his waist, down to both wrists. The tattoos cover some pretty gnarly burn scars.

  “What’s the good news?”

  Pale-blue wolf eyes meet mine, and he shakes his dark head. “Nothing.”

  He’s not much for conversation, but I need more than that.

  A growl rumbles low in my throat. “Dammit, Scar. There’s gotta be something. No one disappears without leaving some clue behind.”

  “Looks like Hugh did.” He’s not being cocky.

  Scar Lourde doesn’t like “no clue” cases. He’s the best tracker in the world, and he prides himself on being able to find anyone or anything. When we first met overseas, he was a contractor with the Marines. We found spies, bombs, hijackers, hidden bunkers, suicide bombers… He saved my ass more than once, and he’s practically psychic when it comes to finding evidence.

  When he dropped by Hamiltown for a visit five years ago, I all but begged him to join my fledgling private investigation firm. I’d retired from service, and we were just getting established. I was the leader, the muscle, and my brother was the brains. Scar was exactly what we needed, and now I can’t imagine doing our work without him.

  “We’ve got to keep looking.” I remember my last conversation with Hugh. “This isn’t some random stranger.”

  “You’d search as hard for a random stranger.” Scar’s deep voice is quiet, and I concede.

  “I’ll search harder for Hugh.”

  “There’s no struggle, no forced entry. His car didn’t leave the garage…”

  “So it’s a kidnapping?”

  “Or he wandered off.”

  Our eyes meet for a beat, and I shake my head. “He’s ill, but he doesn’t have dementia.”

  “And he wasn’t kidnapped.” My younger brother Dirk walks up to where we’re standing.

  My father always called him Duke because of his ability to fit seamlessly into both worlds. He’s equally comfortable sipping Ono champagne cocktails on the Upper East Side as he is eating bologna sandwiches in Slim Harold's in Hamiltown.

  But he’s primarily a computer genius–hell, he’s a fucking genius period. I’m lucky if I can get his ass out of bed before noon, but it’s because he’s up all night tracking bad guys across the dark web.

  “If it were a kidnapping, there’d be a ransom note or at the very least someone taking responsibility. I checked all the downstairs windows, the surrounding drive, the lawns, and I did find one thing–two, actually.”

  “What?” Oscar straightens, and my shoulders tense.

  “I found these. Car let them out five minutes ago.”

  He steps to the side like he’s a game-show host, revealing two females with confused expressions, holding suitcases.

  It’s actually two very beautiful women, one I remember well, only the last time I saw her, she was a sixteen-year-old troublemaker, a firebrand too attractive for her age, and especially for our five-year age difference.

  “What’s happening here?” Blake’s voice is slightly lower since I last heard it, still she’s coolly elegant in her tailored brown blazer over an ivory shirt and dark jeans.

  Her silky, brunette hair is smoothed over one shoulder in a wavy ponytail, and when her striking silver eyes meet mine, they narrow. My stomach tightens, and my jaw grinds.

  I don’t have time for that involuntary response.

  “Surprise!” The pale blonde next to her exhales a soft laugh then she covers her mouth quickly, staring at the ground as if she’s embarrassed we’re all looking at her.

  Hana hasn’t changed at all. She sounds high. Her dark blue eyes seem too big for her face, and spiral white-blonde curls hang loose down her back, swaying as she wobbles on her stilettos. The filmy, floral dress she’s wearing does little to cover her too-thin body.

  “Why are you here?” Blake’s sharp tone demands our attention, and I’m not in the mood.

  Too much is going wrong today, and I’m tired from spending all afternoon searching this house. Now the sun’s going down, and we have nothing.

  “Norris called us. Your uncle wasn’t in his bed this morning, and he didn’t come back by noon. He’s not in the best of health, so we came immediately to investigate the situation.”

  “Why is it your business if my uncle isn’t in his bed?” Blake’s brow arches, and I see she’s only gotten stronger over the years.

  Clearing my throat, I ease up, not wanting to fight. “I’m a private investigator. As I said, Norris called me, but even if he hadn’t, your uncle is a close friend of mine. I’d have come regardless.”

  “A private investigator.” Her full lips press together, and she pulls an envelope out of her pocket. “Then I guess you should see this. It came in the mail a few days ago.”

  I take it, quickly unfolding the thick paper and scanning the words. He said he’d sent her a letter. Protect my nieces, he said to me.

  “I don’t know why he doesn’t just call or text like a normal person,” Blake grumbles as I think. “Anyway, he asked us to come home for his birthday. Why would he do that if he were planning to leave?”

  I nod, returning the note to her. “I don’t have an answer to that question, at least not yet.”

  “Well, doesn’t this note at least prove he planned to be here?”

  “It would appear that way.” My jaw sets, and I’m not so sure what her uncle planned–or what he suspected.

  I know he was worried enough to get them here, worried enough to involve me in their protection.

  A throat clears behind me, and I look back to see my brother tilting his head towards the door, and I know what it means. Too many people are in the house, and we’re in danger of corrupting or even damaging evidence.

  “Let me take this. You’re coming to my place.” Stepping forward I place my hand over Blake’s on the handle of her suitcase.

  She immediately recoils. “Excuse me? I’m not going anywhere with you. This is our family home. We’re staying here.”

  Defiance sparkles in her eyes, and the tension that has always existed between us fires in the front of my brain. I’ve always known how smart she is–it’s also her biggest weakness. She thinks she’s the smartest person in the room, and it makes her vulnerable. She’s not strong enough for this.

  “The mansion is a crime scene. We don’t know what happened to your uncle or who might be watching the place. Perhaps whoever did this knew you were coming.”

  “No one knew we were coming. I only decided this morning.”

  I nod, making a mental note. “Still, it’s not safe here. We don’t know enough, and there’s plenty of room at my house. My niece lives with me. I have a housekeeper. You’ll be perfectly safe and comfortable there.”

  Hana lifts the side of her dress and does a wobbly little turn before Scar steps forward quickly and gently catches her arm, taking her suitcase.

  “Thank you.” Her voice is like tissue paper, high and just above a whisper. She places a slender, pale hand on his muscled, inked forearm and looks up into his darkness. It’s like watching a biker with a kitten, but I don’t have time for distractions.

  “I’m not staying with you.” Blake’s shoulders are set, and I knew it would be this way. “We’ll find a hotel or a bed and breakfast.”

  “You won’t find any of that here.” Dirk chuckles. “Hamiltown is not exactly a booming metropolis.”

  “Exactly.” I take her suitcase from her hand. “It’s not a discussion. You’re staying at my place. I have an entire upstairs floor where the two of you can set up, undisturbed. You won’t have to see anyone if you don’t want to.”

  Her eyes widen, and you’d think I’d offered a golden turd on a silver platter. “I’d rather go back to New York than stay at your house.”

  “But you’re not.” I start walking to my black Silverado, and Scar falls in behind me. “I’m keeping my eye on you until we understand what we’re dealing with here.”

  “I didn’t ask for that.” I hear her steps hustling up behind me, and I stop, turning to face her.

  Inhaling deeply, my shoulders broaden, and I’m done arguing. “No, you didn’t, but your uncle did. Now come on.”

  Confusion lines her brow, but I’m done. Tossing her bag in the back of my truck, Scar does the same with Hana’s before holding her hand and helping her climb into the backseat.

  I hear my brother consoling Blake behind us. “I’d offer to let you stay at my place, but I’ve only got one big room.”

  Oscar doesn’t say a word, but his eyes never leave Hana. He watches her like she’s something he’s never seen before, like a Viking entranced by a mermaid.

  I don’t have time for anymore discussion, and I’m fucking hungry. “Let’s go.”

  Blake’s chin juts forward with the clench of her teeth, and it shouldn’t be so attractive. She takes a casual step past me, and I catch her waist to help her into the back of my truck.

  It makes her hesitate, and she flashes those eyes at me. “Tell me, Hutch Winston, do you always handle people like trained monkeys?”

  “Yes.” My tone is flat. “I get away with it, too.”

  “Aren’t you lucky?”

  “No. I’m pretty fucking tired and hungry.”

  “Then we should go back to New York. We didn’t ask to come here.”

  “And I didn’t ask you to come here, so don’t make my life more stressful.”

  “I’m not interested in your life, Mr. Winston.”

  “And I’m not interested yours, Ms. van Hamilton, but I made a promise to your uncle, and I intend to keep it. You two are going to stay with me. For whatever reason, criminals love returning to the scene of the crime.”