Page 71 of Cruel Hearts

I find the little piece of black plastic. It’s difficult to imagine that what’s on it will implicate the Blacks in such a way we’ll have even the tiniest leg to stand on, but Stella searched and gathered information for five years. She knows more than me, and I have to trust her, even if she doesn’t trust me.

I pocket it, and she opens her mouth to object, but she doesn’t. She’s only wearing a dress and flats. No purse. Mel didn’t give her much time.

“Now what?” I ask.

“A reporter from theChroniclehas been investigating the crash, and he offered to help us. We can’t let Ash know he’s involved.”

“He knows you and Denton are working together. A video of a pickup truck pushing his vehicle into the river is all over the news.” I want to say more. I want to say I’m glad she’s okay, that I’m glad she didn’t drown. I want to say I’m thankful Denton was there. I want to say a lot of things, but I don’t.

“The shooting, too,” she says.

“How’s your friend?”

“That’s none of your business.”

I stifle a sigh. In silence, I lead her to the parking garage under the building. She doesn’t give me much room, crowding me in the dim light. She’s scared. For all her bravado, she’s scared.

I open the passenger door to a plain black SUV. It’s the only vehicle I own that won’t stand out as mine.

She skirts around me and lies in the backseat. It’s smart, and I should have thought of that myself. I key an address shegives me into my GPS, and she doesn’t speak as I weave my way through the busy streets. I park in an alley near a dumpster, its contents rotting in the heat.

Without a word, I follow her up two flights of stairs, and she knocks on the door of a third-floor apartment located in a boring brick building that looks like a hundred others in King’s Crossing.

The door swings open.

A man about my age, dressed in khaki pants and a blue dress shirt, jerks her into the apartment.

I have a clear view of the living room, and Denton rises to his feet from a nubby couch. The scents of bacon and coffee permeate the air.

“Where the hell have you been?” the guy in khaki demands. Behind the glint of his glasses, his eyes are strained.

“One of Zane’s goons found me. You were right—I shouldn’t have gone back to the apartment—but it might be a good thing. I think he’s ready to listen.”

“We can’t trust him,” Denton says. He’s so angry his lips turn white.

I remain quiet. This is Stella’s show.

“We have to. If we want to destroy the Blacks, we need his money and connections.”

I flinch. I already knew that my money would be invaluable, but like my payment for Nathalie’s life, having my existence whittled down to so little is humiliating.

“Plus, he and Ash are still friends. That will help us.”

The guy I assume is the reporter widens the door in invitation. His eyes bulge when he notices the scratches down my cheek, but he doesn’t question me about them, only holds out his hand. “I’m Max Cook. Reporter for theKCChronicle.I’m sorry about your parents.”

He must not know Stella’s and my history. He looks kind, like he’s willing to give me a chance.

“Thank you,” I say, firmly gripping his hand. I trust him immediately.

Denton doesn’t approach me, and I don’t blame him.

“Zane has something you need to look at,” Stella says, stepping farther into the room.

Seeing she’s okay, Denton relaxes slightly. He cares about her, that’s clear. I saw evidence he did on the news as he watched for her to surface from the river’s depths. My heart twists to see it in person, though.

“Max, can you boot up your laptop?”

I give Denton a wide berth and follow Stella and Max into a small, but clean, kitchen.

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