“I’m impressed. He likes to keep his home address off the radar.”

And why was that? I wondered. What was he hiding? Why was Rixon the only person allowed into Patch’s inner sanctum?

What could he share with Rixon, but no one else? Had he never allowed me inside because he knew something I’d see there would unravel the truth—that he was responsible for murdering my dad?

“Getting the sweatshirt back would mean a lot to me,” I said. I felt somehow removed, as if I was watching myself converse with Rixon from several feet away. Someone stronger, more clever and contained was saying the words rolling from my mouth. I was not that person. I was the girl who felt herself crumbling into pieces as fine as the sand beneath her feet.

“Head over first thing in the morning. Patch leaves early, but if you’re there by six thirty, you should catch him.”

“I don’t want to have to do it face-to-face.”

“Want me to pick up the sweatshirt next time I’m over? I’m sure I’ll be over there tomorrow night. This weekend at the latest.”

“I’d like to get it sooner rather than later. My mom keeps asking about it. Patch gave me a key, and as long as he hasn’t changed the locks, I could still get in. Trouble is, it was dark when we drove over, and I don’t remember how to get to his place. I didn’t pay attention, because I wasn’t planning on having to drive back and get my sweatshirt, post-breakup.”

“Swathmore. Near the industrial district.”

My mind netted this information.

If his place was near the industrial district, I was betting he lived in one of the brick apartment buildings on the edge of Old Town Coldwater. There wasn’t much else to choose from, unless he’d taken up residence in one of the abandoned factories or vagabond shacks by the river, which seemed doubtful.

I smiled, hoping I appeared relaxed. “I knew it was over by the river somewhere. Top floor, right?” I said, taking a stab in the dark. It seemed to me Patch wouldn’t want to hear his neighbors stomping around above him.

“Yeah,” Rixon said. “Number thirty-four.”

“Do you think Patch will be home tonight? I don’t want to bump into him. Especially if he’s there with Marcie. I just want to get the sweatshirt and get out.”

Rixon coughed into his fist. “Uh, no, you should be good.” He scratched his cheek and cast me a nervous, almost pitying, look. “Vee and I are actually meeting up with Patch and Marcie for a movie tonight.”

I felt my spine stiffen. The air in my lungs seem to shatter …

and then, just when I felt all semblance of my carefully controlled emotions fleeing, I was speaking clearly again. I had to. “Does Vee know?”

“I’m still trying to figure out how to break the news.”

“Break the news about what?”

Rixon and I both swung around as Vee plopped down with a cardboard crate of Cokes.

“Uh—a surprise,” Rixon said. “I’ve got something planned for tonight.”

Vee grinned. “A clue, a clue! Pleeeease?”

Rixon and I shared a quick glance, but I looked away. I didn’t want any part of this. Besides, I’d already tuned out. My thoughts were robotically sifting through this new information: Tonight. Patch and Marcie. A date. Patch’s apartment would be empty.

I had to get in.

CHAPTER 16

THREE HOURS LATER, THE FRONTS OF VEE’S THIGHS were toasted red, the tops of her feet were blistered, and her face was swol en with heat. Rixon had taken off an hour ago, and Vee and I were lugging the umbrel a and beach tote up the all ey branching off Old Orchard Street.

“I feel funny,” Vee said. “Like I’m going to pass out. Maybe I should have gone easy on the baby oil.”

I was lightheaded and uncomfortably warm too, but it didn’t have anything to do with the weather. A headache sliced down the center of my skull. I kept trying to swallow the bad taste in my mouth, but the more I swallowed, the queasier my stomach grew. The name “the Black Hand” skipped around my mind like it was taunting me to give it my full attention, stabbing its nails into my headache every time I tried to ignore it. I couldn’t think about it now, in front of Vee, having enough foresight to know I’d shatter the moment I did. I had to juggle the pain a little longer, tossing it up in the air every time it threatened to crash down. I clung to the safety of numb devastation, pushing the inevitable off as long as I could. Patch. The Black Hand. It couldn’t be.

Vee came to a halt. “What is that?” We were standing in the parking lot at the rear of the bookstore, a few feet from the Neon, and we were staring at the large piece of metal attached to the left rear tire.

“I think it’s a car boot,” I said.

“I can see that. What’s it doing on my car?”

“I guess when they say violators will be towed, they mean it.”

“Don’t get smart with me. What are we going to do now?”

“Call Rixon?” I suggested.

“He’s not going to be very happy about having to drive all the way back out here. What about your mom? Is she back in town?”

“Not yet. How about your parents?”

Vee sat on the curb and buried her face in her hands. “It probably costs a fortune to get a car boot removed. This will be the last straw. My mom’s going to ship me off to a monastery.” I took a seat beside her, and together we pondered our options.

“Don’t we have any other friends?” Vee asked. “Someone we could call for a ride without feeling too guilty? I wouldn’t feel guilty about making Marcie drive all the way out here, but I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t do it. Not for us. Especially not for us.

You’re friends with Scott. Think he’d come get us? Hold on a minute … isn’t that Patch’s Jeep?”

I followed Vee’s gaze down the opposite end of the all ey. It fed into Imperial Street, and sure enough, parked on the far side of Imperial was a shiny black Jeep Commander. The windows were tinted, a glare of sun reflecting off them.

My heart accelerated. I couldn’t run into Patch. Not here. Not yet. Not when the only thing keeping me from breaking down sobbing was a carefully constructed dam whose foundation cracked deeper with every passing second.

“He must be here somewhere,” Vee said. “Text him and tell him we’re stranded. I might not like him, but I’ll use him if it gets me a ride home.”

“I’d text Marcie before I’d text Patch.” I hoped Vee didn’t detect the strange, dull note of distress and loathing in my voice. The Black Hand … the Black Hand … not Patch …

please, not Patch … a mistake, an explanation … The headache seared, as if my own body was warning me to stop this line of thinking for my own safety.

“Who else can we call?” Vee said.

We both knew who we could call. Absolutely no one. We were lame, friendless people. No one owed us a favor. The only person who would drop everything to come to my rescue was sitting beside me. And vice versa.

I directed my attention back to the Jeep. For no reason whatsoever, I stood. “I’m driving the Jeep home.” I wasn’t sure what kind of statement I intended to send to Patch. An eye for an eye? You hurt me, I’ll hurt you? Or maybe, This is only the start, if you had anything to do with my dad’s death …

“Is Patch going to be mad when he figures out you stole his Jeep?” Vee said.

“I don’t care. I’m not going to sit here all evening.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Vee said. “I don’t like Patch on a normal day, never mind when he’s got his temper on.”

“What happened to your sense of adventure?” A fierce desire had taken control of me, and I wanted nothing more than to take the Jeep and send Patch a message. I envisioned bumping the Jeep into a tree. Not hard enough to deploy the air bags, just hard enough to leave a dent. A little memento from me. A warning.

“My sense of adventure stops short of a kamikaze suicide mission,” said Vee. “It’s not going to be pretty when he figures out it was you.”

The logical voice in my head might have instructed me to back away for a moment, but all logic had left me. If he’d hurt my family, if he’d destroyed my family, if he’d lied to me—

“Do you even know how to boost a car?” Vee asked.

“Patch taught me.”

She didn’t look convinced. “You mean you saw Patch steal a car, and now you think you’ll give it a try?” I strode down the all ey toward Imperial Street, with Vee jogging close behind. I checked for traffic, then crossed to the Jeep. I tried the door latch. Locked.

“Nobody’s home,” Vee said, cupping her hands around her eyes to peer inside. “I think we should walk away. Come on, Nora. Back away from the Jeep.”

“We need a ride. We’re stranded.”

“We still have two legs, leftie and rightie. Mine are in the mood for exercise. They feel like a nice long walk— Are you crazy? ” she shrieked.

I was standing with the tip of the beach umbrel a aimed at the driver’s-side window. “What?” I said. “We have to get in.”

“Put the umbrel a down! You’re going to draw a lot of negative attention if you smash out the window. What’s gotten into you?” she said, watching me, wild-eyed.

A vision flashed across my mind. I saw Patch standing over my dad, gun in hand. The sound of a shot ripped the silence.

I braced my hands on my knees and leaned over, feeling tears sting behind my eyes. The ground lurched into a nauseating spin. Sweat curved trails down the sides of my face.

I was being smothered, as if all oxygen had suddenly evaporated from the air. The more I tried to draw air, the more paralyzed my lungs became. Vee was shouting at me, but it came from far away, an underwater sound.

All of a sudden the ground halted. I took three sharp breaths.

Vee was ordering me to sit, yelling something about heat exhaustion. I pulled free from her grip.

“I’m okay,” I said, holding up a hand when she came for me again. “I’m okay.”

To show her I was fine, I bent to pick up my tote, which I must have dropped, and it was then that I saw the spare key to the Jeep gleaming gold in the bottom. The one I’d stolen from Marcie’s bedroom the night of her party.

“I have a key to the Jeep,” I said, the words surprising even me.

A frown mark stretched across Vee’s forehead. “Patch never asked for it back?”

“He never gave it to me. I found it in Marcie’s room Tuesday night.”

“Whoa.”

I shoved the key in the lock, climbed in, and sat in the driver’s seat. Then I adjusted the seat forward, cranked the ignition, and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. Despite the heat, my hands were cold and jittery.

“You’re not thinking about doing more damage than just driving this thing home, are you?” Vee asked, buckling herself into shotgun. “Because the vein in your temple is throbbing, and the last time I saw it do that was right before you clipped Marcie in the jaw at the Devil’s Handbag.”