"Looking good, man." I clap Sebastian on the back. Actually, he looks like an arrogant fuck, in his dark wash jeans and linen shirt. Christ, he's not wearing shoes. If I hadn't promised Juliette that I would keep my hands off him, I'd crush the life out of him right now.

I can tell he's already drugged, because he's breathing hard as he leads me outside, to that lounge area near the fire pit.

We sit, and he smacks his lips. Not long now.

"Thanks for meeting with me at the last minute. My contacts in Amsterdam were fucking elated with the shipment." Which is true. Willem wants me to introduce him directly to Sebastian, but I told Willem that might not be the best idea. I left him with the impression that Sebastian was possibly under investigation for some unspecified crime.

Which is what I'm hoping, after Juliette finds the laptop.

If she finds the laptop.

I explain what Willem would like in great detail, just to draw out the minutes. This fucker's got to nod off soon. His eyes keep fluttering shut, and his responses have turned to grunts.

He won't remember any of this tomorrow.

When I'm telling him about the hash trade in Amsterdam, his head falls forward, his goatee brushing his chest.

I stop talking. As we planned, I'll sit with him for a while, making sure he's out cold. I check my watch.

The longest minutes of my life tick by. It's difficult to look at him, because the urge to crush his windpipe is strong.

After five minutes have passed, I shake Sebastian's shoulder gently, and he doesn't rouse.

It's time.

I run into the house and down the hall. We'd agreed that Vee and Lena would start with the art in the library first, since Lena says that's where some of the smallest and most valuable pieces are. Ones that will sell for the most money on the black market.

As planned, Vee and Lena are there, pulling down the paintings that are easily portable. Jesus, they're serious. They've got duffel bags and a stepladder.

"All good?" Lena says.

"All good."

"Here. Take these to the car." Vee hands me a stack of four paintings. "I'm filling a duffel next."

We've got time to do this right, since he'll be asleep for a while. Still, I move quickly, putting them into the back of the SUV rented in Vee's name.

I want to get the hell out of here as soon as possible. Away from Miami.

The plan is to take as much art as we can, find the computer for evidence, and drive to the executive airport in the north part of the county. A drug acquaintance has agreed to fly Juliette and me to Guatemala. While Vee and Lena sell the paintings, Juliette and I will figure out where to go. I've got my fake identity, and was able to get a false passport and a birth certificate for her, too.

Amazing what criminal friends can do in twenty-four hours. Friends in low places, indeed.

Now back in the house, I return to the library. Vee's stuffing a tall, thin statue into a duffel bag. It looks like a stick figure made of iron and it's ugly as hell.

"Giacometti," she says, grinning.

"Hunh?"

"Sculptor. This is worth a shitload." She zips up the bag.

"I never knew you were such an art connoisseur."

Vee snickers. She's loving this intrigue. Me? It's a bit much for my frayed nervous system. My limbs feel jittery, like I've done a line or two of coke.

All I want is to sit on a beach with Juliette. Drink a beer. Read.

This whole scene in Sebastian's mansion is making me more uneasy by the minute. Even though I've been involved with a lot of shady shit in my life, grand theft isn't on the list.

"I'm going to find Juliette," I say, half to myself. Before I do, it's probably worth checking to see if Sebastian's fallen to the ground outside. If he's moving at all, I'm going to have to take more drastic measures. But he was out so hard that he won't wake up until noon tomorrow.

Still, can't be too careful. I walk to the window. It has a good view of the patio area.

Wait. What?

"Oh shit," I holler. "No fucking way."

"What?" Lena cries out, and she and Vee stop what they're doing and come to my side.

"Did you lock the patio door?" Lena asks, her voice laced with fear.

The answer is obvious. With terror welling in my chest, I point to an empty chair. It's where Sebastian had been sitting. Had been asleep.

"He's gone."

* * *

It's difficult to believe that little pill will soon force me to sleep. Because right now, my heart's pounding and I'm a little sweaty and I'm more awake than I've ever been in my life.

Maybe the adrenaline shooting through my veins will override the chemicals. I can only hope.

My first stop is Sebastian's bedroom. It's where I'd left my purse, on a bureau. I'd brought my giant purse tonight, the large Coach bag he'd bought for me. There's only one thing inside: a folded backpack. Griffin, who should be arriving right about now — with Vee ducked in the backseat — has my suitcase. My driver's license has been torn up and thrown away, and he has my new passport and birth certificate.

After tonight, Juliette Phillips will be only a memory.

But I'll have plenty of time to think about the existential meaning of that later. Taking a deep breath, I will myself to stay calm. This'll be over soon. As soon as I find that computer. Lena thinks it's either in here or his upstairs office. I'd wanted her to grab it, but she knows which paintings are most valuable, so it made more sense to have her help Vee.

I pull the backpack out and pause. Should I bring the Coach bag? Stuff it full of trinkets that might be worth something?

I scan the room, taking in the small statues and baubles on every surface that are probably worth something. Nah. I've got the diamond engagement ring. That will be enough. Plus Griffin's money in offshore accounts.

Trying to walk softly — why, I don't know, because this house is so huge, it's not like anyone can hear my footsteps — I cross the room to Sebastian's nightstand.

Lena said I should look in all the drawers upstairs if needed, but start with his bedroom, and then his office.

I tug the drawer of the ornate, white-and-gold faux French table. It opens easily. A box of condoms and an unopened tube of lube makes me shudder. There's an unmarked prescription bottle of pills, which makes me wonder if he also indulges in some controlled substances, and a fat manila folder. It's at least a quarter of an inch thick.

Shoving the small items aside, I pull the folder out and pinch the little metal clasp so I can undo the flap. Then I slide the contents out and flip through.

Oh shit.

They're photos.

Dozens and dozens of printed photos, of sleeping women. Naked women. Women who were used by Sebastian, and from the looks of things, by other people, too.

I fight back a wave of nausea. Puking is bad. Leaving that kind of physical evidence would be a problem if Sebastian decides to go to authorities.

Although, why would he, given these disgusting photos? I'm about to stop flipping through when one catches my eye. It's different than the others for some reason. The setting isn't a bedroom.

It's a...I frown. A doctor's office? No, because the naked woman's on a metal table. And her skin looks a little grey.

With horror, I flip to the next. And the next. Each photo is a closer shot of the woman's body. Her hands and her feet and her breasts. Her vagina and his fingers.

And then, her face. I gasp aloud. The woman's mouth is open in a disturbing way. Her lips are a purplish-gray. There are dark shadows under her closed eyes.

She's a corpse.

Sebastian Engel is a necrophiliac.

Oh God oh God oh God

My disgust is quickly mixed with a sense of triumph. This will be enough to put him away for life. I gingerly slide the stack of photos back into the envelope, as if they're covered in poison.

I'll still look for the computer, because if he's so stupid — so arrogant — to keep photos like this around, then he must have more incriminating evidence on that laptop.

I slide the envelope in the backpack and make my way to the bureau. It takes a few seconds to do a quick check there, but I find nothing but his neatly pressed socks and boxers.

Again I wonder why I'm tiptoeing as I walk to the office down the hall. I'm dying to know if Griffin's here, and if Sebastian's out cold. As soon as I find the computer, I'm supposed to go into the upstairs guest bathroom and lock myself in, until Griffin and Lena think it's safe to leave.

The office. I steal inside, flicking on a white floor lamp that's tall and skinny.

This place is as cold as Sebastian's heart, all glass and black laqueur furniture. It's easily the ugliest room in the house, partially because it's not decorated like the rest of the rooms. It's not ornate, it's not ostentatious, it's just frigid. Even the temperature seems to plunge ten degrees.

I shiver and scan the bookshelf. Nothing but medical books. Then I go to a tall filing cabinet and pull out the top drawer. Files. Files. Files. It's the same for all four drawers. Maybe there are more photos of women in them, but a quick flick through a few show only spreadsheets and contracts and I don't have time to go through every one. I'll leave that to the cops, who will surely scrutinize every inch of this place.

My breath is shallow, coming from the top of my lungs. I wonder if Sebastian's slumped on the sofa in the living room, or if Griffin managed to get him to the outdoor lounge. I picture Sebastian passed out in his chair, near the fire pit.

I hope he burns in hell. Or at least rots in prison for the rest of his life.

There's a wide filing cabinet, and I look through that. Nothing. Crap. There's only one place left to look, and I'm hoping I'll get lucky.

The desk.

I start with the middle drawer, knowing that it's likely too small to fit a laptop. But I look, in case I stumble on more depraved photos. There's nothing but the usual desk objects, paperclips and pens and sticky notes.

There's the two drawers to the left, and I go through those. Files. More files. A ream of paper. Thank God he's so organized. At least I don't have to search too hard.

Two drawers to go. I turn to the right and open the first one. There are legal pads with his handwriting, another box of pens, and a bottle of pills. This guy's definitely on something.

Or maybe these were meant for me.

I huff out a breath in disbelief and squat down so I can look in the bottom drawer. This one's bigger and deeper than the others, and as I slide it open, I pray that this is the jackpot.

And, it is. There's a slim laptop bag. Dropping to my knees, I unzip the black bag. Oh thank God. The silver metal of the laptop winks at me, and I zip it back up and stuff it into my backpack. I'm closing my bag securely and peering into the drawer when I get a shock from something I hadn't noticed when I opened it.

A gun.

It's a small, black gun. A handgun? A pistol? I know nothing about guns, and the only one I've seen is Griffin's, and that was months and months ago.

Should I take it? What would Griffin want me to do? Vee? I chew on the inside of my cheek.

"Juliette?"

I'm so startled to hear a voice that I gasp out loud.

"Liebling?"

Oh. My. God. It's Sebastian. His accented voice sounds drawn out, gravelly.

What the hell is he doing here? Why isn't he passed out?

"Ah. There you are. I see that you've found it."

I look up and he's coming toward me. Without thinking, I snatch the gun from the drawer and stand up, aiming the barrel in his direction.

"Get the fuck back."

He laughs, a drunken, mocking laugh. "Come on, Juliette. Put the gun down, put the computer back and let's talk."

What the hell? Did he hurt Griffin? Lena? Where are they? What's going on?

"Step back. Into that chair by the window." I gesture an inch with the gun, to a modern black lounge chair and matching footstool. "Sit in that chair or I'll shoot."

He chuckles and holds up his hands. With great effort, he steps back, weaving a little. He's clearly intoxicated, whether it's from booze or the pills or both. I don't quite understand how he's still walking. He slumps into the chair.

"You're making a huge mistake, my dear."

"Shut up. You're a fucking pervert. I'm giving this computer and those disgusting photos to the cops. To the media. To everyone. You won't be able to hide your fetish now. You're done."

Again he laughs. The balls on this guy.

"Nothing will happen. You know that."

How am I going to bend down and get the backpack on the floor while still aiming the gun on him? I know if I make one wrong move, falter just a little, he'll probably lunge at me. He's only about five feet away as it is, too close for my comfort. Then again, he's moving pretty slow. But he could be just bluffing. Anything's possible.

"You're going to prison."

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "You are so naïve. Who's going to believe you?"

"Lena also has evidence. She'll testify against you." Why am I engaging in conversation? I need to get the backpack and get out of here.

"Like the police will believe an illegal immigrant and a woman who willingly allowed herself to be used. That's not how the world works, darling. So put the gun down, please, and come here so we can make up." He pats his thigh.

The gesture sends a tsunami of anger through me. Up until now, I'd been scared, confused, uncertain. But now I'm pissed.

"Fuck you. I hate you."

There's a commotion at the door and can hear the sharp breaths of other people.

"Oh my God. Juliette."

Griffin. My instinct is to turn to him, but I'm staring at Sebastian too hard. I've locked eyes with him and I'm feeling the power of pure, clear hatred.

"Juliette. Babe." It's Vee's voice, throaty and even. "Put the gun down and let's go."

"I found photos," I say in a loud voice. "Of him fingering a corpse."

I hear Griffin's whispered oh shit and Vee's gasp.

While still staring at me, Sebastian licks his lips. "We can get past this. I'm sorry I got emotional with you that day in the bathroom, Juliette. I should have told you about my preferences before then, and perhaps you'd have accepted me. My tone was too sharp, and I said a few things I should not have said."

"Save the apologies for a judge." I'm shaking now. I raise my free hand, so I'm holding the gun in both hands.

"Bring me the gun, Juliette." Griffin's voice is a plea. "Walk real slow over to me, and give me the gun. Please, angel? Let's just get out of here."

"I didn't rape you." Sebastian's voice is soft. "I've never sexually assaulted anyone. Not in high school, not in college, not ever. Sexual assault is horrific. That's not who I am. All of the women have wanted it, whether they've said it out loud or not. You wanted it, Juliette. You wanted me because I'm rich and powerful. You wanted me because I could help you. It was a fair trade. Now come here and say you're sorry."

"Fuck. You." Wow, my voice is awfully calm under the circumstances. Time is slowing, stretching, expanding. Every second is like a day.

"You're making a huge mistake. And if you think I'll change because of your little threats, you're wrong. I'll be this way long after you and those degenerates," he waves his hand toward the door, "are gone. I'll find another woman who allows me to do what I want, and another, and another. There's no shortage of women like you."

"You're evil." I kick the drawer shut with my foot and take a step toward him. The backs of my legs are too warm, and the air around me is thick. The pill's in my blood, I can feel it.

He whispers my name, and even now, even with a gun pointed at him, he sounds like he's chiding me. All arrogant and haughty. Like he still thinks he's better than me.

A hundred things run through my mind in a fraction of a second. How he took advantage of sweet Lena, who only wanted to do right by her son. How he contributed to Nadia's death by giving her those pills. How he raped all those women in all those photos. How he's probably correct, that men like him get away with whatever they want, because of power and money.

The way he preys on vulnerable women.

That corpse.

The feeling I had when I woke up in his bed, not knowing what happened. The terror I've felt ever since. The shame and the anger and the sadness.

And then he smirks at me.

The motherfucker smirks.

My hands stop trembling. My whole body, my mind, everything, is steady as steel.

I hear Griffin and Vee's pleas in unison. They sound far away, and I think Lena's voice is part of the chorus. They're begging me to walk away.

Sebastian's still smirking. He doesn't believe I'll do anything. He thinks I'm weak and stupid. He assumes I'll dissolve into tears and crumple to the floor. But I won't.

Anger is in every blood cell, racing through my veins. He must be stopped. Now.

And so, I pull the trigger.

____