I managed to keep my feet, but felt the shock of the landing all the way up to my hips. Never mind. The blond kid was in trouble—or dead. I just knew it.

We got there in just a few seconds and I nearly skidded in the blood, which was as awful as it sounds, especially in bare feet.

“Oh no!”

“Fuck,” Sinclair muttered, which was very unlike him. I was the potty mouth in the Sinclair family. But the situation certainly warranted it.

Except . . . it wasn’t her. It was a different girl, slightly older, wearing filthy clothes and with dirty hands. Her skin wasn’t quite as dark as Jessica’s, and already going dusky with death.

A homeless child? A runaway? Whoever she had been, she’d crossed paths with the wrong man—or woman—and wouldn’t ever have to worry about finding a place to stay again.

“Where is everybody?” I asked, kneeling beside the child.

“We’re the first ones on scene. I’ve called 911.”

“You guys didn’t see anything?”

“We didn’t even hear anything,” Jessica said, sounding very strained. “We just rounded the corner and there she was.”

“Oh, the poor poor thing. Look! I count at least three bite marks, the fucking greedy bastard.”

“Five,” Sinclair said distantly.

“We don’t have to kill! We only have to take half a pint or so, Goddamn it!”

“Yes, that’s been my experience,” Nick said quietly.

I turned on him and snarled, “Yes, fucking A right, Nick, you’re alive, aren’t you? You’re walking around allowed to be a perfect asshole, aren’t you? But this poor kid—this . . .” I stretched out a trembling hand, wanting to touch her, stroke her face, maybe pull her into my arms. Too late, all too late.

Nick seized my wrist. “Betsy, don’t! This is a crime scene. Anything you do—change—won’t help the cops and it won’t help her. Just—don’t, okay?”

“Let go of my wrist,” I said tonelessly, and he did.

In the background, sirens.

“There’s nothing we can do except incriminate ourselves,” Sinclair said quietly. “It’s time to go. Nick can handle the cops.”

He took my hand to help me up and I yanked it out of his grip.

“And we were busy fucking while this kid was getting bled like a pig,” I hissed at him. “Don’t touch me.”

I walked out of the alley, alone.