When they arrived in front of the trendy GroveMarc condos, Nella stared up at the building.

What kind of weird week was this? For a brief time, she had planned to live in this building herself.

"I still can't believe you live here."

"Yeah, but it's like you said, don't judge a book by its cover," he warned. "My roommate owns the unit. He extends me... rent control, I guess you could say."

"Must be a good friend."

"The best." He ushered her into the ground floor lobby, so different from her building. The Tellico was bare brick and worn wood and Edison bulbs and ghosts. The GroveMarc was bright white and cool green and modern orange and shiny dark floors and low circular furniture and martinis. It didn't seem like Baz at all, but then again, he said it was his friend's place.

On the left, there was an access door to a coffee shop and on the right a small organic market. Baz ignored both and headed straight to the elevators at the back, where he swiped an access card. While they waited for the elevator car, she studied the lobby again.

"You like this?" she asked, sweeping her hand around what she considered a cold environment. Too orderly and sterile for this natural, exuberant man with sprawling art on his body.

He didn't look back at the room behind him. He gave an adamant nod. "I do. Or rather, I would with wings."

"Come again?"

"Hang on, I'll show you." He gestured for her to enter the elevator.

They took it up to the mezzanine floor where a gym and salon claimed space. He pulled her to the rail overlooking the open-air lobby.

"I like it from here," he said as gestured below.

Nella gazed down and sucked in a pleasurable breath. Seen from above, the room was layers and layers of circles and semicircles—from the modern couches to the planters with ficus trees, even down to the heads of the few lounging people and their drinks scattered on round tables.

"Wow, perspective is everything to an artist, huh?"

His prominent eyebrows furrowed at her. "Not to a writer?"

"Sure, but words are more subjective. A writer can manipulate perspective from so many angles. Whenever you see this, you see the circles, right?"

"I see an orange grove," he said.

That surprised Nella. She looked at the lobby again. It was orange and green and brown. She supposed the repetitive circular pattern had an organic feel, but she did not see an orange grove. "Really?"

Baz nodded. "Yup."

He tilted his head toward the elevator, and they continued to his apartment. He told her his roommate mostly worked from home, and when he swung open the door, he called out, "Honey, I'm home!"

A masculine voice pitched in falsetto drifted down the hall. "I've got your bourbon and your blow job waiting!"

Baz winced, "He's kidding. It's just a... thing we do. I mean... we don't do... that... it's just—"

Nella put a hand to Baz's lips. "The less you say, the better."

He nodded as a dark-haired, warm-skinned guy with glasses rolled from an unseen room off the hall in a desk chair. Seeing Nella, he stood.

"You must be The Girl Who Likes Dragon Tattoos."

Nella felt proud that she didn't blush. She was getting used to the constant reference to their hookup. "I'm Nella. Fischer."

"Jayson. Aquino. Bet he didn't tell you his name," Jayson said with a mischievous wink.

Nella waited for the joke.

"Asshole," Baz laughed, giving Jayce a rough shove. "Baz is a nickname, obviously," he explained to Nella. "My legal name is, unfortunately, Barry," Baz explained.

"And there are a lot more embarrassing details to share about this guy from freshman year."

"You guys have known each other since high school?"

"No. College." Baz moved toward the kitchen area and opened the fridge. "Uhm... water? Beer? Sorry..." he shrugged the sheepish shrug of a bachelor with limited beverage offerings.

Nella accepted a water, wondering about Baz's college experience, but the way he glossed over it made her reluctant to ask. There was an awkward pause.

"Sooo... I could go... out... for lunch... if you two kids... need... the place..." Jayce trailed off as he waggled his two pointer fingers at them. This time Nella did blush.

"Dude." Baz sounded irritated. "She came about the book."

"Right! The book! That is a mystery!" Jayson leaned on the back of the sofa. "Let me tell ya, Baz was frantic. We almost had a brawl because he kept insisting I chucked it out of my way somewhere."

"He moves shit around the apartment for no reason at all. Calls it cleaning."

Jayson pointed his finger at Baz with more purpose this time. "You're a slob, and all things should have a place, but I did not assign one to that book, man. I haven't seen it since the night you brought it home. We searched the entire apartment for two hours."

Nella scanned their place. It was modern, minimal, and neat to a fault. It was not likely the book had been misplaced here. Baz showed her Jayson's office, where the book had been—safely, or so he thought—stowed for the evening. They checked the desk drawers and the bookshelf once more. Then they searched the bedrooms—Jayson's neat and nondescript, Baz's with nothing but a mattress and dirty clothes on the floor, an artist's desk, and a bunch of canvases turned toward the walls. They even searched the kitchen cabinets, the freezer, the oven—just in case someone had stashed it somewhere as a prank. Baz said this was the third thorough search. The book was definitely not in the apartment.

"Don't worry," he said to her, squeezing her shoulders. "Let's go over everything that happened, everybody that was here, everything that was said, and you will see, there are only a few people that could have your book."

A back and forth ensued in which the two guys paced the apartment, replaying Baz's movements when he arrived home to the party in progress. Baz noted his main interactions at the party were with Mitchell, Frankie, and Hazel.

"Okay, so you're friends with Frankie, not with Hazel... what about Mitchell?" Nella asked lightly. "Did Frankie bring him to the party?"

"No, Mitchell brought the girls. I know Mitchell better than Baz. We're gym buds and vertical neighbors." Jayson stomped hard on the floor. "He loves it when I do that."

"Dude, he hates it when you do that."

A hammering thump arose from below, like an exasperated response.

"Mitchell Brooks lives right below you?" She pointed to the floor.

"Yeah."

A strange sensation flooded Nella. Like she was in two places at once. Here with Baz and Jayson, and also downstairs with Mitchell. She could picture him perfectly, muttering half-hearted curses, and yet playing along with Jayson's joke by poking at the ceiling with his nine iron.

She pushed the image aside. She needed to get to the heart of the issue—how her colleagues interacted with her book. Especially the one brandishing his nine iron downstairs.

"Okay, so you chatted with Mitchell, Hazel, and Frankie, but what happened with my book? Did you mention it to any of them then?"

"That came later."

Baz recounted for Nella the brief initial conversation he had with them, the rounds he had made of the other party guests, and then how he had retrieved his bag from the kitchen and moved to Jayson's office to read Rindlewinn.

"I finished it, you know," he told her softly. "It was beautiful, but it left me hungry for more."

Nella turned away, using the excuse of walking to Jayson's office to cover the stinging in her eyes. If Rindlewinn was lost forever, then Baz was the only person on earth that had shared it with her.

After a moment, Baz followed her into the office. "You okay?"

"Yes," she nodded, clearing her throat. She tapped on the desk, then gestured at the French doors. "So you finished Rindlewinn here, but anybody that walked by could have seen you reading it through those."

Baz agreed. He thought a few people had walked past on their way to the bathroom, but he had been too absorbed in the book to take any notice. He said it was after midnight when he finished and Jayson had come into the office, goading him to rejoin the party. He left the book on Jayson's desk and returned to the living area. There were only four party-goers remaining—Mitchell, Hazel, Frankie, and Paul Robinson.

"What do you know about that guy?" Jayson asked Nella. "He lives a couple doors down, and we've watered his plants over the summer for him, but we don't hang with him."

"He's an undergrad. Senior Lit major. He comes from the Midwest. His dad is a state congressman or something. He's buddies with Mitchell, because..."

"Because both their daddies are politicians?" he guessed.

"Right," Nella said. "So you know Mitchell's dad is a US Senator, then."

Baz sipped his water. "Yeah, I'm a Virginia boy, remember? That makes him my Senator, although I voted for the other guy."

Nella nodded her agreement with Baz's vote. "I'm pretty sure Mitchell did, too."

The guys laughed, and Nella returned to her task of profiling Paul Robinson. "Anyway, over the last couple of years, Paul has had Hazel and Mitchell as TA's in various classes. The thing of importance to note about Paul in our little mystery? He and Hazel, I think they occasionally..." she trailed off, raising her eyebrows. "You know."

"Fuck?" Baz asked with amusement.

"Yeah."

"You can't say it? You really are pure, aren't you?"

Nella was not pure. She commonly used the word fuck and plenty of other profane words. It was just that now, the word brought to mind Baz's body over hers, exciting every part of her.

You tease the dragon, and you're definitely getting fucked.

She pushed away the memory and the rising heat and told herself that just because he aroused her, did not mean she wanted to rush back to bed with him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. You happy?"

Baz lifted his shoulders slightly. "The action brings more joy than the word, Nella."

Jayson fist-bumped him. "My brother spittin' facts."

"Oh, my god." Nella raised her hands to both men. "Are you two twelve? Can we focus?"

They sobered, donning serious adult looks.

Baz recounted the late-night conversation he'd had with Mitchell, Hazel, Frankie, and Paul, including the swipes Hazel had made about Nella. He explained how he had called out Hazel for talking shit, and shortly after that, he had gone to bed, leaving Rindlewinn in Jayson's office, doors closed. Jayson picked up the tale from there.

"After Baz went to bed, the subject changed to New York. Mitchell was asking; he's going for some writer's conference."

"Everyone in my program is going. Hopefully, we'll all be pitching our thesis manuscripts to agents and publishers," Nella nodded.

"Right, so we talked insider bars, restaurants, NYU haunts..."

"Oh. You guys went to NYU?"

"Yeah." Jayson slung a casual hand at Baz. "We were roommates."

Nella realized her face was betraying her when Baz grimaced. "That surprised, huh?"

"Not at all, it's just... NYU is a big deal." It was. Nella had been ecstatic when she had been accepted to grad school there, but for reasons that were no longer important, she had decided on Tate Olliver.

Baz shrugged and crushed his water bottle. "Might have been if I had graduated. Anyway, man. What happened next?" He slapped Jayson hard on the back, and Nella understood Baz hadn't wanted Jayson to tell her about his unsuccessful bid at NYU.

"The conversation switched back to literature. That not being my thing, I might have zoned out... maybe even dozed off for a few minutes. Not long, though, maybe five, ten minutes? Suddenly I realized I was starving. We ordered some pizza. It came about one am, I guess. Mitchell and Hazel had a slice and left at the same time."

Jayson turned toward the door as if he were replaying the scene in memory. "Mitchell didn't seem happy. It seemed like they were having a silent argument or something. To me, he was all smiles and thanks, of course, but I definitely got the feeling he and Hazel were arguing."

"Neither one of them had the book when they left?" Nella probed. "It's big," she gestured with her hands to indicate a book the size of a big binder. "And covered in purple cloth."

Jayson stared into space, conjuring memory. "Mitchell had nothing in his hands."

Nella's heart dropped. She had been so sure Mitchell had been the one to leave with it. "You're sure? Absolutely sure he didn't have his messenger bag? He usually carries one..."

"No, he definitely didn't. He came up from his place with only a bottle of booze and left empty-handed. No bag. I remember because he crossed the floor to shake hands when he left. He's always doing that. What's up with that?"

"He does come from a long line of politicians," Nella said.

"Anyway, he definitely did not have your book on his person. I think... Hazel had a big slouchy bag, though. So, she could have taken it? Maybe that's what they were arguing over?"

"It's possible..." Nella said slowly. She was definitely suspect number two in Nella's book. "What happened next?"

"Well, Frankie and Paul were playing backgammon. I think I must have dozed off again for a few minutes while they were playing..." he gestured to a wooden box on the coffee table. "I woke up again, went to the john. When I came back, Paul was gone and Frankie was gathering up empty cups. We finished cleaning up, then Frankie left. She definitely had nothing but her phone."

Nella paced, finding the opportunities for theft in their account.

"Okay, so... anyone could have seen the book through the glass doors of the office, and been intrigued by it. Any of the four of them could have dipped into your office and looked at the book while you were dozing off. You saw Mitchell and Hazel leaving, and only Hazel could have left with it. Then you went to the bathroom, and only Paul could have left with it." She turned to Baz. "Between the two, it seems like Hazel is the prime suspect, right? She's the only one with opportunity and motivation. We pretty much hate each other."

"You really think she hates you that much?"

Nella wanted to spit the word yes, but her conscious wouldn't allow her. She and Hazel had rubbed each other wrong since the first week of their program, but she had never seen Hazel doing anything sketchy, except for fraternizing with an undergrad who was her student, but that wasn't a huge deal. It happened all the time.

Mitchell, though. Under normal circumstances, she was sure he would never walk out of someone's apartment with property that didn't belong to him. But if he knew the book belonged to her, and his drunkenness got the better of his judgment...

"You said Hazel had made some sarcastic comments about me?"

"Yeah," Baz said. "Definitely."

"How did Mitchell react to that?"

Baz and Jayson exchanged a look. Jayson shrugged, and Baz searched his memory.

"He didn't like her tone, I don't think. He kind of... snapped at her."

"Yeah, that makes sense," Nella agreed. "He and I are... friends, but he hangs out with her more. It puts him in a bad position," Nella said slowly.

"So we're saying we think Hazel took the book?" Jayson concluded. "We should confront her?"

"That's what I said yesterday," Baz agreed.

"No, no, we can't do that. Not yet, anyway. Not unless we have to."

"Why not?" Jayson demanded.

The answer to that question was not simple. It was hard enough owning her thesis manuscript and hearing constant feedback and constructive criticism. But Rindlewinn was so personal. She couldn't imagine Hazel knowing the book was hers, and laughing over its whimsy and flaws, its simple hopes.

She wasn't sure if Baz could understand all that. He seemed so... sure of his professional skills. Instead of explaining her insecurities, she used the same logic she had offered yesterday, which was equally valid.

"What does a guilty person who is about to get caught always do?"

"Destroy the evidence. Okay, yeah. Open confrontation could be bad." Baz scratched his beard. "Well, Nella—this is your caper. Where do you want to start?"

She considered. Her head told her exactly where she should start—with the argument that Mitchell and Hazel had. Despite their social acquaintance, Mitchell had no loyalties to Hazel. He liked her even less than Nella did, probably because of Hazel and Nella's petty rivalry.

"Well, as much as I really don't want to, I think maybe I should talk to Mitchell."

"I don't get it. Why are you willing to confront him, but not Hazel and Paul?"

Nella crinkled her thin water bottle. It wasn't any big secret, but for some reason, she felt reluctant to tell Baz. Still, she needed to. Her relationship with Mitchell was pertinent for several reasons.

"If I explained the book was mine, and what it means to me, Mitchell would tell me anything and everything he knew that would help me retrieve it. I know he would... because... because..."

Nella could see in Baz's eyes that her words were catching like gears, turning his mind over to realization. "Because Mitchell is your ex, and he's still got a thing for you."

"Yes, he's my ex. No, he doesn't still have a thing for me. We're colleagues. We're friends. We've moved past it."

Mostly, she added silently.

"Really?" Jayson seemed surprised. He whistled. "You and Mitchell Brooks? That's a big fish you had on the hook. What happened?"

Nella pressed her lips together. She would not elaborate on the reasons. They were too infuriating, and she had long ago put the memories and the awful fights they had in a box. It was the only way she could deal with Mitchell daily without wanting to sock him in the mouth.

"I walked out of my engagement party. That's what happened."

Baz stared blankly at her. He scratched his beard again and laughed bitterly. "The plot fucking thickens."