Yael frantically pawed through the pantry, hair still dripping from her shower. Flour. Why was there never enough? Ah-ha. She reached in and retrieved the bag of rice flour and swiveled to pour it into the mixing bowl. Her movements were jerky, her breathing shallow. Haustin had only been gone an hour and a half—an hour and a half where she had managed little more than a cold, bracing shower. Some of the flour dribbled over the side of the bowl, dusting the granite counter white. Her hands paused, the galloping in her head stilled, and she licked her lips. Closing her eyes, she felt the hot flash of cocaine rushing through her veins, brightening the colors around her, sharpening her muddled brain. All she had to do was walk outside and find a baggie on any corner of this city. Easy. Leaving the half-completed pound cake, she snatched her purse and rushed to the elevator.

The humid night air greeted her, punctuated by the scent of flowers and bread from the bistro up the block. Running on instinct, her eyes scanned the street, looking for anyone who may be holding. She swore under her breath. Wrong neighborhood. Nothing here but a man in skinny jeans walking his tiny fluffy dog, a woman stepping out of a Lexus, and a twenty-something man leaning against a building messing with this iPhone and illuminated by the streetlight. Granted, one of them probably knew where to score some coke or heroin. All she had to do was ask. She set off in the direction of the hipster on his cell, an ache pounding in her temples and her tongue practically drooling for the chemical aftertaste that came with getting high.

The heat from the day lingered and sweat trickled down Yael's back. Memories of dirty alleys and dirtier men surfaced, of waking up sore and confused. The young guy looked up and furrowed his brows.

"Are you okay, ma'am?"

"F-fine." She shook her head, finally breaking free of the spell she'd been under the last ten minutes. Shaken, she spun and sank onto an iron bench and covered her face with her hands.

What had she almost done?

Swallowing her tears, she fumbled for her phone, barely able to type in the commands to find an NA meeting. Nothing, dammit. Not for another hour and thirty-nine minutes. Yael bit her lip, thinking. Baking obviously hadn't helped. She sure as hell didn't want Miriam or Wendy to see her so weak. Casey? No, no way would she ever let him witness this side of her. The office. She'd go to Malkah Enterprises and bury herself in paperwork, maybe seek refuge in her dad's office. It was her only option. She did not trust herself to be alone in the apartment right now.

During the cab ride, still mired in the past, she recalled the time she drove into the heart of Compton looking for a hit. She'd talked to a guy, followed him into his house, and woke up hours later in an abandoned park, bruised and battered, sore between her legs. Chills erupted across her body and she buried the nightmare where it belonged. She was not going back there, no matter how bad the hunger got.

Before she knew it, the car arrived at Malkah Enterprises and she signed in with security. The executive floor appeared empty as she exited the elevator and bypassed her office for her father's. Opening the doors, she entered the dark space, catching a whiff of his cologne and sinking to her knees. Her fingers dug into the thick carpet and she gasped for air, trying to stave off her pity party. Despite the strength she'd showed Haustin, he rattled her to the core. Begging her to give in and join him broke her heart and awakened her addiction. She refused to cry about it. Moving past it was what mattered.

A loud bang brought her upright, and she pushed to her feet. At the door to her father's office, she heard more thuds, softer this time. Only the hall lights were on, casting shadows into the dark, open spaces flanking the corridors.

"Sue?" Yael called out, fully expecting the cleaning lady and her husband to appear. "Randy?"

No answer. Uneasiness crawled down her spine, and she tiptoed into the hall. Pausing at the intersection, she peered around the corner.

"Hello?"

Still nothing. Her heart skipped a beat. There. A light. Fear turned her skin clammy until she realized where it was coming from. Casey's office.

"Oh, thank God."

Suddenly she was anxious to see Casey, to bathe in the comfort of his friendship. After Haustin, she realized she needed Casey. His easiness and humor would chase away the oily film of her near catastrophic mistake. Yael was already talking as she walked through his door.

"You scared the crap out of me, Castañeda."

She froze. Peter straightened guiltily from Casey's desk and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Peter, what are you doing?" she asked, disappointed and suspicious.

"Leaving a contract for Casey to sign, but I can't find a sticky note." He paused, frowning. "I have every right to be here."

His defensive tone startled her, and the expression he wore did nothing to relieve her mistrust. He resembled a kid pilfering cookies before dinner.

"You surprised me is all. It's almost ten o'clock."

"What are you doing here?"

"It's kind of a long story," she hedged, not wanting to share her personal problems, so she danced around the truth. "Went for a walk. Ended up in the vicinity."

Peter nodded. "It's been a rough couple of weeks."

"I can't begin to imagine what you and Casey are going through."

He ran a hand over his face, looking twenty years older than his actual age. "Don't know about Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky, but the pressure is starting to get to me. I can't sleep. I'm here twelve hours a day, sometimes more. It's important to me to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Casey's dealing with the same things, plus he's got the board breathing down his neck and the public demanding answers. I know you hate it, but you and he are on the same side here."

"Glad to see you're so protective of him," Peter grumbled.

"That's not it, and I'm not taking sides." Although the visit from Detective Schulte may have skewed her conclusions towards Peter's motives, she still desperately wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"You have, though. I see how chummy the two of you are. Always joking."

Yael stifled a weary sigh. Men were so stubborn, a lesson she'd learned more than once. "Compared to the screaming fits you and Casey had last week? It looks bad for not only the both of you, but for the company on a whole. Word gets around and it shines an even brighter spotlight on us. One we don't need."

"You sound like your grandmother."

"Then I'll also add that you and Casey are good for Malkah Enterprises separately, but together, you can make us unstoppable. Think about it."

"I can't change who I am overnight," Peter said. "I'll never trust him."

"Why?"

"I don't know!" He shoved his hands on his hips. "He's arrogant. Sarcastic. Lazy. I worry he's spreading our resources too thin. Casey Castañeda does not belong here."

Yael sighed. No matter what she said, it wouldn't change Peter's opinion. She only hoped Casey's actions did it. Instead, she switched gears. "A detective came to see me, asking about you." He didn't answer, the slight reddening of his face the only indication he heard her. "Why didn't you tell me about Anita, about the divorce?"

"Old news." He shrugged. "How is Miriam?"

"Why are you changing the subject? Doesn't it bother you the police are investigating you?"

"You make it seem like I'm the only one. They're looking at Casey, too. And Doug. Even Phil, from Finance, got a visit from some puffed up cop. It's their job." He narrowed his eyes. "Now who's avoiding questions? I asked about Miriam."

Yael sighed. Fine. "It's touch and go. I took this afternoon off to talk with her doctor. He said this is the downturn, to be prepared. I thought I'd have more time."

Peter drew her into a hug, stroking her back. "You're here. I'm sure that matters most to her."

"Thank you." She separated from him and smiled sadly. "I'm sure she'd love to see you."

"I'll stop in." He pecked her cheek before ambling out of Casey's office. Yael stopped him with one more question.

"Peter, why did you handle the Warren Street project without any help? It seems uncharacteristic."

The man her father called his best friend turned, regarding her with remorse. "Let it go, Yael."

Then he was gone, leaving her more confused than ever. He hardly made an effort to deny anything. And why not? Curious, she moved behind Casey's desk, looking at the neat surface and catching a trace of his clean, cottony scent. Stacks of files and pens were lined up perfectly side by side. Yael grinned, not expecting him to be so meticulous about his space. She'd have to tease him about it. Then her lips dropped. No contract waiting for a signature, as Peter had claimed. So what was he doing here?

Yael found her phone and called Wendy.

"Hey, Yael. What's up?"

"I have a work favor to ask you. You remember Peter Peregrine, right?"

"Yeah, your dad's friend. The cops asked you about him, right?"

"Right. I need you to look into it. Find out why the police are focusing on him. They said he's broke and divorcing, but I can't get a straight answer from him. Search for anything suspicious."

"You think he might be behind the accidents? Why didn't you mention it before?" Wendy's inquisitive nature kicked in.

"I do not think he's involved." Yael sighed. "That said, he handled every aspect of the Warren Street project on his own, did not delegate any of it like he's always done. Why keep it under such tight control? I can't let it go and doubt the NYPD will tell me, so ease my worries, Wendy."

"I'm on it. I'll do some digging tonight and stop by tomorrow. Will you be at the office or at Miriam's?"

"I plan to see Miriam first thing in the morning, when she is most lucid, so I'll let you know when I get to the office."

After they hung up, Yael switched the light off in Casey's office and made her way to the lobby. Her heart wanted Wendy to find nothing, but her head already warned that might not be the case. Unbidden, her thoughts turned to Haustin and her fingers itched to call him. She resisted. The wounds he reopened and the resulting actions she almost took were still too raw.