I'm home.

There's a grin plastered on my face and I probably look like a fool. What I really want is to kiss the ground at the Miami International Airport, but I'll refrain. Instead, I hoist my backpack over my shoulder and head outside to the taxi stand.

"Where to?" The cab driver's voice is a Haitian Creole lilt, a sound I didn't realize I'd missed until now.

I give him an address in South Beach, one of the smaller, luxury boutique hotels. I don't think I know anyone there, but things here change often. I want to be alone, devise a plan and attack.

What I'd love is to go home, to my condo. But I need to get in touch with my lawyer first, find out if the feds have combed through it, or worse, somehow seized the property. Slipping back into my old life won't be that easy.

As we speed toward the beach, I'm soaking in the sun and the angry traffic and the view of green palm trees against blue sky. It feels so fucking good to be back, I can practically sense my strength returning with every mile we cover. But there is something missing.

Juliette.

Part of me hopes I'll discover that she went to Jacksonville to live with her mom and brother. That Ash is alive, and Juliette's in school, and that she's safe. That scenario might mean the end of us, but at least I know she'd probably live an okay life. My fear, of course, is that she's here in Miami. Partying with Victoria, doing drugs, selling her body. I feel sick to my stomach just thinking about it. If that's the case, I've got to find her. Save her from destroying herself.

As the taxi inches through the traffic of South Beach, I stare at the people on the sidewalk. I'm searching for Juliette, of course, as if thinking about her will make her suddenly appear.

And if she did, what would I do?

Jump out of the car and put my arms around her?

What if she was with another man?

I'd probably kill the motherfucker with my bare hands.

I push those thoughts aside when we get to the hotel. After I tip the driver fifty — thank God for the cash I left in the Amsterdam locker — I check in.

The hotel's a little too hipster, a little too cool. But I recall that it has a great gym, a huge swimming pool and a sauna. A few years back, I came to a party here, and ended up in a room with a model who was here for a shoot. I'd forgotten her name almost immediately, but thought the suite she was in was killer. I'm pleased that they're putting me in a nearly identical setup, with a bedroom, a living area and a patio. That's why I wanted this place. I throw my pack on the bed and slide open the glass door.

The patio's surrounded by three white cement walls. They're high, giving the area a measure of privacy that I need. There's a teak deck with furniture shielded by a roof, and some tropical plants in big pots in an area filled with white gravel.

The other detail on the porch: an old, porcelain bathtub, with a faucet. I recall being in one just like this with the model, and I'd be lying if I wasn't thinking about Juliette when my eyes glance at it now. I imagine her naked, with her hair piled on her head, sitting gracefully in the water...

I need to stop this fantasizing shit. There's work to do.

I kick off my shoes, suddenly exhausted from the long flight. I'd tried to sleep on the plane, but couldn't stop thinking about Zoe and Juliette.

A glance at my phone reveals that it's seven p.m. It's a Sunday, which means calling Sebastian Engel's office is out of the question until the morning. Dammit, I want to start on this now. Willem said he wanted this done in a month or less.

I pad back inside, where I find the minibar and crack open a water. I guzzle it down and think about my next move. Picking up my phone, I dial a number that's sealed into my brain. A woman answers in Spanish, and I respond in the language, as well.

"I'm looking for David or Dylan." Those were Matthew's cousins, and probably the two guys I could trust the most in Miami. He'd lived with them and their mom for a while, and I figured she'd know how to find them.

"David's in New York now. You want Dylan's cell number? He's working on the beach."

"Perfect." I grab a pen and paper on the desk. "I would like his number, thanks."

A two hour nap, one burger, and the best shower I've had in months later, I walk into a dank dive bar, one of the last of its kind on the beach. This wasn't one of my usual hangouts, and I didn't expect to see anyone I knew.

I slide onto a barstool. It wasn't that I didn't want anyone to know I was home, or alive. I merely wanted to be low-key for a little while. Mainly, I didn't want Juliette getting word that I was back. Not yet, anyway.

"Jesus Christ, it's really you." Dylan's Miami-Spanish accent, so much like Matthew's, almost makes tears come to my eyes. I rise and grin.

"Hey, bro." We give each other a big bear hug.

"Holy shit. Holy shit. I feel like I'm seeing a ghost." he looks me over. "You're not as big."

I sigh and get back on the barstool. We order beers and I turn to Dylan.

"I'm sorry about Matthew. Things went south, quick."

For the next couple of hours, I tell Dylan the entire story. I know I can trust him — hell, he used to cut raw chemicals for me and turn them into Molly capsules. He's blown away by my saga, and keeps shaking his head and saying, "no fucking way" and a few choice swear words in Spanish.

"Man, things got a little rough after we heard the news about Amsterdam. David and I laid real low. We didn't go to your condo, didn't call, didn't do anything. The other dealers, they just took whatever product they had and scattered to the wind."

I nod curtly. "I figured as much."

"You want me to try to get your money back for you?"

I shake my head. "I have other priorities right now. Money's not an issue."

"What happened to your condo?"

I take a sip of my beer. "I had a contingency plan with my attorney. If he didn't hear from me, or if something happened to me, he was supposed to give all of my assets to Zoe."

He nods. "That is some fucking story, bro. Zoe being over there with those pricks. What do you need from me? I'm here for you."

My voice goes quiet. "I've got the pill thing under control. I know a guy. I need you to help me with something else."

"Anything."

"Have you seen Juliette around?"

He frowns. "That little girl you were with? Nah. I haven't. I've been a bouncer at Mansion now for a couple of months. Haven't seen her at all."

This is a good sign. "How about Victoria?"

"Oh, man. Vee. She got popped for being a madam. Or a pimp. Whatever a male pimp is. I haven't seen her in a long time."

"I want to find her. And Juliette. Can you do that for me? I'll pay you double what you're making at the club. After you find them, I'll have some more work for you."

"Of course, bro. Here. Let me get with a chick I know. She ran around with Vee for a while."

He takes out his phone and taps on the screen, then puts it up to his ear. "Ivy? Hey babe. I got a question for you. Remember Vee, Victoria? The redhead? Do you know where she's living?"

There's a pause.

"Oh, down there south of fifth? That big condo all the way by the water, on the end of the beach? Yeah? She live alone?"

Another pause.

"You're sure? Long dark hair?"

My skin prickles.

"You think her name's Julie? Juliette? Yeah. So they're roommates. Oh, you have a class with her at Miami Dade? Cool. Cool. Thanks, babe. No, don't tell her I was asking about her. I'll explain later, but keep this between me and you...Oh. Okay. Good."

Dylan sets his phone on the bar and takes a slug of his beer. "According to my friend, Juliette's living with Vee in one of those new condo buildings by South Pointe Beach. Ivy takes a history class with her at Miami Dade on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. mid-morning. She's not friends with her or anything and doesn't talk with her. She knows Victoria through a friend of a friend."

Thank God Juliette's still in school. I rub my lips with my fingers. "Good work, man."

We down another beer, and Dylan says he has to get to work at the club.

"Wanna give me a ride to South Pointe Beach?"

He grins. "Going to visit your girl? She's going to freak the fuck out when she sees you."

Fifteen minutes later, I'm standing at the door to the high-rise where Juliette and Vee supposedly live. Fighting back any indecision, I walk in and head straight for the concierge.

"Excuse me. Does Juliette Phillips live in this building?"

The concierge, an efficient-looking brunette in her forties, taps on a laptop and peers at the screen. "Yes. She does. I can't give out the unit number, but I can call her for you."

I lick my lips. What should I do?

A man named Griffin's here to see you...

I'm not sure that's the best reintroduction to her life.

"No, thanks. Have a good night."

I walk out and spot a bar across the street. Maybe another beer will give me the liquid courage I need.

Or the concierge will think I'm a stalker and call cops. If he hasn't already.

I order a beer and sit at a table at the window, where I can look at the building. It's a striking structure, with ocean blue windows and a salmon-colored exterior. Must be thirty, thirty-five stories. Which floor is Juliette's? Three beers are leaving me a little buzzed, which would have been unthinkable six months ago. I watch as a black Lincoln Town Car with black tinted windows pulls in front the condo. The driver, who is in the black suit-and-tie uniform of all hired drivers, gets out and walks into the building.

Taking another pull, I watch as the driver comes out and stands by the rear passenger door, the one closest to the building. I have a good vantage point because the bar is slightly down the street.

My heart practically jumps out of my chest when I see who walks out of the revolving glass door.

Juliette.

Her hair is long and loose, and she's wearing a tight black dress that falls to her ankles. High heels. Red lips. She's so beautiful that my chest feels like it's being crushed by a boulder.

My Juliette. I open my mouth, ready to shout, but I realize that we're separated by a pane of glass, a sidewalk, and two lanes of traffic.

She grins at the driver and he grins back, opening the car door.

With the grace of a ballet dancer, she slips into the car.

Frozen, I watch as the black vehicle pulls away and glides down the street. My heart's thrashing around my chest. When I look down, I realize I'm clenching my hands into fists.

Juliette must be going to meet a man. A client? Would she be that stupid to continue as an escort after her arrest? I need to find out.

I swallow a thick lump in my throat, then pick up the cell and dial Dylan, wondering if the stores are still open late on Lincoln Road. I have to do some shopping, since I came home with nothing. Since I look like a feral animal.

Dylan picks up. "Hey. You coming over to the club?"

"Nah, I got stuff to take care of. Bro, here's what I need you to do on Monday..."

____