Dane
Dane's head was spinning. He was still having trouble processing where he was, what had happened, and what he had to remember.
Walking into the apartment, smelling it, smelling her, had just about broken him. He'd had to wait until Chris left, then sunk onto the couch in that same seat where he'd sat with her, on the phone…
But he'd had no real time. Chris had brought Harry down ten minutes later.
Now, Harry sat on the other side of the apartment dining table, in the very same spot Dane had had Lila weeks earlier, and his heart clenched at the memory.
But this was a very, very different set of circumstances. And his heart and mind were confused. There were too many things. Too many impossible things. He was struggling to know what was real.
Harry had come armed, and with his cuffs, and he sat back in his chair, elbows braced on the table, his eyes on Dane like cat who'd seen a dog.
"You're telling me he's dead?"
