Page 82 of Lone Wolf

“That dog,” Brianna said, “he’s already dead, right?”

Evan shrugged. “He’s a survivor.”

“Like you. Like Andre.”

Evan shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Andre’s doing his best.”

“No,” she said. “Uh-uh. Don’t you try’n sell that here.”

Evan said, “Okay.”

“Let me tell you all I care about now.” Bri pointed down the hall. “That little girl. Not having her heart broke. Which is impossible. You know why? Because Andre is her father.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” Her arms were crossed again, her stare hard, accusatory, and Evan understood that he was being asked to answer for something more than himself.

He said, “Yes.”

Her glare softened and she loosened her arms and blew out a breath.

“You know,” she said, “there’s a hidden blessing in having someone in your life you can’t reach. It humbles you, your arrogance in thinking you could fix everyone if they just had the good sense to listen to you. And…” Her lips trembled. “It gives you gratitude for all the people who might be reachable.”

Evan didn’t like the feeling of her eyes on him. It felt like a challenge.

He nodded a good-bye and withdrew.

Out in the hall he heard the thump-thump-thump of the communal dryers working overtime. He paused a moment and shouldered into the wall, breathing in the relative quiet.

He had no idea what to feel.

39

Wolf-Eat-Wolf

“Who’s the visionary behind Youtopia?” Evan asked. The shitty speakers of the Dodge Neon crackled, but the connection held.

Despite the East Coast hour, Luke Devine had sounded perfectly awake when he’d picked up. “Visionary?”

“Someone Allman would consider a legitimate rival.”

Since he was already downtown, he’d decided to take a spin through Dr. Hill’s neighborhood on the off chance that Loco had returned to sniff around familiar ground. He laced through the surrounding blocks, scanning sidewalks and alcoves.

“That’d be Nathan Friedhoff, the CEO. Rumor has it he’s a bit wobbly of late.”

“Why’s that?”

“Too much power can crack a man as sure as too much suffering. Thin line between genius and madness. I could hum a few bars but I’m sure you know the tune already.”

Evan called up Friedhoff’s photograph on the Youtopia website. He wanted to see someone who could outcompete Allman on the scale of reprehensibility, someone willing to assassinate competitors with the ease of a Russian pakhan and eliminate their children after that. Friedhoff was a slender white guy in a suit and tie. His pose said: whimsical yet competent.

Evan tried to imagine the string of actions that led from this man to Jayla Hill asphyxiating on a butcher-block slab in her own home. Before any heat could gain purchase, the First Commandment backed him off: Assume nothing.

He’d get to Friedhoff. And extract the answers he required.

“Friedhoff, he’s up in Silicon Valley?”

“No,” Devine said. “L.A., like Allman. Youtopia took over Amazon Studios’ old digs in the Santa Monica Water Garden. I heard somewhere Friedhoff bought a designer home in the Hollywood Hills—one of those glass monstrosities.”