Come not between the dragon, and his wrath.– William Shakespeare, King Lear

Chapter One

Dec. 31, Monday, 2013 to Jan 1, Tuesday, 2014

Marty had only one thing on his mind, and she was wearing his coat.

The stink of cheap perfume and sweat followed them out of the club, but Marty hardly noticed. He watched Carly spin and laugh, her sharp heels leaving tracks in the fallen snow. She was skinny but had a dancer’s grace. Two years at Juilliard on a scholarship, she’d said. She might have been better off taking a cosmetics course, he thought, given how much rouge she was wearing.

Marty had never had a dancer before, but she was perfect: the right height, hair color, bust. It was almost a new year, and he liked its promising start.

Eventually she skipped back. “You gonna get me in trouble tonight, Marty?” she asked.

“Babe, what fun would it be if I didn’t? I play by no one’s rules.”

“So where’re we goin’, rebel? You finally gonna take me to your special place you been teasin’ me about?”

Marty smiled. He was freezing his ears off, but it paid to act the gentleman, so he dropped his hat on her head for good measure, grinning at how it made her look small.

“Tonight you and I will be watching the fireworks from the best seat in the house. I’ve got champagne on ice waiting for us.”

“Champagne? Real champagne?”

“A classy New Year start for my classy lady. None of that fake sparkling stuff.”

He teased her curls, then clutched her arm and staggered a little. To anyone watching, they were just another couple looking for a hideaway for that midnight kiss.

Distant music clamored in a frantic drone. Along the dock, yachts bobbed softly on the icy black water. Out in the Baltimore harbor, a few were cruising, waiting for the midnight show. Cabin lights beamed brightly as figures moved back and forth before windows, all too distant, too distracted, to care for the dark of the dock.

The cold, damp air felt like a cold hand on the back of his neck, and while the girl laughed and swept her arms about in joy, Marty kept his face buried in the collar of his cardigan as a few other couples passed in the opposite direction. He wished she wouldn’t draw so much attention to them. Someone might remember.

“Right down here, babe. Five … six … That one right up ahead’s my boat. We’ll ring in the New Year in style.”

“The one with the carved lady snake in front?”

“That’s the one.”

“Based on an ex-girlfriend?” Carly said, laughing.

Marty smiled tightly as he gave her a hand up over the gunwale. He drew the other hand across his bottom lip as Carly strode like a dream across the yacht’s polished deck. He’d spent the day getting the wood boards to gleam and didn’t regret the sight.

“Marty, this is just lovely.”

“I call her Lamia. It’s … mythological.”

“Poetic, huh?”

Marty winked at the snake woman before shooing Carly along.

******

A few minutes later, Carly sat in the saloon and sipped a drink Marty had made her before he went below “to prepare the cabin.” She felt a little claustrophobic in the close-heated confines after the cold of the harbor air, so she took off Marty’s jacket, then eyed the champagne in the bucket of ice on the bar. Cristal. That was expensive, and she liked expensive. Growing up in a double-wide on government cheese and food stamps, she’d had few tastes of it. Dancing was a step up. Sometimes you got drinks out of it, and you certainly got better than food stamps.

Carly frowned as she noticed a thinness to the Scotch. She spotted a honey-brown shine in a decanter hiding in the recesses of the bar. Sometimes a girl had to look out for herself. She wobbled toward the decanter and frowned, catching herself on the counter.

She was pouring out a glass when her vision began to blur.

“Wasn’t even the good stuff,” she muttered. She threw back half the glass in one go before she carefully hid the decanter back in its place of honor.

The boat rocked and she felt her head sway twice as much.

Shit. What have I got myself into?

Footsteps thudded on the stairs from the cabin. Marty. His smile had gone crooked. He was dusting his hands the way certain people do when they’re pleased with their work.

Carly fought a smile. No sea legs, that was it. Had to be. Why did she always think she couldn’t have nice things? Everything about Marty was nice.

Again, Carly felt her head start to tilt. The twist in her gut wouldn’t leave her alone. She made herself stop looking at that smile and looked back at the stars. She had to think. She’d had Valium slipped into her drink once before. You learned to watch for drugs while working in a bar.

But, no, he’d mixed it right in front of her, hadn’t he? And why? It wasn’t like she hadn’t already …

Shit.

She told herself to breathe, then carefully set the drink down and headed for the door in the slow, precise way she knew how to do when she was trying to look sober. She aimed for the deck but let herself sway on her bad sea legs. Can’t let him know I know.

“Where you headed, babe?”

“We’ll see the fireworks better outside,” she managed without slurring.

She turned on what she hoped was her own charming smile and hung in the doorway ’til he picked up another lime—then she sprang down the deck for the gangplank.

She never made it.