He promised to wipe the slate clean if she set you up tonight so I could get the key.”

The key.

Before I could process the betrayal, Cole did the unthinkable. He reached into his pocket with his free hand, pulled out my father’s silver keepsake urn — the small one holding a fraction of his ashes, kept on the mantle — and hurled it toward the open balcony door.

“No!” I screamed, lunging off him to catch it before it dropped three stories into the flooded alley.

I caught the silver cylinder just as it crested the threshold, sliding on my knees across the slick balcony tiles. I clutched it to my chest, breathing hard.

By the time I turned back, the apartment was empty. Cole was gone, and the mahogany box was gone with him.