Last time on L.A. Connections…

Natalie stunned Steve by declaring their relationship over, while new mother Jane feared what the future might hold for her family if Stormy were sent to prison. Iris unleashed her fury on Sadie before persuading her not to fight the charges, ensuring she would be returned to a mental institution in Edmonton. Riley and Phoebe gave in to passion after their date, but by morning Phoebe couldn’t stop thinking about Keaton. After bidding an emotional farewell to the Miranda Blackthorne Agency, Miranda mysteriously failed to appear at Stormy’s trial, leaving her family increasingly alarmed. In court, the district attorney reduced the charges against Stormy to a misdemeanor, and the judge sentenced him to probation and anger management—but his relief was short-lived when Carlo warned that a favor would soon be expected in return. A woman appeared at Riley’s door, handed him a baby she claimed was his, and vanished. Meanwhile, Lara’s downward spiral reached a terrifying climax when she arrived drunk at Suzanne’s condo wielding a knife. Suzanne reached for the gun James had given her, and during the violent struggle that followed, a shot rang out.

* * *

“Shoot me, Suzanne,” Lara said, her eyes blazing with something terrifying. “They’ll put you away for murder, and then no one gets him.”

“You are insane.” Suzanne turned toward the door, but Lara lunged after her. As Suzanne backed away, she stumbled and the gun flew from her hand, skidding across the floor.

Both women stared at it for the briefest moment before Lara charged, screaming, “No more beautiful Suzanne!”

The knife flashed. Suzanne caught Lara’s wrist just before the blade came down, and the two women crashed through the living room, knocking over furniture and shattering glass as they struggled. Suzanne’s knee struck something on the carpet—Lara’s cellphone. It flew across the floor, disappearing beneath the edge of the sofa where neither woman noticed it.

Somehow Suzanne managed to wrench the knife from Lara’s grasp and send it skidding across the floor. They both saw it and dove for it at the same time.

Suzanne reached it first, but Lara grabbed her arm before she could pull away. The two rolled across the floor, fighting desperately for control while the weapon twisted wildly between them.

“Let go!” Suzanne cried.

“No!”

Then the gun discharged and the blast thundered through the condominium. Everything went silent. For several seconds, neither woman moved. Suzanne could hear nothing except the ringing in her ears as she stared at Lara. Lara stared back, equally frozen, while the gun slipped from Suzanne’s hand and clattered onto the floor between them.

For one hopeful moment, Suzanne thought the bullet had missed.

Then Lara’s expression changed. Confusion gave way to shock. Her eyes dropped toward her chest where a dark stain had already begun spreading across the front of her blouse.

Suzanne felt the blood drain from her face. “No.”

Lara slowly lifted her gaze back to Suzanne in disbelief as though she couldn’t quite understand what had happened. Then her knees gave out and she collapsed onto the rug. The impact seemed impossibly loud in the suddenly silent room.

“Lara?”

Suzanne rushed forward and dropped to her knees beside her. Panic surged through her as she reached for the wound, instinctively trying to stop the bleeding, but blood immediately spilled across her hands and between her fingers.

“Lara, no. No, no, no…” Suzanne said, her voice trembling. She pressed harder, desperate to do something, but there was too much blood.

Lara’s eyes remained open, staring past her toward the ceiling. The rage that had consumed her moments earlier was gone. The jealousy was gone. Even the desperation seemed to have vanished. There was nothing left.

Suzanne froze. A terrible realization settled over her as she stared into those lifeless eyes. “Lara…” she whispered. Her hands slowly fell away from the wound. “No, you can’t be dead.”

She placed two fingers along the woman’s neck and felt for a pulse. Nothing. Next, she lowered her ear to her mouth and listened for breath. Still nothing. 

Then a gasp escaped her throat. “Dear god.” The words dissolved into a trembling whimper as tears flooded her eyes. “What have I done?”

Suzanne stared at Lara’s body for several long seconds before her legs finally gave out beneath her. She scooted backward across the floor until her back struck the window seat. There she remained, curled against it in her silk pajamas, unable to tear her eyes away from the woman lying motionless on the rug.

Minutes passed while Suzanne sat there staring. Eventually she forced herself to stand. She crossed the condominium in a daze and entered the bedroom where her phone still sat on the nightstand exactly where she’d left it. When she picked it up, her hands were trembling.

Slowly, she dialed 911. Then she stopped. Her thumb hovered above the screen. The moment she pressed call, everything would become real. Police officers would arrive, questions would be asked. Everyone would talk about their horrible fight on Rodeo Drive. They’d say she wanted Lara dead. Her life would never be the same.

Suzanne hit the back space button. 

Instead, she scrolled to a recent call from James. Whatever had happened between them, Lara was still his wife. He deserved to know.

The phone rang three times before James answered. The sound of his voice shattered what little composure she had left, and without thinking, she disconnected the call.

Almost immediately, her phone rang. James was calling her back. Suzanne stared at the screen but couldn’t bring herself to answer. She couldn’t explain what had happened because she barely understood it herself. Eventually the call went to voicemail.

A few moments later she found herself back in the living room. Lara remained exactly where she’d fallen. Suzanne sank onto the sofa and stared helplessly at the body. 

Her phone remained in her hand. Almost absently, she opened her recent calls again and began scrolling through them. James, Heather, Renee, James again. Her thumb moved lower, then stopped when she came to Mickey’s name. 

She stared at the name for a very long time, and without even realizing she was doing it, she pressed the call button.  

The phone rang twice before Mickey answered. “Suzanne?”

The sound of his voice triggered a fresh wave of panic. Suzanne’s throat tightened and, without saying a word, she disconnected the call. What was she doing calling the man she was so afraid of?  

She lowered the phone and squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t know what to do anymore. All she knew was that the police would come and James would find out. 

A moment later she slid from the sofa onto the floor and crawled across the rug toward Lara’s body. The blood had already begun to spread onto the rug beneath her into a small pool of scarlet red.

Suzanne stopped beside her and began to cry. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Lara, I’m so sorry.” The words felt meaningless the instant they left her mouth.

For the first time, Suzanne stopped trying to convince herself there was some other explanation. The terrible reality settled over her completely. She had killed someone. Sooner or later there would be an investigation. There would be questions, lawyers, reporters, and eventually a courtroom.

Then prison.

The thought sent another surge of panic through her. She was still kneeling beside Lara when her phone rang again. It was James calling back. She realized he would keep trying until he reached her, so after staring at the screen for a few rings, she finally answered. 

“Hello?”

“Suzanne?” His voice was gentle, but she could already hear the concern in it. “Did you try to call me?”

Her eyes immediately shifted toward Lara. “No,” she said. “It must have been an accident.”

Silence greeted the explanation. James clearly didn’t believe it. “Are you okay?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t sound okay.”

Suzanne swallowed hard. “I was asleep. I went to bed early.”

“You sound upset.”

She shook her head as if he could see her. “No, James. I’m fine.” The lie came out weakly.

James let a few seconds pass. “I just left the hospital. Stormy and Jane are doing great. The baby too.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“I’m not far from your building.”

Immediately, Suzanne’s pulse quickened. “You don’t need to come over.” The response was so immediate that it seemed to confirm his suspicions.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m tired,” she said quickly. “I’m going back to bed.”

“Suzanne.”

“Really. I’m fine.”

James sighed. “Look, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

The line went dead and Suzanne slowly lowered the phone from her ear. Then she looked across the living room at Lara’s body. Panic crashed over her.

James was coming, and she had only a few minutes before he walked through the door. Suzanne stood frozen in the middle of the living room, her mind racing in a dozen directions at once.

Her eyes darted around the condominium searching desperately for an answer. All she knew is she couldn’t let him in. And if he came in, he would see his wife’s body crumpled onto the floor. 

She glanced at the sofa, the hallway to the kitchen, her bedroom, the balcony. Then her gaze landed on the window seat. More specifically, the storage drawer built beneath it.

A horrible idea began forming.

“No,” she whispered.

But she was already moving into action.

She rushed across the room, dropped to her knees, and yanked the drawer open. It slid out much farther than a normal drawer, nearly the entire length of the window seat. Her eyes immediately flicked toward Lara, then back to the drawer. A calculation took place in her head. Lara was small. The drawer was deep. Maybe…

Before she could think any further, Suzanne began emptying it. Blankets flew across the room. Books followed. Decorative pillows, old photo albums, and a stack of manuscripts landed in a growing pile on the floor.

Within seconds the drawer was empty. Her breathing had become ragged. She looked over at Lara’s body. The sight nearly stopped her, and for a moment she thought she might throw up. Instead she forced herself forward.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again. The words sounded absurd now.

Kneeling beside Lara, Suzanne slipped her hands beneath her arms and pulled. At first nothing happened. Then Lara’s body shifted. Suzanne gritted her teeth and dragged her off of the rug and across the wood floor toward the window seat. The effort left her breathless, but shock had given her a strength she normally wouldn’t have possessed.

By the time she reached the drawer, her arms were trembling. She lifted Lara’s legs first and managed to slide them inside. The rest proved harder. 

Suzanne struggled to lift her torso high enough to clear the edge. Twice she nearly lost her grip. “Come on,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

Finally, with one desperate effort, she shoved Lara the rest of the way forward.

Just then—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Suzanne froze. Every muscle in her body locked.

Another knock echoed through the condominium.

“Suzanne?” James called through the door.

Her eyes widened in terror. He was already here. Panic crashed over her as she looked from the front door to the half-hidden body protruding from the drawer.

“Suzanne?” he called again.  

And suddenly she had almost no time left.

* * *

The smoky glow from the wildfires hung over Bel Air like a dirty orange veil, turning the late-night sky an unsettling shade of amber and making it difficult to tell where the darkness ended and the smoke began. Even with the windows closed, the smell had found its way inside the house.

“No, she still hasn’t come home,” Eddie told Blake on the phone as he paced slowly toward the living room. “She was supposed to stop by the agency and then meet me at the courthouse for Stormy’s trial. That was hours ago.”

He listened for a moment.

“I know. I’ve called her three times. It goes straight to voicemail.”

Outside, the distant wail of sirens carried through the night, and then the doorbell echoed through the house.

Eddie glanced toward the front door. “Listen, bro, I’ll call you if I hear anything. Right now I’m going to keep looking for Miranda.”

He ended the call and opened the door to find Heather standing on the porch.

“Any news?” she asked immediately.

“Not yet.”

Heather stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “Was that Miranda on the phone?”

Eddie shook his head. “No. Blake”

As they moved into the living room, Heather shook her head with a slight chuckle. “I cannot believe Sadie had him chained up in some room for more than a week.” 

“Bizarre, isn’t it?”

Heather dropped onto the sofa. “I knew Sadie was eccentric. I knew she was manipulative. But kidnapping someone? That’s insane.”

“Apparently she lied about having cancer too.”

Heather let out a disbelieving laugh. “Good lord.”

The conversation faded after that as both of them found themselves looking around the unusually quiet house.

“I still can’t believe Miranda isn’t home,” Heather finally said and looked toward the orange glow beyond the windows. “I’m getting worried. They said the fire’s already burning through the canyons west of here and heading this direction. Some of those neighborhoods are only a few ridges away from evacuation orders.” 

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t think about anything until I find Miranda. She told me she was stopping by the agency one last time before dropping Tiger off at her friend Julie’s and then meeting me at the courthouse.” 

Heather glanced toward the clock on the mantel. It was after eleven. “Eddie, that was hours ago.”

“I know.” The knot in his stomach tightened as he began to feel genuinely uneasy. Trying to dismiss the feeling, he pulled out his phone. “I was about to call over to Julie’s when Blake called.”

Heather nodded while he found the number and pressed call.

The phone rang twice before the young girl answered. “Hi, Julie. It’s Tiger’s step-dad.” At first his expression remained perfectly calm. “I was just checking on Tiger. We can’t find her mom and I was hoping maybe she—”

A pause followed, then his face changed. “What do you mean?”

Heather immediately sat forward.

Eddie listened carefully, his grip tightening around the phone. “No, Miranda was supposed to drop her off this afternoon.” Another pause as the color began draining from his face.

When the call ended, Eddie lowered the phone and stared at it for several seconds without speaking.

“Eddie?”

He finally looked up at Heather. “Miranda never dropped Tiger off at Julie’s.”

The words startled Heather to her feet. 

Outside, beyond the smoke-covered hills, the distant glow of the approaching wildfires flickered against the night sky.

* * *

The moment Lara’s body was fully inside the drawer, Suzanne grabbed a pile of blankets and threw them over her. She pulled one corner across Lara’s face, unable to bear looking at her any longer, then shoved the rest of the bedding on top. With trembling hands, she pushed the drawer closed.

Then came another knock.

“Suzanne?” James called through the locked door. 

She spun around and immediately saw what he would see when he walked in. The living room was a disaster. The blood-stained rug, the overturned end table, the shattered vase, water and flowers scattered across the floor. And most notably, the gun and the knife.  

She rushed forward and righted the table before gathering flowers in her arms and tossing them onto the kitchen counter. The broken vase followed. She kicked several larger pieces of glass beneath a nearby chair.

James knocked again, louder this time.  “Suzanne? It’s James. Open up.” 

Her eyes dropped to the rug and the bloodstain from the gunshot wound in Lara’s chest. For a moment she couldn’t breathe.

Then she noticed something even worse. A dark smear stretched across the hardwood floor from where she dragged her to the window seat. The sight nearly sent her into another panic.

James rattled the doorknob. “Suzanne?”

“I’ll be right there!”

She ran into the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel, then returned to the window. Dropping to her knees, she began scrubbing frantically at the floor. The blood had already begun drying.

She rubbed harder. The smear lightened enough that it wasn’t immediately obvious. It would have to do.

When she finished, Suzanne returned to the window seat and pulled the drawer open a few inches. The sight of the blankets covering Lara nearly made her slam it shut again. Instead, she forced herself to toss the blood-stained towel inside, then retrieved the knife and the handgun from where they’d fallen during the struggle, and carefully placed them beneath the blankets before closing the drawer with a sharp shove. 

Another knock echoed through the condo. This time it was louder and more insistent.

“Suzanne, I’m coming in if you don’t answer.”

Her gaze immediately returned to the bloodstained rug. She looked around desperately before going to the wicker coffee table that sat in front of the couch. She grabbed it, dragged it across the room, and positioned it directly over the stain. She’d figure out an explanation if it came up. 

Then she looked down at her pajamas and froze. Blood smeared the fabric where she’d unconsciously wiped her hands.

Panic tightening in her chest, she rushed back into the bedroom and snatched her robe from the foot of the bed. Her hands shook so badly she fumbled with the sleeves, forcing one arm through and then the other before yanking the belt tight around her waist.

Her heart hammering in her chest, Suzanne took one last look around the living room.

The furniture was mostly straight, the blood stains mostly hidden. She hurried to the front door and pulled it open just as James was raising his hand to knock again.

The concern on his face was immediate. “Suzanne.”

“Sorry,” she said, out of breath and with a nervous laugh. “I ran out here so fast that I knocked a vase off the table. Water and glass went everywhere. I was just trying to clean it up before you stepped in it and got hurt.”

James immediately noticed her flushed face. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Of course—I’m fine.”

He stepped inside. The movement sent a wave of panic through her as his eyes swept across the room. Then he noticed her hands. “Oh no. You cut yourself.”

She looked down. A faint smear of blood remained across her fingers. “It’s nothing. That stupid vase.”

James took out a pocket square and gently took her hand. “Suzanne.”

“Really, it’s fine.”

“It doesn’t look fine.” As he carefully dabbed at the blood, Suzanne fought to keep her breathing steady.

Every second felt dangerous. Every second he remained in the condo felt impossible.

Finally James released her hand. His gaze drifted toward the pile of books and miscellaneous items beside the window seat. “What’s all this?”

Suzanne looked over. “Oh. I was gathering some things to donate. I’m such a pack rat. You should hear Heather go on about it. I must have thirty old phone chargers laying around.” She managed a faint mile. “It’s a bigger project than I realized. I decided to finish it tomorrow.”

James nodded. The explanation seemed reasonable enough. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again.

“Yes.”

“No word from Mickey?”

“No, not since that run-in yesterday at the Ivy.”

James studied her for another moment but finally seemed satisfied. “Okay.”

Together they walked back toward the front door. Then Suzanne’s sights settled on something. Lara’s cell phone was half-hidden beneath the edge of the sofa, its pale case just visible against the floor.

James kept walking, passing so close to the phone that his shoe stopped inches away from it. Suzanne’s entire body went rigid. One glance down, one careless shift of his foot, and he would see it.

Just before stepping into the hallway, James stopped. “Oh. And don’t worry about Lara.”

Suzanne forced herself to look at him. “What do you mean?”

James shrugged. “She left the house hours ago. Nobody knows where she went. I have a feeling she checked into a hotel. She probably realizes how she’s been acting lately and saw no way to come back from it.”

Suzanne felt her pulse pounding in her ears.

“I don’t think she’ll be bothering you anymore,” he said.

For a moment she simply stared at him, then she forced a smile. “I see.”

James turned slightly, looking toward the hallway. The instant his back was to her, Suzanne bent down and snatched the phone from beneath the sofa, slipping it behind her before he could turn around again.

“Get some sleep.” James leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Good night, Suzanne.”

“Good night.”

She waited until he disappeared down the hallway before quietly closing the door. The lock clicked and Suzanne’s smile disappeared instantly. She looked down at Lara’s phone in her trembling hand, then turned toward the living room and stared at the window seat.

What now?

She couldn’t leave Lara’s body in that drawer forever. And even if she decided to call the police, how could she possibly explain any of this? They wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t believe she’d panicked.

Suzanne set the phone on the sofa table before pressing a trembling hand against her mouth as she began pacing. “What have you done?”

The question followed her from room to room. She stopped in front of the hallway mirror and caught sight of her reflection. Her hair hung in disarray around her face and her eyes were red and swollen from crying.

For several seconds she simply stared. Then a bitter laugh escaped her. “Of course.”

Her reflection stared back silently.

“Of course this happened.”

The anger she’d been directing at the world suddenly turned inward. “Lara was right. You’ve spent your entire life making one terrible decision after another.”

She shook her head. “Troy. Frank. Jordan. Warren.” Each name felt like another indictment.

Then she looked herself directly in the eye. “You slept with your daughter’s husband. How could you have done that? You got involved with a cult.” Tears welled in her eyes again.

“You weren’t even there when your own son died.”

The sentence nearly broke her. She doubled over slightly, choking on a sob. “How could you? How could you not be there?”

Suzanne wiped angrily at her tears. “You hurt Heather. You hurt Benji. You hurt Jordan. You hurt everyone who ever cared about you.”

She looked away for a moment before forcing herself to face the mirror again. “And now you’ve killed someone, and you couldn’t even take responsibility for it.”  

Her shoulders slumped as she glared at the reflection in the mirror.  “You are just a stupid, stupid woman.”

Tears spilled freely down her cheeks as she stood alone in the silent condominium. The weight of every mistake, every betrayal, every regret seemed to settle onto her all at once until it became difficult to breathe beneath it.

Suddenly, Lara’s death no longer felt like a tragic accident. It felt like the inevitable consequence of a lifetime spent making the wrong choices.

A sharp knock at the door shattered the moment. Suzanne jumped.

Another knock followed. Her pulse immediately quickened.

It must be James coming back. Perhaps he’d forgotten something. Perhaps he simply wanted one final reassurance that she was all right.

Suzanne hurried across the room and pulled open the door.  “James I told you—”

But it wasn’t James. It was Mickey.

* * *

The wildfire glow had grown brighter and more pronounced, casting an eerie orange light through the smoke-choked sky while news helicopters circled overhead and emergency alerts continued appearing on phones throughout the neighborhood. Every television station seemed to be carrying the same images of flames advancing through the canyons west of the city and inching closer to communities that only days earlier had felt completely safe.

Inside, Eddie and Heather had spread out across the living room, both working their way through contact lists and calling anyone who might have seen Miranda or Tiger. Friends, neighbors, business associates, parents from Tiger’s school. Nobody had any answers.

Heather lowered her phone with a frustrated sigh. “Nothing.”

Eddie wasn’t having any better luck. “Same here.”

He immediately dialed another number. The doorbell rang before the call could connect.

A few moments later, James entered the house. “I came as soon as Eddie called.”

Heather stood. “Any sign of her on your end?”

James shook his head. “No,” he replied and looked from Eddie to Heather. “I still can’t believe she still isn’t home.” 

Eddie slowly lowered his phone and fixed James with a look. “Tiger’s missing too.”

James fell silent with worry.

Heather folded her arms tightly across her chest. “Something really is wrong. It can’t be just a coincidence that they’re both missing.” 

The room grew quiet except for the television in the background, where reporters continued discussing wildfire containment efforts, road closures, and the possibility that additional evacuations might be ordered before sunrise.

Finally, James spoke. “What if this is because of Nico?”

Both Eddie and Heather looked at him.

“Think about it,” James continued. “We all know he still maintains his innocence. Twenty-five years later, he still believes he was railroaded.”

Eddie frowned. “But all of us testified.”

“But Miranda’s the one he focuses on,” James said. “Maybe because she was the first one to come forward.  Maybe because he blames her more than the rest of you. I don’t know.”

Eddie looked away. The possibility was one he’d been trying not to consider.

“What if he took them?” James asked quietly. “What if this is revenge? What if he grabbed Miranda and Tiger because Miranda is responsible for sending him to prison?”

Heather’s face was drained of color. “Oh my god.”

Outside, another gust of wind rattled the windows. The wildfire glow beyond the hills seemed brighter than before. And for the first time, none of them could dismiss the possibility that Miranda and Tiger hadn’t disappeared by accident.

* * *

Before Suzanne could do or say anything, Mickey stepped inside the condo.

“You were expecting James?” he asked.   

She backed up, shaking her head.  “No. Well, he was just here. I thought it was him coming back for something. I didn’t know it would be you.”  

“I got worried,” Mickey said. “You called me and hung up, and then you didn’t answer when I called back. I thought something might be wrong.” 

Suzanne swallowed hard. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

The lock clicked behind him, and immediately she regretted opening the door. “Mickey, you really should go.”

Instead of leaving, he studied her more closely. Her eyes were red, her hair was disheveled, and every movement seemed strained by nervous energy. “What happened?”

“I already told you. Nothing.”

“Suzanne.”

“Nothing happened,” she said, unconvincing. She couldn’t even look at him for more than a second at a time, and Mickey noticed it immediately.

“Then why are you acting like you’re terrified?”

“You terrify me,” Suzanne said matter-of-factly. “Please just leave.”

The desperation in her voice gave him pause. For a moment he considered it. Then he sighed and nodded. “Okay. But before I go, can I get a glass of water? The smoke outside is awful.”

Suzanne closed her eyes. “Mickey—”

“One glass.”

After a long moment, she relented. “Fine,” she said and disappeared into the kitchen.

Left alone, Mickey wandered a few steps into the living room and let his gaze drift casually. A framed photograph on a side table caught his attention. Heather sat smiling beside Benji, both of them squinting into the sun somewhere on a beach decades earlier. He picked it up for a moment, studying it with faint curiosity before setting it back down.

His attention moved to the bookshelves, then to a collection of travel souvenirs displayed on a nearby cabinet. Suzanne had always surrounded herself with reminders of the people and places she loved.

As he turned back toward the window, something on the floor caught his eye. A few drops of blood by the window seat.

Crossing the room, he crouched beside the built-in drawer beneath the window. The drawer wasn’t completely flush. It looked as though it had been shut in a hurry.

He pulled on the handle, and the drawer opened several inches before resistance slowed it. Frowning, he pulled harder. Something inside was weighing it down. Then he spotted the bloody towel. His eyes narrowed. Carefully, he pushed aside a pile of blankets.

Lara stared back at him.

For several seconds he simply looked at her. Death rarely surprised Mickey anymore. Without any visible reaction, he reached down and gently closed Lara’s eyes.

The sound of breaking glass behind him caused him to turn.

Suzanne stood frozen near the kitchen entrance. A shattered glass lay at her feet, water spreading across the floor. “Oh god.” The words escaped her as little more than a whisper. “Mickey…” Tears immediately welled in her eyes. “It… It was an accident.”

He stood. “What happened?”

“She came here,” Suzanne said. “She had a knife. She’d been drinking. She was completely out of her mind.”

Mickey listened without interrupting.

“She kept accusing me of stealing James from her. She said I’d manipulated him against her.” Her voice broke. “She attacked me. We struggled over the gun and it went off.” The memory alone seemed enough to unravel her.

Mickey glanced briefly toward the drawer. “When?”

“Not long ago.”

“And then?”

Suzanne looked away. “James called.”

Understanding immediately settled over Mickey’s face. “So you hid the body.”

More tears slid down her cheeks. “I don’t know why I did that.” She covered her face with both hands. “What am I going to do?”

Mickey stepped forward and placed his hands on her shoulders. The gesture was surprisingly tender. “I’ll take care of it.”

Suzanne looked horrified. “Mickey, shouldn’t we call the police?”

He considered the question. Under ideal circumstances, perhaps. “Listen to me. The police already have a report about your fight on Rodeo Drive,” he said. “It’s all over the internet.”

“But it was an accident.”

Mickey’s voice remained steady as he tried to calm her. “The problem is that proving it was an accident is very different from it actually being one.”

Suzanne’s composure finally collapsed. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I already told you.” He gently squeezed her shoulders. “I’ll take care of it.”

“How?”

“Don’t worry about that.” His tone left no room for argument. Instead, he looked at the blood still smeared across her hands and the dark stains on her silk pajamas. “Go take a shower.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Wash your hands. Wash your hair. Wash everything.”

“Mickey—”

“Go.”

For several moments she simply stood there. Then, exhausted and overwhelmed, she nodded.

As she turned toward the hallway, Mickey called after her. “And bring me the pajamas when you’re done.”

Suzanne disappeared toward the bathroom.

Mickey waited until he heard the bathroom door close before turning back toward the window seat. For several seconds he stood there looking at Lara’s body. The calmness that washed over him was almost unsettling. His expression hardened, every trace of warmth disappearing as he shifted from concerned ex-boyfriend to the man who had spent his entire life solving problems nobody else wanted to touch.

He considered bringing in Dennis and Bruno, but quickly thought better of it. While they could be trusted without question, this wasn’t a family matter. It was a personal matter, and he chose to handle it himself. 

After moving the wicker table off the rug, he returned to the drawer and carefully pulled Lara’s body from inside, laying her in the center of it. He then reached back into the drawer, retrieved the gun, and carried it to the kitchen island, where he set it down with deliberate care. When he returned to Lara, he saw the gunshot wound in her chest. Questions about the weapon—and how Suzanne had come to possess it—flashed through his mind, but he forced them aside. There would be time for answers later.

Using one of the towels, he carefully wiped the steak knife clean of any fingerprints before placing it and the bloodied towels beside the body. Then he lowered himself to his knees and rolled everything tightly inside the rug. Every movement was deliberate, every decision made with the cold efficiency of someone accustomed to functioning under pressure.

Moving to the kitchen, he searched through drawers and cabinets until he found a roll of packing tape. Returning to his knees, he wound the tape around one end of the rug, making several passes around it so that it was secure. He did the same at the other end. 

Standing, he examined the section of exposed flooring. The blood had already penetrated the wood, leaving behind a problem that wasn’t going to disappear on its own. A flicker of something crossed his face as an idea occurred to him. 

Mickey stepped into the hallway and headed down the stairwell to the underground garage where he’d parked. A room off to the side was cluttered with renovation materials. He’d walked by it a dozen times before without thinking anything of it.  Boxes sat stacked against the walls, ladders leaned in corners, and various supplies had been left scattered throughout the temporary storage room. He wandered through it slowly, absently picking up items and setting them back down again while his mind worked through the situation.

After a brief search, he grabbed a can of wood stain and a rag and tossed them into a plastic construction cart that had clearly spent years on job sites, its surface stained with paint and caked with drywall dust.

He located the freight elevator and pushed 7.  When he returned to the condominium, he paused in the doorway and surveyed the room once more. His gaze lingered on the signs of the struggle, on the life that had existed here only a few hours earlier, and on the terrible secret that now hung over everything.

Without wasting a moment, he went to the blood-soaked floor and knelt down, then emptied the remnants of the wood stain over it. Rubbing it into the wood with the rag, the stain began to look like something nobody would identify as blood. 

After tossing the empty container and rag into the cart, he took a bottle of bleach from the laundry room, a sponge from the kitchen, and attacked the inside of the drawer where Lara’s body had been. He scrubbed every inch, ensuring that no surface was left untouched. Finally, he scrubbed away the drops of blood next to the drawer that had caught his attention in the first place. 

Next, after returning to the rug, he hoisted it from the ground, struggled for a brief second, and dropped it inside the cart. It was at that moment that Suzanne returned from the bathroom, her hair damp from the shower, her moist body cloaked with a fresh robe.  

She stepped tentatively into the living room, her gaze drifting across the space while she handed Mickey her pajamas as instructed. “Is that—?” she asked, glancing at the cart. 

Mickey followed her gaze and nodded, tossing the pajamas inside the cart before taking another look around the condo. His eyes settled on a phone resting on the sofa table.

“It’s… hers,” Suzanne said softly and handed it to him. “She dropped it during the struggle.”

Mickey nodded and glanced down at the screen. The wallpaper was a photograph of Lara and James standing together in what appeared to be Napa Valley, a vineyard stretching behind them. 

He tucked it in his pocket to deal with later before surveying the room one last time.  Nothing seemed out of place, except for the mismatched wood-stained floor, and that could easily be explained away if it ever came to light.

Possible solutions moved through Mickey’s mind one after another. A body could disappear in any number of places if someone knew where to look. There were shipping yards along the harbor where things vanished every day. The pond on the Bravetti estate was secluded and deep enough to raise possibilities. There was also the abandoned winery the family owned in the mountains above Malibu, a forgotten property that few people even remembered existed. 

Reaching into his pocket, Mickey pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found one listed simply as Concrete. He tapped the number. The call connected after a single ring.

“It’s me,” he said.

Suzanne watched him from across the room, still wrapped in a robe, her nerves stretched to the breaking point. What unsettled her most wasn’t what Mickey was doing—it was how calm he remained while doing it.

“Are you pouring tonight?” Mickey said into the phone. “Uh-huh.” Another pause. “Arts District?” 

He glanced briefly toward the window.

“Alameda and Fourth. Got it.” He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket as though he’d just confirmed a dinner reservation.

Suzanne stared at him. “Mickey…”

He turned his full attention to her. “I’m going to be gone for a while. Will you be okay?”

She nodded slowly, though neither of them really believed it.

Mickey stepped closer and held her gaze. “Listen to me carefully. Don’t talk to anyone while I’m gone. Don’t answer your phone. Don’t return any calls. And whatever you do, don’t tell anybody what happened here tonight.”

Suzanne swallowed hard. “Okay.”

His expression softened slightly. “I’ll come back.”

Then he grabbed the cart and wheeled it toward the door, leaving Suzanne alone with her fear, her guilt, and the terrible realization that she had just placed her future entirely in Mickey’s hands.

* * *

When the freight elevator stopped in the parking garage, Mickey scanned the area before emerging with the cart. His Jaguar sat exactly where he’d left it. For a moment he looked at it, then he shook his head. The last thing he needed tonight was something that could be traced back to him.

His gaze drifted across the garage, taking in the assortment of vehicles that came and went from the building. Most belonged to residents. Others belonged to contractors working on the extensive renovations underway throughout the property.

He walked up to a beat up old work van and peered through the back windows. It was empty except for a ladder and some old dropcloths. Moving up to the front, he tried the door and found it unlocked. His hands roamed the interior of the van, checking glove compartments and under the floormats. When he flipped open the visor, a set of keys came jangling out. Gripping them triumphantly in his hand, he turned and went back to the cart, steering it toward the van before opening the back doors.  

* * *

The condominium had never felt so empty.

After Mickey left, the silence seemed to settle over everything like a heavy blanket. Suzanne tried sitting on the sofa. She lasted less than a minute. She tried reading. She couldn’t focus. She turned on the television and immediately turned it off again. Eventually she found herself wandering aimlessly from room to room. Every corner of the condominium seemed haunted by what had happened there.

She stopped near the mirror in the hallway and stared at her reflection. Her hair was still damp from the shower. Her face was pale. Her eyes looked older somehow. “What have you become?” she whispered.

A laugh echoed in her mind. Or perhaps it wasn’t a laugh at all. Perhaps it was only memory. Perhaps it was guilt. Either way, when she looked up again, she saw Lara standing behind her in the mirror.

“You’re weak,” Lara said. 

Suzanne squeezed her eyes shut. “Go away.”

“Oh, come off it,” Lara said. “This is a tried and true Suzanne Rogers move.”

“Stop.”

“When things get hard, you find a man to rescue you.”

Suzanne turned sharply. The hallway was empty. Still, the voice continued.

“Troy, Frank, Jordan, James…”

Suzanne covered her ears. “Please stop.”

“And now Mickey.”

Tears immediately welled in her eyes. “No.”

The voice sounded crueler now. “It took me dying for you to run right back to him.”

Suzanne shook her head. “That isn’t true,” she said and stumbled into the living room.

“You spent months telling everyone how dangerous he was. How frightened you were of him. And now suddenly he’s your knight in shining armor.”

“That’s not what happened,” Suzanne cried.

“You know what the worst part is?”

“Stop.”

“You don’t even want James. You stole him from me,” Lara’s voice continued. “You took him because you wanted to prove you still could. Then the moment things became difficult, you lost interest.”

“No. I don’t want James. I never did!” 

“You loved being wanted,” Lara said.

Suzanne’s breathing quickened.

“You destroyed my marriage.”

“No.”

“You destroyed your daughter’s marriage before that.”

Suzanne physically recoiled. “Please.”

“You leave damage everywhere you go.”

The tears were flowing freely now.

“You’re selfish.”

“Stop!”

“You’re weak.”

“Stop!”

“You’re the worst kind of woman.”

“STOP!” The scream tore out of her. Suzanne collapsed onto the sofa, sobbing uncontrollably as years of guilt and shame came crashing down around her.

The condominium fell silent again.

No Lara. No voice. Only Suzanne. Alone. She wasn’t sure whether the things she’d heard had come from a ghost, a guilty conscience, or the darkest part of herself. What frightened her most was that every accusation felt true.

* * *

The work van rolled into the Arts District and slowed as a cluster of floodlights appeared ahead, turning the night sky a hazy white. The beginnings of a skeletal frame of a new mid-rise tower dominated the corner. Concrete trucks rumbled in and out of the site while workers in reflective vests moved through the glare like ghosts. Even at this hour, the place was alive with noise—engines idling, backup alarms sounding, machinery grinding somewhere beyond the temporary fencing.

Mickey stopped a short distance away and sat behind the wheel for a moment, watching.

Everything moved according to a rhythm. A search light scanned the area on repeat. It took forty-eight seconds to loop around before settling back in the spot where he stood. Cement trucks arrived, poured cement, workers gathered with their trowels and levelers, then they moved on to the next spot. Equipment shifted from one part of the site to another. It was organized chaos, the kind that only made sense to the people working inside it, and to Mickey by way of occupational hazard.

Once he had the rhythm of their process down, Mickey backed the van up to a foundation trench, switched off the engine and stepped out into the glow of the floodlights. The sounds of construction echoed through the night as he opened the back of the van. All the while, he counted….

Forty-five…forty-six…forty-seven…

He ducked as the search light passed over.  Once it disappeared, he went back into action. 

Climbing up into the back of the van, he pulled the cart to the very edge. From there, he tipped it over and its contents came tumbling out into the trench. When Lara’s arm became exposed during the fall, Mickey didn’t flinch. He jumped into the trench and began pulling loose soil over the rug, the bloody towels and blankets, and everything else that he’d taken from the condo. The whole time he counted. 

Forty-seven…forty-eight…

Again, he ducked from view until it passed before continuing the task. 

Once satisfied that a casual construction worker at two o’clock in the morning wouldn’t notice that anything was amiss at the site, he climbed out of the trench, closed the van doors, and got back in the drivers’ seat.   

After pulling away and parking inconspicuously beside a construction trailer, he killed the headlights and the engine and waited. Minutes later, the cement trucks arrived, poured cement, workers gathered with their trowels and levelers, and then they moved on to the next spot.

And just like that, any trace of Lara Devon was gone.

* * *

The mood inside Eddie and Miranda’s house had shifted from concern to genuine alarm. Miranda and Tiger had been gone for hours, neither was answering their phone, and every call Eddie made seemed to lead nowhere.

Finally, he looked at James and Heather. “I’m calling Carver.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” James said.

Eddie pulled out his phone, found Detective Carver’s number and stepped into the next room.

While he spoke quietly on the call, Heather drifted toward the window and stared out at the hills. The glow of the wildfires was brighter now.

When Eddie returned a few minutes later, Heather was waiting for him. “We need to leave.”

Eddie frowned. “What?”

“The fires. It’s too close, Eddie. They’re talking about more evacuations.”

James joined them at the window. “I think evacuating is the smart thing to do. The sooner the better.”

Eddie looked out at the orange glow hanging over the hills and felt his stomach tighten. “What if Miranda comes home?”

“If Miranda comes home and sees the neighborhood being evacuated, she’ll leave too,” Heather said. “But if you stay here and get trapped, you’re not helping anyone.”

Eddie looked around the house, then back out at the growing glow in the distance.

* * *

It was nearly five in the morning when Mickey finally returned. After parking the van back in its spot and returning the cart to the storage room, he proceeded upstairs.

Suzanne was still sitting on the sofa exactly where he’d left her. The moment she heard the door open, she shot to her feet. “Mickey.”

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“What happened?” Suzanne asked. 

Mickey loosened his collar and looked at her. “I took care of it.”

Suzanne’s stomach tightened. “How?”

He held her gaze for a moment before shaking his head. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

“Mickey—”

“Nobody is going to know what happened,” he assured her, then crossed the room to the kitchen island. He picked up the gun carefully by the edges, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped down the grip, the trigger, and the barrel with slow, methodical precision.

He checked the weapon once more before holding it out to her. “Put it back where you keep it.”

She hesitated before taking it. “Mickey—”

“Where did you get it?”

Suzanne stared at him. “James gave it to me to protect myself from you.”

Mickey said nothing, then he glanced around the condo to ensure he hadn’t forgotten anything.

Finally, Suzanne looked away. “What am I going to do?”

Mickey stepped closer and gently took her hand. “Nothing. You’re going to get some sleep, and you’re going to let me worry about the rest.”

She looked up at him.

“I’ll protect you,” Mickey said and drew her into an embrace.

The words were simple, but there was something unwavering behind them that made Suzanne believe he meant every one of them. For better or worse, her fate now rested entirely in his hands.

Next Week: The Shocking Season Finale