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with your daughter.”
    Dominique shrugged. “I feel helpless just driving around. Trying to find a teenager in the middle of the night in New York City is like trying to find a needle in a haystack.” She sighed again. “The cops told me to go home and wait for her. I can’t sleep anyway, so let’s go find out what’s going on.”
    Toya agreed. “Okay. See you at Camille’s. Get there as soon as you can.”
    â€œI’m on my way.”
    *   *   *
    The phone rang in Baron’s hospital room in the middle of the night, startling him awake. He glanced at the bedside clock and pushed the button to raise the top of his hospital bed. When he was in an upright position, he reached over and answered the phone. It was Tremaine.
    â€œAye, Baron. I know you were sleeping, but I had to get in touch with you ASAP. Frankie got me meeting him at his house on Staten Island right now. He said somebody shot his brother, Steven. Killed him. The police are over there right now. He got Biggs and Danno over at Gillian’s house to keep her safe. I just wanted you to be alert, my nigga. Shit is real right now.”
    Baron’s face froze. He felt so vulnerable lying there in his hospital bed hooked up to what felt like a thousand machines. On the night that he was shot and his father had been murdered, Baron had sustained gunshot wounds to his chest, stomach, and both legs and had been grazed in the head by a bullet, as well. Luckily for him, none of the injuries had cost him his life. However, they had rendered him practically immobile. His head was wrapped in a bandage, as were both of his legs. He had a heart monitor, an IV, and even a colostomy bag attached to him. He was defenseless and he couldn’t help taking note of the fact that Frankie had secured Gillian safely, but had left him open to attack.
    Tremaine could hear the fear in Baron’s voice as he spoke. “I can be as alert as I want to, Trey. But if somebody comes up here, what can I do?” Baron buzzed for the nurse. He wanted to see how long it would take for someone to get to his room if he needed help at this hour of night. For weeks he’d been stuck in the hospital—mostly lying dormant in a coma while he fought for his life. In the days since he’d regained consciousness, his mother, Celia, and Misa had taken turns sitting at his bedside each day, doing their best to keep him comfortable and helping him come to terms with what had happened. But it was the middle of the night, and both Celia and Misa had gone home hours ago.
    â€œI hear you, son,” Tremaine said. “But I’m already on Staten Island to meet up with Frankie. All I can do is tell you to keep your eyes open.”
    The nurse came in and asked if Baron was all right. Ironically, she offered him something to help him sleep, but he refused. Sleep was the last thing he needed right now. He asked for some water and she left to retrieve it.
    â€œYo, Trey, good looking out. But tell Frankie not to leave me fucked up like this. He can send somebody up here the same way he sent goons to my sister’s house.”
    Tremaine was pulling up in front of Frankie’s house at that moment and saw the chaos that surrounded the sprawling home. He put his car in park, turned off the ignition, and wiped his hand across his face in amazement. “I’ll let him know, Baron,” he said. “I’ll call you back in a little while.”
    Tremaine hung up the phone and sat in the dark of his car, the flashing lights from the police and emergency vehicles illuminating his face. He started to dial Frankie’s number, not wanting to go into the house without his friend. But then he spotted Frankie running toward the driveway and Tremaine climbed out of his car and followed.
    Frankie saw all the emergency vehicles outside of his house. As he ran toward it, he heard someone call his name. Turning, he saw