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toast she’d overheard at a wedding she’d crashed two years ago. Back then, she’d spent her Saturdays stealing presents from brides and grooms. She’d developed something akin to an X-ray sense for determining the most expensive gifts based solely on wrapping paper.
    She raised her glass.
    “Johnny.”
    “Selena.”
    “ May a flock of blessings light upon thy back .”
    “Ah, Shakespeare. Lovely.”
    Letty watched as he polished off the last two ounces of his wine. They sat on the sofa. Fitch opened the scotch and poured them each two fingers into heavy tumblers.
    He put his arm around Letty. She cuddled in close. He went on for a minute about the rarity of this spirit they were about to imbibe. He was drunk, beginning to ramble. She finally sipped the scotch. It was good. Better than any whiskey she’d ever tasted, but she hadn’t lied. She just wasn’t a scotch girl.
    After awhile, he said, “Everything I’ve ever done, I’ve done for my family, Selena. Everything.”
    Sitting with Fitch on the sofa, it hit her again. That old, familiar enemy. Regret. Guilt. Her conscience. Truth was, she liked Fitch. If for no other reason than he was facing a lifetime behind bars with grace. Making the most of his final hours of freedom. She tried to remind herself of all the people Fitch had hurt. And it wasn’t like he’d be hanging this painting she was about to steal on the walls of his prison cell.
    But the arguments rang hollow. Insincere.
    After a while, she felt his head dip toward hers.
    He was saying something about his family, about how everything had always been for them. His eyes were wet. He didn’t sound drunk so much as sleepy.
    Letty set her glass on the coffee table and eased Fitch’s out of his grasp.
    “What’re you doing?” he slurred.
    Letty stood and took him by the hand. She pulled him up off the couch.
    “Come with me,” she whispered.
    “My drink.” His eyes were heavy.
    “You can always finish your drink.” She pressed up against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Don’t you want me , Johnny?” She kissed him with passion this time—open-mouthed and long. Hoped it would give him enough of a charge to make it into bed.
    She led him through the living room.
    “Where’s your room?” she whispered, even though she knew from the blueprints that it was very likely the large master suite on this level. He pointed toward the opening to a hallway just behind the spiral staircase.
    They stumbled down a wide corridor. The walls were covered with photos of Fitch’s family. One in particular caught Letty’s eye as she passed by. It had been taken out on the deck of this house fifteen, maybe twenty, years ago—a much younger Fitch standing with three teenage boys. All shirtless and tanned. Mrs. Fitch in a bathing suit. The sea empty, huge and glittering behind them.
    Letty dragged Fitch through the doorway of his bedroom and shut the door behind them. The suite was sprawling. There was a flat-screen television mounted to the wall across from the bed. A bookcase. A small desk, where she spotted a laptop, cell phone and empty wineglass. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the dock. French doors opened onto the deck. She couldn’t see the moon from here, but she could see its light falling on the sea.
    “Go lie down,” she said.
    Fitch staggered toward the bed.
    Letty took her time pulling the curtains.
    Fitch mumbled, “You’re so…beautiful.”
    “That’s what my daddy used to tell me.” She could feel the rush of adrenaline cutting through her intoxication. “I just need to step into your bathroom for a moment,” she said. “I’ll be right out. You get comfortable.”
    He said, “We don’t have to do anything. Unless you want to.” The words came too soft, too muddled.
    Letty walked into the bathroom. She shut the door, hit the light.
    It was bigger than most apartments she’d lived in. Leaning over the sink, she studied her pupils in the mirror. They were