Smith's POV.

The first glass had gone down like water.

The second burned.

The third…God, I didn’t even remember pouring it.

I just knew that I was sitting on the damn floor in my penthouse, still wearing the same suit I had worn to the station, my tie hanging loose around my neck like a noose I hadn’t bothered tightening. The lights were too bright, so I didn’t bother turning any on. The city glowed beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, but it didn’t mean anything. Nothing meant anything.

It reeked of her in here.

Petunia.

Stevie-lou.

Whatever the hell her name really was.

The scent was everywhere. Her perfume still clung...