““The LM, as you call him, sent his princes to rape you and may possibly have raped you himself, and you only now mention that he . . . what? Came calling? Did he bring you flowers? And the answer is skin, Ms. Lane.” I wasn’t about to acknowledge his last words. “No flowers. Just coffee. Wasn’t Starbucks, though. I’d give my eyeteeth for a grande latte from Starbucks.” “I wouldn’t so blithely offer up my eyeteeth. You never know when you might need them. For a woman who was gang-raped recently, you certainly seem blasé.” “Oh, please, Barrons, how much more can I lose?” “Never wonder that.” “Why did you teach him? Do you realize that inadvertently, perhaps even vertently—” “Not a word, Ms. Lane.” “—you might have helped him kill my sister?” “You’re stretching.””