Pitch Dark - Alex Grayson(ang.)

Table of Contents Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Epilogue

PITCH DARK

A.M. WILSON ALEX GRAYSON

Copyright © 2017 by A.M. Wilson and Alex Grayson. All rights reserved. Cover Design by Covers by Combs Formatted by Howling Mad Press Edited by Jenny Sims at Editing4Indies All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. The scanning, uploading, and/or distribution of this document via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and is punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrightable materials. All characters and events appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

CONTENTS

Disclaimer Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Epilogue Alex Grayson’s Acknowledgments A.M. Wilson’s Acknowledgments About Alex Grayson About A. M. Wilson Other books by Alex Grayson Other books by A.M. Wilson

DISCLAIMER

Dear Readers, This book contains situations and depictions that may be distressing to some readers. If you have triggers, we caution you to use your judgment before proceeding. Read reviews, talk to your book friends, and if still in doubt, ask us. We are here for you.

-Allison and Alex

PRAISE FOR ALEX GRAYSON “A harrowing story about love, fight, loss, and how to rise from the ashes of pain. This was an effortless read as the world Alex Grayson built felt real.” ~ A.C. Bextor, best-selling author of KEPT: A Second Chance Fairy Tale and Lights of Peril

“Sexy. Erotic. Intense. Captivating. Passionate. Get ready for a brilliant romance with stream, angst, suspense, twists, and one hero who is going to steal your heart like a thief in the night.” ~ Renee Entress’s Blog

“Raw, gritty and gripping is the best way to describe Shatter Me. Author Alex Grayson makes you feel as if you are right there witnessing everything as it unfolds.” ~ Andrea Smith, bestselling author of the G-Man Series

“Skip the coffee, go straight for the wine and grab a box of tissues. You’re going to need them. Alex

Grayson’s debut novel Shatter Me will do just that. Shatter the reader to pieces, making them want more!” ~ Coffee, Books, Life Blog

“Whispered Prayers of a Girl is one of those books that grips your heart from the very beginning and never lets go! Such a beautiful story about love, loss, and learning to live again. A must read!” ~ Melissa Toppen, bestselling Author of How We Fall

PRAISE FOR A.M. WILSON "A very enjoyable ride of suspense that will have you flipping the pages from beginning to end. Twist by twist, turn by turn, Redesigning Fate is a brilliantly written tale full not only of intrigue, but also the challenges of letting go of the past and the uncertainty of experiencing a new love, all beautifully woven together to create the perfect story." ~ USA Today Bestselling Author L.B. Simmons

"Redesigning Fate was filled with edge of your seat suspense that had me spell-bound! Truly a captivating story, Wilson pulls out all the stops!" ~ Denae, Bookalicious Babes Blog

“Beautifully written with moments that will threaten to tear your heart right out of your chest. This storyline was amazing in its delivery.” ~ Kathy, Amazon Reviewer

“At the Risk of Forgetting is a story I'm

guaranteed to never forget. Absolutely beautiful and breathtaking.” ~ Tatia, FMR Book Grind Book Blog

“OMG this book was fantastic! Ms. Wilson writes a story full of mystery, drama, romance and suspense that keeps you on the edge of your seat. I could not put this book down!” ~ Alpha Book Club

PROLOGUE

Niko L EAVES CRUNCH AS I STORM THROUGH THE overgrown wooded area. Branches and briars brush against my pants legs, trying to burrow into the denim as if trying to hold me back from what’s ahead. As if they know even before I do that what I’m about to walk into is going to destroy me. My heart pounds heavily in my chest as if I know what I’m about to find will change my life forever. Beads of sweat crawl down my temples to my cheeks. Not from the heat but from the overwhelming amount of dread filling my stomach with each step I take. When Tavers, an old friend of mine and detective from back home, called an hour and a half ago with the demand I come home because he had something important to show me, I knew deep

in my gut what it was about. It was in the hesitant tone he used. Tavers isn’t the type to be soft spoken unless he’s in detective mode. I didn’t ask for details because I wasn’t ready to deal with them. I wanted to deny it. Hell, I am denying it. I won’t, can’t believe it until I see for myself. It can’t be her. It fucking can’t be her. Flashing red and blue lights blind me along with the many flashlight beams flowing around the wooded crime scene. Eyes watch me as I pass by evidence markers on the ground and yellow crime scene tape. Sympathetic eyes. Mournful eyes. Eyes that I ignore because I’m so focused on the spot I see fifty feet in front of me. I zero in on Tavers with his hands stuffed in his pockets and looking down at the white sheet I refuse to acknowledge. My hands ball into fists so tight the joints in my knuckles protest. Tavers looks up when I’m ten feet away, and the look in his eyes tells me everything. They hold a mountain of pain and an ocean full of sympathy. I still refuse to believe it. There’s no fucking way it can end this way. Not after all the years I’ve looked for her. Not after committing my whole life to this. God can’t be so cruel. When I come to a stop in front of Tavers, still not looking down at the sheet and what’s underneath, he reaches out and places a hand on

my shoulder. “Niko.” “No,” I growl and knock his hand away. “You’re fucking wrong.” I lean over and spit the last in his face. He doesn’t flinch or back away. If anything, his expression turns even more somber, and it pisses me off. “Niko,” he tries again but wisely keeps his hands to himself. “I’m sorry, man, but it’s her.” “No,” I repeat. “You don’t fucking know that.” My voice cracks at the end, and that only pisses me off even more. “Look.” His eyes drop to the sheet, and then he lifts them back to me. “She has her mark,” he finishes quietly. Everything screams for me not to do it. It actually feels as though invisible hands are squeezing the sides of my head, not allowing me to look down. As scared as I am, I force my head to drop, but before my eyes find the sheet, I slam them closed. Harsh pants of air leave my lips as I try to control the emotions swirling through me. A hand drops to my shoulder, and this time, I don’t push it away. I barely feel it. All I feel right now is violent anger, intense fear, and overwhelming sadness. I pry my eyelids apart, and my gaze connects with the sheet. Air whooshes out of my lungs, and when I draw in more, my breath feels like a

thousand pinpricks. The body underneath the sheet is small. Way too fucking small. There’s no way this can be her. I fall to my knees because they won’t hold me up anymore. I feel so goddamn weak. Now that my eyes are on the sheet, they refuse to look away. I feel Tavers beside me, and I want him to leave. I want everyone to leave. I curl my hands into fists, not sure I can expose the form below the sheet. I’m so fucking scared of what it’ll do to me if I discover what I’m so terrified of uncovering. I’m not sure how I’ll survive knowing the truth, knowing I didn’t protect the one person I was meant to protect. After searching years for her only to find out I failed. Tavers drops to his knees beside me. I feel his eyes on me as I stare sightlessly at the sheet. His hand reaches out for the material, knowing I can’t do it myself. He grabs the sheet and slowly starts to pull it back. Brown matted hair is exposed, and the sight has my stomach churning. Floodlights surround the perimeter, and they seem so much brighter than normal. Every inch revealed seems to glow in the light. Right as the sheet bares glowing white flesh, I reach out and grab his wrist. “Stop!” I bark. Without breaking my eyes away from the white material, I tell him, “I can’t...” I shake my head and

continue. “I can’t do this right now.” I’m a fucking coward, and I know it, but I need to confirm what Tavers is so adamant of when no one is around. I need more damn time to prepare for the impending obliteration of my soul. I’m not fucking ready. The small patch of skin I saw was dirty and showed a deep cut, and I know the rest will be even worse. Tavers, understanding my need without me telling him, covers the small portion he revealed. “We’ll wait until she’s in the morgue. Give you a bit to prepare,” he says quietly beside me, sounding so fucking clinical. I bare my teeth, wanting to turn and plow my fist through his jaw. I keep hold of my temper only because he knows how hard this is for me. He’s been there since the beginning—actually, before the beginning—so he knows the time and emotion I’ve put into searching for her. I stagger when I climb to my feet. Ripping my eyes away from the sheet, I turn on my heel without a word and march back through the woods to my truck. I speed away from the scene with only one thought on my mind. How in the fuck do I prepare for something I know will rip out my heart and end me?

I STAND IN FRONT OF THE SLAB OF METAL THAT HOLDS my unresolved and painful past. A past that’s consumed my life for fifteen years. A past I’ve fought hard to uncover without success. And finally, a past that will ultimately destroy my future. My hands shake and sweat beads on my forehead as I reach for the sheet. I have to lock my knees in place for fear of them buckling. I grip the material in my hand, not afraid to admit I’m scared as shit to pull the sheet away. Not only has Tavers said it was her, but the medical examiner’s report says it is as well. Even now, I refuse to believe it. I won’t believe it until I see for myself. If only I can get my damn hand to work and move the sheet. Last night at the crime scene, I wasn’t prepared. I’m still not, but I know I need to do this. Not only for her but for me as well. I need to know. I notice a small patch of brown hair peeking out from under the sheet. My hand detours from the material and instead picks up the lock of hair. It feels brittle but oily at the same time. I watch as I rub it between my fingers. Pain like I’ve never felt before forms in my chest. One so powerful, I’m not sure it will ever go away. It’ll always be a part of me. I gently lay the lock of hair back on the metal slab as if just that length of hair is precious. Which it is. Every single part of this girl is precious. I close my eyes tightly and pull in a deep breath

before forcing my hand to slowly pull the sheet away. When I open them again, every bit of breath I have in my lungs comes out in a painful hiss. The sheet slips from my grasp when I drop my hands to the cold metal table to hold myself up. My heart slams against the walls in my chest, and a pain grips me so sharply it feels like it’s piercing my insides. I’ve seen plenty of victimized people in my line of work, but I’ve never seen something as gruesome as what I’m seeing now. And what makes this unbearable is the fact I’ve loved this mutilated woman lying dead in front of me since I was a child. “Aislin…” I breathe through a thick throat. Her once thick brown hair is now matted and dirty with chunks of it missing. Her beautiful face with what used to be stunning green eyes looks gaunt and is covered with bruises, open lacerations, and multiple old scars. Her eye sockets are sunk in, and her cheekbones stand out way too much. Her graceful neck has fingerprint markings, where someone wrapped their hands around it and squeezed. I don’t pull the sheet lower, but I know what the rest of her body must look like. I read the report, and the motherfucker who did this to her didn’t leave any place on her body unmarked. She was malnourished and dehydrated. The fucker starved her and deprived her of fluids for God knows how long. Not only that, but she was also

sexually assaulted so many times and in such harsh ways that the medical examiner was surprised she lived as long as she did with such severe internal injuries. She’s been missing for fifteen years. A huge weight in the form of guilt settles on my chest, leaving it feeling crushed at the thought of her enduring that abuse for all those years. My eyes hit on something, and the pain in my chest bears down even more. Right below her left ear is a birthmark. A star. Memories of me calling her North assault me. I always claimed that no matter where we were, I’d always find her because she was my beacon. My North Star. As much as it hurts to look at her mangled form, I can’t tear my eyes away. This is my punishment for not protecting her, for not finding her in time, for failing her. I should be shot dead, point blank in the head, for not being there for her when she needed me. For not finding her like I always told her I would. We promised each other as kids that we’d never leave the other. We would always be there to protect each other from the harsh life we both lived. That promise was ripped away from me and broken beyond repair. No, I didn’t leave her, but I didn’t work hard enough to find her. There had to be something I could have done differently. Some clue I missed. I was still a kid when she was taken, but I was her only chance.

Everyone thought she’d run away. She was a troubled child living with a shady drug addict mom. No one believed me when I told them she wouldn’t have run away. She wouldn’t have left me—at least, not without telling me first. The difference between her and I was I had parents who cared. We lived in a shitty neighborhood filled with drugs, gunshots in the night, and gangs, but my parents always protected me as best as they could. They even protected Aislin when they could. They knew of our bond and how much we cared for each other. I begged and pleaded with my parents to talk to the police, but even they thought she ran away. I went to the police station myself and told them they were wrong. The detective on the case just looked at me with sympathy and told me to go home, that there was nothing more they could do if she didn’t want to be found. She was only fucking thirteen. I wanted to punch the ever-loving hell out of the asshole, but I knew it wouldn’t do me any good. I left, but I wasn’t giving up. My options were limited at such a young age, but once I got older, I made it my life’s mission to do whatever I could to find her. I chose my career in hopes it would help me. For years, those around me who knew told me I needed to give up the search, but no matter how convincing they were, no matter the lack of evidence, and no matter how

much time had passed, I just couldn’t. I still felt her light deep in my chest. I knew she was still alive and waiting on me. I refused to give up when I knew down to the very core of me that she wasn’t gone. Her light was still too bright and the bond we had was still too strong for her to be wiped from the earth. But now she’s here, brutally beaten and raped to death by some sick fuck. I was too fucking late. The light I’ve felt for years has finally gone out, leaving me in pitch-black darkness. The place in my chest where my heart should reside is now just an empty space. I tip my head back and bellow to the ceiling as rage and pain take over my body. I want to rip something apart. I want to find the guy who did this and skin the flesh from his bones. I want to hear his screams of pain and pleas for mercy then laugh in his face when I deny him his dying wish. And once I do finish him off, I want to piss on his lifeless body and toss it somewhere for the vultures to feast on. I push back the tears threatening to fall and lean down until my forehead rests on Aislin’s dirty one. I place my trembling hands on either side of her cheeks. She’s so fucking cold now when she used to be one of the warmest people I knew. I kiss her forehead, wishing with everything I am that things were different. Wishing I could have saved her.

“I’m so sorry, North.” I whisper my broken apology to her lifeless body, using the name I gave her as a kid and hoping she can hear me wherever she is. “I swear on my life I will get this bastard, and he’ll pay for everything he’s done to you. I vow to you, you will be avenged. I’ll always love you.” I give her still beautiful face one last look before I kiss her soft but scar-riddled forehead for the last time and gently pull the sheet back over her. A tear slips down my cheek, and I swipe it away. I turn and walk to the metal door that separates me and my past from me and my future. A future that looks bleak but is now filled with more determination than ever before.

CHAPTER ONE

Niko Age Eleven I SLAM THE MAGAZINE SHUT AND STUFF IT UNDER THE cushion beside me as a blush creeps up my cheeks at almost being caught. The wood creaks, and I hear heavy breathing seconds before a head full of messy brown hair appears from the hole in the floor. A smile appears on my face when big green eyes pop up and stare at me. “It’s about time you got here,” I tell Aislin, my best friend, and get up to help her the rest of the way into our hidden treehouse. “I’ve been waiting forever for you to get here.” She huffs and puffs as she gets to her knees then grabs my hand to help her to her feet. She pushes down her dirty yellow shirt that’s ridden up,

showing off several inches of her stomach. I divert my eyes, giving her privacy. “My stupid mom has another guy over,” she grumbles with a pout. “Fortunately, they moved to the bedroom, so I snuck out.” I stuff my hands into my jeans pockets, balling them into fists just as I always do when she tells me her mom has a guy over. I hate knowing her mom has all kinds of men in her house, doing all kinds of things that grown-ups do. I’m only eleven, but I already know what sex is. Aislin is nine and also knows what it is. Unfortunately, Aislin knows because she’s seen it firsthand from the many times her mom’s had sex on the couch, in the kitchen, or in the laundry room—all the while knowing her daughter could walk in at any moment. Hell, Aislin’s even caught her mom having sex in her own bed. That night, Aislin didn’t sleep there, repulsed by the act she’d witnessed. She crawled into my window, upset and mad, and fell asleep in my bed with me rubbing her back and running my fingers through her hair, trying to calm her down. Momma raised me never to hit a girl, but I want to punch the daylights out of Aislin’s mom. She’s sick and vile, always doped up on drugs, and doesn’t take care of Aislin worth a shit. I wish she could come live with me. I’ve even talked to my parents about it, but as much as they like Aislin and know of her situation and how close we are, I

know they have enough trouble feeding and taking care of me and my brother and sister. Aislin takes a seat on the cushion beside the one I was using. I watch to make sure she doesn’t discover the magazine underneath before going to the box with the snacks we stole from the market down the road. I pull out a couple of oatmeal crème pies and an orange soda then plop down beside her. “Are you excited about school tomorrow?” I ask, handing over one of the snacks and the can of soda. Her eyes dip down as she rips the plastic from the snack and stuffs half of it into her mouth. “You know I’m not. We’re going to be at different schools now. What am I going to do without you with me, Niko?” Her shoulders slump, and I put my arm around her, pulling her closer to my side. She’s only nine, but with how her life has been, she’s had to grow up fast. She likes to act tough, and she is. She’s tougher than any other girl I know, but she still has pieces of a little girl inside her. Pieces she only lets me see. Pieces I’ll always protect. “You know I’ll always be there for you. You let me know if anyone messes with you, and I’ll take care of it.” She lifts her nose and juts out her chin in true badass little Aislin mode. “I’m not worried about

those buttheads. I just hate knowing I won’t see you at all during the day.” She may not worry, but I do. I hate that I won’t be with her this year in school. The kids there can be assholes. For the most part, I’m able to keep them away from her when I’m with her, but I worry about what will happen when she’s there alone without me. One thing I do know is if I find out they’ve hurt her, in any way, heads will roll. I may be young, and Momma may have raised me to avoid fights whenever possible, but I’ve picked up a few things from living in such a rough neighborhood. To live here, you have to, or you’ll never make it. One thing I won’t ever put up with is someone hurting Aislin. “Promise me you’ll tell me if anyone messes with you.” She pops open the soda and takes a swallow. When she sets it down beside her, I hand her the second crème pie. I always let her have mine because I know she doesn’t get much food at home. She tears into the second one just as fast. Swallowing her bite, she looks up at me. “I don’t want you getting into fights for me. You’ll get into trouble.” I give her a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t fight them. I’ll just tell them to leave you alone.” The lie slips out easily.

She looks at me doubtfully. She knows me so well. “Niko…” she starts then shifts so she’s facing me, crossing her skinny legs. Poking me in the chest with a finger, she says, “Don’t you dare do anything.” I grab her hand and flatten it on my chest then smirk. “You know me. You’re my North. No one messes with my North.” I gave her the name years ago, several weeks after we met. I was eight, and she was six. She had just moved into the house beside ours with her mom. They were alone, just the two of them. About a week after they moved in, I was outside playing with my cars when her mom came outside, screeching to the neighborhood that her daughter was missing. Mom came outside next, demanding to know what was going on. My family was the only family who helped Aislin’s mom look for her, and it was one of the only times her mom actually pretended like she really cared what happened to her daughter. I didn’t know the little girl who was missing, but I insisted to Mom that I wanted to help. She let me, and an hour later, I found her in the woods behind my house, sitting on a rock, crying softly. Over the course of three weeks, she disappeared three more times, and I found her every time. I never told them exactly where I found her, just that it was in the woods. The last time I

found her, I noticed the birthmark below her ear and told her it looked like a star. I remembered Mom telling me a story once about a boy getting lost until he found the North Star, which led him home. From that day forward, her nickname was North. I claimed that no matter how many times she ran away, I’d find her. And I’ve held true to that. We both watch each other for several minutes. Me with a smile aimed at her, and her with the same scowl. She knows me well enough to know I’m not going to back down. She knows how I am with her because she’s the same with me. She’s a tiny little thing, but if you mess with her Niko when she’s around, she’s not afraid to get in your face. I’ve had to pull her back several times to keep her from getting pulverized. She huffs and turns back around so her back is against the wall. With her turn, the cushion moves, revealing a corner of the magazine. Before I get the chance to snatch it, she grabs it. Her eyes go wide when she holds it in front of her face. I don’t say anything or try to take the magazine back. She’s already seen it, so there’s no sense in trying to hide it now. She sets it down on her lap and slowly opens it. I cringe when it shows a woman on her knees in front of a man with his penis in her mouth. The girl’s boobs are hanging out of her bra, and she’s not wearing any panties.

Aislin still doesn’t say anything as she flips to the next page. I shift uncomfortably beside her. This page shows a woman on her back with her legs spread wide open. She’s touching herself. I want to yank the magazine away. She shouldn’t be seeing stuff like this even though she’s seen it in real life with her mom and the men she has over. It makes me so angry that Aislin is so knowledgeable about these types of things. “Do you like this kind of stuff?” Her quiet question has my eyes jerking to hers. There’s no censor or judgment behind her expression, only open curiosity. I shrug. “Not really.” “Then why were you looking at it? Where did you get it from?” Her eyes go back to the magazine as she flips to another page. “It’s my brother’s. I found it under his bed the other day and took it because I was… curious.” She looks back at me. “Do you want to do this stuff? Like what the guy is doing to that woman?” I look down, more to avoid her eyes than to look at what she’s referring to. Even still, my gaze catches on a woman on her hands and knees with a man kneeling behind her. His fingers are touching her private parts, and it looks like he’s getting ready to put his mouth on her. The sight has me wanting to throw up, but it

also does something else weird to my body. I feel a tingling in my jeans. The feeling is foreign to me, but I know it’s got something to do with my body reacting to the sight of a naked woman. I stretch out my legs and cross my ankles, trying to push the feeling away. I feel weird talking about this with Aislin. “Not really,” I tell her, not sure if it’s a lie or not. I’ve never lied to her before, and I don’t like knowing I might be lying now. “But why were you looking at it?” she insists. “I don’t know,” I mumble, wishing she would just drop it. “It was just something new to look at.” “So you don’t want to do this?” she presses. “Aislin, please, just give me the magazine so I can throw it away. It was stupid to bring it here.” I hold out my hand, but she doesn’t give it to me right away. Instead, she looks down at it again for several seconds before handing it over. I immediately get up and stuff the magazine down into the bottom of the box we use for trash. I still have my back turned toward her when her soft voice reaches my ears. “You may not want to do that stuff right now, but one day you will.” I turn to tell her she’s wrong, but stop when I see her looking down at her lap. She’s picking the skin around her nails. I can’t lie to her. It may be just a curiosity now, but I know one day soon I will

be more interested in girls. I’m not stupid. I know it’s bound to happen. Aislin isn’t stupid either. She probably knows more than I do about sex and what people do when they have it. I go back and sit beside her again, putting my arm back around her shoulders. She looks up at me with her beautiful green eyes. Even though we’re both so young and have no idea what it means to really love someone, I know what I feel for her is love. It may be the innocent, brotherly kind of love, but it’s love nonetheless. So when I see the sad look in her eyes, it makes my chest feel heavy. “It doesn’t matter, North. No matter what happens later, you’ll always be my number one girl. You’re my North Star, my beacon.” She smiles up at me, and all is right in the world again.

CHAPTER TWO

Niko I DROP THE MAGAZINE BACK IN THE BOX . I WENT back the day after Aislin found it under the cushion and dug it out of our makeshift trash can. I don’t know why I went back for it. It wasn’t because I was particularly interested in what was inside although I did look at it several more times. No, I think it was because I knew things were going to change between me and her. And they did. Aislin and I may have known the basics of sex, but we were still innocent. I was still a kid, and my body had just started becoming unfamiliar to me, so my view of Aislin stayed the same; innocent and brotherly. It wasn’t until years later that I started looking at Aislin differently, in more of a sexual light, but from that day forward, I often found

myself wondering what she would look like when she was older. Aislin also changed. We didn’t have many mutual friends, but any time I was around girls, she would watch us closely, wearing a curious yet concerned expression on her face. At the time, I didn’t know what she was looking for or if she ever found it, but I got the sense she dreaded the answer to whatever it was. I get up from the couch, throwing the lid back on top of the box that carries many other mementos I’ve collected as a child in connection to Aislin. I’ve kept them all these years as a reminder of what we were as kids. Of course, even if I didn’t have the items, I still wouldn’t forget the bond she and I shared. It was as strong as any piece of steel. Walking to the kitchen, I get a glass of water from the tap and chug it down. I turn around and face the rest of the room. Looking over the bar that separates the living room from the kitchen, I see several boxes in the corner that I still need to unpack. Even more are placed throughout the rest of the house. I’ve been here a week, and I’ve hardly unpacked anything except for the essentials I need to live. I set my glass in the sink and go to the window that faces the neighboring house. As soon as I left the morgue after seeing Aislin’s mutilated form two months ago, I went straight to my boss and put in a

transfer to Westbridge, my hometown. Knowing that Aislin’s body was found in the same town as our childhood, and therefore, she was probably here the whole time, under my nose, almost had me going into a destructive rage. I moved away seven years ago to Brighton, a small town near Pittsburgh. The resources were better than in Westbridge, and it was only two hours away, so if I needed to come back for some reason, it wouldn’t be a problem. My parents, who have both held the same job for the past twenty-five years, finally decided to retire and move to Florida. When they offered me the house, I knew right away it was where I was meant to be. It seemed fitting to live in the same neighborhood where my heartache began. To be in the same house when I exact my vengeance on the bastard who took and tortured my Aislin. My gaze drifts across the side yard to the abandoned house next door that holds so many memories. It’s never been in the best condition, but it’s a true eyesore now. Especially with the neighborhood’s inhabitants changing over the years and the area being cleaned up. It’s not the gang ridden wasteland it once was. The houses are clean, the yards mowed, the people are nice, and the crime rate is almost nonexistent. The house next door, though… The grass is knee high, parts of the siding is falling off, the porch is sagging, and

several of the windows are busted out. About five years ago, Aislin’s mom just up and left, leaving most of her belongings behind. The place was left in such terrible shape that the owners of the house never attempted to repair it and just put it on the market instead. With the condition it is in, there’s been no interest in the house, and it’s just sitting there abandoned. I have an appointment with the realtor tomorrow. My memories of her place aren’t that great, but it’s still a connection to her that I need. My phone ringing on the bar pulls my attention from the house next door, and I walk over and grab it. “Hey, Mom,” I answer tiredly. “Hey, sweetie. You sound tired. Everything okay?” “Yeah, everything’s good. Just getting settled in. You know how it is moving.” I walk over to the leather couch and take a seat. My hand moves to my chest, and I rub the spot that always aches when I think about Aislin. “How did the closing on the house go?” I ask. “Your father and I are now the proud owners of a small bungalow on the beach!” Mom says excitedly. I smile at her happiness. My parents worked their asses off their whole adult life to provide the best life they could for me and my brother and

sister. I’m glad they are finally in a place where they can relax and enjoy life. They deserve it and so much more. “That’s great, Mom.” After a couple of minutes of silence, Mom says, “Now, tell me how you’re really doing?” “Mom, I’m fine. Really. I’m just…” “Niko, I may be old, but I’m not senile yet. I know my kids, and I can hear it in your voice. How are you really doing?” I lean my head back against the couch and release a tired breath. She’s right. Mom’s not stupid, and she knows how hard these past couple of months have been. She knows part of the reason I came back to Westbridge. I haven’t told her of my need for revenge, just that I need to be close to where Aislin’s body was found. “I’m buying her house.” She’s quiet at first but then says softly, “Are you sure that’s smart, sweetie?” “Yes,” I tell her without hesitation. “I’m not sure what I’ll do with it, but it’s something I need to do. I’ll fix it up and decide once it’s done.” The silence is heavy between us until she once again speaks. “I’m so sorry, Niko.” It breaks my heart to hear the heartache in her voice. I’ve never blamed my parents for not listening to me when I was a kid, but they both feel

guilty, especially Mom. She knows how close Aislin and I were and how much I loved her. “Stop,” I tell her firmly while still keeping my tone respectful. “I’ve already told you that I don’t blame you and Dad. You did what you thought was right at the time.” “I know, but if we had listened to you, maybe we could have saved her. That poor girl.” Her voice cracks. My eyes land on the brown folder on the coffee table in front of me that holds every piece of information I have on Aislin’s case. It’s not very thick as there wasn’t much to go on when she was first taken. It’s still undecided if she ran away first and then was caught or if she was taken from the beginning. I know she was taken the first day. She wouldn’t have just up and left like that. She wouldn’t have done that to me. I rub the spot over my heart harder as the ache gets stronger. There are so many what-ifs. “There’s no way to know that for sure, Mom. The police were adamant she ran away, and unless there was evidence to suggest otherwise, I doubt they would have changed their tune, even if you and Dad had asked them to.” “I know. I just wish…” “Well, don’t.” My tone comes out harsher than I intended. I hear her sniffle over the phone, and I feel like a piece of shit. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Don’t be. I know this is hard on you.” “Look, I need to go. I still have a ton of unpacking to do.” I hate to rush off the phone with her, but it always hurts when she brings up Aislin. “Okay, sweetie. Call me if you need me or your dad. I love you.” “Love you, too.” I toss my phone on the table in front of me and watch it clatter across the surface. Resting my elbows on my knees, I rub my hands down my face. A pinch of pain starts in my temples, and I know a migraine is on its way. Getting up from the couch, I head to the bathroom and the bottle of Tylenol I have stashed in the medicine cabinet. After downing two, I wash my face and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look tired as fuck with my eyes sunk in and my face pale. The scruff on my face is several days’ old and past time to be scraped off. My dark brown hair isn’t much better. It looks like I haven’t brushed it in days, which would be correct. Before I know what I’m doing, my fist connects with the glass, and I watch as it shatters. Pieces fall into the sink, the smaller ones clinking as they drop down the drain. I fucking hate looking at myself because all I ever see is failure. I was the one person who promised to keep her safe, and I failed her. I failed

her in the worse possible way. Because of me, she was tortured so badly not an inch of her body was left untouched. It should have been me on that table, nearly unrecognizable. Gripping the edge of the sink, I look down and see my busted knuckles. Shards of glass stick out of my skin with blood dripping down onto the white porcelain. My eyes latch onto one piece of glass imbedded between my knuckles. I flex my fingers, and the pain barely registers. No amount of pain could make up for what Aislin went through. I deserve so much more. There’s also no amount of pain I won’t give to the bastard who took her. Only time stands between me and him. And it’s fucking ticking down.

CHAPTER THREE

Lelu THE GIRL ON THE BED HAS HER BACK AGAINST THE corner with her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, trying to hide as much of her body as possible. Her lifeless eyes stare blankly through a curtain of dirty hair at the window across the room. She digs her toes into the mattress and her fingers into the flesh of her legs. She’s naked, and it’s cold in the room, but she’s so numb from everything that’s happened that she doesn’t feel the frigid air anymore. The man in the room above watches the girl from the computer on his desk. Even though he just left her thirty minutes ago, his body radiates with pleasure, and his dick turns hard as he looks at the angles of her malnourished form. His hand moves

to his lap, and he rubs himself through the dirty denim of his jeans. His blood heats with the anticipation of the next time he allows himself to touch her. “Soon,” he whispers to himself. Today marks the five-year anniversary of having her, and he celebrated by being especially cruel. Every day, his need for her grows until it consumes his every thought. His chair squeaks when he unzips his pants to grip his hardness, and the girl below lifts her eyes to the ceiling. She should be scared, and when he walks through the door again, she will be, but at the moment, with her body still hurting from the last time he was in the room, she can’t find the energy to be fearful. Silent tears slip down her cheeks, but she pays them no mind. The fluid leaking from between her legs dampens the dingy mattress below her. She doesn’t need to look to know blood is mixed in with his semen. The toilet across the way taunts her, but her willpower to move is nonexistent. There’s no point anyway. As soon as she washes away the nastiness, he’ll come right back in and mark her again. He likes knowing she has his sperm on and in her. She moves her eyes away from the toilet, and they land on the small cuts on her arms. Some are

old and have scabbed over, and some are new, the blood coagulating over the wounds. Her legs, back, and stomach carry the same marks. The girl lets her head fall back against the wall, and she closes her eyes. She’s so tired but doesn’t want to sleep. There’s no telling when he’ll be back, and she hates being asleep when he comes. Bad things happen when she’s asleep. She not only has to live in this nightmare while she’s awake, but she lives it in her dreams as well. There’s no escaping the torment she endures. Just like many times before, the girl tries to conjure up memories of before she was taken. It’s become a game to her, one that she’s slowly losing. Her memories are fading fast, and she’s afraid she’ll soon forget them all. Even now, she’s not sure if the short clips she does remember are true or if her mind is just playing tricks on her. She’s not sure how long she’s been in this room, only that it’s nearly the only thing she remembers now. She can no longer recall what the sun, clouds, trees, or grass look like. Her body has been without clothes for so long that even the notion of wearing them is foreign to her. Despite her desire to stay awake, the countless hours of torture have drained her both physically and mentally, and she slips into unconsciousness, only for the torture to continue… A squeaking noise wakes the girl, and she

cracks open her bloodshot eyes to see a mouse scurrying across the floor. Seeing rodents is common, so it doesn’t faze her. She silently thanks the mouse for waking her from her disgusting dream. She releases the grip she has on her legs and stretches them out in front of her, moaning when the joints ache from staying in the same tight position for so long. The mess between her legs has now dried, leaving her skin sticky. No longer able to put off cleaning herself, she gets up from the bed slowly and heads to the toilet. There’s no sink in the room, so she’s forced to use the dirty water from the commode. Using the murky water doesn’t bother her like it used to. Grabbing the small piece of cloth that hangs from a shelf, she dips a corner of it into the bowl and uses it to wipe away the blood and semen from between her legs. Afterward, she drops it on the floor. Her eyes catch the window across the room. On wobbly legs, she slowly walks over to the pane of glass. Her stomach cramps, reminding her she hasn’t eaten in days. That’s how it is there. He only feeds her enough to keep her alive, sometimes as little as twice in several days. The food is bland— dry bread, an apple, plain rice—but she no longer tastes it. Like using the toilet water, the lack of variety in her diet doesn't faze her anymore. At first, she thought she'd die from the hunger pangs

alone, but little by little, her stomach shriveled until the thought of eating made her gag. Once she makes it to the window in the wall, she peers over the seal and finds what she always does when she looks inside. The sight has her stomach cramping even more. A girl lies on the bed, curled up in a ball, weeping softly. Her hair is dingy, and her body is riddled with new and old marks, just like hers. Tears spring to her eyes, and she tries to force them back. Crying is weakness, and the girl on the other side of the glass is nothing but weakness. They are one in the same. She represents the little girl inside her who’s terrified, the little girl who wants to give up and go to sleep and never wake up. Every day, they both get weaker. The need to survive is dwindling, and she wonders if soon there will be nothing of her left. She’s tried so long to stay strong, but oftentimes, she wonders what’s the point. There’s no one out there looking for her. She’s all alone in this terrible world. She wants to shake the girl and tell her to be strong and not to give up, but she knows it’s useless. There is no hope. Her internal struggle is weakening. A clicking sound has the girl’s head whipping to the metal door to her left. A hollow feeling forms in her throat, and her heart pounds so hard she can hear it in her ears. The door slowly creeps open, but she doesn’t have to wonder who is going to walk in.

He’s the only one who ever comes in the room. Bile rises in her throat when she sees the bucket he’s carrying. She both loves and hates that bucket and what it represents. Her back goes ramrod straight, and she immediately goes into the position he always wants her in when he walks in the room; eyes to the floor, hands clasped behind her back, feet a foot apart. He likes this position because it allows him to see her body without anything in the way. It makes her feel disgusting, but she’s used to it. His feet come into view, and he sets the bucket down beside him. She keeps her head lowered, her eyes on the dreaded bucket as his sweaty palm goes to her throat. Inwardly, she cringes, but outwardly, she remains calm. The man looks at the girl, down her neck, over her small perky breasts, her slim stomach, to the apex of her thighs. He frowns when he sees she’s wiped away his seed from earlier. He doesn’t like that. He wants his cum on her all the time. It’s where it belongs. It reminds them she belongs to him and no one else, and she’s only allowed to wipe it away when he says she can. He’ll have the pleasure of covering her with it again. The fingers he has wrapped around her throat tightens. The girl whimpers, and it has his cock straining in his jeans. In the beginning, he didn’t want to hurt her but had to because she fought him

tooth and nail. Now, when he sees the fear and pain in her eyes, it excites him. Sometimes, the excitement becomes too much, and he has no control over his actions. He likes seeing her pain, but he doesn’t want to completely destroy her. His time with her is nowhere close to over. It’ll never be over. She’ll be his forever. His mother used to choke him when she forced herself on his cock. She would turn on the television and sit on his lap. She always choked him until his vision went blurry and he almost passed out. He takes a step closer to her and uses his thumb to force her head up. Her dull eyes meet his. His frown deepens when they show no emotions. He wants to see the fear, the pain. They stimulate him. “Lelu,” the man says. When he first saw her years ago, he barely held himself back from taking her, but it wasn’t time yet. Things had to be just perfect. In the end, he ended up taking her early anyway. He just couldn’t pass up the opportunity. When he first brought her here, the fear he saw in her reminded him of the fear he felt when his mom first played with him. He was six years old when she came into his room and made him take off all his clothes and get on the bed. He had no idea what his mom was doing, but he adored her and did what she asked. When she removed her own clothes and crawled on the bed with him and

touched his private parts, that’s when the fear slithered in. He’s noticed the girl’s fear leaking out of her over the past few months. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s broken her and she’s given herself up to her fate, or if she’s becoming stronger and refusing to show her fear anymore. Either way, he wants the fear back. When the man lifts her head and calls her name, a name she hates, her eyes leave the bucket to meet his. His short brown hair is already receding, and his dark eyes show nothing but lecherous desire. He doesn’t have a shirt on and his chest his hairy. She remembers feeling the bristled strands on her own chest and against her back. He likes to rub it against her open wounds. He doesn’t say anything, just bends to pick up the bucket and set it in front of the bed, then sits on the edge. The girl moves robotically to the bucket. She knows what he wants, and she hates it. On the one hand, the thought of being clean again sends a small thrill through the girl, but knowing what she’ll have to go through to get clean is what makes her stomach revolt. She’s not allowed to bathe very often, and she both dreads and looks forward to the occasion. Not sure if it’s luck or if it’s a curse, the man leaves ointment in the room for the girl’s open wounds. He also makes her swallow a nasty smelling medicine every so

often to ward off infections. She gets down on her knees, making sure to keep her legs spread apart, and grabs the yellow sponge from the soapy water. Her eyes stay glued to the man in front of her, just as he wants, and she lifts it to her arm. The cold, soapy water and sponge sting against the slices on her arm, but she doesn’t wince. After cleaning one arm, she switches to the next, never taking her eyes off the man. He watches her with impatient eyes. The man’s body vibrates as he watches the girl clean herself. When she’s done with her arms and face, he unzips his pants and pulls out his hard cock. A drop of precum drips from the tip. He swipes it with a finger and leans forward. Without having to ask, she opens her mouth, and he sticks it inside. Anger hits his chest when she closes her eyes, so he shoves his finger to the back of her throat, making her gag. But it has the desired effect when she opens her eyes again. “Suck,” the man says angrily. She wants so badly to bite his finger but knows she would regret that mistake, so she does as he says. A minute later, he pulls his finger from her mouth, and she goes back to washing herself. With fresh water in the sponge, she moves it to her breasts. The man sits back, his dick back in his hand, stroking himself. His greedy eyes follow the movements of the sponge as it glides over the

slopes of her small tits. Tits he’s bitten so hard he’s drawn blood and left scars. His mouth waters at the thought of when he’ll do that again. She dips the sponge in the bucket again, and his dick grows more when she runs it down her stomach, leaving a trail of suds behind until she meets the hair between her legs. His strokes become faster on his shaft, and he can feel the buildup of his orgasm coming. He slows his movements, not ready to come yet. Other things still need to be done first. The girl runs the sponge over her sex, forcing herself to keep her eyes on the man in front of her. This is the part she hates the most. It’s the part she has to work really hard not to vomit during. Once her privates are clean, she drops the sponge back into the bucket. Forcing back tears, she brings her hand back between her legs. She pauses for a second, which brings the man’s eyes back to hers. “Do it,” he growls menacingly. Keeping her eyes locked on him for fear of retribution, she places a finger at her opening and pushes it inside. Her skin is slick from washing herself, but inside, she’s painfully dry. Once upon a time, shame would have her shaking, but shame has no place in her life now. It’s a useless emotion she no longer allows herself to feel. She’s still sore from when he took her earlier. She doesn’t remember a time she hasn’t been sore

from him taking her. “Another.” She forces another finger inside her. The man pants, and she can smell the sweat covering his body, nearly gagging her. Before he can tell her to, she adds another finger to the first two as if she knows he wants. He drops to his knees on the floor right in front of her, grabbing her hair and yanking it back to leer down at her. She feels his harsh breathing all over her face and wishes it’ll be over soon. He grunts as he continues to jerk himself. The tip of his dick bounces against her stomach with every few swipes of his hand. Releasing her hair, he puts a hand on her chest and shoves her backward, forcing her fingers from her privates to catch herself. She lands hard on her butt and scrapes her palms. She doesn’t have time to recover before he grabs her hips roughly and flips her around until she’s on her hands and knees. Knowing he can’t see her face, she closes her eyes tightly. “Put my dick in you,” he groans, almost lovingly in her ear. Degrading herself even more, the girl reaches between her legs, grabs his penis, and puts the tip at her center. Pleasure explodes through the man. This is the part he enjoys most, knowing the girl is helping him

put the part of himself inside her that hurts her the most. Knowing she must hate it as much as he loves it. Once his tip is grazing her opening, he releases one of her hips and grabs the front of her neck, squeezing hard at the same time as surging forward. She’s dry, so it doesn’t go in easily. Her walls scrape against him, pulling the skin on his dick as he forcefully shoves himself inside her. They both feel pain, but whereas the girl whimpers and has to hold back her tears, the man relishes in it. Not because he enjoys feeling pain himself, but because he enjoys knowing she’s in pain. He constantly fights with himself; because he loves the girl, he doesn’t want to hurt her, but something inside him makes him. It’s like a piece of him hates her, and that small piece dominates during these times. His control always snaps when he’s inside her, and as much as he doesn’t want to think of her being destroyed beyond repair, it always sends elation through him. The man’s grip tightens on her throat as he thrusts harder. He’s using his grip to force her body back on his dick. Her vision goes dim, and she welcomes the possibility of blacking out. She hopes for it, prays for it. Her head hangs as her arms go weak. When he puts one finger in her back entrance then shoves in another, and another, she can’t even cry out from

the tight grip he has on her throat. Her body slumps to the floor, and he follows her down, landing hard on her back, forcing what breath she has left in her lungs out with a painful whoosh. Her arms are so weak that her head slams against the concrete when she falls, blurring her vision even more. He slams his hips forward so hard her body scrapes across the floor, leaving behind even more scratches. He doesn’t loosen his hold on her throat, and her eyes become heavy. She lies there limply with his heavy breathing in her ear and his sweat dripping onto her back. His grunts become louder, and she knows he’s almost done. With one more final push, he stills, emptying himself into the girl. He removes his hand from her neck, pleased she hasn’t passed out. He yanks her head back by her hair until he can see her face. She’s barely conscious, and seeing her in unbearable pain satisfies him. Leaning forward, he takes her bottom lip between his teeth and pulls hard, tasting blood. Letting go, he kisses the side of her neck. “You keep my cum in you until I say you can wash it off, Lelu.” He drops her head, and it bangs heavily against the hard concrete. She lies limply on the floor as he stands, pulls his pants up, grabs the bucket, and leaves the room.

CHAPTER FOUR

Niko “NIKO .” The nail falls from my mouth as I answer the unexpected call. I’ve been on a vacation for three days now, days I’ve spent in Aislin’s old house from sunup to sundown. Two months ago, I met with the realtor, and she practically shoved the paperwork into my hands. It was no surprise she’d had a hell of a time trying to sell the place because it needed a lot of work. Fortunately, flipping houses was a hobby of mine that I enjoyed. If I wasn’t deep in a case, I was building something. I’ve been that way since I was a kid. Usually, when I work on a project, I don’t want to be bothered, but something about the unknown number makes me pause from pounding nails and take the call.

“Niko, it’s Tripp. Got some news for you.” Tripp is a contact from Georgia who I met on another case about three years ago. Every couple of months, we get in contact, usually when a suspect I’m hunting makes movement in his area. He’s heavily involved in human trafficking along the southeast coast. With the international airport in Atlanta and many ships coming in to port, he sees a lot of movement from criminals, especially those trying to move people in and out of the country discreetly and illegally. The man had stories that nearly gave me nightmares. That is, if I hadn’t already been stuck in my own for the past fifteen years. A week after I moved in, a parolee named Tucker, who was in the area around the time of Aislin’s disappearance, didn’t show up for his check-in. Initially a suspect, he was convicted of raping a fourteen-year-old girl in the town over and imprisoned a year after her disappearance. No matter how hard we pressed, going as far as putting a bargain on the table, we couldn’t get a confession from him. Even so, I’d always kept my eye on his movements after his release. Then he skipped town just days before Aislin’s body was found. Factually, I know he was in prison for eleven years after she disappeared, so he couldn’t have kept her that entire time, but what if he wasn’t working alone? A guy at his halfway

house let it slip that he had a girl down south he’d been writing letters to while locked up. When I heard that, I made the call to Tripp with her address and asked him to call me with any info. This is the first time he’s made contact since. The hammer slips from my hand, and the resounding thud makes my German Shepherd, Betsy, pop up and cock her head curiously. “Lay it on me.” “I’ve got to make this quick but still no sign of Tucker.” “Figures.” I sit back on my heels and wipe the sweat from my brow. “I have another lead for you. A big one. A ring up north in Minnesota has been blown wide open. The leader was taken out by what appears to be a couple of vigilantes.” “You’re joking,” I growl. “Couldn’t make this shit up. I can’t tell if they’re damn idiots or brave as hell. What I know is they saved a lot of girls. From what I’ve heard, the leader loved to keep trophies. Not a single female was trafficked through without leaving something behind.” His voice gets tight, giving away how sick the thought makes him. “What are you talking here? Body parts? Hair?” A moment of silence stretches before Tripp swears under his breath. “More along the lines of photos. Years’ worth of encrypted images on a

portable hard drive. I’ve got a name and number if you want to get in contact about your girl.” Shit. This could be a big break. I close my eyes tight and send up a silent thought to Aislin that, wherever she is, I’m sorry I didn’t get his lead sooner. At the same time, I’m hoping she wasn’t in some sex trafficking ring for all that time. “You there?” “Yeah,” I grunt and clear my throat. “Email me the info. I appreciate it.” “You know how it goes, man. Could take months to years for them to go through all the images and try to match them with missing persons, but I thought I’d help speed it along for you.” The line goes quiet, and then he continues. “Maybe it’s time to pass the case along. Now that she’s been found, that is.” “No.” My reply was blunt. “Alive or not, I promised her.” I pause, choking on the next words as the emotion I usually feel at any thought of Aislin consumes me. When I continue, my voice is much lower. “I promised her I wouldn’t quit until I uncovered the truth, and I’m not about to go back on that promise.” As if she senses my distress, Betsy crosses the room and nudges my ribs with her nose. I wrap an arm around her, sinking my fingers into her soft fur. “I know. Take it easy, at least, and call me if

you find anything else out. I would’ve made the call myself, but I figured it was something you needed to do.” “Yeah. I appreciate it. Later.” I end the call without waiting for his reply. I set the phone down and robotically pick up my hammer, tuck a few nails between my lips, and resume securing the new subfloor in what used to be Aislin’s kitchen. I guess it is my kitchen now, seeing as I bought the place, but it will never fully feel like mine. I swear, the first time I stepped in here after all those years I could still smell the scent of her shampoo and hear her voice echoing off the walls. Those first couple of days fucked with my head so badly I almost called the realtor back to rescind my offer. Then, in an attempt to calm myself, I closed my eyes, and each time the image of her lying under that goddamned white sheet entered my mind, I’d be reminded of exactly why I was doing this. Aislin deserves justice, and I am the only one who can deliver. The only reason I’ve taken a few days’ leave of absence is because after spending the past couple of months chasing my own tail, I needed time to regroup. Sometimes, it feels like I do my best thinking while working on a project, so that’s what I plan to do. Nothing seems to clear my head as easily as cutting new cabinetry or laying tile or

painting a room. And when I can finally clear away the chaotic thoughts, the puzzle pieces will start to make sense. Betsy shifts out of my way as I move down to secure the next piece of flooring, and my thoughts circle back to where they always do when I think about Aislin—the beginning. I can recall the report so vividly in my mind because I’ve read over it so many times. Aislin disappeared somewhere between her house and the school. A fact that fucked with my head for a long time. She was one year away from being back in the same school as I was, which would have meant catching the bus at the same time again. One year. Instead, she had to walk through our ghetto little neighborhood filled with the maggots of society by herself every morning because the high school I went to started an hour earlier than her middle school. Six initial suspects, though how they started with six, I’ll never understand. The report was such a mess; it seemed like they grabbed a few random pieces of shit and called them suspects. Hell, any one of our neighbors in those four blocks could have easily snatched her but not a single witness came forward. Ricardo, her mother’s scumbag boyfriend at the time and the man I’d personally witnessed making lewd and suggestive comments toward Aislin, was

first on the list. Vince Bellemi, the registered sex offender two blocks over, was the obvious suspect, but he was cleared almost immediately. Tucker Caed, whose potential involvement in Aislin’s disappearance was what led police to the victim he went to jail for assaulting. Clay Campbell, Aislin’s bus driver, was suspiciously missing from work that morning but the showed up for his afternoon route. Records proved he had a medical appointment around the time of her disappearance. He was cleared after allowing police to search his home. Demitri Ditmars and Matt Richardson were both fuck buddies of her mother’s although not who she was reportedly seeing at the time of Aislin’s disappearance. Neither were looked at very seriously. Besides a few drug violations, neither had much of a record. Matt made my job easier when he was killed in a car accident a year later. Demitri, however, was a little trickier to track down. Seven years ago, after I had already transferred to Brighton, I’d followed him to California. He was on my radar for three months before I lost him. I drop my hammer to the ground, done with the last piece of subflooring. Tomorrow, I can begin installing the dark hardwood I picked out for the kitchen. Sitting back on my ass, knees cocked, I nab the bottle of water next to me for a cool drink.

The sinking sun’s rays filter unhindered through the living room windows. My gaze settles in that direction. It still blows my mind that with six initial suspects, the case went cold as fast as it did. It was like the cops in this town gave up when she didn’t show up a week later. I had to beg and plead with the lead detective at the time to take my statement, and he was reluctant, adamant that she ran away. I knew Aislin. There wasn’t a damn thing that would’ve made her run away without telling me. Knew it down to my gut. I didn’t need to see her malnourished body fifteen years later riddled with signs of chronic abuse, scars, and open wounds or to read the medical report that detailed each mark on her previously unblemished skin to have confirmation she didn’t simply run away. A small ounce of hope came from the fact the local department was scrambling to cover their asses. Times were different now. Back then, a girl disappeared, and her face would be on the news and in the paper. It’d be a hot topic for a couple of days or weeks, but as soon as the trail went cold, she’d be forgotten. Nowadays, with the discovery of her body, national media outlets have been flooding the tiny town of Westbridge, desperate for the inside story. With all the pressure from the media, the department had a complete overhaul and that led to

bringing my team in. Ordinarily, I would not be assigned this case because I was so close to it and had personal connections, but I was the one, along with Tavers, who had gathered information over the years. No one else was more equipped than me and him to take on the case. Of course, the department fucking up all those years ago helped the decision from the higher-ups as well. The citizens of the town were shocked. Many hadn’t lived here for more than a decade. When the housing market crashed, unpaid mortgages forced out most of the slumlords and scumbags who lived in the area, which left a huge profit for people like me who flip houses. The area was quickly cleaned up, and new families began moving in. The fear that was absent with Aislin’s disappearance rocked through Westbridge like a tidal wave. Beside me, my phone pings with a new message. The email from Tripp hits my inbox. I quickly scan the details, but there isn’t much. The name of a guy, Sin, and a phone number. After debating the pros and cons of waiting until Monday to call versus calling now, it doesn’t take long for me to come to a conclusion. When it comes to Aislin, I’m not good at waiting. My thumb taps the blue hyperlink to his phone number, and I bring the cell to my ear. It rings twice. “Sin.” A deep voice grunts over the line, and I realize I should have waited to call on a department

phone on Monday. “My name is Detective Niko James, and I’m calling in regards to a missing woman. I was told you might have some information on a dismantled trafficking ring.” “Not involved in that any longer. They’re working on identifications. You need to call the Minneapolis Police Department for more information.” “My contact said you could help directly. A database or something. I need to know if she was ever there.” “Are you not hearin’ me?” he barks. “I’ve got nothin’ for you.” The hair on my neck stands on end as my own temper starts to rise. For the first time since I was a kid, I lose control of that carefully constructed thread of restraint, and I snap. “Hear me,” I start in a low, threatening tone. “It could take them a year or more to go through all those photos and records and make matches to missing persons. I’ve already been waiting fifteen years to find out what happened to my woman, and seeing as they found her dead body a few months ago, I’m done waiting. I don’t have another year of this left in me, especially knowing I’ll never get her back.” His end of the line is silent, and all I can hear on mine is the sound of blood rushing through my ears

and my own heavy breathing. The hand I have wrapped around the phone twitches with the need to hang up with each second that passes. “Got a sec, I’ll pull up the database.” The sound of typing on a keyboard filters through the phone line. My mouth tightens in an odd mixture of relief and suspense as I wait. “Thanks,” I mutter. “Description?” “Caucasian female between the ages of thirteen and thirty. Brown hair, length varies. Eyes are green. More of a green amethyst than a jade color.” “Any distinctive marks? Birthmarks, tattoos, piercings?” “Um…” I cough to clear my throat. “A coffeecolored birthmark. Below her left ear. Looks like a star.” “Running the search,” he informs me, but I only half listen. I am too busy trying to control my thoughts of Aislin. Silence filters through the line, but if it’s awkward, I don’t feel it. I don’t feel much of anything right now. Five minutes probably drift by in the blink of an eye. Minutes I’ll never get back and won’t remember for the rest of my life, but they are the minutes leading up to Sin telling me the news that simultaneously keeps me together and tears me apart. “I’m sorry, she wasn’t here. I’m not getting a

match.” “Thank you for your time.” As I pull the phone away from my ear, his voice comes at me, and even though I want nothing more than to chuck the thing through a fucking window, I move it back against my head to hear what he has to say. “Got my woman because of those sick fucks. Saw her straddlin’ the line of life and death, beat so badly I didn’t think she’d wake up. Got lucky that she did. Know it doesn’t mean much comin’ from a stranger, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.” “My contact said the ring was taken apart by a couple of vigilantes. Is that how you got involved?” I don’t know why I ask. Part of me appreciates his condolences, I guess, even though they do fuck all to bring Aislin back. “The short version.” I don’t know what that means, but I figure it’s not my business. “Thanks again for your help.” “No problem.” The line goes dead. Without much thought, I walk to the door, leaving my tools behind. They’ll be waiting for me to pick up where I left off tomorrow. Or at three a.m. when I can’t sleep. Betsy trails obediently behind me, waiting as I lock up, and we make the short walk across the yard back to my other house. Falling asleep comes surprisingly easy, but I was wrong about one thing. It is four a.m. when I am

back at Aislin’s old house, agitated and pounding nails in an attempt to silence her screams conjured from the nightmares in my head.

CHAPTER FIVE

Niko I STEP OUT OF MY TRUCK AND POCKET MY KEYS. MY steps are slow and sluggish as I walk up the steps to the precinct where I was transferred one month ago. Having been back on duty for two weeks now has been both a blessing and a curse. Despite the purpose of becoming a detective to help with my search of Aislin, I enjoy my job. It’s satisfying to know I help uphold the law, and that others depend on me to protect them and ensure their safety. Although law and order can be twisted and unjust at times, it’s still a system I’m proud to be a part of. Between working and fixing up Aislin’s old house, the two have kept me sane. However, the hours I spend on the job are hours I don’t spend looking for clues of Aislin’s

kidnapper. I love my job, and I’m damn good at it, but until I find what I’m looking for and make the bastard pay, I won’t rest. I want to spend every waking moment scouring the streets until I find the answers I seek. I carry two pictures in my pocket everywhere I go. One is of Aislin when she was twelve years old, and the other is of her mutilated form on the examiner’s table. With every person I come across, I want to stop and show them the pictures and ask if they recognize her. She was gone for fifteen years, and it’s hard to believe no one ever saw her again. In an attempt to rectify their fuck up, the department has given several public statements regarding her case. They’ve posted the picture of her as a little girl. Because her face was so unrecognizable and would probably terrify people if they saw the damage, they looked behind the scars and used an age progression software to generate an image of what she would look like without the scars and wounds today. We had a few call-ins, but every single fucking one was a dead end. It was as if she never existed to everyone else, when to me, she was my existence. She was the reason I got up in the morning. She was the reason I moved through life. She was the reason I kept moving forward. She’d been my light for years, but now that light has flickered out.

I walk into the department, passing by a couple of front desk officers handling citizen inquiries. I weave through the abundance of desks littered through the room and straight over to the coffeepot that has ass-flavored coffee. I don’t care at the moment because I need that boost even if it does make me gag as I drink it. Tucking a file folder underneath my arm, I pour myself the foul-tasting sludge-thick coffee before taking it to my office. I throw the file on my desk and drop on my chair. “You look like shit warmed over.” I look up and find David Tavers striding through the door. As one of my oldest friends, I’ve known him since before Aislin disappeared. He’s one of only a handful of people I’ve kept in contact with over the years. Before Aislin’s body was found, we both worked on her case off the books. When a lead needed to be followed, I did the following while Tavers stayed behind on the home front. We both knew the idiots working in Westbridge at the time weren't doing dick regarding her case. “Fuck off,” I grumble, lifting my cup to my lips, then cringe when the nasty liquid hits my tongue. “How in the hell can you stomach that shit?” Tavers asks, leaning a hip on my desk and crossing his arms. “I can’t, but it’s either that or take a nap on one of the bunks.”

“Another dream?” Tavers knows about the fucked-up dreams I deal with regularly. Hell, they aren’t dreams; they’re nightmares. Nightmares that would have a weaker person waking up from shitting their pants. Last night, after sleeping for only about thirty minutes, I woke with Aislin’s face a distorted mess, hearing her screams. Visions of a faceless man hovering over her wielding a bloody knife, his glowing grin the only thing I could see through the darkness. There was no fucking way I was going back to sleep after that, only for it to grip me again. Some nights I can get through the nightmares, but some nights, like last night, they leave my adrenaline running and my body shaking. I’m a grown fucking man, but sometimes those nightmares scare the fuck out of me. I’ve never prayed so much to a God I’m not sure exists that Aislin didn’t endure the horrors my unconscious mind conjures up. “Yeah.” He leans forward, ensuring no one hears our conversation. “Think you need to talk with someone about them? They aren’t getting better, man. If anything, they’re getting worse.” I shoot him a scowl. There’s no damn way I’m talking to some shrink who will try to analyze what I’m going through. There is no fixing what is wrong

with me. I take that back. There is a way to fix it. Find the twisted fuck who’s the root of my nightmares and rip out every organ in his body while he’s still alive. “Fuck that. They couldn’t do shit for me.” I pull the folder toward me and flip it open. It’s an open case Tavers and I are working on about the murder of a four-year-old child. The parents were out on a date while their seventeen-year-old babysitter was at their house watching the little boy. A robbery occurred, and the child was stabbed in the back while he was sleeping in his bed. The whole thing feels off. The parents aren’t grieving like normal parents who’ve just lost a child to a violent crime. Not to mention, why would the robber enter the child’s room and murder him in his sleep? Something else is going on here. I barely have the folder open when Captain Morgan— yes, Morgan is his last name—walks in my office with an older man following him. “James. Tavers. Change of plans. Coborn will take the case of the four-year-old. This is Clem Stewart.” He gestures for the man to step forward. His eyes are red rimmed and puffy, indicating he’s been crying. His hand trembles when I grasp it in mine for a shake. Morgan turns back to Mr. Stewart. “Mr. Stewart, these are two of my finest detectives. They’ll be the ones working on your case. You tell

them what you just told me, and they’ll be able to help you.” Flipping the file closed, I hand it to Captain and motion for Mr. Stewart to take a seat in the chair across from my desk. I grab a pen and pad of paper to take notes as Tavers comes to stand beside me. “Mr. Stewart, what can we help you with?” Mr. Stewart rubs both hands down his pale face as if to compose himself before saying, “I need help finding my niece. I think she was abducted.” “When was the last time you saw her?” I ask. “Two days ago.” I eye the man, aging him to be late thirties to early forties. “How old is your niece, Mr. Stewart?” “Twenty-four.” “And her name?” “Rebecca.” I jot the information on the pad. “What makes you think Rebecca was abducted? Is it possible she just hasn’t had the time to contact you?” His eyes water as he twists his hands together in his lap. “No, Detective. She lives with me. I’ve seen her every day since she was eleven years old. Something’s wrong. Something’s happened to her.” Silent tears slip down his cheeks. “It’s okay, Mr. Stewart. We’ll see what we can find out. Do you have a picture of her with you?”

He shakily grabs a picture from his shirt pocket and slides it across the desk. I pick it up and examine it. Rebecca looks younger than what I expected the twenty-four-year-old to be. She has medium-brown, shoulder-length hair with blue eyes. Although she’s smiling, it looks stilted as if she wasn’t too happy when the picture was taken but was trying to play if off as if she was. I hand the picture over to Tavers then regard Mr. Stewart. “Is that her most recent picture?” His eyes drop to his lap, but I still see his lip quiver when he answers. “No,” he says quietly. “That one is several years old. She looks… different now. She didn’t like having her picture taken.” His voice cracks at the end. “Can we keep this one?” He nods silently. I take the picture back from Tavers, rip the paper from the pad, and paperclip the picture to it to be put into a new file. Thirty minutes later, we have Mr. Stewart’s full statement, including what her daily life looks like. After a promise from us that we’ll call with any questions or updates, an officer escorts him out. Cases like these are the hardest, but when we solve and close them, it can be the most rewarding. The answers may not always be what we want them to be, but at least they’re answered and not

left open in the air. I chuck my half-full coffee in the trash with a good riddance and grab the pad of paper. Tavers and I load up to check out a couple of places Mr. Stewart believes Rebecca may have visited. According to him, she was bullied in school quite a bit and never made friends because of it. She had no job, no boyfriend, and was a hermit, choosing to rarely leave the house. It left us with hardly anything to go on. The places we visited and the people we spoke to came up a dead end. Oftentimes, situations like these remind me of Aislin’s case. She’s never far from my mind, and I can’t help but to compare them. Since my phone call with Tripp, I’ve gotten no more leads. The more I come up empty, the more the rage takes hold of me. Especially during times I’m interrogating suspects in sexual assault cases. Captain’s warned me several times that if I don’t cool my temper, he’ll put me on a temporary leave of absence and not let me come back until the station’s resident psychiatrist clears me. I want to tell him to fuck off and send me home, but people depend on me. I refuse to let down anyone else. “How’s the house coming along?” Tavers asks as we walk back to the car after another empty lead. This was the last place on the list. “Got the floors done and the walls painted. I’m tearing out the cabinets in the kitchen this

weekend.” “You know if you need help, you can call me.” He’s offered several times to help, but fixing Aislin’s house—and to me, it will always be her house—is something I need to do on my own. It helps me when the anger takes over, and the ache in my chest overwhelms me. It calms me to be inside the same house where she’s been. I haven’t been in her presence in over fifteen years, but I still feel her there. It’s where I feel the closest to her. When I bought the house, it came with most of the things her mom had left behind. Besides getting rid of the outdated furniture, I still haven’t gone through the more personal items. I packed them up and stuffed them in the attic to deal with later when my mind is in a better place. Aislin’s room hasn’t been touched. I haven’t even gone in the room. I know it’s the same as it was before she left from the quick peek I took inside when the realtor showed me the house. I don’t know if it was because her mom was too lazy to get rid of her things or if a small part of her did love her daughter and couldn’t bear to part with her things. If I’m honest with myself, I’m scared as fuck to step foot into the room. Seeing her old things, the way it was the last time I was in there, the small things she’s collected over the years of our friendship. I’m scared shitless it’ll send me over the edge. Maybe once I find her killer, I’ll be able to handle it, but

until then, her room stays closed up tighter than Fort Knox. “I’ll let you know,” I tell Tavers, but we both know I won’t call him. No one besides me has been in the house since I bought it. “Know what you want to do with it yet?” “Not yet.” He checks his mirrors before pulling away from the curb and into traffic. “Let me know if you want to sell it. Mindy has a realtor friend.” I grit my teeth with the pain in my chest. Even the thought of selling her house leaves my chest feeling like a semi-truck filled with cement is sitting on it. There’s no fucking way I can get rid of her house. At least, not until I find the answers I need. “Not sure if I’ll go that route, but if I do, I’ll let you know.” I grab my cup of fresh coffee we picked up after leaving the station and take a sip. So much fucking better than that shit at the precinct. “How’s Mindy and the baby?” Mindy is Tavers’ wife. They met in college their freshman year and have been together ever since. They had a baby three months ago, delivered by Csection a month early. It had something to do with the umbilical cord wrapped around the baby’s neck. It was touch and go for a while, but last I heard, both were doing really well. “They’re both good. Shelly’s got colic and

keeps us up half the night, but I’ll take that over the other shit. Girl’s strong and resilient.” The proud note in his voice is unmistakable, and it makes me happy for them both. I’ve kept my distance from the baby because it makes me think of having my own. Even at fifteen, and not really understanding the idea of a baby yet, I knew I wanted to marry Aislin and have a family with her one day. Every-fucking-thing reminds me of her. “Mindy wants you to come over for dinner. She hasn’t had a chance to see you much since you’ve been back.” I’ve been a shit friend since moving back and haven’t been by their house as much as I should. “Yeah, I’m not sure if I’m the best person to have around right now.” He knows what I mean. My attitude isn’t worth shit lately, and I wear a constant scowl on my face. I’m sure I’ll probably scare the baby even if I did work up the courage to look at her. “Maybe that’s what you need. To be around people who care about you.” I almost laugh at his suggestion. Being around happy people isn’t something I want right now, especially ones who’ve recently had a baby. It wouldn’t help me, and it would only turn their moods sour. It’s best I stay away from people as much as possible for the time being.

L ATER THAT EVENING , I’ M SITTING IN MY LIVING room with Betsy on the floor at my feet. I have Aislin’s open file on my lap with the images the medical examiner took spread out on the coffee table in front of me. I do this every night. I study them over and over again, hoping something new will appear, but nothing ever fucking does. I’ve had this file for a month now, and for those four weeks, this is how I end each day. I chug my beer and set the bottle on the end table. Betsy shifts at my feet, the noise of the glass hitting the wood disturbing her sleep. I pick up the examiner’s report and read it over once again. Although I know the report by heart, my hands still shake from anger when I read the examiner found over one hundred and fifty scars on her body. She even had scars on the bottom of her feet from fucking cigarette burns and behind her ears from what the examiner believes were razor blades. All that does not include the fresh wounds. There were over thirty of those. When I go on to read that her insides were so badly bruised she had internal bleeding and that scar tissue existed from previous sexual abuse, my blood boils in my veins so hot I swear I feel the burn from it. My stomach rebels, and I have to force back the bile.

I drop the folder down on the table and lean my elbows on my knees, clutching my hair in my hands in frustration. I’m no fucking closer to finding out who took her and where he kept her. There’s no fucking way she could have disappeared without a trace. I’m failing her once again. But I won’t give up. I’ll never give up. Lifting my head, I land my gaze on the tattered and worn twine bracelet Aislin gave me the last Christmas I saw her. I finger the half heart-shaped charm. It’s made of one of those charms you see with half the heart saying “best” and the other half saying “friends.” I got the “best” and she got the “friends.” It’s plastic and cheap, but it’s one of my most prized possessions. Surprisingly, it’s lasted all these years. I’ve kept it on my wrist every day since she gave it to me except when I had to take it off to add another piece of twine to make it longer. Lifting my foot, I kick the table away from me, scattering the papers across the floor. Betsy jumps up and whimpers. I reach over and rub my hand along her furry head, calming her down. “Sorry, girl,” I murmur. My heart pounds and my chest heaves from my heavy breathing. I stare sightless at the papers for several long minutes before I get up, gather them, and place them back in the box. Grabbing the empty beer bottle, I take it with me to the kitchen and dump it in the trash. I pull another one from the

fridge and down half of it. My head hangs as I lean my hands on the counter, trying to calm my temper. Betsy lets out a loud bark, and I glance up. She’s looking out the window that faces Aislin’s house with the hair on her back raised. She barks twice more and then lets out a whine. “Betsy,” I call, walking over to her. I stand beside her and look out the window as well. The house next door is dark. I reach down and run my fingers through her hair. “There’s nothing out there, girl.” I search the darkness for a few minutes before deciding she must have sensed a wild animal. Maybe a raccoon or opossum. Turning around to grab a shower, I get two steps when she starts barking again except, this time, she’s not stopping. She runs up to the window and puts her front paws on the sill, her nails clicking on the glass. She barks a few times then stops to whimper, only for her to bark and then whine again. Trained from a pup to be a police dog, Betsy had spent ten years with the Brighton K-9 unit before she was shot while searching for drugs in a house. Instead of her healing and returning to work, they retired her, and she’s been mine ever since. A dog’s instincts are strong, even without training, so Betsy’s are fine-tuned and stronger. In the police department, you learn to always trust a dog’s instincts. Something is obviously out there agitating

her. Keeping an eye on the window, I walk over to the coffee table where I set my revolver earlier. I slide it from the holster and grab a flashlight from the junk drawer in the kitchen. At the back door, I whistle for Betsy, and she’s immediately at my side. “Come on. Let’s go see what’s out there.” Once we’re outside, she doesn’t run off after whatever she thinks is out there like a normal dog without training would do. Instead, she sticks close to my side as we walk across the dewy lawn and onto Aislin’s property. Starting with the backyard, I shine the light everywhere as I make my way around the house until I stop where I started. Betsy doesn’t bark anymore, but she does whine a few more times. I pull keys from my pocket and unlock the back door. The house is pitch black when we walk inside. Not wanting to spook an intruder if there is one, I make sure to keep the flashlight pointed at the floor. Fuckers need to be caught and charged with breaking and entering. I use the beam of the light and check the laundry room and pantry off the kitchen. Both are empty. My steps are quiet as I walk into the living room with Betsy still beside me. The room is void of any furniture, and besides a box of leftover wood flooring, a couple of cabinets, and a few tools

thrown here and there, it’s empty. I check the hall bathroom next and again find nothing. I curse under my breath when I open Aislin’s mom’s old bedroom door, and it squeaks. I need to remember to oil the hinges tomorrow. This room is also bare and smells heavily of fresh paint. Both this room and the attached bathroom are empty, along with the spare room beside it. My steps slow when I come to Aislin’s room. Betsy comes to stand at my side, and I look down at her before looking at the closed door. I stare at it for what feels like an hour. My palms sweat as I reach out and set it on the cool knob. Gritting my teeth and blowing out a deep breath, I turn it and push the door open slowly. I wait for several seconds before letting the light from the flashlight run across the room. I don’t walk inside; instead, I inspect the area from the doorway. I swear I smell her and hear her laughter inside the room. It sends a shiver down my spine, and the same heavy ache weighs on my chest. I don’t let the light linger on any one thing too long, afraid of what it’ll reveal. I’m a pussy when it comes to this room. I know it. I accept it. And it makes me even more of a coward because I don’t do anything to change it. After finding nothing out of the ordinary, I close the door, and this one doesn’t make a sound. I rest my head against the wood for a moment until my heart is beating normally again. Betsy nudges her

cool nose against my hand, reminding me that she’s there. “Hey, girl,” I whisper, and she looks up at me. Her eyes look sad as if she knows what I’m going through and wants to help. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” She whimpers once but follows behind me. Obviously, whatever spooked her was a wild animal outside, after all. Aislin’s room was the last room in the house, and no living person was inside; only the ghosts of the past.

CHAPTER SIX

Niko Age Thirteen USING MY RING FINGER, I SMUDGE THE CHARCOAL beneath her left eye, producing a shadow on the sketch I’ve been working on for weeks. I’m not any good. The only skill I have I learned from art class. My teacher, Ms. Pierce, is really talented, and she said I have potential. I don’t know if that potential will amount to anything, but I keep trying. I want to get this drawing of Aislin just right so I can give it to her for her birthday in a couple of weeks. Even if I don’t finish, drawing gives me a nice distraction from my life. I bolt upright and hide my blackened hands beneath my desk as my bedroom door creaks open. When I see Aislin, I release a deep sigh of relief.

“Hey.” My voice is somber. That’s all I say before I let my gaze drift back down to the pad of paper in front of me. She closes the door and starts to cross the room, so I reach up and flip it closed. “What are you doing?” I don’t look at her, but I know she’s cocked her head and stuck her hip out a little. She’s probably crossed her arms, too. I know everything about Aislin, which means I also know she is here to check on me. Even though I told her not to. “I could ask you the same thing.” “No, you couldn’t,” she tosses back defiantly. “You know why I’m here.” I sigh. “You shouldn’t have come. We’re leaving in a few minutes.” Her muted footsteps pad across the floor before she shoves her hip against mine to perch with me in my desk chair. “I needed to make sure you were okay. I’m really sorry about your grandpa.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Thanks. Anyway, he was old.” “Doesn’t mean you’ll miss him any less.” She’s trying to do the right thing by comforting me, and it feels good. Nobody else has been paying much mind to my feelings. Grandpa was Mom’s dad, so she’s been quietly sad, and Dad has been working extra so he could attend the funeral. And when he’s not at work, he’s with Mom. Reece and

Tori are both older than I am and have been with their friends a lot since Grandad died. We didn’t see him much, but he was still family. “You’re going to be okay, you know.” “Aislin, stop. I’m not going to cry or anything.” “Well, if you wanted to, you could.” Her shoulder brushes mine as she shrugs. “I wouldn’t laugh.” And suddenly, it doesn’t feel so good for her to comfort me. My cheeks warm with embarrassment. Of course, I’m going to be okay. I’m always okay. I comfort her. She needs me. Not the other way around. I clench my fists. “I’m not going to so drop it.” “Are you mad?” I feel her turn toward me, but I don’t look at her. I don’t want her to see how upset I am. Daddy always said I was a loose cannon when I was angry, but I never really understood what that meant until this moment. I can feel something building beneath the surface. The problem is, if she doesn’t stop pushing me, I don’t know what’s going to come out. I just know I’m going to explode. “Please leave,” I mumble desperately as water gathers in my lower eyelids. The chair we’re sharing creaks as she leans forward. “What was that?” Her hand lands gently on my shoulder.

I spring from my seat so fast she has to grab my desk to keep from toppling over. The shaking in my hands gets so bad that I shove them into my pockets. As I look down, I notice my wrinkled dress shirt has come untucked. A knock sounds on the door right before it swings open. My mother’s eyes are rimmed with redness, and she circles her gaze around the room, not looking at anything in particular but taking everything in. Softly, she announces, “It’s time to go, Niko.” I just nod and brush past her to get into the hallway. Once my back is to Aislin, I dash the heel of my hand beneath my eyes. “You’re welcome to stay,” Mom tells Aislin, something she tells her every time we leave the house when she’s over. And just like every other time, Aislin declines. “Thank you for offering, Mrs. James. I’ll go home.” Mom, too emotionally drained to argue, nods her head. “You’re always welcome, dear.” “I know.” The three of us walk down the dark hall into the sunlit kitchen. I pause by the rest of my family who’re donning coats and shoes to leave, and Mom hands me my jacket as she pulls on her own. Aislin cocks her head to the side, trying to get my attention, but instead of giving it to her, I

fumble with getting my arms into my jacket. Once that’s done, I kneel to put on my shoes. “I’ll see you later.” I don’t know why, but I look at her then and catch sight of her face just as she turns away. Her smile, always present, appears weak and sad. That alone makes me feel bad for getting upset. I dash outside after her. “Aislin!” Her brown hair swirls around her face in the wind as she turns to me. “Yeah?” she answers, crossing her arms across her chest. I stop in front of her, close enough to see the green in her eyes. “Come back later… if you can.” Her eyes drift over my shoulder to look at my family filing out of our house. When she brings them back to me, she shrugs and uncrosses her arms. “I don’t know. Maybe.” I shuffle a step closer and drop my voice to a whisper. “Today’s gonna suck. I could use a friend.” “Niko! We’re gonna be late!” my sister, Tori, yells from the car. Not that she needs to. I’m hardly five steps away. Aislin looks unconvinced, but I’m out of time. Reaching forward, I capture her cold hand in mine and squeeze. “Please.” Her arm is loose, and when I drop her hand, it falls limply at her side. I turn and run to the car, making Tori shout

when I crawl over her to sit in the back between her and Reece. By the time Dad backs the car out, Aislin is already gone. I was right. Today is going to suck.

HOURS LATER, NIGHT HAS FALLEN BY THE TIME WE arrive home. The entire family is drained, both emotionally and physically. The service was small and quiet. It was sad seeing my granddad like that. Besides Dad, he was the strongest man I knew, but I knew after seeing him in the casket—frail and broken, not to mention dead—it would be hard to remember him that way. I’d try. Granddad always said I ain’t got nothing to live for if I don’t work for it. I don’t know why, but that saying always made me think of Aislin. How she’s had to work more in her short life than a lot of people in this run-down town. I hope that means her life will get easier because she’s got a lot to live for. Those thoughts scatter as a guttural shout fractures the night air. Five pairs of tired eyes turn to face the house next door. “What’s the matter? You let me suck your dick for an extra hit last week!” “Kids, in the house.” Dad commands us inside

in a voice void of shock. Sadly, we’ve heard this argument before. My siblings listen, but I pause, straining to hear the muffled retort from next door, and look between my parents’ faces. Even though she’s exhausted, Mom dips her head to my level, grasps my shoulder, and says firmly, “Get inside. I know you worry, but you’re no use to anybody standing out in the cold dark. You know our door is always open to her.” “What do you mean you’re done with me? Who else are you gonna fuck?” Aislin’s momma is so loud she could be standing in her front yard. Half a dozen other neighbors along the street flip their lights out in response to her shouting. “Can we call the cops?” I whisper, my stare not moving from the house next door, my heart willing Aislin to come walking along the side yard. My parents exchange a glance, and my mother looks at me again. “You know we can’t.” “Why?” I nearly cry in surprise when the sound of glass breaking comes from Aislin’s house. Mom’s grip tightens on my shoulder, and she starts to pull me toward the house. “Nobody else on this street is going to call the police. We don’t want to make trouble for ourselves, but her momma would know it was us.” “So?” I argue, getting angry. “Aislin’s in

there!” “Her momma don’t hit her, and her momma’s men don’t hit her. She’ll come over when she can. She’ll be okay.” The way she said it made it sound like a prayer. A few more low, muffled sounds come from the house before Aislin’s mom screams. “What’s the matter with you? My cunt not good enough for you anymore? Maybe you like ‘em young. Yeah? You like ‘em young? You been fuckin’ my daughter behind my back, is that it?” I take two steps toward her house before arms band around my chest and haul me into ours. Flailing my feet, I kick out, losing a shoe on the porch. Dad sets me down but doesn’t let go, pressing my back against the wall of our living room. “Control your temper, Niko. Control it. You can’t go flying off the handle. You’re just a kid, but one of these days, you’re going to wind up in a mess of trouble if you lose control like that.” My shoulders tremble with the speed of my breaths. Clenching my palms so tightly, I cut bloody crescents into them with my fingernails. All I want is to get my friend and bring her somewhere safe. Knowing she’s in that house with her momma on drugs, egging on some strange man, makes me want to throw up.

“Go to your room and get ready for bed. I’m sure she’ll come over soon.” Knowing all I could do is nod, I do as he says. I lie in bed, listening to the screams of Aislin’s momma become less frequent and trying not to keep count of how many minutes have passed. Aislin still hasn’t shown up. Knots form in my stomach, and I have to get a glass of water because my mouth is so dry. Something close to panic closes in when I remember the way we left things earlier. She probably thinks I’m still upset with her. Why did I do that? Why did I get mad at her in the first place? She was only trying to help. After forty-two minutes, and the sounds of my parents getting into bed, I throw back the covers. Aislin isn’t coming, which means something is terribly wrong. After pulling two hooded sweatshirts over my tshirt, I lace up the old pair of sneakers I keep in my closet and carefully remove the screen from my bedroom window. Gripping the ledge, I lower myself the four feet to the ground. My toes touch silently on the soft, damp soil. Creeping across the side yard that separates Aislin’s house from mine, I find her window, the far one on the left of the gas meter, and peek inside. The glow of a light from inside her house allows me to see easily into her bedroom. It’s empty. My legs shake as I take off around the back of

her house, nearly tripping at the sight of the back door swinging wide open. An ocean of sick pitches in my stomach. Someone left through that door, but who and where they went, I’m not sure. As I take off into the woods behind our houses, I hope and pray with everything inside me that Aislin was running to our treehouse. A shiver runs down my spine. I can’t help but dart my eyes around the unlit area, straining to hear anything other than the sounds of my feet pounding the forest floor and my harsh panting. As soon as I’m far away from the houses, I click on the Maglite I stuffed into my sweatshirt pocket. Compared to the blackness of a country forest, the light is measly, but it’s something. I’d be lying if I said I’m not scared half to death. Every crunch of leaves and twigs beneath my shoes echoes, and I can’t tell if I’m truly alone. Why didn’t Aislin come to me like she always does? Why is she making me look for her? The running has made me sweat, but I feel so cold inside. The treehouse comes into view, and the panic begins to recede. She’s got to be in there. Where else would she be? I swallow past the lump in my throat, past the doubt, and call out. “Aislin?” At first, I can’t hear anything over my own breaths. Not even an animal scurrying nearby. I call out again. “Aislin, are you there?”

I begin climbing the ladder when the wood above my head groans. My heart kicks into overtime. It must be Aislin. I hesitate a second. Filled with anticipation and fear of being attacked or finding it empty, I poke my head through the hole. My shoulders slump, and I hoist myself up. “Aislin.” Her only movement is to squeeze her arms tighter around her knees. Crawling over to her, I prop the flashlight against the wall for some light and sit beside her. She’s been out here all alone in the pitch-black darkness. “You didn’t come over.” She responds by turning her head to the side, away from me, and lays it back down on her knees. “Are you okay?” “Go away, Niko.” She’s quiet, but the hint of stubbornness in her tone relieves me. My Aislin is in there somewhere. “I’m sorry. For earlier. And I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t come over when you needed to because I was a jerk.” Silence. My hands tremble so I stuff them into the hood of my sweatshirt, and then I remember why I put on two. Grasping the top one by the hood, I pull it over my head and drape it over Aislin. She doesn’t acknowledge it, but she will. The jeans and tee she

has on are thin and holey. They can’t be keeping her very warm, and she’s been out here for over an hour. I pull in a deep breath. “That man didn’t touch you,” I state instead of question. The thought of dealing with the alternative makes me want to throw up. “Your momma was just high again… right?” “No, he didn’t touch me. Now go away,” she spits. I throw out my arm, hook it around her shoulders, and drag her to my side. I wrap her tight, one hand pulling her head to my shoulder while the other rubs at her bare skin, attempting to warm her up. She squeaks in surprise. When her head contacts my shoulder, that squeak turns into a muted sob, and it breaks my heart. Sometimes I feel so helpless toward my best friend. I can be there for her and sneak her into my house when she needs somewhere safe, but I don’t feel like I’m doing anything for her. She still has to go home and live with that monster of a mother. I don’t mention her crying. Aislin is stubborn and wants to be strong. Instead, I hold her and wrap the extra sweatshirt around her tighter. When she seems to have herself under control, I force her to put the sweatshirt on. Our eyes make brief contact before she looks away.

“Thank you.” I take her hand and start tugging her toward the exit but stop before climbing down. “You never have to thank me, but I do need you to promise me something.” I pause, waiting for her to acknowledge me before I continue. She nods her head. “Promise me you’ll never do this again.” “Niko.” She sighs. “No. You haven’t taken off like this since we first met and I found you hiding out here all alone. You’re my North Star, but I need you to come to me first if you feel like disappearing. We can go together.” I reach back to rub the back of my neck. “I never want to feel that scared again.” She hesitates, and when she answers, it’s quiet. “Okay.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Niko THE SKETCH I MADE OF AISLIN WHEN I WAS thirteen stares back at me from the cluttered file strewn across my desk. I used the sketch when I tried to report her missing since I didn’t have a photo of her and I wasn’t about to ask her mom for one. After she disappeared, we discovered she wouldn’t have given one to us anyway. Not because she didn’t care about her daughter being found although I always knew that to be true. No, she didn’t give the police one because not a single photograph of Aislin existed. The police had to scan her photo from the yearbook to use on fliers. The same flier on my desk with ENDANGERED RUNAWAY in big bold letters beneath the word MISSING written in red.

It’s the same picture I carry in my pocket. Leaning back in my desk chair, I chew on the end of my pen and study the paperwork before turning back to the small, neat file in my lap. It’s the file of Rebecca Stewart, the young woman who’s been missing for nearly a month. The case has both Tavers and myself stumped. No matter how far we dig or who we talk to, no one has seen or heard from Rebecca Stewart. Hell, no one even knows who she is. It’s like she doesn’t exist. Clem Stewart said she’s a hermit, rarely leaving the house, but someone had to have seen her at some point. Frustrated, I throw the file down on my desk right beside the sketch of Aislin and rake my fingers through my hair. The two cases are similar in the sense that no evidence whatsoever exists. Both woman and child just vanished. It’s hitting too close to home, and it’s become more personal than the usual case. Over the years, I’ve worked on quite a few cases, but Aislin’s and now this one are the only ones I’ve had so much trouble with. I don’t fucking like it. When I became a police officer then a detective, my main goal was to find out what happened to Aislin and help others in similar situations. If I could stop it, no one would go through the same heartache I went through when I lost Aislin and knew nothing of what happened to

her. Although I’ve come across some cases that were quite difficult to solve, I’ve managed to unearth enough pieces to put together what happened. Some results were harsher than others and maybe not all the questions were answered, but I was able to give some sort of peace to the families. With Rebecca’s case, though, we have more questions than answers, and it’s appearing no answers are out there to find. It’s frustrating as fuck. I drink the dregs of my coffee then carefully put Aislin’s file back together. Afterward, I slip the meager information we have on Rebecca back in her file and carry it out to the living room with me. I grab my phone and hit Tavers’ number. “What’s up?” He answers on the second ring. “I think we need to pay Mr. Stewart a visit.” I get right to the point. “We must be missing something.” “Agreed.” There’s rustling on his side of the line. “The woman couldn’t have just disappeared without a trace. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he did something with her, or she never existed in the first place.” The thought has definitely crossed my mind over the past couple of weeks. The situation is too perfect. How in the fuck does someone just disappear like that? However, the couple of times

I’ve seen Mr. Stewart, he seems genuinely distraught and worried about his niece. I consider myself an excellent judge of character—a necessary trait on the force—and I’ve gotten no nefarious vibes from the man. He’s been very cooperative, answering any questions we ask without hesitation, and even went as far as offering for us to go over his house with a fine-tooth comb before we got the chance to mention it ourselves. The deep emotions on his face are sincere. Of course, there are people out there who can con anyone into thinking what they want them to, but my instincts tell me he’s not hiding anything. “Want me to grab you on the way?” Tavers asks. “No,” I grunt, grabbing my keys from the counter. “I’m already out the door. Be ready in fifteen.” I hang up and climb into my truck. My gaze lingers on the house next door. I finished the bathroom last weekend, and the outside will need to be done soon. An ache forms in my chest when I realize the house is almost complete. I still don’t know what I want to do with it once I’ve finished all the repairs. It’s something I’ve avoided thinking about because when I do, I want to smash something or cry like a fucking baby in the corner. I point my truck in Tavers’ direction, leaving my depressive thoughts behind.

Thirty minutes later, we’re pulling in front of Mr. Stewart’s place. It’s the typical house with white paint, black shutters, and a front porch with a couple of chairs and a small table. The manicured lawn makes the flowerbeds lining the two front windows pop. A red smaller model car sits in the driveway. I look around to the neighboring houses as Tavers and I walk up the sidewalk to the door. “It’s strange how none of the neighbors even knew Rebecca lived here,” Tavers remarks, sensing my train of thought. “Yeah, but if she never left the house, they wouldn’t see her.” Out of everyone in the neighboring houses, only one couple remembers Rebecca. The McRoberts are an elderly couple who had lived in the neighborhood for fifty years. According to them, they remember a young girl with the same description as Rebecca would be at her age, entering the house thirteen years ago. The only reason they remember her was because that was the day their grandchild was born and they had just got back from the hospital. The girl had been crying hysterically. Mr. Stewart was with her and had to scoop the girl up in his arms to carry her inside because she was so distraught. The McRoberts said they heard the girl’s mother, Mr. Stewart’s sister, had just died, and he was the only family she had

left. Tavers knocks on the door, and a few seconds later, it’s pulled open by a tired looking Mr. Stewart. “Mr. Stewart,” I say, stepping forward. “Can we come in? We have a few more questions for you.” He nods and steps back, pushing the door open for us to enter. “Of course.” Once inside, he leads us to a basic living room. A TV sits on a stand across from a recliner and couch with end tables on either end. A small potted plant decorates one corner along with a photo of Rebecca. Several other frames are on the wall with pictures of Rebecca and who he says is Rebecca’s mother. “Do you have any news?” he asks, taking a seat on the recliner. Tavers and I sit on the couch. Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and clasp my hands together. “No sir, not yet.” The dejected look he gives us sits heavily on my chest. He looks helpless and remorseful. I know exactly how he feels. I’ve felt that way for years while I looked for Aislin. “We came by to find out if there is any more you can give us,” I tell him. “We’re having a difficult time finding anyone associated with

Rebecca.” He nods and looks out the window across from him. “It’s my fault. I should have pushed her more to go out.” He looks back at us. “When she first came to live with me, she was so withdrawn, never wanting to do anything but sit in her room. I thought she was just depressed from her mother’s death, so I didn’t push her. I had hoped she would get better on her own. We were never close, but I loved her dearly. Her mother and I never got along, so I was never able to form a bond with her. I wish I could have done more for her.” He grabs his glass of tea from the table and takes a sip. I don’t miss the sheen of tears in his eyes. “You said she went to school for a while when she first came here?” Tavers remarks, pulling a small notepad out of his suit pocket. “Are you sure she didn’t keep in contact with anyone from school over the years?” Shaking his head, he puts the glass back down. “No. She only went to school for a month before I pulled her out and decided to homeschool her myself. The kids there... they didn’t understand her and tormented her.” Tavers nods and writes something down in the notepad. “And she never had any boyfriends?”

Mr. Stewart shakes his head again, looking down at his lap with a despondent expression. “She only ever had one boyfriend. That was five years ago, and it was from one of those dating sites.” My ears perk up at that. If we could find anyone who remembered her, maybe it could lead to someone else. “Do you remember his name?” His brow furrows in thought as he thinks for a moment. His eyes light up and he snaps his fingers. “Mark.” He nods. “I think I remember his name was Mark.” I look over at Tavers, and we share a look before he jots the name down. “Last name?” he asks, looking up. Mr. Stewart’s expression falls. “No. I never knew his last name. I never got to meet him either. Actually, neither did Rebecca. They always just spoke over the internet.” I have to force back the growl that wants to be let loose. One step forward and five fucking steps back. No matter what avenue we try, there’s nothing there. Tavers senses my frustration and asks, “And you said she never worked?” “No. She tried once but ended up not going on her first day.” I drop my head for a moment then lift it again. “Mr. Stewart, you have to give us more to work

with here.” I try to keep my voice calm. “We’re at a dead end. There must be someone who knows your niece beside yourself. Someone can’t be that much of a recluse. Did she ever go shopping? Or maybe paid bills? Run errands? What about doctors? Did she ever go to the doctor?” He wrings his hands together in his lap as tears spring to his eyes. His voice is hoarse when he whispers, “No. She never left the house.” His eyes plead with me to understand. “I tried so hard to get her to go out, but nothing worked. She just didn’t want to leave. She said the outside world was too stressful. It scared her. The most she would do is sit out on the back porch, and even there, she’d just stare off into space. Anytime I mentioned her going out, she’d freak out and beg me not to make her. Going to the doctors was a big no for her.” I close my eyes and clench my jaw. We’re getting fucking nowhere here. I hear the flap of Tavers closing his notepad, and I open my eyes. He looks just as frustrated as I do; he just hides it better. We both get up from the couch, and Mr. Stewart follows our lead. “I wish I could help more. I know I haven’t given you much, but Rebecca was just so closed off.” He looks at the picture of Rebecca on the wall and wipes away a tear. When he looks back at us, his eyes are red as if he’s trying to hold back from

falling apart. “I just hope wherever she is, she’s not hurting.” Tavers reaches out and puts his hand on Mr. Stewart’s slumped shoulders. “We’re working as hard as we can. We’ll find out what happened to your niece.” He nods miserably before leading us to the front door. “We’ll call if we have any more questions, and if you think of anything, anything at all, you call us.” “Just please find her,” Mr. Stewart says with a sorrowful voice. I look over at Tavers once we’re in the truck. “This is a fucking mess,” I growl, gripping the steering wheel with tight fists. “There must be something somewhere. No crime is this perfect.” “Maybe there is no crime.” I shoot my eyes to him, and he clarifies. “Think about it. Maybe she just left? Maybe she was tired of being stuck in the same house day after day, even if it was by choice. I realize it’s highly unlikely that someone with her problems would change so drastically like that, but it’s an avenue we should pursue.” He has a point. Although I doubt that’s the case. The chances of someone like Rebecca suddenly wanting to leave the protection of her home is extremely rare. But our options are limited at this point, so it wouldn’t hurt to look into other

means of her disappearance. “You’re right.” I rub my forehead, feeling a headache forming. “Start formulating a list of local transports, and we’ll start there.” I pull away from the curb as Tavers pulls out his notepad.

HOURS LATER , I’ M BACK AT HOME. SWEAT DRIPS down my chest as I silently count the pull-ups I’m doing on the bar I installed in the doorway of Tori’s old room turned weight room. My muscles burn as I pull myself up and slowly let myself back down. Once I’m done with my reps, I drop to the floor and wipe the sweat from my face. I’ve been going at it for a couple of hours now. I haven’t had much time lately to get in any good exercise. The move, settling in at the department, working tirelessly on Aislin’s case, and repairing her house has taken most of my time. It feels good to get in a good workout. It also helps to lessen the restless energy I have. I grab my water bottle from the small table inside the weight room and chug several swallows. Capping it, I take it with me to the bathroom connected to my bedroom. I strip down and climb into the cool shower to wash away the sweat and

grime of the day. I brace my arms on the tile in front of me, hang my head, and let the water beat down on my tense shoulders. Fifteen minutes later, I’m dressed in a pair of dark gray sweatpants and I’m grabbing a beer from the fridge when my cell phone rings. I grab it from the counter and hit talk. “Hey, Mom,” I say by way of answering. “Hey, sweetie, how are you?” Taking my beer with me, I walk out of the kitchen and into the living room. I flip on the TV, making sure it’s muted, and take a seat on the couch. “I’m good. Just sitting down to catch the last of the game.” She laughs. “Your dad is going through withdrawals. Going to all the home games for the past five years spoiled him. When I told him he’d have to switch teams so he could go to the Florida games here, his eye twitched… right before he threatened to divorce me.” “Well, you asked for that one,” I say, chuckling. “You know how he is about his Buckeyes.” “That I do,” she replies with a giggle. “Anyway, I called to ask if you could go up to the attic and grab something for me. There’s an old box of patterns up there that belonged to Grandma. I asked Christopher to get it for me before we moved, but you know how your dad can be

forgetful at times.” “Yeah, Mom. I can do that.” “Thanks, sweetie.” I prop my feet on the coffee table then smile when I think about Mom hitting the back of my head if she saw me doing this. “Anything else you need me to send your way?” I ask, taking a swig of my beer. “Nope. Not that I can think of. Oh!” she exclaims. “I talked to Tori today. She mentioned possibly coming out for a visit in a couple of months. I was thinking maybe your dad and I could come as well. Have a family gathering or something.” I haven’t seen my sister in almost a year. She and her husband moved out to Phoenix a couple of years ago for Michael’s job. They have two kids now, but I’ve only met their oldest, Bryanna. When Trey, their youngest, was born, I was working a big case and couldn’t get away from work. There hasn’t been a good time since then for me to make the trip out there. It’ll be good to see them. “I’ll give her a call tomorrow. Find out what her plans are and let you know.” “Okay.” She’s silent for a moment then she asks hesitantly, “Have you talked to Reece since you’ve been back?” “Once,” I grunt. Reece and I haven’t been close in years. He’s

the oldest of us three siblings. Five years my senior and three years Tori’s. Guilt eats at me because the distance between us is my fault. When Aislin disappeared, I pushed everyone away, and it hurt him when all my focus turned to finding out what happened to her. Even as a teenager, I did what I could to find her. My hurt and anger overshadowed everything else, and I just wanted to be left alone. He tried to tell me to forget it, that Aislin simply ran away, and it pissed me off. I became resentful toward him. Eventually, he stopped trying and turned bitter. By the time I realized what I had done, that I caused him an immense amount of pain by pushing him away, it was too late. I’ve tried over the years to form a bond with him, but he wants nothing to do with me and only barely puts up with me when forced. “Do you think,” Mom starts, pauses, and then starts again. “Do you think we could get him to come to dinner one night when we come?” I sigh. “I’ll talk to him. It may not go over well, but I’ll get him to come.” I can hear the hope in her voice when she says, “Thank you, Niko. I know things are tense between you two. I had hoped that strain would dissipate some with you living so close again.” “I want that too,” I tell her and mean it. I want my brother back. I’ve given him space since I’ve been back to give him time to get used to the idea,

but it’s time to get over his tiff and accept the fact I’m here and will be part of his life, whether he likes it or not. After a few more minutes of talking about nothing important, we hang up. I snag my beer off the table and finish it on the way to the kitchen. Headed back out, I stop and flip the TV off, deciding to forgo watching the rest of the game. My bed sounds really good at this point after my stressful and disappointing day working on Rebecca’s case. I pull the string that lets down the attic door and bring down the stairs. The air is slightly warmer up in the small space, and I have to bend my head to fit my tall frame. Pulling the drawstring to the hanging light, I look around and spy several boxes throughout the space. I search for the light green box Mom told me holds the old patterns. When they moved and I decided to take over the place, they told me they’d left several boxes up here. I come across a small stack of boxes and notice a few more behind them. Spying the green one on the bottom, I start lifting the others. I pause when I see my name written in black marker on one of the boxes. Curiosity has me crouching down and sliding the box closer to me. The flaps aren’t taped down, so I flip them back easily. My hands freeze on their way inside the box, and my heart slams in my chest when I see a big

red envelope inside. I know exactly what it is. My ass hits the floor as my eyes stare at the box, stupidly scared to pull out the envelope but desperately wanting to. I pull in a deep breath, reach out with shaky hands, and slide the envelope from the box. In reality, the envelope is light, but it feels like a hundred pounds sitting in my hands. This was one of the last things I ever got from Aislin. How it ended up in this box, I have no clue. I searched and searched for the damn thing for weeks after she disappeared, and I never found it. It’s something so simple but means the world to me because it came from her. With my heart pounding in my ears and my palms sweating, I pull the white piece of paper from the envelope. It’s over fifteen years old, but I swear I still smell her innocent scent on the paper as I unfold it and start reading.

Niko, Roses are red. We all know it’s true. But violets are purple. Not freaking blue. I bet you’re laughing right now, right? Yeah, you are. You can admit it. But

seriously, who made that poem? It’s a total lie. Anyway, I know this isn’t much, but I wanted to do something for Valentine’s Day. Even if I had the money to get you something, I would have no clue what to get you. What do girls normally get boys on Valentine’s Day? For some reason, I don’t see you wanting flowers, or chocolates, or a soft fuzzy teddy bear. At least this way, I know you’ll genuinely smile and be happy with it. Okay, I’m going to go now so I can get ready to meet you at the treehouse. I’ll see you soon. Love Always, Your North Star

The paper shakes as I bring it up to my lips and kiss it right over her name. She was right. Nothing else she could have given me would have made me smile bigger or make me happier. I always loved her homemade gifts. Those items came from her heart. And her smile was just as big when she saw mine. Aislin didn’t have much to smile about in her life, but she always wore a big one when she was

with me. Tears prickle my eyes when I think about that smile being one of the last ones I ever saw grace her beautiful face. Seven months later, she was gone. I only had two hundred and twenty-five more days with her before she was taken away from me. The paper crinkles in my trembling hands as I carefully refold and place it back in the envelope. Grabbing the flap, I tip the box over and look inside, finding it almost empty except for a few old schoolwork papers. I must have accidentally put it with the papers when I was packing. Mom always wanted me to keep my old schoolwork. She said I would want to look back at them when I was an adult. Pushing the box away, I climb to my feet with the red envelope in my hand. It’ll go in the box I have in my closet. It belongs with everything else I have from Aislin. I grab the green box for Mom, pull the string to the light, and leave the attic.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lelu THE GIRL SITS ON THE DIRTY BED WITH HER LEGS crossed. Her back is straight as she stares off into space. Her face shows no emotion, her expression stoic. She’s so still that if it wasn’t for the slight rise and fall of her chest, you’d think she was dead. On the outside, she appears calm and unaffected, but on the inside, her mind is screaming in agony. The crescent-shaped marks from her nails on the inside of her thighs will attest to that. But she refuses to show her fear and pain. The man brushing out the tangles of her long brown hair tugs her head backward. He has his legs spread wide with her sitting between them. The girl has learned to close off her senses or the stench of his pungent scent will wrap around her and make

her gag. Even just the sight of the man makes her sick. She tries her best to keep her eyes from him whenever possible. When he touches her, she forces her mind away. She ignores his grunts while he’s forcefully taking his pleasure from her body. With her back to the man, he can’t see the grimace coming from her when he runs his fingers through her hair, almost lovingly. These times are worse than when he’s beating, cutting, burning, or raping her because she knows it’s fake. The false niceties are more than her mind can handle. “Lelu,” the man whispers and slides his body closer to her. He groans when his naked chest meets her back, wrapping the beautiful length of hair he just spent thirty minutes brushing around his fist. Her hair has always fascinated the man. Since the very first moment he saw her, he wanted to wrap the thick mass around his shaft and jerk himself off. The strands are soft and feel like spun silk. He let her wash it today—not her body, just her hair. It’s especially soft as he brings the rope wrapped around his hand to his nose and breathes in deeply. The girl’s nails dig deeper into her skin until she feels the trickle of blood run down her thighs and drip onto the mattress. The pain she brings herself is different than the pain the man causes her. She can tolerate this pain because it distracts her. She needs the pain to forget about what the man is

doing to her. Rough lips and scratchy cheeks scrape across her shoulder. Nausea roils in the girl’s stomach, so she uses her finger and rubs it hard against the cuts she made with her nails. Pain explodes through her thighs, and with it, a smile almost appears. A moment later, her head is yanked back so forcefully she hears a snap in her neck and instant pain fills her. Before she can stop herself, she cries out. Her fingers fall from her thighs as she tries to catch herself from falling backward. “Stop that,” the man snarls behind her and yanks again. He forces her head back until her eyes meet his. The anger there frightens her. She’s seen his anger before and endured the force of it, so she knows her punishment will be swift and without mercy. The man’s eyes flicker to the new wounds on her thighs, and it spikes his blood pressure. The sight disgusts him, which is ironic because she’s covered in marks caused by him. However much the thought of him hurting the girl turns his cock to stone, he will not tolerate the girl harming herself. He’s warned his Lelu before, but obviously, she needs to be taught that lesson again. If she wants pain, he’ll give it to her himself. “What in the fuck have I told you about hurting yourself?” His spit flies in the girl’s face, landing on her

lips. She wants to wipe it away, but she doesn’t dare move. “You think your pain will outshine mine? You think you can make me disappear that easily? Do you remember the last time you tried this?” The girl very well remembered. It’s seared in her brain, and she’ll never be free from that memory. It’s not often she disobeys the man, but the few times she has, she remembers them well from the horror she received. She keeps her mouth shut, unsure if he truly wants her to answer. After watching her for several seconds, he climbs from the bed, maintaining his hold on her hair. Her knees scrape across the floor as she tries to find her footing when he drags her over to the old toilet. He shoves her to the floor in front of the toilet until her chest meets the basin then grabs the length of rope he brought in with him earlier. Yanking the girl’s arms behind her back, he winds the rope tightly around her wrists. Seeing the red already tipping her fingers sends blood straight to his dick. Once she’s secure, he takes another piece of rope and runs it around the toilet and then around her waist, tying it to hold her in place. The girl doesn’t struggle because she knows it’s futile. She’s fought him in the past, and it’s only ended very painfully for her. However much she may be scared on the inside, her eyes stay forward

and she keeps her body pliable. The more she cooperates, the better off she is. Whatever he has planned will happen regardless. The man runs his tongue up the girl’s neck, groaning with the taste of her. Although she’s dirty and hasn’t bathed in days, she still tastes better than anything he’s ever had before. He takes her hair and wraps the long waist-length around her throat then drapes the rest down her back. He sits his ass on her feet, preparing for the struggle he knows will come. The girl tenses when she feels the man’s breath on her hands. Revulsion has her stomach twisting when his lips slip around one of her thumbs. She drops her head down, and it nearly meets the rim of the toilet. She stares down at the dingy water, trying to push away what’s happening and think about other things. The trouble with that, though, is there are no other things to think about. She has no memories of what her life was like before she came here. Her memories of what the sky looks like, or how the grass feels underneath her bare feet, or the feel of the wind blowing in her hair are so hazy, she wonders if they are memories at all or just a figment of her imagination. An agonized scream leaves the girl’s lips when the man rips away her thumbnail with his teeth. She struggles against the ropes and gets absolutely nowhere. Before the pain has a chance to diminish

even the slightest bit, the man grips the girl’s pointer fingernail with his teeth and pulls until that nail rips away. He does this over and over again until all ten nails are gone. The pain doesn’t stay focused on the girl’s fingers but travels through the rest of her hands and up her arms. The rope is so tight around her middle that each heavy breath she takes hurts her chest. Tears slip down the girl’s face and splash in the toilet. The man behind her licks his lips, relishing in the coppery taste of her blood. He takes one of the girl’s middle fingers and sucks on the end, drawing more of her blood in his mouth. The girl’s screams are loud, but the sound is pure music to his ears. Slipping her finger from his mouth, he looks down at the damage, mesmerized by it. He didn’t take the full nail. He just bit the corner and ripped it away, not caring that it tore away part of her nail bed with it. He just wanted the fucking nails gone, so she couldn’t dig them in her flesh again. The man unbuttons his pants and pulls down the zipper. His heavy cock falls out of the denim and slaps against the girl’s ass. Pushing on the base, he puts it between her legs where it rests against her pussy. A pussy that has only ever felt his cock, and one that will only ever feel his cock. When he rubs it against her, she’s dry. She’s always dry, and while normally he loves shoving himself inside her dry heat, this time, he wants

something different. Using the blood dripping from the girl’s fingertips, he rubs his fingers over her asshole, getting it wet, and slipping two fingers inside. The girl doesn’t move a muscle except for her quiet sniffles, which piss him off even more. Adding a third finger, he shoves them inside so hard her stomach slides up the basin of the toilet a couple of inches. This gets the response he wanted; her wails of agony. Pulling his fingers from her, he gathers more of the blood on his palm, grabs his cock, and gives it a few strokes, making sure to coat his shaft. He aims the tip at her back hole and pushes just the head in. Grabbing the end of her hair that’s still draped over her shoulder with the majority around her neck, he yanks hard. He’s forced to stop pulling when the ropes holding her prevent any further movement. “You fucking hurt yourself again, I won’t be so nice, Lelu,” he growls, pushing the rest of the way in with all his force. The pain shooting inside the girl’s bowels has her body bucking and a guttural cry leaving her lips. She strains against the ropes and the toilet she’s tied to, but no matter how much she tries, she can’t get away from the brutal force behind her. She balls her hands into a fist, and although the pain in her fingers is intense and sharp, that pain doesn’t compare to the unbearable pain shooting through her butt, thighs, and back right now.

Her back arches backward with the pull on her hair wrapped around her neck. A hand comes under her arm and up her chest until his hand grabs her shoulder from the front, where he uses both that and her hair to pull her down as he thrusts up. The girl has felt pain before many, many times, but this is excruciating. Her vision starts to flicker, and nausea roils in her stomach. She tries to swallow the bile back, but the hair around her throat prevents the muscles from working. Tears leak from her eyes, both from the pain and from her own hair choking her. The man behind her pushes his hips with brutal force. Her tight muscles clamp down on him—not from spasming in pleasure but from her body trying to expel him. His groans become grunts as he pushes his chest against her back, and in turn, pushes her chest against the ceramic basin, cutting off more of her air flow. Her head is tipped back, nearly lying on his shoulder. He slows his movements to run his nose up her neck then takes the same path with his tongue, lapping up the delicious tears sliding down her cheek. He buries his face in her hair, breathing in her scent. When her cries quiet to soft whimpers, his satisfaction dissipates. He takes his hand from her shoulder, grabs the rim of the toilet with one hand and the back of her head with the other, and shoves

her face forward. Her chest bends over the toilet, and her face meets the murky water inside. He can feel her struggle, trying to push with her chest to free her face from the water. All she manages to do is push her ass back against him, lodging him impossibly deeper. Air hisses out between his teeth with the pleasure this girl is unknowingly giving him, and he uses the rim of the toilet to strengthen his drive forward. He keeps her face in the water for several thrusts before yanking her head back. Water drips down her face as she sputters and coughs. “Are you going to hurt yourself anymore, Lelu?” the man asks against her ear, making sure to avoid the nasty water dripping down her face. When she doesn’t answer, he starts to shove her face back in the toilet. “No,” she cries. Satisfied with her answer, even if he really doesn’t believe it, he puts both hands on the rim of the toilet and drives forward once again. He stops long enough to grind his pelvis into her backside. Feeling the tip of his dick hit something, he then slowly pulls back out, only to slam back in again. He looks down at his dick and sees even more blood on his shaft than what he used to coat himself. His balls draw up with his impending orgasm as he hammers in and out of her. Her head is slumped forward and little cries of pain leave her lips each

time he shoves himself inside. The girl’s pain is the man’s pleasure. He grunts loudly and holds himself still as he releases his cum inside the girl’s ass. Out of breath, he leans his weight against her, resting his head against the back of hers. Moments later, he pulls himself from her body, fixes his pants, and then unties the girl. She falls limply to the floor on her side, cum and blood dripping from her ass. He grabs her by the arm and hoists her up. “Get on the bed,” he grunts then watches impatiently as she slowly makes her way over to the bed and sits down. His lips curl into a smile when she winces with pain as her butt meets the mattress. Picking up the brush from the floor where it fell when he dragged her to the toilet, he again sits behind her. He unwraps her hair from around her neck and starts brushing out the tangles once more.

CHAPTER NINE

Niko THE HEADLIGHTS OF MY TRUCK POOL OVER THE driveway, illuminating my old garage. I tap the button to open the door and idle while it cranks up. It needs replacing. If I remember correctly, my parents had a new one put in about fifteen years ago. I’ve put so much time into working on Aislin’s —fuck, I mean, my other—house that I’ve been slacking on my own upgrades. My parents took good care of their home, especially after the economy picked up and us kids became more independent. It was outdated, but what house around here wasn’t? For a single guy who’s never home, the house has been working just fine, but I suppose it’s time to start upgrading. I pull my truck in and cut the engine. After

stabbing the garage door button, I sit in the quiet darkness. Scrubbing a hand over my tired face, I run it through my hair before letting it fall limply to my lap. Today was another waste. We combed through every cab, bus, train, and independent driver in the area, hoping just one person had caught a glimpse of Rebecca. Anything, any tiny ass lead but we came up empty-handed. I expected as much but hoped for better. I can’t say I’ve been a shining example of positivity lately. With each day that passes, the negativity creeps in further. With a sigh, I climb out into the darkness of my garage. An eerie feeling slithers up my spine. My right hand settles on the butt of my gun where it’s holstered just behind my right hip, and I look around the unlit space. A workbench runs parallel along the back wall; pegboard tiles the wall above it, to the left of the window, with an array of tools hanging from hooks. Beside the bench are two waste bins—recycling and garbage—but not enough space between for someone to hide. I turn slightly and move to the front of my truck. The right side of the garage has the new cabinetry I installed after I moved here. The shelving Dad had up was a serious safety hazard. And the tools I wanted to store wouldn’t fit. Fuck, I curse myself. Nobody’s here. When I pulled the truck in the single-car garage, I would have seen someone, but the thought brings no

comfort when I still feel like I’m being watched. I stare out the single window into my backyard, straining my eyes to see through the thin amount of moonlight streaming through the smudged glass. The memory washes over me of that time I ran through the woods looking for Aislin. I’ve walked many nights alone since then, and each time, that same feeling of sickness comes over me. That desperate desire to either break out in a run or turn back to safety makes me feel like a damn pussy, but I haven’t been able to shake it since I was just a kid. I roll my head, cracking my neck from side to side, and force myself to relax. I’m overworked and under-rested. That’s all this is. The second that thought leaves my mind, Betsy howls loudly from inside my house. “Damnit!” I remove my gun from its holster, cursing myself again. This time for not trusting my gut and letting my guard down. Positioning myself next to the door, my gun gripped down by my side, I listen. More of that eerie silence engulfs me. Betsy growls again and lets out a sharp series of barks. Every muscle inside me tenses as if I’m expecting someone to burst through the door. Her paws click across the floor, so quietly that if I weren’t listening, I wouldn’t hear them. I think she’s moving toward the window. Then silence.

I grip the knob, turning and pushing the door open. The hinges creak—the same way they have for thirty years. The damn things need replacing. That thought drifts away as I zero in on my training and focus on my surroundings. The floorboards pop underneath my boots. I make my way across the hall, both hands gripping the pistol I hold up and ready. I turn to my left and scan the living room. A shadow flashes across the wall, and I nearly jump out of my fucking skin with the rush of adrenaline that hits me. A car turns down my street and headlights glow through the front window. Son of a bitch. A low growl sounds again from near the back of the house. With the front clear, I make my way cautiously in that direction. Another floorboard snaps as I walk past, and I’m thankful they aren’t creaking. Whoever’s in my fucking house knows he isn’t alone, but it’s harder to pinpoint my location when only certain spots on the floor make noise. The dining area has a low-sitting bay window, and that’s where I spot Betsy. The old dog is up on her hind legs, front paws pressed against the glass. The steam from her heavy panting fogs the glass in front of her, causing her to whip her head back and forth to see around the cloudy vapors. She lets out another low growl; her black eyes fixed on something outside. A ball of tension releases from my gut, and my grip slackens on the gun. Nobody’s

inside. Outside, though… “What is it, Bets?” I ask, moving toward the patio door. Someone might not be in my house, but something out there is setting her off. Her paws click agitatedly against the glass, and she snarls, still fixated on whatever she sees. The door silently slides open with a push, just enough to stick one booted foot and half my torso out. The chilly night air brushes my skin. I scan the dark, looking for movement, for anything. That eerie silence creeps back in, but I push it out. After five minutes of standing half outside my door with a gun in my hand and not seeing a damn thing, I’m convinced nothing’s there. Not anymore. With one last scan across the wood line at the edge of my property, I step back inside, throw the door closed, and lock it. “Down, Bets,” I mutter as I slip my gun back into the holster and make my way through the dining area into the kitchen. I need a beer, stat. After a long day at work, it’s going on nearly ten p.m., and I’ve had nothing to eat or drink in hours. My old girl follows my lead, brushing her warm body against my leg, and I trail my fingers through her bristly fur. She stops at her bed at the side of the kitchen while I continue straight to the refrigerator. The bottle cap clicks across the countertop when I toss it, and the refreshing taste of hops

provides instant relief. I down half the bottle and wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. I lean back down into the fridge in search of food, but there’s not much to choose from. I really need to hit up the grocery store. I pull out the ingredients and prep a deli sandwich. One bite in and the exhaustion from a full day hits me like a wave. I won’t need the help of a workout to fall asleep tonight. For the first time in what feels like ever, it seems my body will give in and let sleep pull me under. After washing down my dinner with the rest of my beer, I unbutton my shirt and remove it on the way to my bedroom. Dropping it in the hamper, I remove my holster and set my gun on the nightstand to the right of my bed then peel the white tee over my head. My pants are next, both joining the dress shirt, and in nothing but a pair of boxers, I fall face down onto my king-size bed. “Fuck,” I mumble, unable to fight my eyelids drifting closed, and within seconds, any thoughts left of the day dissipate as sleep carries me away.

I BOLT UPRIGHT IN BED . B ETSY HOWLS FROM HER place in the kitchen, and I can dazedly hear her nails clicking frantically across the floor. My eyes

burn with dryness from prying them open during a deep sleep. What the fuck is going on? I strain to hear a sound, anything other than Betsy, and my groggy mind flits back to earlier this evening. Whoever set off my dog must be back. Shit. The sleepiness dissipates, and adrenaline takes its place. This I know. This I’m familiar with. Most people would probably even say I recklessly welcome the burn of the chase. Some fucker is lurking around outside my house, and he’s not going to get away this time. On that thought, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, snag my dirty pants from earlier, and tug them up over my hips. I grab my phone, rip the tee over my head and start dialing. This time, I’m calling in backup. “Tavers.” “Need you at my place. Put a call in to dispatch. Second time tonight someone’s set my dog off and I’m not letting him get away this time.” Tavers swears quietly, probably in an attempt not to wake his wife and child. I grab my loaded gun from the nightstand and check the hall. Clear. “I’m on my way. Maybe you should wait for backup.” My jaw clenches at his disapproving tone. “I’m not letting him disappear again. I don’t like being fucked with.” That’s when I hear them. Gunshots.

Two. Three. Four. The pop so loud it sounds as if they’re right outside my goddamned house. I drop back into the hall and crouch down as Tavers’ anxious voice fires off in my ear. “Goddammit, Niko, talk to me. What’s happening over there?” I can hear him rushing around, but all it does is serve as a distraction. Someone’s out shooting in my yard; the last thing I’m going to do is sit around and wait for them to finish or try to break in. “Get here as soon as you can,” I bark into the phone before hanging up and tucking it into my pocket. I trust him to do exactly as I’d do if the situation was reversed. As I creep into the open area of the house, headlights pool directly into my front window. The shades are pulled, dimming the muted yellow, but the direction looks as if someone is parked in my front yard. I don’t realize how bad my hands are shaking until I reach for the sliding glass patio door to unlock it and sneak out the back. This has nothing to do with the current situation—I’ve been a cop for a long time and remaining calm under pressure has always been my forte. What this has to do with is that I’m in this house, in this fucking neighborhood, hearing gunshots go off in the middle of the night again. Something I haven’t dealt with in many years. Something I used to deal with

at least once a week as a kid. With that thought, my mind immediately turns to my family, and the screaming need to run down the hall to make sure everyone is safe consumes me. Except my family isn’t here because I’m no longer a kid and this is now a safe neighborhood. My stomach cramps painfully as I swallow dryly and step out into the black night. “Down,” I mutter low to Betsy who tries to follow. At my command, she drops to her belly directly in front of the patio door. Not where I want her, but it’ll do. I close the door behind me on the way out to keep her inside. Centering my focus, I press my back along the siding of my house and scan the area in front of me. Just like earlier, there’s an eerie silence and nothing else. No movement. Not the snap of a twig or the twitch of a shadow. I direct my gaze to the windows of Aislin’s old house, but after a moment, it’s clear there’s no obvious movement there either. Confident that the real threat is on my front lawn, I slowly creep along the back wall to the side of my house. Just as I start to peek around the corner, Betsy starts up a series of barks from inside. I can hear her jumping against the glass patio door. Her sudden noise startles me, and I trip farther out into the open than I mean to. The headlights from the car on my lawn bathe me in their yellow glow, and it feels like I’m the criminal here. Fuck! I know

the second the driver spots me even though I can’t see a damn thing. Tires spin and chunks of my front lawn fly in the air. They peel out into the road, and without a second of hesitation, they’re gone. I don’t wait any longer either and sprint to the back of my house. My lungs burn with the sudden movement, the adrenaline, and the intensity of the situation. I keep running to the other side, checking the area between Aislin’s old house and mine. Empty. Betsy’s barking stops, but I can hear her low growl coming from inside. When I round the corner again, she’s sitting in front of the patio door, staring into the wooded area behind my house. I start in that direction, straining my eyes and ears to pick up movement. Each step farther away from my house brings a new wave of paranoia. The sound of gunshots echoes in my head. My skin feels tight, and the area just below my right ear tingles. I roll my ear to my shoulder and pinch the muscles together to try to alleviate the sensation. A cold sweat starts to bead along my brow. My vision blackens along the edges and suddenly, the sound of my blood rushing fills my ears. “Niko, hey. Hey!” A heavy hand lands on my shoulder, and I nearly jump out of my fucking skin. Somehow, Tavers managed to walk up right behind me, and I had no idea.

“Are you okay? We checked the front of the house, inside, outside, fuck, you were—I didn’t know where you’d gone off to. What the fuck, man?” I spin around to see him inspecting me. “Christ, man, a little warning next time,” I bit out irately. I realize I’m still holding my weapon, so I click on the safety and tuck it into my waistband. His brows crease in confusion. “I was calling your name. As soon as the place was cleared, I set out looking for you. Yelling for you. I come around the back of the house, and you’re standing here staring into the fucking trees. You weren’t even moving. Thank fuck you were standing or else I would have thought...” He lets whatever he was thinking trail off into the quiet. I was moving, wasn’t I? I look around my location, and realize that I somehow stopped just along the tree line between my two houses. The fuck? He steps up beside me, looking through the trees. “You sure you’re all right? I know work’s been a series of dead ends, but now this shit’s coming to your house... maybe you should take a few days off?” “No,” I clip. “Niko—ˮ I level him with a steady glare—the only thing about me that seems steady at this moment. For

some reason I can’t fathom, this is messing with my head. He stares back, not one to be intimidated easily, and then lifts his hands in surrender. “Whatever. Don’t take a few days off, but you need to sit your ass at our dinner table some night this week or Mindy’s going to chew my head off.” I sigh. “That I can do.” “Come on. There’s an officer out front ready to take your statement. We got here, saw the tracks on your lawn, and sent the second squad to patrol the other direction since we didn’t pass anyone on our way out here. The other officer, I think she goes by Daniels, and I didn’t see anybody when we checked the perimeter.” “Dammit.” We walk to the front of my yard where four long divots stretch across the width and clumps of fresh earth litter my lawn. “Detective James, if you wouldn’t mind letting me take your statement, we can get out of here and let you get back to bed,” a feminine voice calls out as she strides toward us. I let myself appreciate her. Long, lean legs and curvy hips, that police uniform does a whole heck of a lot for her form. It more than hints of what lies underneath, and I can say that in another frame of mind, I might want to find out. Tonight, though, I just want her to get the hell

gone. “Officer Daniels, is it?” She nods her head and takes my outstretched hand. “Sorry to drag you out here. I’ll keep it quick so we can all get on with our night.” I don’t miss the way her eyes run over the tight tee stretched across my torso, and I swear when they flit back to my eyes, they hold a bit of desire. “Not a problem at all, Detective.” She smirks. “Niko,” I grunt. Her small hand falls lightly on my bicep. That small contact ignites the adrenaline again, and I knock it away as if her touch burns. She gasps in shock. A cold sweat breaks out across my neck. “Sorry,” I mutter. What the fuck is wrong with me? “Let’s just take your statement, okay?” I cross my arms over my chest and nod, though my back molars are grinding together. After I relay my information, she hightails it out of there but still tosses an appreciative glance my way before she goes. Tavers follows minutes later, ready to get back home to his wife and kid. I walk inside and give Betsy a few good pats for doing her job and waking me up. As I turn toward the hall to my bedroom, though, I stop. I still can’t shake the paranoia. I feel like I could jump out of my damn skin. Even after the most disgusting nightmare, I’m able to find a way to keep busy until

the fear goes away. This isn’t fear, though. This is something else. I can think of only one thing that’ll help. I snatch my keys from the bowl in the entry and stalk out to my truck.

CHAPTER TEN

Niko MY FISTS POUND ON THE HEAVY WOODEN DOOR OF A house I visited once about ten years ago. Regardless of that fact, I could find it in my sleep. Not because it’s in the same neighborhood I grew up in, but because I’ve found myself driving past it on more than one occasion when I visited home. I never found the courage to pull over and stop by for a chat, though. My words ran together in my head so fast they made me sick; I didn’t think I could get them out. I knock again. This time harder—the echoing boom more than loud enough to wake the sleeping resident. As my fist swings to make contact a third time, a voice calls from inside. “You’d better get the fuck back in your vehicle

and drive off if you know what’s good for you. I’ve got a gun, and I’m not afraid to use it.” My throat dries at hearing a voice I’ve only heard through a cell phone inbox for nearly a decade. So much so, when I respond, only a single word scrapes up my throat. “Reece.” Metal scrapes on metal and then the heavy door swings inward a foot. “What do you want?” “You gonna shoot me?” I ask. I don’t know why. I’m not trying to be funny, but the mood is too damn tense. Something stops him from slamming the door in my face. Could be the way I look or the sound of my voice, I’m not sure. Whatever he perceives is enough to make him swing the door open farther and lean out. “Are you all right?” “There were gunshots.” That singular thought is enough to make my stomach cramp again. Something that troubles me at the same time it ticks me the hell off. Reece rolls his eyes and scoffs. “You’re a police officer. That’s nothing new.” “At our old house. Reece, I haven’t heard gunshots there in at least a decade. It just… fuck.” I reach back and run a hand over the back of my neck. I’m tense again, and the sweats have returned. He regards me without giving away a hint of

what he’s thinking. Without acknowledging what I said, he swings his front door open the rest of the way and turns into the house. “Want a beer?” he calls back to me, and I take that as my cue to follow him inside. I shut the door gently behind me and flip the lock. “Um, sure. Whatever you have is fine.” As the sound of bottles clanking comes from the kitchen, I use the moment alone to unobtrusively take in his living room. Pictures line the mantel over an old brick fireplace. I can’t tell if it’s been updated to look old or if it is so old that it’s back in style. I can’t remember what the fireplace was like the one time I was here. Hell, if I’d been asked, I probably wouldn’t have remembered he had one. I take a step closer to inspect the pictures. Our family. Every single one of them holds members of our family. Even my face is present, which shocks the shit out of me. You’d think after not speaking for as long as we have, he wouldn’t have put them up. The sound of his footsteps serves as an early warning, and I step back from the photographs. He hands me a cold beer, and I give him a chin lift. “Thanks.” I take a swig, the cool liquid soothing my dry throat. “PTSD,” Reece announces abruptly. I suddenly suck my beer down the wrong pipe. “What?” I barely manage to choke out.

“You’ve got PTSD.” I straighten at his words, and even though I’m still catching my breath, I manage, “Who made you a psychiatrist?” He shrugs, taking a pull off his own beer. “Don’t need to be one to see that’s what this is. Why else would you wake me in the middle of the night because you heard gunshots?” “It’s not that. I’ve been on the force for twelve years, first as a cop, now as a detective. If I had PTSD, I’d have quit my job a long time ago. Hell, I wouldn’t have even been able to do it.” Reece shakes his head, that fire I used to know so well lighting up his eyes. “That’s not the case. It’s different when you’re chasing a criminal who’s shooting at you and you can see exactly what’s going on. Not so easy to put it in a box when you hear random gunshots right outside your house in the middle of the night.” I clench my teeth, trying to hold back from going off. “How’d you know they were right outside my house?” With his beer, he gestures toward the end table in the corner of the room near the couch. I follow his direction with my eyes, and there, on the top, sits an old police scanner. “Dad’s?” Reece just nods. “Right. Back to the matter at hand, I’m still not

going to agree with you.” “Yeah?” he challenges. “Why’re you here then?” The question physically stops me. Not a muscle twitches, not even my lungs, as I run the question through my mind over and over again. Why’re you here? Why am I here? “I’m checking in,” I hiss through clenched teeth, knowing how fucking stupid I sound. This is why it’s taken so damn long for me to reconnect with Reece, and it’s exactly why I’m unsure we ever will. We aren’t two kids fighting over Legos or G.I. Joes anymore; we’re two grown ass men. We’re hot tempered and stubborn as fuck, and neither of us likes to admit we’re wrong. Maybe it’s time to start correcting that. He snorts in response and pours the last of his beer down his throat. “Keep telling yourself that.” “I had to check on you. Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re wrong, but I haven’t heard gunshots right outside my house—fuck, outside that house— in over a decade. When shit like that’d go down, we used to check on each other, and I guess I couldn’t shake that feeling.” I drain my beer, take two steps, and slam it down on his mantel. “Didn’t make a difference.” I flip the lock and yank the door open. I’m through and about to close it when he calls behind me. “My door’s always open.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” I respond derisively then pull that same door closed. As I get in my truck and point it toward town, I let myself feel the truth. It did make a difference. It made a whole world of difference. The shakes stopped, and I’m no longer sweating. Seeing my brother did exactly as I’d hoped it would, but that being said, I’m still not ready to go home. The drive into town is short, and within minutes, I’m pulling into the alley behind Bar 9. The owner actually did try out bars 1-8 before he was successful, though they weren’t all named after numbers. I’m not exactly sure what happened to the others, but the owner, Tom, calls them “practice.” A better outlook than I would have had. I’d probably call them failures. I leave my truck in the near-empty parking lot behind the bar. Grabbing my phone from the passenger’s seat, I climb out and hit the locks. As I’m walking in the back door, my phone vibrates in my hand. Tavers Calling… I hit ignore, and the screen shows two other missed calls from him. I open a message. There’s a seat open near the far corner of the bar top, three from the end, so I head that way as I type out a response. 12:24 a.m. Me: I’m good.

I know my partner enough to know he’s just checking in. I’m sure he got home, and his wife started asking questions about me. She probably convinced him to call me once more, and then when I didn’t answer, she most likely demanded he keep calling until I do. I chuckle to myself, thinking of that woman. She’s a spitfire for sure and keeps Tavers on his damn toes. When I sit down, Tom catches my eye with a lift of his chin. I hold up three fingers—my index, middle, and thumb—to communicate to him that I want three shots. I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve been here enough that he knows my drink of choice. Usually, he just needs to know the quantity. That’s the way it goes in a small town bar. I might have just moved back to town, but I’ve frequented here enough over the years. As I wait for my drinks, I check out the bar and find only a handful of people here tonight. A group of young adults in their early twenties hanging out by the pool table. Two guys about my age watching a sports recap on the other side of the bar. To my right and one stool separating us sits a middle-aged man who looks three sheets to the wind. His head rests heavily in his hand as he twists his glass on the bar top. Whatever. He’s not doing any harm, and I’m off duty. So long as he doesn’t try to stumble to his car, I decide to leave him be. I’m not in the mood

for conversation anyway. There’s been enough of that for tonight. Tom sets my drinks down, and I give him my card. Might as well start a tab. I toss the first shot of vodka back like it’s nothing but water. Halfway to grabbing the second, my phone vibrates with a text. Fucking Tavers. More like his wife but I can’t curse the sweet woman. She makes the best damn pot roast I’ve ever had, and I’d hate to lose my privilege at her table. The second shot goes down the hatch. “How’s life, Niko?” Tom asks, stopping in front of me to wipe down a spot on the bar. The man’s as old as my father and looks it too with his salt and pepper hair and the lines around his eyes. He has six kids of his own, but none of them live around here, so he treats his customers like his kids. Kind eyes look down at me from behind the bar, and even though I’ve had one hell of a night, the vodka helps me flash a half grin. “Oh, you know, same old. Criminals being criminals.” I trail my fingertips along the third shot. The movement draws Tom’s eyes. “Need another?” “Three,” I grunt, losing the half grin. Tom’s eyes widen. He splays both hands on the top of his lacquered bar and looks at me critically. “Something going on, son?” “Nothing more than usual.”

“I think maybe you should head home. I’ve been a bar owner for as many years as you’ve been alive; I know better than anyone that liquor solves nothing.” “Quit preaching and bring the damn kid his drinks. While you’re at it, I’m fresh out,” the man on my right snaps. Tom clenches his fist and gives a curt nod. “It’s nothing personal, Tom. I’ve had a shit couple of weeks.” I slam the third shot just as he places down three more. Another nod. “Let me know if you need anything else.” He walks away. My phone vibrates again, reminding me I never read Tavers’ other text. 1:07 a.m. Tavers: You’re good? Shit, you’re not good. Where are you? And then1:09 a.m. Tavers: Mindy won’t let me sleep until I get confirmation you’re home safe. I’m tired as fuck. Go home and save us both. The second one causes me to bark out a laugh. I

can picture it clearly, too. His wife probably kicked him to the couch. She’s a strong one. A feisty little Italian thing no more than five-foot-two and a hundred and fifteen pounds, but she’s got him by the balls. No doubt about it. I’m not in the mood to appease either of them, though, no matter how cute she is, so I fire back another text and pick up my fourth shot. 1:10 a.m. Me: Tell her I appreciate that and thanks. I’m at Bar 9 having a few drinks to unwind. Don’t worry about me, Mommy, I’ll be home after bar close. I tack on a pair of pink kissy lips for added effect. Tavers’ response comes quickly and says only two words. 1:11 a.m. Tavers: Fuck off. “Your girlfriend?” the old man beside me croaks. “What?” I ask and tilt my head to get a quick look at him. He’s slumped so far over the bar his forehead nearly touches the top, but his eyes are directed at me. He nods his head toward my phone. “Sending you messages?”

Normally, I’d find the prying rude and would probably say so, but tonight, I’m all out of fucks to give. “Nah. My work partner. His wife doesn’t like me out drinking alone, but sometimes that’s the only way to go.” “Cheers to that,” the old man mutters before taking a hefty swallow of his drink. It looks like some sort of bubbly concoction, but I couldn’t begin to guess what’s in the glass. The noise jacks up a decibel as the kids in the corner cheer at their pool game. I glance over at them, unable to help my curiosity. Part of my job is to always be aware of my surroundings. Even a few innocent kids can turn from rowdy to deadly when alcohol is involved. “Do you remember being so carefree? I sure as shit don’t. All I know now is misery…” He trails off, mumbling under his breath and dropping his forehead until it’s flat on the bar. Good God, this guy is drunk. I wonder why Tom hasn’t called him a cab yet. It’s obvious he’s nearing the point of overserved. Lucky bastard. If I have my way tonight, I’m well on my own way to being drunk. On that thought, I slam down the fifth shot. I can feel it now. That first hint of alcohol coursing through my system. Everything inside starts to warm as if molten lava fills my veins. It almost prickles, and the numbness starts to take over. I know if I were to stand right now, I’d stumble.

His words make me think back on my own years as a young adult, and I can commiserate. “No,” I growl darkly as thoughts of my lost childhood take hold. The minute Aislin disappeared, I spiraled down a desolate path of hopelessness. All these years later, I still haven’t recovered. I wonder if it’ll always be like this. At least with her body found, I can begin to have some closure. The only way to completely close the book on this chapter would be to find her killer and bring him to justice. I won’t settle for anything less. My phone vibrates on the bar. Without looking, I reach down and press the button to completely turn it off. He looks over at me again. “You’re young, son. You’ve got plenty of time to fix your wrongs. Not me, though. Nope. I’ve fucked up beyond repair this time.” I bring my last shot to my mouth and look over at him. “Oh, yeah? Can’t say there’s much in life that’s completely unforgiveable.” “Maybe not, but I’ve hit the jackpot this time.” “I haven’t spoken to my brother in about a decade. Went and saw him for the first time tonight. The visit was short, but I left with the sense we could patch things up someday.” “Good for you, son,” he grunts, not unkindly. I get the distinct impression that my words affect him. I’m just not sure how.

I give him a side glance, definitely feeling the full effects of the vodka now. “Yep.” Our side of the bar goes quiet. I bet the liquor has finally knocked this guy unconscious. I see Tom on the other side of the bar and start to wave him down when the man speaks again. “Fucked up,” he mumbles. After a brief pause, he goes on. “I didn’t mean to.” Normally, I’d leave well enough alone, but a strange vibe hits me square in the gut. I’d be a shit detective if I didn’t trust my own gut. So I press him further. “What didn’t you mean to do?” “It was a mistake.” “Can you fix it?” I ask. “No,” he groans. “No, goddammit.” Now his voice is hardly a whisper. “She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve what I did to her.” “Did you cheat on your wife?” He peers over at me with bloodshot eyes. Now that I’m seeing him head on, I can see he looks like shit. I thought he was three sheets in before, but now I can see he’s probably been on a week-long bender. His hair looks dirty and matted, the grease from being unwashed slicking it back in places. “Whatever you did can’t be that bad.” “Cheat on my wife—ha!” He lets out a humorless sound. “I’d cheat on her a thousand times if she were still alive. Anything other than what I did. Anything,” he moans, the agony in his

voice resonating deep within my bones. “I’m not a damn priest, but if you’re seeking some absolution, I can’t help until you tell me what you did.” “I killed her,” he mumbled drunkenly, so soft I almost missed it. Almost. “A girl… a, a woman… fuck me, man, I didn’t mean to do it. And then I panicked and dumped her in the woods. Oh, God. Oh, shit. What have I done? What did I do?” Anything else he says is cut off by a roaring in my ears so loud, the rest of the bar goes silent. I fly from my stool, the wooden thing crashing to the ground behind me, but it doesn’t make a sound. Not to me. The only thing I can hear is my own heart pulsating in my ears. I can’t think, only react, and that’s what I do. I go with instinct. My training flies out the fucking door, and I snap. “Niko!” Someone shouts as I throw my entire body weight at the guy in the corner. To his credit, he doesn’t even flinch as my one-hundred-andeighty-five-pound body flies through the air. I wrap my fist into the soiled shirt at his chest and hoist him off the stool, which joins mine tipped over behind us. Pressing his back up against the wall, I send old memorabilia signs crashing to the floor. “Please just kill me. I can’t live with this guilt any longer.” “Shut. Up,” I spit. I sound controlled, but I’m barely hanging on the precipice. I rear my right arm

back, but on the forward swing, someone wraps their arm around my bicep and hauls me back. I fight. The old man sinks to the floor, mumbling and crying as tears run down his dirty face. I get my arm free and lunge. I’m going to beat this guy to fucking hell, alcohol be damned. He deserves it. He deserves to sit and take everything I dish out. I’ll go to prison, but killing him would be the sweetest revenge. “Niko, stop!” Another set of hands grabs my other arm, but not before I land an elbow in somebody’s gut, and the two of them manage to yank me back. They don’t stop until I’m clear across the bar, and they’ve shoved my ass into a chair. “Let go,” I snarl, finally looking up to see who dared to stop me. I’m slightly surprised then immediately annoyed. “What are you doing here?” I ask Tavers, who’s standing beside Tom. His face is red and he’s breathing hard, clutching the table beside him for support. “Saving your ass,” he growls back at me. “What were you thinking? A bar fight? Are you trying to land yourself in jail?” The reminder of fighting and jail sends my gaze flickering over to the guy lying on the floor, and my anger returns with a vengeance. “Call Captain. And a squad,” I tell him, not taking my eyes off the man.

“On it,” Tom answers and rushes to call 9-1-1. Tavers follows my line of sight before blocking it with his body. “Tell me what’s going on,” he says low. “He just confessed to a murder.” My friend’s eyes widen slightly before narrowing. “Did he say whose?” “No.” I clench my hands at my sides. “Niko…” Tavers tilts his head and continues, “I know what you’re thinking, but chances are—ˮ “Two girls have gone missing from this county in the past decade, so chances are it’s one of ‘em,” I hiss agitatedly and run a hand through my hair. “So we bring him in. Nothing wrong with that, Niko, but you can’t beat the guy to a bloody pulp. He’s drunk and so are you, which already throws a wrench into this. You know as well as anybody we have to do this right. We do this by the book.” I glare at him. “Look, you want to do this then grab some water and get in my damn truck. I’ll wait for an officer, and we’ll go to the station together.” After another few seconds of glaring, I do as he says. He’s right, and I’m drunk. The last thing I want to do is fuck this up.

W E FOLLOW THE OFFICER WITH THE DRUNK MAN back to the station. Tavers goes to find the captain while I head to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. Bloodshot eyes stare back at me from the old mirror above the sink. I grip the square porcelain bowl with white knuckles, barely holding back the need to throw my fist into the glass. Alcohol sloshes in my gut. I blow out a deep breath and lower my head, throwing more cold water onto my face. I can do this. Holding that thought, I leave the bathroom in search of Tavers and Captain. The two of them are outside the interrogation room; Captain with his hands on his hips and Tavers holding a folder in his hand. “Is he in there?” I ask. Two sets of eyes swing in my direction but nobody replies. I look back and forth between the two men, trying to read their faces in my drunken state. “What?” “You can’t do this,” Captain starts, and I immediately shake my head. “Fuck yeah, I can. This case is mine. Anything related to Aislin is mine. That guy confessed to me.” “You’re drunk, James.” “So is he.” I nod my head in the direction of our suspect. “We’re aware,” he responds dryly.

I cut my eyes to Tavers even though I speak to my boss. “Then what’s the problem?” “You’ve had a lot going on. You’re overworked; this case has taken a lot out of you. Someone shot up your backyard, and now you’re drunk. You need a break before you break. You’re a good detective, but you won’t be worth shit if you allow yourself to get burned out.” “This has nothing to do with being burned out. That’s my case, so I’m going in there. If either of you knows what’s good for you, you won’t stand in my way.” Tavers shakes his head and looks at the floor. “Is that a threat?” Captain hisses. “It’s a goddamned promise.” He tries to interject, so I hold up my hand. “I respect the hell out of you. You taught me most of what I know, so I know you can put yourself in my place and understand. If that were your sister, daughter, niece, or cousin missing for years and found dead, you’d be over here fighting with me, drunk or not. I know you can see exactly where I’m coming from.” He appears to mull over my words. The muscle in his jaw jumps. “Take a nap, James. We have to let this guy sleep off his booze, so you might as well do the same. You can question him when you’re both sobered up. Eight hours, minimum. Now get out of my sight before I write you up for insubordination.”

Fair enough. I trek to the spare bunks and climb to the top for some shut-eye. I don’t dare have Tavers take me home. Knowing these two, they’d have the guy lawyered up and questioned before I woke. At least this way I’m still here, and if they dare to start without me, there’ll be hell to pay.

THE SLAMMING DOOR STARTLES ME AWAKE, BUT IT’ S the overhead light clicking on that pisses me the fuck off. I go to sit up, and the dizziness hits along with the sloshing in my gut. “Jesus Christ,” I bite out. “Rise and shine, princess. Captain’s ready to get this show on the road, and you two have had ten hours of rest.” Ten hours? “Since when does it take me ten hours to sober up?” “We had to wait on the other guy, who seemed to have drank a bit more than you.” I squeeze my eyes shut against the harsh light and rub a hand over my forehead. “Thanks for the rude awakening,” I grumble before hopping down unsteadily. “You’re welcome. Let’s get this over with so I can get back home to my wife. I need to remind her

once again that you’re a grown ass man so she’ll stop sending me out after you.” “You can tell her I’m bringing the wine next time I come over for dinner.” Tavers shoots me a glare. I follow him out to the interrogation room where our captain stands just outside the door. He looks pissed off and tired, but who can blame him? I’d apologize except I don’t have an ounce of remorse if this is the guy we’ve been looking for. “Work your magic, Niko. I’d imagine if he was spouting confessions in a bar, he’ll be easy to crack, but you never know. Liquor makes people loose and nothing tightens up an asshole like the threat of a lifetime prison sentence.” He holds the file out to me. I take it, and without a word, walk into the room. “You get enough rest?” I ask, setting the file on the table and keeping my tone calm. Just looking at the guy makes me sick. It’s not the time to freak him out, though. Not yet. Right now, I need to be his friend. “I s’pose.” “Can I get you something to drink? Water? I know I could use a drink after all those shots.” Without waiting for a response, I walk over to the mini-fridge in the corner and pull out a chilled bottle. I twist the cap off and take a refreshing gulp, not giving a damn that some of it runs down my

chin. I gesture to him with the open bottle, sloshing some over the side. “What do you say? Can I get you one?” He looks torn. I observe his red-rimmed eyes and pale skin as he finally nods. “Yeah, sure. Why not.” I hand him a bottle, kick the fridge closed, and finally take a seat. “I’m Detective Niko James. Can you tell me your name?” He fiddles with the cap to his bottle with trembling fingers. “Louie… Louis DeLucia.” “You know that you’re not under arrest. We’re here just to ask you a few questions.” He nods, and I continue to give him his Miranda Rights. “No, no lawyers, I don’t need anybody. Why’d you say that if I’m not under arrest?” I flatten my hands on the file in front of me. “You and I, we had an interesting conversation in the bar. A very… self-incriminating one. I’m merely making you aware of your constitutional rights before we continue. Shall I say, covering both our asses.” “Why would you do that?” I make sure to keep my eyes steady on his even though the mere sight of this man sends my blood boiling. “Liquor can make people say funny things. Do funny things. I’m on your side, Louie. You seemed like you wanted to talk at the bar, so I’m

here to listen.” “I didn’t know you were a cop,” he argues. “You set me up. That’s entrapment or something, and it’s illegal.” “If it were a trap, I wouldn’t have been drinking. I was nearly as drunk as you were. Anything I say in regards to our conversation will be thrown out as inadmissible. Any judge would call me an unreliable witness. It was a lucky coincidence I was there, don’t you think?” “How is this lucky?” he asks back, becoming more agitated. I lean back in the metal chair, trying to appear relaxed through the waves of rage assaulting me inside. “I’d say you want to be here. You were pretty eager to talk to a stranger about your guilt. Isn’t this what you wanted? To be absolved?” Louis drops his head into his hands and tugs at his dirty hair. “I don’t want to go to jail.” “Tell me what happened,” I coax, a slight edge appearing in my voice. I try so hard to conceal it, but I’m so close to the truth, I can nearly taste it. “I can’t promise you anything, but you’ll make it a lot easier on yourself if you just tell me the truth. They give all sorts of lighter sentences for people who are honest.” He runs his hands through his hair again before flattening them on the table between us. He looks up, down, away—anywhere but at me for several

long moments, and I think he’s going to stay quiet. Captain was right. Even when people know they should do the right thing, even when they deserve the damn consequences, they’ll stay locked up tight to avoid a jail sentence. “I can leave you alone to think about it.” I rise from my chair and walk calmly to the door. I pull it open to see Tavers on the other side, but the thought of leaving without a confession unleashes something inside me. When I look back, Louis looks relieved at my retreat, and that’s enough for me to completely fucking snap. I cross the room in two strides, grab the back of the metal chair I was sitting in, and flip it into the air with one hand. I catch it by two legs, and with everything inside me, every ounce of pent-up emotion, I send it cutting through the air and slamming into the ground with a resounding crack. “TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED!” Louis throws back his body, sliding his chair away from the table. And me. “I didn’t mean to do it. It wasn’t my plan. I didn’t have a goddamned plan,” he rattles off in quick succession, burying his fingers into his hair and shaking his head. Fear sits stark on his pale face. Tavers catches my eye. I shake my head, communicating I don’t need him, and he shuts the door while wearing a dubious expression. I right my chair, and when I take a seat, I fold my hands on

top of the table. “What went wrong?” I ask quietly. Everything Louis can see gives the appearance of calm, but beneath the table, my legs are so tight I’m about to give myself a fucking Charlie horse. I fight to relax while he starts speaking again. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to do it,” he repeats. “Who was she?” “I didn’t get her name,” he mutters. “How old was she?” I press. “I don’t know.” “Twelve? Fifteen?” His head snaps up. “I killed someone, but I’m not a fucking pedophile! I have grandkids that age!” If she wasn’t young, that means he didn’t have Aislin. Unless he didn’t kidnap her and somehow... acquired her... another way when she was older. The sickness from my bender returns with a vengeance. “If you’d give me the information, I wouldn’t have to guess. Help me out here, Louie. She had a family. I want to give her family some closure. Don’t you?” “Y-y-yes.” His voice shakes. “She was older. Your age, maybe. We met at a bar in Bakersville. She wanted to come home to fool around, and an old man like me wasn’t about to say no to young

pussy. I just… we got so into it. She wanted to try some of that erotic asphyxiation crap. I was choking her, had my hand wrapped nearly the entirety of her airway, squeezing while she got off and I got off, and when it was over, I must have held on too long because she’d stopped moving. Her eyes were glassy, and she was staring at the ceiling... She was dead.” The legs of my metal chair scrape loudly across the floor as I push back. Louis jerks his head up as if he forgot I was even sitting there. I flip open the file in front of me, pull out a picture clipped to a piece of paper, and spin it around to face him. “This her?” “What?” he asks, his face colored in confusion. “Is. This. Her?” I clip, barely hanging onto my remaining restraint. I need to finish this so I can get the fuck out of here. His gaze drops to the computer-generated image of a twenty-eight-year-old Aislin, modified from the original sketch I had done of her all those years ago. He sucks in his lower lip, squints his eyes, and starts shaking his head. “No. No, no way. That’s not her.” “Look closer,” I bite out. “No! Her hair was red, like a deep, dark color that was obviously fake, and she had a Cindy Crawford mole above her lip.” Fuck! The hair didn’t have me convinced, but

she couldn’t be Aislin with such a telltale mark. Not to mention the guy said he strangled her to death, not beat the ever-loving life straight out of her flesh. I shift around the open file, dig out a fresh piece of paper, and push it along with a pen in front of him. “If you could please write that all down, we’ll be done here. I’ll be right back.” I give him a second to pick up the pen and begin to write before I leave. Tavers and Captain are waiting for me on the other side. “Nice work, James,” Captain praises once the door’s closed. I’m so ready to explode I can’t even speak. I was so damn sure I’d found the guy or, more accurately, that he’d fallen right into my fucking lap. Finding out I’m wrong feels like losing her all over again. “Now get out of here.” “What?” I whip my head in Captain’s direction. “You’re sending me home after that? After I got that confession without any bloodshed?” Tavers looks as confused as I feel but doesn’t speak. He knows he doesn’t have a dog in this fight. Not like I do. “Yep,” he replies shortly. “He’s not your guy, so now you’re off this case. Mandatory. Five days. I don’t want to see you; I don’t want to hear from you.”

I start to defend myself, but he holds up a hand. “Don’t force me to make it indefinite. Just get out of here, take some R&R, and clear your head. We’ve got it from here.” He disappears into the interrogation room. “Fuck this shit,” I growl and turn my back. “Niko...” Tavers starts. “Say hi to your wife.” “Where’re you going?” he calls after me. “Stay out of it,” I bite out and push my way through the double doors that lead outside. I don’t have my truck and don’t bother to call a cab. My feet are capable of taking me where I want—no, need—to go, which is straight back to Bar 9 to get my truck. After that, I’m swinging by the liquor store and spending the first day of my mandatory vacation at home.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Niko Age Fourteen I JUMP OFF THE TOP STEP OF MY PORCH , CURSING myself for being late to Aislin’s bus stop. Normally, I’m with her on the bus, but I had a doctor’s appointment today, so I got picked up early. And then the appointment took longer than it should have. The bus stop is only two blocks away, but I still don’t like the thought of her walking alone. Not in our neighborhood. Too much bad stuff happens around here, especially for a girl as young as she is. My feet pick up speed when I turn the corner. Just one more block and one more turn to go and I’ll be there. I kick a crushed Coke can out of my way. I can’t wait until I’m old enough to drive. Two

more years and neither of us will ever have to ride the bus again. I haven’t figured out how I’m going to afford a car, but I will. I’m supposed to start doing yard work this summer, so I’ll start saving then. I look up when I round the last corner, expecting to see Aislin walking toward me. When I don’t, I stop in my tracks. The bus should have already come by now. I turn around and look behind me just in case we passed each other on opposite sides of the road, even knowing there’s no way that would have happened. Fear grabs a hold of my throat, making it hard to breathe. I spin back around and look back toward the bus stop. I start running toward it, something inside me telling me to go that way. I come to a stop on the street corner where our bus stop is and look around again. The houses around this area are all shabby and broken down, peeling paint or the siding falling off on some sides. Trash or toys litter the yards, and the grass is either overgrown with weeds or nonexistent at all. I run my eyes over every house, seeing if anyone is outside to ask if they saw a girl get off the bus. A curtain flutters in one house, indicating someone is watching from inside. A lot of the residents here are scared to come outside and only do it when necessary. Most people who live here

don’t care if something bad happens. They’ve lived here their whole life, so they know when to be cautious and when it’s safe. They know what to expect in a place like this. My eyes land on something blue lying in the side yard of someone’s house. I sprint over to it, knowing what it is before I get there. My blood runs cold when I bend and pick up Aislin’s bookbag. It’s bright blue with a silver unicorn on the front pocket. I look up, my eyes narrowing in on the backyard. I take one step when I hear a scream come from around the back. I take off running and round the corner seconds later. What I see has fear spiking through me at the same time anger makes my vision blurry. Two kids several years older than I am have Aislin pinned to the back of the house. Tears streak down her cheeks, but her eyes are blazing with hatred. She’s a little spitfire when she needs to be, but she needs to learn when to curb it. Right now would be one of those times. The guys will tear her to shreds and God knows what else in the process. Right now, though, they’ve messed with the wrong girl. With a growl, I take off running. The two boys hear the feral sound and turn their heads. I bare my teeth at one of them. Denny Valeris, one of the punks of the neighborhood. One who has tried to

get me to join his stupid gang of terrorizers. He didn’t like that I refused him, and he’s had it out for me ever since. I swing my fist at him as soon as I get close enough. The move surprises him enough that he releases Aislin, and I manage to clock his chin; however, I put so much swing behind the punch that I stumble. I catch myself right before I fall and spin around to face him. He’s rubbing his jaw, his eyes alight with fire as he looks at me. I look over to where Aislin was only to find the other boy, Ricky, holding her against his chest with his hand over her mouth. She’s struggling, and there’s pure loathing in her eyes. That look makes me both proud and worried. Proud because she’s not scared of these guys, and scared because she should be scared of them. “Let go of her, Ricky,” I snarl, taking a step toward him. My eyes dart back to Denny when he steps in front of Aislin and Ricky. “No need to get all pissy, Niko. We were just going to have a bit of fun,” he says, his voice causing goose bumps to appear on the back of my neck. “Way I see it, her mama gives it to any man who asks for it, so I figured little Aislin here would too.” A growl slips out of my mouth, and I gnash my teeth at him. “You sick fuck! She’s twelve years

old. Now let her go!” He takes a step toward me, and my back goes straight, not backing down. He may be older and bigger than I am, but I have more determination. No one messes with Aislin. “Don’t matter.” He shrugs and flashes his yellow teeth. “She still has the same parts that’ll work just as good. Although she hasn’t grown any titties yet, what she has will have to do.” Bile rises in my throat, and I have to force away the need to puke. It’s my turn to take a step toward him. One thing you learn here in our kind of world is not to show fear. The minute you do, you show the person you’re vulnerable. Denny is taller than I am by several inches, so I have to crane my neck back to look at him. I ball my fists at my side, wanting to ram them through his throat. I glare up at him, silently letting him know I’m not backing down. Yes, I may get my ass kicked, but it won’t be before I put some damage on him. Hopefully, it’ll be enough for Aislin to get free. I don’t care what happens to me; I just need to know she’s okay. No way am I going to let these guys do what they want with her. “Boy, you have no idea what you’re getting into here. Just turn around and walk away.” “Screw you, Denny. I’m not leaving without Aislin.” He grins crookedly. “Big words coming from

you, Niko.” He tilts his head to the side and curls his lip up. “I got an idea. I seen how you and her are always together. I know you got to want to get some of her yourself. How about we let you have a go at her first then we’ll do her seconds?” His words send a spark of fire into my blood. I’ve heard the phrase seeing red before and never thought there was any truth to it, but there is. I swear my vision goes from colored to pure red. My heart slams in my chest, and it feels like my head is going to explode from the pounding in my head. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m launching myself at him. I take him by surprise and knock him to the ground. Then I’m sitting on his chest, beating my fists against his face. He tries to block the blows, but I’m so far gone that I just knock his hands away with my fists. Roaring sounds in my ear, and it takes me a minute to realize it’s coming from me. My throat burns from yelling so much. I land punch after punch, not letting up as his words from a moment ago play in my head. Not one person will ever lay a hand on Aislin. Not as long as I’m breathing or able to stop them. A piercing scream has me stopping mid-punch and lifting my head. My blood runs even colder when I see Ricky lift his hand and hit Aislin on the side of her face. “You fucking bitch,” he snarls. She lands on her side with a loud cry. I’m off Denny and running at Ricky when he takes a

threatening step closer to her, his hands raised to strike her again. My head hits his side, and we both fall to the ground with grunts. I land halfway on top of him, and he manages to get his leg up and knees me in the ribs. I fall to the side as air whooshes out of my lungs. I roll to my side, only for a fist to land on my face. My head hits the dirt ground, and I see stars. I look over and see Ricky getting to his feet. I pull in a deep breath, wincing at a sharp pain in my stomach. My eyes land on Aislin, who’s still lying on the ground. She’s turned away from me, so I can’t see her face, but I see her side rising and falling. As I’m crawling to my knees, Ricky turns to face me. Satisfaction hits me when I see a dirtmatted scratch on his cheekbone. “You made a big mistake, boy,” he says slowly, widening his stance. I get to my feet and stand with my hands balled into fists. “You’re not touching her.” “Oh, I think I am,” he taunts, his lips tipping up into a smirk. “I think me and Denny are going to have a real good time with her.” He glances over my shoulder, and when I turn to see what he’s looking at, fearing I already know, a firm fist meets my face. I stumble, but instead of falling on my ass, I’m caught and held up by Ricky. Denny sneers at me and closes the gap between us. Blood’s gushing out of his nose and dripping off

his chin. He has a gash above his right eye. The pleasure of seeing his fucked-up face is short lived when he punches my stomach, making me double over in pain. Ricky wrenches my arms back, and they scream in protest. Before I get a chance to recover, another punch hits me on the side of the head. Denny bends and gets in my face. “We were going to go easy on her, but you just fucked up on her part. Easy’s out the window now. And you get to watch, you little cunt.” “Fuck you,” I wheeze. “You touch her, and I’ll kill you.” He chuckles dark. “It’s not fuck me. It’s fuck her, and that’s just what she’ll get. Me and Denny are going to tear her pussy up over and over again until it’s just as worn out as her mama’s.” Grabbing both sides of my head, Denny brings his knee up at the same time he wrenches my head down, connecting his knee with my nose. I feel a crunch and blistering pain in my nose, and I briefly wonder if it’s broken. I hang by my arms as Ricky holds me up. Black spots filter across my eyes and blood streams from nose, splashing onto the ground. I lift my head, needing to see Aislin yet knowing I can’t do anything to stop this. I know Denny’s type. I know he’ll follow through with his threat. Word on the street is that he’s forced other

girls before. My stomach bottoms out when I think of what he and Ricky will do to Aislin, of the damage and pain they’ll cause her. The thought makes me feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach again, stealing all my breath. Denny’s still in my face when I open my eyes, his smirk making me want to puke. I see something glint and look down. He’s gripping a pair of brass knuckles. I grit my teeth and brace myself for the beating I’m getting ready to take. I’d take this a hundred times over if it would save Aislin. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll work me over so long that someone will hear and come help. I almost laugh at the thought. No one here will lift a finger to help. All of a sudden, I hear a yell, seconds before my arms are let go and I’m shoved forward. I fall to my knees and catch myself with my arms. I turn and fall to my ass. I look up just in time to see Aislin welding a long tree branch and beating Ricky with it. She brings it forward with all her might and slams it down on a cowering Ricky curled up on his side. She looks wild standing there; her brown hair matted with dirt and leaves and her blue shirt torn on the shoulder. She has a line of blood trailing down from the corner of her mouth, and her eyes look crazed as she keeps swinging the tree branch. She looks up just as Denny makes a move

toward her. Clutching my sore ribs, I get to my feet. Her eyes briefly flicker to mine before bringing them back to Denny. “Stay back, you bastard!” she snarls and lifts the branch over her head. Ricky’s still on the ground, moaning. Denny stops in his tracks, looking from the branch, to her face, then down at Ricky, and back at her. “Niko?” she says, her voice rough. “You okay?” I walk over to her and stop only a foot away. She keeps her eyes pinned on Denny. He looks as if he wants to commit murder but knows he can’t do shit right now. He’s fucked right now, just as I was a few minutes ago. I reach up and wipe away the trail of blood from her chin, leaving a smear behind. “I’m fine.” I grab her arms and bring them down. She lets me but keeps the branch in her hand. “Let’s go,” I tell her. Her hate-filled eyes don’t leave Denny’s. Her chest pumps up and down with her heavy breathing; I’m sure from the adrenaline of beating Ricky with the branch. “She may be my mama, but I’m nothing like her,” she says forcefully. “No boy will touch me and get away with it and that includes you, Denny!” I can see he’s barely holding his temper by the

fists he’s making at his sides. Venom—that’s the only word I can use to describe the look in his eyes. “We’ll see,” he seethes through clenched teeth. It amazes me how strong Aislin appears right now. She’s facing the monster down in front of us without flinching one muscle. I couldn’t be more proud of her at this moment. But we need to go before Ricky stops writhing on the ground and gets up. I’m not sure we can take them both with just a tree branch. “We need to go, North,” I say, pulling on her arm. Our backs are facing the side yard, and I start dragging her backward. Her grip on the branch holds steady, her penetrating eyes on Denny staying the same. He brings his eyes to mine, and one side of his mouth quirks up. “I’ll be seeing you later to finish what we started, Niko. You won’t be around much longer to defend the bitch.” I stop and take two steps toward him. “I’m warning you… You touch her again, and I’ll kill you. I may be small, but that doesn’t mean shit around here. There are other ways of hurting someone besides using your fists. Don’t come near her again.” His laugh is maniacal, but he doesn’t say anything else, just watches us as we take slow steps

backward. We make it to the road with our eyes still pinned on the back of the house. Luckily, Denny doesn’t follow us. I pull the branch from Aislin’s grip and drop it on the ground. Grabbing her hand and with my teeth gritting from the pain the entire time, we run as fast as we can the two blocks to our part of the neighborhood. We’re both out of breath by the time we make it to Aislin’s yard. I look over and see Mom’s car in the driveway. “I can’t go home yet,” I tell her breathlessly. I drop down on her bottom step, no longer able to stand from the pain in my ribs. Grabbing the bottom of my shirt, I gently wipe away the small trickle of blood still flowing from my nose. When I pull the shirt away, I find more blood on it than I expected. “Mom will freak out.” Aislin nods and sits one step up from me. Her eyes look pained when she looks at me. “I was so scared,” she whispers. For the first time since the whole thing started, her age is shining through with her terrified expression. Her eyes begin to water. I grip her hand in mine. “I was too,” I admit. “I was scared they would do those things to you, and I wouldn’t be able to stop it.” She throws her arms around my shoulders and buries her face against the back of my head. I ignore the pain in my side from her jostling my

body. I’ll go through any pain if it helps Aislin with hers. Hot tears land on my neck. “What are we going to do?” she asks, sniffling. There’s no need to ask her to clarify. Denny won’t let this go. If anything, he’ll stop at nothing to get back at us and get what he wants from Aislin. We’re in deep shit with no way out. Even so, I’ll do what’s necessary to protect Aislin from him. “I don’t know, but we’ll think of something.” It’s the truth. I’ll do anything to make sure Denny doesn’t get his filthy hands on her. She pulls back and wipes her eyes. She nods twice then lets her eyes wander down to where I’m clutching my ribs. Fresh tears appear in her eyes. “They hurt you.” Her eyes next fixate on my nose, which feels like it’s starting to swell closed. She reaches out and gently touches my cheeks. I wince at the contact, which intensifies the pain in her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she says softly. “You got hurt because of me.” I bring her hands down from my face and lean closer to her. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Aislin. No amount of pain would stop me from protecting you. They may hurt me to keep me away, but as long as I’m still breathing, I’ll fight for you.” “Oh, Niko,” she cries. “I love you!” “Love you too,” I say, meaning those words

with all my heart. This girl is my North Star. She means the world to me. “You still have one of my shirts?” She sniffs and nods. She’s stayed over at my house multiple times because of the shit her mom was doing at her house and has borrowed my shirts to sleep in. “I think I may need to borrow it. I don’t want Mom to see me like this. I won’t be able to hide the bruises and cuts on my face, but she doesn’t need to see the blood.” She nods again and stands, reaching out her hand to help me up. I cringe when the muscles in my back work. I’m going to be sore as shit come tomorrow, but it was worth it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Aislin’s mom’s car is in the driveway, so we’re quiet when we walk inside, not waiting to bring attention that we’re in the house. There’s no telling what her mom would do. She’s a bitch and doesn’t like me. I think it’s because her daughter and I have such a close relationship, and she hates it because she doesn’t have the same thing with a man. None of the men she socializes with cares for her; they’re only using her for her body. On our tiptoes, we walk down the short hallway to Aislin’s room. As we pass by her mom’s bedroom door, moans can be heard. I bare my teeth at the door. At least it was closed this time. I’ve been over a few times when the door was wide open.

Aislin doesn’t show any reaction, long since used to the noise. We stop by the bathroom so she can grab a wet washcloth and then head to her room. Closing the door behind us, Aislin turns around and tells me to take a seat on the end of her bed. I do so, and she gets on her knees beside me. “Can I clean your face?” she asks, her voice timid, a tone that sounds foreign coming from her. I nod and stay still as she gently wipes away the blood on my cheek and chin. The cut on my lip stings when she brushes the rough cloth against it. Her eyes track each movement she makes, trying to be careful as not to hurt me more than necessary. Once she’s done, her hands drop to her lap and she just stares at me. “How bad is it?” Her brows pull down, and she bites her lip. “Your mom is still going to freak out. She’s going to hate me when she finds out why you’re all beat up.” I scowl at her. “That’s stupid. She could never hate you.” Her head falls forward, and she fiddles with the corner of the cloth before she gets up from the bed. Walking over to her dresser, she hangs the wet cloth on the side of a plastic clothes basket. She pulls open a drawer and takes out one of my old

shirts. It’s white and so worn that the black letters have almost faded away. I stand, and she hands it to me. When I pull my blood-soaked shirt off, she turns around and walks over to the window, peering outside. I slip the thin material over my head and meet her at the window. We stand looking outside for a long time. That wasn’t the first time I’ve had to protect Aislin from the assholes of the world, and it wasn’t the last. I was her protector, and she was my North Star, lighting up my world and making it seem less harsh. We may live in a shitty neighborhood where the people are too scared to help each other and are willing to let an innocent girl get raped and beaten, but as long as I have Aislin by my side, I’ll be okay. Denny never bothered us again. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he was found dead two weeks later. The talk of the neighborhood was that he was shot in the back of the head by the brother of the girl he was raping at the time. Dragged outside and left in the streets, his face was gone from the blast of the gun. I won’t lie and say I felt anything other than peace that he was gone.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Niko I OPEN MY EYES THEN REGRET IT IMMEDIATELY WHEN the light pierces my eyeballs like bolts of lightning, so I slam them shut. I clutch the sides of my head, trying to stop the rhythmic pounding. It doesn’t fucking work. “Ahh… fuck me,” I groan, my mouth feeling like I swallowed a bag full of cotton. I roll away from the offending bright light and keep going because there’s no more fucking couch left. Luckily, I catch myself before my nose meets the hard floor. “Goddammit,” I mutter and just lay there, thinking. For a minute, I forget why I’m even on the couch and not in my bed, but then the memories of

the past thirty-six hours roll in. Betsy having a fit at the window then later, waking up to gunshots, seeing a dark figure in a car driving off, checking on Reece because my fucked-up brain demanded it and having him throw it in my face, then at the bar and coming so damn close to getting the guy who took Aislin away from me. Thank God Tavers was there because there’s no telling what I would have done to the drunkard running his mouth. Even sleeping ten fucking hours at the station to sober up did nothing to lessen my rage. If anything, it fueled it. Even if he hadn’t led us to believe he might be the suspect I’ve been looking for all these years, the guy was a disgusting bastard. In the end, he wasn’t the guy, which only amped up my anger because that means he’s still out there. Something wet touches my hand, and I slowly crack open one eye. Betsy’s lying on her stomach, her head on her front paws with her snout right by my hand. The old girl looks worried. Putting her at ease, I lift a hand and pet her head. “I’m okay, girl,” I tell her, and she licks my hand again. I groan and grumble when I pick my tired body up from the floor. I steady myself on the cushion to keep from doing another almost face plant. My head pounds harshly as I stagger to the bathroom. I probably shouldn’t have drunk that bottle when I was forced home by Captain yesterday evening, but

dammit, my nerves were shot to hell, and all I wanted to do was dull the pain of once again failing. I turn the shower on to warm up then turn to the medicine cabinet. I pop a couple of aspirin in my mouth and down them with water cupped in my hand. Once I’m stripped naked, I grab my toothbrush and load the sucker up with way more toothpaste than needed. With the toothbrush in my mouth, I step into the shower. The water hitting my back already makes me feel half human again. I rinse the toothbrush then toss it on the shelf in front of me I stand there for several minutes as the water beats down on my tense shoulders, letting the aspirin make its way into my system. An image of the guy at the bar appears behind my closed eyelids, and anger has my fists clenching. The guy acted remorseful, saying he regretted what he did, but his feelings of guilt did nothing to calm my anger and disgust. The guy was a sick fucking bastard who needed his face pummeled into the ground. No matter how much grief he felt for his actions or how much he claimed it was an accident, he still did what he did. Death is way too easy for someone like him. He deserves to rot in the lowest bowels of hell. Since the closest thing we have to that here on earth is prison, that’ll have to do. I’m not worried, though. There are two things most

prisoners can’t stand and will fuck a fellow prisoner up for; men who abuse women and men who abuse children. Those two are sacred to many of the inmates. I wash my hair and soap up my body. Minutes later, I turn off the shower, grab a towel, dry off, and pull on some jeans and a t-shirt. My head’s still thumping out a low rhythm, but it’s slowly going away. I notice it’s just past noon when I snag my phone from the coffee table as I make my way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Caffeine probably isn’t the best thing for my head, but fuck if I’m giving it up. Right as I’m placing my phone on the counter, it chirps at me. Looking at the screen, I see a name I haven’t seen in a while. I continue my trek to the counter where the coffeemaker is and swipe my finger across the screen. “Mac. How’s it going?” Opening the cabinet, I grab the coffee grounds and filters. Mackai Weston, or Mac to most people, is someone I met in my search for answers about Aislin. Three years ago, a tip led me to a small town called Jaded Hollow in northern Ohio, just a couple of hours away. Mac is the sheriff in that town. According to my source, a man who was wanted for abducting and severely beating several women was said to be hiding out in Jaded Hollow. Word

was he had a girl with him who fit Aislin’s description. By the time I made it to town, there was no sign of the man, but several weeks later, the Virginia State Police picked him up. The girl he had was brutally raped over and over again, covered in bruises and cuts, had fractured ribs, and was extremely malnourished. She also wasn’t Aislin. While a big part of me wished the girl was Aislin just so I would have her back, a small part was glad she wasn’t. It meant she could still be out there whole and happy. Although the likelihood of that happening was slim. Again, there’s no way she would have left me like everyone claimed. I didn’t know the girl who was with him, but even a stranger could tell she was just a shell of herself. She would be forever haunted by what her abductor did. She’d never be the same girl she was before. I wanted to find Aislin, but it terrified me to think of the condition she would be in when I did. I was in Mac’s neck of the woods for almost a week, and in that time, we became friends of a sort. Any time I need help, he’s there, and vice versa. “Nothing much happens around these parts. You know that,” he remarks. I lean back against the counter while my coffee brews, waiting for him to continue. Mac’s not the type to call to shoot the shit. There must be a reason. He releases a sigh. “Listen, I may have

something for you. Got a call from an old friend who works a few towns over. They nabbed a guy for domestic abuse and found some old pictures of some young girls tied up and beaten. Some pretty nasty shit. During questioning, the perp mentioned taking a girl years ago from the Cleveland area.” He pauses, and my heart starts to pound. His voice is quiet, but his words echo in my ear as if he screamed them. I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate on pulling air into my lungs. The hand gripping my phone shakes so much it rattles against my ear. Could this be it? Fuck if I want it to. Screw that. I need this to be it. I need to catch this guy and watch as he rots in prison. I need to know that Aislin’s killer was given the justice he deserves. “That’s not far from here. When did he take her?” I ask barely above a whisper. “Guy couldn’t remember,” he answers, and I grit my teeth. “Just said it was about fifteen years ago.” “Where is he now?” “At the Wayfield precinct. They’re still trying to get answers out of him, but according to my guy Matthew, he’s starting to clam up. I called you as soon as I got off the phone with him. I told him about your situation a while back, and he thought there may be a connection with this guy. He’s supposed to call me as soon as they have more answers.”

I hear tapping on the other end of the phone. The coffeemaker steams behind me, but it’s long forgotten, my mind solely focused on the fact we may know who Aislin’s killer is today. Not only know who he is but also have him in custody. The years I’ve put into searching for answers about her could all be put to rest in a matter of hours. I need this like I need air to breathe. Going so long without any answers at all is slowly killing me inside. “You call me the second something comes in. I want it all, Mac. Every last fucking detail.” I clench my jaw and try to calm my nerves. Being this close and having to wait is going to be fucking hard, but I’ll deal with it. “You got it. As soon as I hear back, you’re my first call,” Mac promises. “Thanks,” I grunt. I pull the phone away from my ear but stop when Mac calls my name. “This could be it, Niko, but it could also be a coincidence. Don’t get your hopes up until we know for sure.” I understand what he’s trying to say. I’ve worked so hard to find out what happened to Aislin. It’s been my focus for the past fifteen years. Even as a teenager when she first disappeared, I spent most of my time looking for any clues I could find. I walked from her house to the corner where

the bus picked her up more times than I could count, hoping I would come across something to prove she didn’t just run away and something had happened to her. I didn’t find anything, but it didn’t stop me from doing it again the next time. I’ve been so close to finding answers so many times, only for them not to be the ones I’m looking for. I’ve been disappointed over and over again. “Yeah. I hear you.” “Talk soon.” I pull the phone from my ear and drop it on the counter. Turning, I plant my palms against the counter and let my head fall forward. I draw in a few deep breaths and try to calm my racing heart, pushing back the hopeful feeling. Mac’s words of not getting my hopes up play over and over in my head. That shit’s easier said than done. I lift my head and look out the window above the sink at Aislin’s house. I finished the last repair two weeks ago, but I still have no idea what to do with it. All I know is I’m not ready to let it go yet. I’m not sure if I ever will. I know it’s an unhealthy obsession to keep something that’s connected to a dead girl, but Aislin was so much more than just a girl. I pull my eyes away from the window and look down to my empty coffee cup. Grabbing the decanter, I pour myself a cup of the dark liquid with shaky hands. It burns when it hits my throat,

but I welcome it. It helps center me from the constant thoughts of knowing I can possibly put Aislin to rest finally. Grief hits me with the thought. I want more than anything to have all my questions answered and for Aislin to have her justice, but it also scares me shitless. What will it do to me to have them, and what will I do afterward? She’ll truly be gone once it’s over. I’ve grieved for years, more so when her body was found, but she was still there with me in a way. I still had a reason to keep her with me. Although the thread tethering us together shredded once she was found and my world turn dark, I still held on. But once that reason is gone, so will she. I’ll have no reason left. She was the one who kept the small spark of light shining off in the distance. Without her, that light will disappear for good. I may have family and friends who care for me, but I’ll still be alone because she won’t be there anymore. I finish my coffee and set the cup in the sink. My phone goes in my pocket, and I whistle for Betsy on my way to the door leading out back. Waiting for Mac to call me back is going to drive me crazy, so I need to distract myself. I squint when the bright sun hits my eyes, reminding me of my drinking binge from last night. I stand on the back porch for several minutes while Betsy runs off to the side yard to do her business. She stops, her nose going to the ground, as she picks up the scent from

whoever was here the other night. The reminder has my fists clenching. It pisses me off that whoever it was got away. “Come on, girl,” I call as I walk off the porch. It takes her several seconds to unglue her nose from the ground then she runs after me. I pull the keys I swiped from the counter out of my pocket and unlock the back door to Aislin’s house. Fresh paint and the smell of wood hits my nose when I step inside the kitchen. It looks nothing like the shithole it was before. I wonder if Aislin would like the new look. I trail my hand over the new slick countertop as I take in the rest of the kitchen. Everything is new. I didn’t leave one thing from the past behind, and I did that on purpose. This house wasn’t one of love, and the look now is deceiving. This looks like a place where a family would sit and laugh while they ate dinner. These walls haven’t heard laughter as far back as I can remember. Betsy’s claws click against the floor as she explores each room. Leaving the kitchen, I follow her. The small living room is void of any furniture. The walls are white, and the floors are a dark brown hardwood. Again, an image of a family sitting and watching a movie while eating popcorn pops in my head. I shake away the thought as ridiculous. Maybe one day this house will be destined for that.

I walk down the dark hallway that leads to the three bedrooms. I pass by the bathroom with its new floors, freshly painted walls, and new toilet, sink, and bath/shower combo. The door to the bedroom on the right is open, and light filters in through the bare window, illuminating the white walls. A door across from it is the linen closet. The door next to it is the room that scares me to enter. I still haven’t found the courage to walk inside it. It’s the only room in the house I have yet to touch. I place my hand on the door and swear I feel warmth. It’s an illusion that sends pain through me. Yanking away my hand with a snarl, I turn on my heel and walk back through the living room to the kitchen then out the back door. As if sensing my dark mood, Betsy trots behind me until we’re both outside. I slam the door, lock the house, and stuff the key back in my pocket. I don’t even know why I came over here. Maybe as punishment. Maybe because it feels like I’m so close to it being over, and I needed a reminder of who Aislin was. I scoff. As if I could ever forget her. She’s so far ingrained in me that she’ll always be a part of me, no matter how long she’s been gone. I stomp off the porch, anger making my movements jerky. I palm the phone in my pocket, willing Mac to call me back with good news. My eyes catch something as I walk across the yard

back to mine. I switch directions without slowing and head to the corner of Aislin’s house. I stop at the small window that leads to the basement. The grass around the area is matted down. Squatting, I take a closer look. Footprints. Small and bare. No shoes. Betsy steps up beside me, sniffs the ground, and starts whining. I reach out and run my hand down her back. “What’s wrong, girl?” She looks up at me, whines, and then sniffs the ground again. I look up and around me, noticing more worn patches of grass that lead around the side of the house to the front. Like someone’s been walking the same path over and over again. What the hell? I lean down and wiggle the small window and am surprised when it pops open easily. I grab my phone from my pocket, pull up my flashlight app, lift the window, and peer inside. The dirt and dust directly below the window have been disturbed, and footprints lead away from it. From the size of the footprints, whoever made them is small. I glance down and see a streak of red on the window frame. Blood. The wood is splintered and sharp. I make note to come back and scrape some off to take to the lab at work for testing. I may get lucky and the person’s DNA will be in the system. I stand and follow the path around the corner

then come to a stop when another set of prints appear. These are much larger and are shoeprints. They also look fresh, probably from last night. What the fuck is going on? Obviously, the person who was here last night was shooting at someone. Was it the person who’s been sneaking into my house? And why has the person been breaking in? There’s nothing in the basement. That was one of the first things I cleaned out, which wasn’t hard to do because there wasn’t much there. I had originally intended to store Aislin’s things from her room in there, but being the pussy I am, I still haven’t sorted through it. The house is empty except for that one room, and there isn’t anything valuable in there. Betsy barks, disturbing my train of thought, and I turn around. My neighbor Jeremy is walking across the yard toward me. He’s a middle-aged man who was probably a woman in a past life. He’s the gossip whore of the neighborhood, eating up and passing along any and all information he can get. “Some night the other night, huh?” he says, whistling. “What?” I ask distracted, looking back down at the footprints. “Oh, yeah.” “Say, do you know if they caught the guy?” I stuff my hands in my pocket and look up. “No. He got away, and it was too dark for anyone to see the plate numbers.”

“Damn,” he mutters then looks at me earnestly. “So you don’t know who the person was after?” “No.” There’s no way I’d give this guy the answer even if I knew it. We both turn and face my front yard where the deep ruts from the guy peeling out are. My phone creaks in my hand, and I have to force my fingers to loosen around it. My phone is my only connection to Mac right now. “Did you hear?” he asks, leaning toward me. “What?” “They picked up a girl the night of the shooting a block over,” he whispers. My eyes swing to him. His are dancing in excitement. “What do you mean a girl was picked up?” “I mean a girl was found wandering the streets, and she was picked up by the police. I heard it on my scanner.” I raise my brow, and he shrugs. “You know how everyone’s in everyone’s business around here and leaves their scanners on all night. Anyway, she was limping or something. Not wearing any shoes and her clothes were torn and dirty. They had an ambulance come out and everything.” His eyes narrow. “Hey, why don’t you know this already? I thought all you cop dudes kept each other in check with everything. Especially since it was in our neighborhood.”

I scowl and wonder the same thing. “When was this?” His eyebrows drop as he thinks for a moment. “It was a few hours after the gunshots.” I keep back the growl that wants to slip free. I was at the department for hours yesterday. Why the fuck wasn’t I told about this? This is my neighborhood, and the courteous thing to do when something happens in a law enforcement officer’s neighborhood is to tell them. My eyes catch on the footprints on the ground at my feet then slide over to the side of the house where the small prints are at the basement window. “You said she was barefoot?” “Yep.” I rub the back of my head, feeling my headache coming back. Could she be the same person who’s been sneaking in my house? And if so, why? What was she doing in there? Vibration against my leg has me scrambling for my phone in my pocket. When I look down and see Mom’s name on the screen and not fucking Mac’s, I scowl at the device and force back the snarl that wants to rip from my chest. I reject the call, jam the phone back in my pocket, and then turn to Jeremy. “Have you seen anyone around here who doesn’t look familiar?” I ask. “No. Not that I can think of.” “No one looking suspicious or out of place?” I

press. He shakes his head. “No. Why?” Instead of answering him, I tip my head back and close my eyes, frustration taking hold. There’s too much weird shit going on with not enough answers. An engine has me lifting my head to see Tavers pulling into my driveway. I didn’t expect to see him today. Last night after my near meltdown, Captain forced me to take a few days off to get my head on straight, claiming my obsession with Aislin’s killer is fucking up my judgment. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, that he didn’t know what he was talking about, but I couldn’t. Not only because he was my boss, but because he did know what he was talking about. I know this shit’s fucking with my head. I know my need to finish this may be unhealthy, but I won’t stop until it’s done. I’ve let Aislin down once; I won’t do it again. Without looking back at Jeremy, I leave him and meet Tavers at his truck just as he shuts the engine off and climbs out. “What’re you doing here?” I ask. He pets Betsy, who has run up to him with a wagging tail, and lifts his chin to the house, indicating he wants to go inside. I lead us to the back door since the front is still locked. “Why are we going in the back door?” he asks. “I’ll explain later,” I throw over my shoulder

and push open the door. I lean against the counter with my arms crossed as Tavers makes himself at home by pouring a cup of coffee. This isn’t anything new: him treating my house as his own. He’s been here more times than I can count—not only since I’ve been back, but as a kid as well. After he takes his first sip, he lets out a sigh. “Damn, that tastes good. Mindy bought the fucking decaf kind by accident yesterday.” He takes another swallow, and I almost laugh when his eyes roll back in his head. “You’re ridiculous.” “No,” he says, refilling his already half-empty cup. “What I am is caffeine deprived.” I shake my head. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I check the time. It’s been forty-five minutes since Mac called. What the fuck is taking so long? Anxiety eats at me from not knowing what the hell is going on. I put the phone on the counter and bring my eyes to Tavers. “Aren’t you on the clock today?” He nods and sets his cup down then turns to mimic my stance on the counter across from me, crossing his ankles. “How ya feeling this morning?” “Like shit.” I scrub my hand down my face. “Was her body found?” Anger lights his face when he answers. “Yes, and the condition we found her in makes me want

to slice his dick up and force the fucker to eat it.” I ball my hands into fists and fight back the urge to punch something. It takes me a minute, but the need to do damage lessens enough for me to talk again. “Why wasn’t I told about the girl who was picked up the night of the shooting?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. He blows out a breath, looks to the side, and then brings his eyes back to me. “You were too fucked up, and I didn’t think you needed to add more to your plate at the moment.” “That wasn’t your call to make,” I grit. I get why he didn’t want to tell me, but it still wasn’t his decision. I should have been told. “Fuck, Niko,” he says, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “You just had someone shoot up your front yard, had it out with your brother, got drunk off your ass, and thought you found the guy who took Aislin. How fucking much more could you have taken?” A growl slips past my lips, and I push from the counter, pacing back and forth in front of Tavers. “I had a right to fucking know,” I growl, and swing my eyes to him, never breaking my strides. When I pass by him again, I stop. “Someone’s been breaking into my house. Not this one, but the one next door. I found footprints outside the basement window.”

“What?” he asks, his brow pulling down in confusion. “I found bare footprints outside the basement window,” I say again. “The dust in the basement’s been disturbed too. I don’t know for how long, but someone’s been going in through that window.” He picks up his coffee, chugs down the rest, and then sets the empty cup down before uncrossing his ankles. “And you think this girl could be that person?” “I don’t know.” I rub the back of my neck. “But it’s possible. The girl picked up was barefoot, right?” At his nod, I ask, “Where is she?” “Taken to County General. She wasn’t in good shape and needed evaluation from the report I saw. I didn’t see her.” He pauses. “Think she might be the girl the shooter was after too?” he asks. “Maybe. If not, it’s a big fucking coincidence, which just adds to the list of coincidences lately.” I resume my pacing. On my way by my phone, I swipe it off the counter. I feel better knowing I have it with me. I know the damn device works; I just wish it would fucking ring already and give me the answers I want before I pull my goddamn hair out. I turn back to Tavers. “Do me a favor. Get me a copy of the report. Not sure if Captain will let me step foot in the station before my forced vacay is up.”

“Why?” I turn my back to him and open the fridge. My stomach feels like it’s trying to eat its lining, so I grab the carton of eggs then frown down at the carton. For some reason, the thought of the girl being the one who was sneaking in my house doesn’t bother me as much as it should. Had I suspected anyone else, I would have been livid, but Tavers’ description saying she was in bad shape doesn’t sit well with me. She obviously needed a safe place to stay. I’m curious to know why she was there, and what she was doing wandering the streets at night. And if the shooter was after her, why. What caused her to need to be medically evaluated? Was she shot? How bad off was she? “Just do it,” I grunt. Just then, my phone rings in my hand. My head snaps out of the fridge, and my eyes goes straight to the screen. Mac’s name appears, and sweat immediately breaks out on my forehead. I slam the fridge door shut and ignore Tavers’ raised brows as I answer. “What do you have?” I ask, my voice coming out shaky even to my own ears. The tired breath Mac lets out has my shoulder hunching in defeat and my heart dropping. I know before he even says anything that it’s not good. “It’s not him,” he confirms quietly. “The guy was doing a stint for domestic violence when your

girl was taken.” I prop my hand on the counter, drop my head, and heave in a few breaths, calming down the raging emotions running through me. So close. So fucking close and we’re back to square fucking one. One step forward and fifty goddamn steps back. An image of Aislin’s sweet face pops in my mind, and I jab my fingers in my eyes to remove it. Guilt at still not finding the bastard stabs at my chest, stealing the air trying to make its way into my lungs. How in the hell is this guy still out there? How in the fuck does he hide himself so well? He had her for fifteen years, and if where her body was found is any indication, she was kept here in town. Someone who could do the damage he did to her is obviously fucked in the head. How is he out in society with no one the wiser of the fucked-up bastard? “Niko.” Mac’s voice calls, reminding me he’s still on the phone. I clear my throat and lift my head. “Thanks for the update,” I tell him, my voice monotonous. “Let me know if you need anything from here about the girl he took.” “I’m sorry, man.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “No need. I’ll get him eventually. Fucker can’t hide forever.” “You need anything from me, you have my

number.” “Yep.” We hang up, and I drop my phone to the counter, not really caring now if the damn thing breaks. When I turn around, Tavers is watching me with concern. Before he can ask, I tell him about our conversation. “That was Mac. He thought he had a lead for me. A guy that was picked up mentioned a girl he grabbed from around the Cleveland area years ago, but it wasn’t Aislin. Guy was locked up at the time.” “Fuck,” he mutters. “Yeah,” I agree. I turn and brace my hands on the counter for several minutes, giving myself time to push back all the anger at once again coming up empty. Failing. I’m not coming up empty. I’m fucking failing Aislin at every turn. Red fills my vision at knowing the bastard is still out there. He won’t be for long, though. Although today was another setback, I can feel that I’m getting closer. Come hell or high water, I don’t care what the fuck I have to do; I’ll find him. And when I do, he’d better pray I’ll be able to control the beast steadily growing inside me and demanding I take revenge on the hurt and violence he put Aislin through.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Niko I CAN ’ T SIT HERE ANY LONGER AS JUSTICE SIMMERS below the surface. Every time I feel close enough to Aislin’s killer, it’s snatched away from me. I could almost taste sweet vengeance. Captain might have ordered me home, off the case of Louis DeLucia, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to work. If I can’t investigate Aislin’s file, I’m going to look into something else that’s been on my mind. Who broke into my basement, and does it have anything to do with the woman who was picked up not far from here the other night? My gut says it does. I could get into a lot of shit, and by shit, I mean desk duty, but this isn’t just a job to me. This is my life. It always has been. Maybe getting into the

force for personal reasons wasn’t the smartest move, but it’s hard to sit back on the sidelines when it’s affecting my life. He wants me to take a break from Aislin’s case? Fine. Done. I’ll give him that, but I’m not going to take a break from mine. Which is exactly why I shoved my phone into my pocket, grabbed my keys, and hopped in my truck about fifteen minutes ago, heading to County General. Tavers dropped off the report this morning on his way to work. He’d grabbed a copy last night but decided to wait until I was sober before letting me read it. Not that I was drinking last night. He didn’t know that and didn’t feel like checking in case I decided to create more of a mess that he’d have to help clean up. I spent about an hour studying it. The night of the gunshots outside my house, the cops received a call from a concerned neighbor about a suspicious person. About a mile up the road, they located a young woman, late twenties to late thirties, barely dressed in a filthy tank top, presumed to be white at one point, and a pair of jean shorts with purple flowers on them that looked to be something a teen would wear, not a grown woman. She was also barefoot. Upon approach, she refused to speak and became combative. Two officers had to hold her down while the paramedics strapped her to a gurney to sedate her.

That’s all I have so far. My hope is to visit. See if they’ve found out any information about who she is and where she came from. If I could get her to answer some questions, it’d make my job a whole lot easier. I trek into the old hospital for the first time since I got back to town. I didn’t spend much time in here as a kid, but the few times I did, like when Tori broke her arm in third grade, I remember being scared. The lobby was filled with drunks and junkies, and Mom held me close until it was time to leave. As I look around the off-white space, I’m pleased to see it’s nearly empty. Another sign that the town I fled has drastically changed. When I reach the front desk, a sweet looking receptionist looks up at me with big brown eyes. “Can I help you?” “Hi. I’m here to see the Jane Doe who was brought in the other night from Breckenridge Drive.” Before she can ask, I flash her my badge. “Oh yes,” she replies instantly. “She’s been having a rough time, poor thing. Is that why there’s two of you?” “Two of … who?” “Officers.” She waved her hand in the air. “Another one showed up a few minutes ago.” Shit. Captain must have already sent someone to question her. The receptionist’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“She’s up on the sixth-floor ward; let me find her room number for you.” Her fingers clack briskly against the keyboard. “Room 632. Do you need me to escort you?” Her tone more than suggested she’d like to escort me, but I brushed her off. “Thank you, but I can find it. Have a nice day.” I start toward the elevator bank, mulling over my options. I can’t exactly turn around and walk back out the door. That’d look suspicious. I could take the elevator up and back down. Buy myself a few minutes of time to say she was asleep or not up to answering questions. She is on the sixth floor, so it wouldn’t be implausible. I could also swing by the room and stay outside. Just have a peek and hope that whoever Captain sent doesn’t see or recognize me. That’s a bit risky. There’s just something in my gut that’s telling me I need to go up there. That same feeling I get during a traffic stop about to go bad. Or when I know a suspect is lying to me. I’ve been on the force for a long time, and that gut feeling has steered me right more often than not. By the time the elevator stops, I’ve decided to walk by her room. It’s when I find her room that I’ve decided to stick around for a while. A long while. Because the man who came up here isn’t a cop at all. He sees me when I’m halfway toward him, and

his body strings tight like he wants to run. Too bad there’s nowhere for him to go. He’s pacing a few doors down from her room, and I hope like fuck he hasn’t been in there. When I get close enough, I lower my voice so only he can hear. “Impersonating an officer is a felony,” I hiss and rest my hands on my hips so it opens my coat enough that the butt of my gun is visible. Dick move, but this fucker needs to know I’m serious. Mr. Stewart’s eyes go wide, and he raises his hands. “I just needed to see if it was her. They didn’t give a lot of information in the report,” he squeaks. “What report? How’d you even know they brought a woman in?” He fumbles with his front jeans pocket and clumsily yanks out his phone. He starts pressing buttons before he thrusts it into my space. “I listen in on this app. It broadcasts police channels. I thought it might be Rebecca.” “Mr. Stewart, with all due respect to your situation, I’m the lead detective on your case. You don’t think I would have contacted you if it were possible we found her?” “I waited for two days! I called your office,” he cries in a harsh whisper, appearing about to break down. “You didn’t answer so I had to come see for myself.”

“I can’t update you on every person who comes through the station. It’s just not possible or legal for that matter. You’re violating all sorts of HIPAA laws just by being here. You need to leave, and if anything changes, I will contact you.” “Please let me see her. I just need to see for myself.” That makes me pause. “What have you been doing here if you haven’t gone in her room?” “I was only here a few minutes before you. I was trying to gather my courage. They said she was in rough shape over the scanner. I was—I was preparing myself. Please, just let me see her.” I sigh, feeling some sympathy through my annoyance. “I’m sorry, but it’s not Rebecca, and I can’t allow you to enter a stranger’s room without their permission. Now leave before I have to escort you off the premises.” He leans toward me and hisses, “You don’t know that!” I mimic his position. “You’ve got five seconds.” I reach into the inside pocket of my leather jacket and pull out my spare cuffs. His eyes widen. His mouth drops open as if he’s about to counter back, but at that second, a shrill scream comes from the room two doors down. It doesn’t stop. The woman keeps screaming in an agonized voice, terror echoing through the halls so loudly, I can feel her fear in my bones. A team of medical professionals

files into her room, several of them carrying items and one pushing a cart. For one second, I take my eyes off Mr. Stewart to watch the team, and in that split second, the moron dashes away from me to her room. Motherfucker. At least he has the smarts not to step foot in her room. I really don’t want to have to arrest him and explain to my boss why I was here, but he’s really testing my patience. While he’s fixated on the girl, I step up in front of him and plant my hand on the center of his chest. I feel like I can physically feel the force of the girl’s screams on the back of my neck as they become louder and more frantic. My heart pulls in sympathy for her. I’d be afraid too if a team of doctors ran into my room, and I had no idea what they were doing. I push off Mr. Stewart’s chest enough to make him step back a foot. “Last time I ask you to leave. The next time, I’m hauling you out of here in cuffs.” We lock eyes, and while he appears distraught, I swear I see a bit of challenge in them. “She has the same shape of her face… and— and her eyes look the same. Please, Detective, please look harder. It could be her. What if someone dyed her hair?” “We’ll discuss this later. You’re breaking the law by being here, and if you don’t go on your own, I’ll be forced to do something about that.” The distress on his face evaporates and in its

place is a hard sneer. “I’ll be in touch,” he spits and stomps to the elevators. I watch until the doors close him inside then turn my attention to the room. The girl struggles against the restraints on her wrists. Her back bows off the bed, nearly bending her in two, and she thrashes her feet wildly. A wild mane of tangled brown hair hides half her face. A doctor to her right readies a needle, probably a sedative to calm her down. Our eyes lock from across the room, and the terror there is heart wrenching. I’ve dealt with a lot of distraught families over the years. I’ve found and spoken to many victims who’d wished they’d died rather than go through the torture they had, so I can’t help but feel sad for what this girl is being put through now after only God knows what else she’s been through. We still don’t know if she’s a victim or a prostitute or just a homeless girl who was looking for shelter. What I do know is that life hasn’t been kind to her. Holding her down, restraining her, drugging her—none of that is probably helping. I take her in while all this happens around me. Time slows considerably while my heart speeds up. I consider myself a compassionate man. I feel for my victims and their families, but I’ve also learned to distance myself over the years and not to carry the weight of their pain around with me. I have

enough of that on my own. But her injuries are barbaric. Half her face is covered by brown hair that is so dark with filth it could possibly be blond. Debris is twisted in the strands. Patches of hair are so matted they’ve formed dreads that will need to be cut out. As if she hasn’t been through enough physical trauma already, she’ll probably need to shave her entire head. Her hair is just the beginning. I can’t begin to catalogue all the fresh cuts on her skin. Thin red lines crisscross her flesh, patches of dried blood joining them to form red webs. Even more scabs and scars are present. Not an inch of skin isn’t marred. Both of her flailing feet are wrapped with bandages, and her legs mirror her arms. Her face seems to have taken the worst damage. The entire left side is so swollen her eye is puffy and shut. Her left cheek and lower jaw are the size of a softball and so dark purple that it almost looks black. A thick, still-healing keloid scar runs from her right temple, parallel to the side of her face, and stops just level with the corner of her lip. “Stop.” That word falls from my mouth without much forethought. I’m no medical professional, and I have no business trying to get in the way of what they’re doing. It feels wrong, though, to watch her

struggle. Every head in the room turns in my direction, and to my shock, the girl falls silent and stills her fight although her limbs tremble. “Who are you?” a balding doctor asks. I assume he’s the one in charge. I pull out my credentials and flash him my badge. “Detective Niko James. I came by to ask Jane Doe a few questions.” “I’m sorry, Mr. James. She’s in no state of mind to answer questions today,” he replies, not unkind, but I can tell he’s tired. It could be this patient or this day, but his face is drawn, and lines and dark circles surround his eyes. I think someone needs to give him a mandatory vacation, too. Looks like he could use it. I cock my head to the left, not taking my eyes away from the girl who’s still staring at me. “Understandably, you’re the professional here, but she was brought in a couple of days ago, and we still have no idea who she is. Surely, a few minutes of questioning isn’t too much to ask?” He sighs. “You heard her screaming. She’s very distraught.” “She’s not screaming anymore.” The doctor blinks hard as if he just surfaced from a daydream and jerks his head in her direction. “Huh. I guess she’s not.” “A few minutes, please. We could use anything

as a lead at this point.” “Okay. Yes. A few minutes,” he concedes, scrubbing a hand over his tired brow. “Hey, Doc,” I call as he starts to leave the room. He turns back and raises an eyebrow, probably at my less-than-professional acknowledgment. What can I say, it slipped out. I lower my voice so only he can hear. “Why’s she restrained? And so damn dirty? From my impression of the intake report, she’s more likely than not a victim. Where’s the compassion?” The older man looks toward his shoes before making direct eye contact. “It’s for her safety. She was fine when they brought her in, but during her exam for the kit…” He trails off, making the rest very clear. I swallow hard. “We haven’t been able to touch her since. Anytime someone gets close, she lashes out.” “Got it. Thanks.” He barely acknowledges with a nod and leaves the room; his medical team trails behind. I watch them go. When I turn back toward the bed, I notice the girl’s eyes haven’t left me yet. It’s a little unnerving to be watched so closely. At the same time, I like that she seems curious of me. It might work to my advantage at getting some answers out of her. “D’you mind if I sit?” I ask gently. I want her to feel like she has control. If she asked me to leave, I would. I need her to trust me

enough to open up. I already assumed it’d be hard, but two seconds in her room is enough to tell me it’s going to be a mountain of a task. The girl gives one short, sharp bob of her head, and I scan the room for a safe place to sit. A lone chair set by her window has a white plastic seat and metal legs. It looks uncomfortable as hell for a piece of furniture in a hospital room, but it’ll do. Forcing myself to go slow, I cross the room and drop my ass into it. I drop my elbows to my knees and lean forward, clasping my hands together. “I’m Niko.” She doesn’t respond. By her stare and the steady rise and fall of her shoulders, I’d guess she’s concentrating on breathing. “I thought we could talk. Is that okay with you?” She nods again. “Can I get you something to drink?” This time, she gives a punctuated shake. Okay, so she’s good with using nonverbal communication. That’s a start at least. I can work with yes-or-no questions. “Do you know where you are?” Her gaze flits to the open door and the hall beyond. Once again, I’m left staring at the state of this woman’s disfigurement. It’s obvious these are signs of abuse, but from who? Her pimp? Was she attacked for trying to leave that life? A victim of domestic violence? Could she be connected to the person who took Rebecca? I don’t realize I’m staring until she shakes her

head again, and the movement pulls me from my thoughts. I trail my eyes over her wounds again, and the sight makes me sick. I grind my back molars together to get ahold of myself. Once I feel calm, I ask another question. “Do you know your name?” She shakes her head. Damn. I try a different route. “Do you know how you got all these cuts?” At my words, she glances down at her arms. She runs her right index finger over a spot of dried blood on her right thigh. “Yes,” she croaks in a quiet voice that startles me. “Can you tell me how?” “All of them.” She goes on as if I didn’t speak. I try to keep my expression neutral, but I’m confused. “All of them? What do you mean?” “I know how I got all of them.” She faces me with a blank stare. “I remember them all.” The sound of her voice sends a shiver down my spine. Monotone and quiet, it reminds me of nothing. That void of hopelessness. Of no going back. “Who did this to you?” I prod gently. She shakes her head again, and my stomach sinks. “I can’t remember. I remember the shadow man and the screaming girl. And the pain,” she goes on in a hollow voice. “I remember being hurt, but not who did it. I think… I think I did it.” “What else do you remember?” For some reason, she flinches and cowers in her bed.

“No. I-I don’t know anything else. I can’t remember.” I bite back a sigh and look out the window. The clouds from this morning have disappeared, and the sun now shines brightly. When I look back at the woman, she’s playing with the dried blood again. “Do you want to clean up?” Her hand shifts to the blanket beside her hip, and she clenches it in her fist. “When they brought me here, they did so many things. They had to touch me and take reports, they said, and I let them. They took pictures of me naked. It made me scared.” She whispers the last part, telling me this as an explanation for her appearance, I assume. “Then they had to stick something inside me here.” The restraints slide up just enough so that she covers her crotch area with a hand. I shift uncomfortably in my chair and look back at her face, my heart picking up speed at the allegations of prior rape. She goes on. “That’s why I don’t trust them. That’s why I scream.” My heart twists painfully for this scared woman and the unspeakable things she’s endured. “Will you let me help you clean up?” I ask again, gentler this time. “Don’t touch me!” She hisses softly. I hold both my hands up in a placating gesture. “I promise I won’t. I’ll bring you a basin with warm water and some cloths. How does that sound?

If you let me take off your restraint, you can do the rest.” “Why would you do that?” I pause halfway to standing and cock my head. “Do… what?” I ask and carefully straighten the rest of the way as not to startle her. “Help. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. Why not leave me to the doctors…?” “I’m a police detective. My job is to help and protect all people. If you’ll let me help you, I’m happy to do so.” “But why?” Her questions strike something inside me, though I can’t quite figure out what. I know the trauma has locked her memories away, but can she really not understand one human being wanting to help another? Isn’t that a basic theme of human existence? “Because you’re frightened, for one, and I’m someone you can trust. And because I feel compelled to do so.” Until we figure out who she is, she has nobody. On some level, I can relate. There’s also the missing piece of what she was doing on my property, and I’m damn determined to find that answer out. Though, right now doesn’t feel like the best time to ask. She reverts to nonverbal and simply nods. Huh. I was expecting more questions than that. I set about doing as I said and bring the basin to

the table beside her bed. I scoot it within her reach, and as carefully as I can without touching her or applying any pressure, I take off the restraint on her right wrist. I let it fall loosely to the bed and step back to the chair I sat in before. She hesitates, glancing back and forth between me and the basin several times before she tentatively swishes around for the washcloth. I look away as a weak attempt to give her some privacy. A better man would leave the room. Instead, I strike up another question while she’s somewhat distracted. “What do you know about the area you were picked up in?” She keeps stroking the rag across her arm as if I hadn’t spoken. It’s strange how some questions startle her and others don’t. There’s no pattern to it. “No.” She answers at last, dipping the rag back into the warm water. My body turns stiff when she lifts the gown, completely exposing her bottom half, and places the rag on the top of her left thigh. She works slowly, methodically as she runs the rag down her thigh to her knee and back up to the crease that meets her hip. Water drips down the curves of her leg in rivulets, but she doesn’t seem to mind the mess. I’m shocked speechless when I lift my eyes and see her watching herself with a solemn expression as if what she’s showing off is something normal. I clear my throat and turn my head away, still

unsure how to react to her exposing herself so easily without an ounce of embarrassment. “I was just walking,” she finishes. I turn my head back to her and let out a relieved sigh when I see she’s covered herself again. Walking… She remembers walking but not running through my yard? Is she lying, or is this truly not the same person who was outside my house that night? I lean back in my chair. “Why did they pick you up if you were just walking?” Her answer comes quicker this time. “They said I was trespassing.” “Were you?” Her eyes dart up to mine, and my breath catches at the direct eye contact. “No. I was lost.” I flick my gaze back down to the bandages on her feet. She follows my eyes with her own. “I wasn’t wearing any shoes, I guess. I don’t really remember.” “Do you have shoes?” The question seems to come out of nowhere, but her answer could tell me a lot. “Who doesn’t have shoes?” she replies in a tone that makes me seem like a complete idiot. Okay, so that backfired. I bite back another sigh. “Is there anything you remember? Anything at all?” Her pause lasts half a second. “No. I really don’t, Detective. I’m sorry.”

I want to end this on a positive note for her even though I’ll carry the frustration of the visit around for a while. It feels like another loss. I power through the pain in order to end this and head home. “That’s okay. You’re here now, and you’re safe. That’s all that matters. Listen to your doctors and get some rest. They’re here to help you.” With that parting statement, I push up from the arms of the chair and rise slowly as to not startle her. She looks up at me with wide, fearful eyes, and whispers in a trembling voice, “And you?” My brows knit together. “I’m sorry?” “Y-you’ll be here, too, right? To help?” “Miss.” Goddammit, I wish I knew her name. My stomach muscles clench with anxiety. “Before, you said you’d like to help. Does that mean you’ll come back? To help me?” Fuck. I pull on a kind smile, wondering what mess I’ve gotten myself into. “I’ll see what I can do.” “You’ll come back?” she asks again. Her voice is so quiet and small that I don’t have it in me to tell her the truth. “Sure,” I tell her, not having the heart to share that I have no intention of coming back.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Niko I DUMP THE DREGS OF MY COFFEE, RINSE THE CUP , and then put it in the dishwasher before swiping my keys and wallet off the counter and heading out the door. The clouds overhead are dark, promising a thunderstorm later today. As I’m opening my truck door, my phone rings. Pulling it from my pocket, I briefly look at the name displayed then swipe my finger across the screen to accept the call. “Hey, Tori,” I greet my sister as I climb in the truck. “What’s up?” “Thank God I caught you!” Tori pants over the phone. I pause in putting the key in the ignition. “What’s wrong?” I ask. She blows out a breath that sends crackles to

my ear. “Michael. That’s what’s wrong. He’s freaking out because I’m trying to book flights for us to come down for a visit, but he’s not letting me. You remember that plane that went down in Florida a couple of months ago killing all those people?” She doesn’t give me time to answer before she continues. “Well, now he thinks that any plane we’ll be on will go down just like that one did.” It’s definitely not a laughing matter, but if you knew Tori’s husband, Michael, then you could just picture him running around clutching his hair, muttering to himself and sending Tori a glare when she won’t do what he wants, which amps up his anxiety even more. Michael tends to be… dramatic at times. “And why are you calling me with this?” I ask, unable to hold back a chuckle. “It’s not like I can do anything about it.” A feminine growl sounds over the phone. “Because if I don’t talk to someone about it, I’m going to strangle the man, and you were the only one available.” I prop my elbow on the window frame and drop my other hand to my thigh. “He just worries about you and the kids. Give the guy a break.” “Niko, you know how many breaks I’ve given him? Lord loves him and so do I, but he needs to stop with the exaggerated worrying over every

single thing that happens. Before this plane crashed, it was the Ebola epidemic in Africa. In Africa, Niko! We’re not even on the same continent, and he wouldn’t let us leave the house without one of those surgical masks things on, just in case it was brought back to the US like in 2014. He’s driving me crazy. I’m going to be bald before I hit thirty-five from pulling out my hair.” I can’t help it when a laugh slips free but quickly changes to a wince when Tori screeches, “It’s not fucking funny!” Tori can be quite dramatic at times too. “Okay.” I try to soothe her. “Just calm down, okay? Are the kids around?” “No,” she huffs out. “Why?” “I was just wondering if you were screaming and cursing in front of them.” “I’m about at my wits’ end, so that may be a possibility soon,” she mutters. I run my fingers through my hair then drop my wrist on the steering wheel. “Look, Tori. I can understand Michael’s worry. Hush and let me finish,” I say when I hear her suck in a breath to bark at me. “I can also see how it gets excessive at times. You need to sit him down and talk to him. He needs to know how much it’s bothering you. He’ll always worry, but maybe if you explain your feelings, he can work on toning it down to a reasonable level.”

I’m ashamed to admit I haven’t been the typical protective brother. From the age of fifteen, I focused primarily on finding Aislin, which left little time to pay attention to my brother and sister. However, I wasn’t totally oblivious to what was going on with them. When Tori started dating Michael seven years ago, I liked him right away. I saw how he looked at my sister, the total adoration in his eyes. Michael may worry a lot, but he does it because he loves my sister and their kids more than anything. He’d do anything for them and protect them with his own life. Tori sighs over the line. “I hear you. He just aggravates me to no end sometimes.” “He loves you and only wants to keep you safe,” I tell her simply. “I know. Thank you, Niko.” “Now go talk to Michael and make him let you buy those tickets. I want to see you and my niece and meet my nephew.” I drop the phone on the passenger’s seat once we hang up then start my truck. Thoughts of Tori’s problem leave my mind when I think about where I’m going. It’s something I need to do, something I feel compelled to do, even if it’s something I shouldn’t do. I fought with myself for all of twenty minutes this morning on whether I should visit again or just leave the woman be. Betsy barked at me when I held her food bowl instead of putting it

on the floor. When I looked down at her, I swear the dog was telling me with her eyes to go. Sounds stupid, and it probably is, but fuck if I’m going to ignore my dog if she’s telling me I should do something. Aren’t dogs supposed to have supernatural abilities to see shit people can’t? This’ll be my second visit to Jane Doe. The first time, I was lucky I wasn’t caught. This time, I know I’m pushing it. Even knowing Captain would have my hide, it still doesn’t stop me from pointing my truck in the direction of the hospital. Something’s pulling me there, demanding I go back to see her, and it’s not just that she’s the likely culprit who has been breaking into my house. It’s more than that. It was her god-awful sounds of panicking when I first walked in the room. It was the dead look in her eyes when I was questioning her. The scars on her arms, legs, and face. It was the emotionless way she spoke to me. I want to know what happened to her and see if I can help. She’s obviously been through a terrible ordeal, no matter the circumstances behind it. So many answers are surrounding her case that it’s brought on my curiosity. I also want to make sure Mr. Stewart doesn’t show up again. He seemed adamant that she was his niece, but she looked nothing like the picture he showed us. Maybe the eyes, but that’s as far as any resemblance goes. My eyes land on a sign on the side of the road,

and before I realize it, I’m whipping the wheel to the right. I pull into the busy parking lot of a store and find a place to park. I have no idea what in the hell I’m doing, but I get out of the truck, lock it, and walk inside anyway. I stop just inside the doors, looking left then right before heading toward the women’s clothing section. I walk past the bras and panties and head to the nightgowns. I know from experience how rough hospital gowns are, so maybe if I make her more comfortable, it’ll be easier to get something useful out of her. I walk around, looking at all the different nightgowns. Why in the fuck do women need this many things to wear to bed? Why can’t there just be four or five options instead of the fifty I’ve looked at already. How in the fuck am I supposed to know what she would like to wear? “Can I help you?” A voice interrupts my thoughts. I turn and see an older lady staring at me with a smile on her face. Her name tag says “Irene.” “I hope like hell you can,” I mutter then say more loudly, “I’m looking for a nightgown. Something soft against the skin. The woman I want it for is in the hospital, so something she’ll appreciate wearing beside those coarse gowns.” Her smile grows. “Yes. Those things are hideous and definitely don’t cover all the parts it should. I’ve got the perfect one. If you’ll follow me?”

She turns without waiting for my response, and I trail behind her. We stop at a rack of nightgowns. “What size do you need?” she asks. I think back to the small woman in the bed. She was sitting the entire time, so I don’t know her height, but if I had to guess, I’d say she was a little below average. Her weight on the other hand couldn’t have been more than a hundred pounds. Beneath the scars riddling her, she was just skin and bones. “Small,” I tell the clerk, hoping my guess is right. She pulls a floral gown from the rack, and before she can even hand it to me, I shake my head. I look past her at all the colors offered and immediately pinpoint a particular one. It’s a light green with loose sleeves that come to just above the elbow. The hem is long, so I know it’ll cover most of her legs. I reach out and feel the material, and even to my rough hands, it feels incredibly soft. It’s also thick, which will keep hidden the parts of her that should stay hidden. “This one,” I say, pulling the hanger from the rack. “That’s a good choice. The lady will love it.” I thank the clerk for her help and head back to the front of the store but then veer away from the registers when another thought occurs to me. It takes me several minutes to peruse through all the

selections of panties. Again, there are too fucking many to choose from. I end up grabbing a pack of plain white. From there, I go to the bath aisle and look over the shampoos and conditioners. The woman’s hair is a mess, and there’s a big chance she may lose some, if not all, of it, which would be a shame. There’s a lot of it, and I’m sure it was once beautiful. Just in case, though, I grab a bottle of shampoo and conditioner then snag a bottle that says detangler on it, hoping it may help. Next, I move to the soap aisle, and after opening and smelling several of the options, I settle on the lavender rose. Toothpaste, toothbrush, and hairbrush are next. The hospital provides all these things, of course, but it’ll be nice for her to have her own that don’t smell so antiseptic. That, and the quality of shit they give you in the hospital is just that… shit. With my arms loaded, I walk to the front of the store. As I’m waiting in line behind a woman with two kids in her buggy who keep leaning over the edge and nearly falling out, almost causing me to lose everything in my arms to catch them, I spot a deck of cards. I set the shampoo and conditioner on the little lip at the end of the conveyor belt and add the cards to my pile of stuff. I then notice a word search book and add that as well. Just as the lady and kids in front of me walk away, I see an old classic I read when I was younger, and I add that to

the pile too. While in the hospital, you can’t ever have too many things to occupy your time. For good measure, I toss in a few candy bars and bags of chips. When the sales clerk tells me my total, and I hand over my credit card and leave with several bags. I load them in the passenger seat of my truck and take off for the hospital once again. I walk in the main entrance ten minutes later and head straight for the elevators, bypassing the front desk. On the sixth floor, I take a left. At the last minute, I stop at the nurse’s station. Maneuvering the bag handles to one hand, I whip out my badge since the nurse on duty isn’t the one who was here yesterday. I hold it up and let her take a peek. I pull one of my cards out before flipping it closed and putting it back in my pocket. “I was here yesterday visiting the woman in room 632. There was a man in the hallway impersonating a police officer. His name’s Clem Stewart. Middle aged with short brown hair. Average weight and height. You see him”—I hold out the card—“you give me a call. He’s not to go in there.” The man seemed a bit unhinged and determined when he thought she was his niece. It wouldn’t surprise me if he tried to come back. She takes the card and looks at it before bringing her eyes back to me. “Got it.”

I begin to turn but then look back. “How is she today?” I ask. Her eyes hold sympathy as she looks over at the door. “She let us put in an IV, but only when we told her we’d remove the restraints if she did. She hasn’t let anyone touch her since. Becomes hysterical if someone even mentions it. She’s eating but very little, and all she does is stare off into space. Not once has she asked to watch TV or asked the nurses for anything. She’s very withdrawn.” I nod, not altogether surprised by her answer. It was obvious she doesn’t like to be touched from the way she looked when she spoke about the doctor’s examination of her. Something about her seems off, as if she’s detached to the outside world or something. I leave the nurse with a promise from her that she’ll pass along the message to call me and not allow Mr. Stewart in the room if he shows up. I stop at the open door and stare at the woman sitting in a chair in front of the window. Most of her body is facing the window with the way she sits, so I only get a side view of her. She’s drawn her knees up to her chest with her feet resting on the edge of the chair. Arms wrapped around her legs, she’s lightly rocking as she sits there. She almost looks like a lost child. I grow confused when my chest tightens at the sight.

Her hair is still matted and dirty, and I wonder if she’s even tried brushing it at all. The cuts on the arm I can see look cleaned, but still no bandage covers them. The only form of bandage is the tape securing the IV in her arm. Pushing the thoughts away, I gently rap my knuckles on the door so I don’t frighten her. Even with the light sound, she jumps and gives a startled scream. She turns her head and looks surprised to see me standing there. “Sorry,” I say, stepping inside the doorway. She keeps her arms around her legs as she cautiously watches me approach. I stop a good five feet from her when I see her eyes dart behind me to the door then back at me. “How are you today?” She doesn’t answer but keeps her eyes on me. After several seconds, she asks, “Why did you come back?” Her brows pull down into a frown as if she can’t fathom why I would care enough to return. Her question is valid; I’m not exactly sure myself why I’m here. It’s more than to get answers out of her and to ensure Mr. Stewart doesn’t come back. “I wanted to see how you were doing.” I give her the best answer I can. “But why?” she asks again. I hold the bags up. “I brought you some things you might need.”

Her eyes drop to the bags dispassionately then she drops her feet to the floor. One side of her gown falls from her shoulder, revealing the top part of her breast. She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that she’s damn near baring herself. My guess is the latter since she showed no compunction of showing herself yesterday when she was washing her legs. The actions are strange since she obviously abhors touch. My jaw clenches when I notice more scars. Whatever bastard did this to her needs to be slaughtered. I ignore the rage brewing just below the surface and set the bags down on the table beside her. I make sure to keep to the opposite of the table so as not to get too close. She watches me as I start removing items. “I know how uncomfortable those hospital gowns are, so I figured you might enjoy something else.” I hold the gown up for her inspection. She barely glances at it before her eyes swing back to mine, giving no comment. I set the shampoo, conditioner, and bottle of soap on the table next. “Maybe you’d like to wash and condition your hair?” I suggest. Her fingers go to the long strands and pick up a clump to look at it. “I also brought a brush.” I hold it up for her to see before placing it by the bottles. “The lady that comes in here says we may have

to cut off all my hair,” she says quietly, looking back down at the dirty strands. I grab the other chair and slide it over to the table then take a seat. “Do you want to cut it off?” She looks up. “I don’t know.” “Maybe once you wash and condition it, you can decide.” Her eyes go to the nightgown. Lifting her hand hesitantly, she fingers the soft material, a look of wonder taking over her face as if she’s never felt anything so soft before. “Would you like to put it on?” I ask her, keeping my voice low. Her eyes dart to mine, and she jerks her hand away as if her touching it is something she shouldn’t do. She looks from me to the nightgown then back at me several times. Each time her eyes land on the green material, a look of longing flashes in them. She tries to hide the desire, but I see it hidden on her face. After a moment, she gives a small nod. What has anger sprouting its ugly head is the weary way she glances at me when she gives me her silent answer. She’s obviously worried about my reaction to her wanting something so badly. I pull the gown from the hanger and take off the tags then hand it over to her. Shock has my mouth dropping open like a damn fool as she stands from

her chair, reaches back and unties her hospital gown, and proceeds to pull the sleeves down her shoulders, undressing right here in front of me like it’s no big deal. “Wait,” I say loudly then curse under my breath when she jumps. I clear my throat and lower my voice. “I meant take it in the bathroom and put it on.” She frowns, not understanding why I’ve put a stop to her undressing in front of me. What in the fuck has happened to this girl for her to think something like that is okay? My stomach spasms, and I have to force back the growl forming in the back of my throat. I get up from my chair, grab all the toiletries, and take them to the bathroom. Setting them on one of the shelves in the shower, I feel her eyes on me the entire time. I turn back, and sure enough, she’s watching me with a detached expression. “Why don’t you take a shower, so you’re nice and clean when you put the new gown on?” I recommend. “I don’t know how to work the shower,” she says in a dull tone. Her answer surprises me. It’s not like the hospital showers are hard to figure out. It’s a simple system; one that anyone who’s used a shower before could easily figure out. “Grab your gown, and I’ll show you.”

She picks it up off the table and follows me into the small bathroom. I notice she keeps as far away from me as the walls will allow. With my back to her, I show her how to turn the dials. When I turn back, I immediately spin back around again and face the shower. She’s standing there completely naked, the hospital gown piled at her feet. My hands fist at my sides because it’s clear wherever she was and whatever’s happened to her, she was taught that showing your body is a normal occurrence. I step to the side, making sure to keep my head turned away from her, and walk sideways to the door. “I’ll be waiting out here when you’re finished.” I don’t give her a chance to reply before I’m closing the door behind me. Although it was just a quick glance, my eyes saw something that has my blood boiling and my fists primed and ready to do permanent damage to an unknown person or persons. I’ve seen the scars marring her arms, legs, and the top of her breast, but that’s not where they stop. Every fucking inch of her body is covered in them, some looking older than others. I’ve never seen a body covered in so many damn scars. Except one. I push my thoughts of Aislin aside. My anger is already mounting to lava levels; I certainly don’t need an extra dose. I shake my head, clearing my head of the

multiple scars covering the woman’s chest and stomach. I leave the room to get some air. I stop by the nurses’ station and ask for their help with her IV and shower, before heading for the cafeteria to grab myself a coffee. I’m sure she’ll be in the shower for a while, so I should be back before she gets out. I order my coffee, and at the last minute, I decide to order one for the woman as well. I also grab a bagel, a single serving of butter and cream cheese, and an orange. She’s so frail looking that she needs to put on a bit of weight. By the time I make it back to the room, twenty minutes have passed. Expecting the woman to be finished, I’m surprised to hear the shower still going when I step inside the room. I set the items down on the table and pull out my phone. Two missed calls and one text message. All from Tavers. I swear the fucking man is worse than a parent at times. I skip over the missed calls and bring up his text message. 10:16 a.m. Tavers: At your house, where you’re supposed to be. Where are you? I fire off a reply. 10:23 a.m. Me: Not my fucking keeper. I’m out. Talk later.

I pocket the phone, not willing to wait for his reply. The shower turns off, and as I wait for the woman to come out, I take the rest of the stuff out of the bags and set it on the table, tossing the bag once I’m done. The bathroom door opens and steam boils out seconds before the woman herself does. I stop myself from staring, not wanting to make her uncomfortable, but the shower has done her a world of good. She’s pretty, even more so now that her skin is dirt and grime-free. The scars may cover a good portion of her skin, but it doesn’t hide her beauty. Her hair is still matted, but now looks clean. Hopefully it can be salvaged. She stands in the doorway, looking unsure, so I take to my feet and gesture to the chair across from me. “I got you some coffee and a bagel from the cafeteria. The trays they give you here are shit, but the cafeteria food is slightly better.” She walks slowly to the chair and gingerly takes a seat. The gown she’s wearing looks much more appealing than the piece of shit one she was wearing earlier. I slide the coffee and bagel across to her. “Do you feel better now that you’ve taken a shower?” I ask. She shrugs, looks down at the bagel, and then picks it up and takes a small bite. She takes her

time as she eats, and I watch her do so, taking in her features. The parts of her not covered in scars appear smooth and fresh-looking. Her eye is still swollen, and several of the fresher wounds are scabbed over. As far as I can tell, they don’t seem to be infected. If I had to guess by looks alone, I’d place her in her mid-twenties. Her manners, however, give a different story. On the one hand, she acts almost childish with how she seems so unsure of certain things, things that a mid-twentyyear-old would know about. On the other, she seems very old for her age as if she’s had more experience with life than most fifty-year-olds. She’s very perplexing, and the more I’m around her, the more I want to figure out her story. I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. “I was thinking…” She looks up from her food. “Since you can’t remember your name, is there something you want to be called?” When she looks at me blankly, I elaborate. “A name. You can pick whatever name you want until we figure out your real name.” Her eyes drift away from me as she thinks over my question. A minute later, she brings them back to me. “I don’t know of any names,” she says with a frown. I sit forward in my seat, resting my elbows on the table and clasping my hands together.

“That’s okay.” It only takes me a minute to come up with my own name. “How about Doe?” The name is perfect for her. Although she may have gone through something terrible, and from what the doctor said yesterday, that includes sexual abuse, she still appears innocent, just like a baby deer. I worry she may think the name derogatory, to liken her to an animal, but her eyes light with mild interest at my suggestion. “Yes. I like it.” “Are you sure?” “Yes.” I smile. “Then Doe it is.” She doesn’t smile back, but I can still tell by her eyes that she likes the name. In an attempt to draw her out and gain her trust, I pick up the brush. “Would you like me to help brush your hair?” She looks startled by my question, dropping the last bit of bagel on the napkin. I try to ease her worry. “I just figured since your hair is so long and tangled, it’ll be easier if someone helps.” Her eyes become frightful, darting to me, to the door, and down at the brush before settling back on me again. I watch as she forcefully pushes back whatever fear she has and gives a tight nod. “Just don’t touch me,” she warns. “Lift your hair over the chair. That’ll put the chair between my hands and your back.” She does so then sits stiffly. I get up, grabbing the detangler, and walk to her

side of the table, making sure to keep in her line of sight until I’m forced to leave it to step behind her. Her thick hair falls to the seat part of the chair, and I reach down to grab the ends. “I’m going to spray it with detangler,” I let her know. I spray her hair several times, making sure to get the full length. Gently, I separate a small section and start at the bottom with the brush, remembering Mom doing the same thing anytime my sister’s hair became unmanageable. Her hair is a complete mess, and it’s going to take a long time to get through it, but with each section I get through, it leaves it feeling soft. Remembering I’m here to find answers, I ask, keeping my tone nonchalant, “Have you remembered anything about where you came from?” Her stiff form becomes even more rigid, and it takes her several seconds to answer. “No,” she says bluntly. I drop the section of hair I just untangled and pick up a new one. “What’s the last thing you remember?” My hands pause in her hair as her hands fist the material of her gown in her lap. I force my hands to keep working. “Walking down the street and flashing blue lights,” she answers, her voice quiet and hesitant.

She’s lying, but I don’t call her on it, not wanting to push her. I get the sense if I do so, she’ll close down. “Do you know why you were barefoot?” “I don’t have any shoes,” she replies lightly, telling me, to her, it’s no big deal not to have shoes. “You don’t remember how you got to that neighborhood?” I’m not ready to tell her she was in my neighborhood, so I keep that bit of information to myself. “No.” The brush gets snagged on a tangle, and I accidentally tug on her hair. Her whimper has me stilling my movements. I’m opening my mouth to apologize when she jumps up from the chair. The brush is still stuck on the tangle, so I let it go so it doesn’t pull her hair even more. Astounded by her intense reaction to a slight tug on her hair, I watch as she turns and scurries away several feet. Her chest heaves as she looks at me with both fear and anger. The brush dangles from her hair, and although I’ve brushed out some of the tangles, it appears wild right now as the drying strands lay over her shoulders, partially hiding her face. I hold my place and tell her softly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” “It didn’t hurt me. I’ve felt pain, and that wasn’t it. But you still pulled my hair.”

I gesture to the brush. “The brush got tangled in your hair, and I didn’t realize it.” She spots the brush lying against her chest, picks it up, and yanks it from her hair. I wince because I know that couldn’t have felt good. She shows no reaction to the harsh move. “I want you to leave please.” Pissed at myself for fucking this up and not wanting to leave with her angry with me, I point at the items on the table. “Can I show you what else I brought you first?” She doesn’t answer right away, just looks at me with accusing eyes. Finally, after what seems like hours, her expression loses some of its heat, and she gives a short nod. I keep as far away from her as I can and walk to the table. I pick up the book. “Have you read Call in the Wild?” I ask, holding it up for her to see. “No.” “I know how mind-numbing it can be in a hospital, so I figured you would enjoy having something to read.” I set the book down and reach for the candy. “I-I’m not sure if I remember how to read many words,” she says next, stalling me. While not surprised by her statement because of all the other shit she has no clue about, it still pisses me off to hear them. Even not knowing the extent of whatever experience she’s endured, it’s

obviously been a place of hell. Feeling like an asshole but not letting it stop me, I decide to use this to my advantage. “Would you like me to read it to you?” Once again, she’s quiet as she thinks about my question. Interest lights her eyes, and she bites her bottom lip. I’m glad to see some of her rigidness has dissipated. “Yes,” she finally answers. I release an inner sigh, glad she’s relenting. She settles back in the chair then I sit in mine. I push the candy and chips over to her. “I brought you snacks as well. I know they don’t really give out the good stuff here.” She looks at it but doesn’t pick it up. Instead, she grabs a handful of hair and starts to roughly run the brush through it. Much harder than I did. I crack open the book and look down, feeling her eyes on me as I start reading. Every few pages, I glance over at her and find her watching me intently while she pulls the brush through her hair. The force of it makes me wince internally, and I really wish I hadn’t fucked things up so I could do it for her. At this rate, she’s going to tug half of it out. I let her do it herself, though. She’s been through enough without me bossing her around on top of everything else she has to deal with. My throat suddenly dries, and I have to clear it to keep reading.

As I near the end of chapter two, I look over at her again to find her fast asleep. The hairbrush hangs limply in the ends of her hair. The hand she was brushing with rests against her chest as her even breaths move it up and down. My gut twists at the peacefulness of the sight, and for all she has ahead of her on the long road to recovery. I tuck the receipt from my shopping trip into the book as a bookmark and set it on the tray at the end of her bed. When she wakes up later, she can see what else I brought. I stand and shrug on my jacket, but my feet feel cemented to the floor. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave her here to wake up alone. But I can’t stay all day. Tavers is probably waiting at my house, and I have to get myself ready to return to work. Not to mention the fact I really have no damn business coming here. I roam my gaze over her, stopping again on the hairbrush. I wonder… As carefully as I can, I lean forward without touching the bed. I balance precariously on the balls of my feet. If I fall, there’s going to be hell to pay. With my right hand, I grab the handle of the brush and lift it slowly from her chest. Once it’s no longer touching her body, I use my left hand to unwind some of the tangles. It’s a slow job, one I don’t really know why I’m bothering with, but I’ve already started. I’d look like an ass to stop now. It takes a few minutes, but before she wakes,

the brush comes free from her hair. It takes more than a few strands as prisoners, probably more from her less-than-gentle brushing than from me, but I still feel bad. I drop the brush with the other items and without a backward glance, walk out the door.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Lelu THE CLANK OF METAL ON METAL JOLTS THE GIRL awake. Her eyes grow wide as the door to her personal prison pushes open. She wants to scream but knows if she does the torture will worsen tenfold. Instead, she remains silent, trapped in her own personal hell. The man responsible for her violent suffering enters the dark dungeon. Glee fills his insides at the thought of taking the girl again. He’s left her alone to deal with personal matters. It’s been so long. Too long. Her blood runs cold at the slimy look on his face as he fastens the lock he installed on the inside. He knows it wouldn’t keep the girl trapped if she were to overcome him, but it would slow her

down. The real mechanism is on the outside and only he has the key to open it. A shiver runs down his spine at the thought. If he died, the girl would die along with him. She wouldn’t be found until it was far too late. His eyes flit to the other side of the room at a small shuffle over there, but his interest is short lived. The real prize is the girl on the bed. She tries to hold still, knowing it won’t deter him. Knowing it never has before but still clinging to hope. As he nears, the girl eyes the chain lock near the middle of the door. Not for the first time, she considers putting up a fight, but she doesn’t have a weapon. Down here, the only things she has are her own two hands and legs. But maybe she doesn’t have to incapacitate him entirely. Slowing him down long enough to get the chain loose would be enough. Then she could run. Or even hide until it was safe to come out. The insecurities plague her. What if she isn’t fast enough? What if she’s too weak? What if there’s another trap beyond the door that will catch her? What if he has bad friends, just waiting for her to make her escape? The thoughts temper down her desire to flee. The devil is standing in front of her. She doesn’t need to go looking for another one. Survival mode has kept her alive this long. It’ll keep her alive for a while longer.

“My Lelu,” he whispers as he nears, reaching for her hair and grabbing it. Tugging it. His fingers tie into the long strands, and he uses them to yank her head forward. She holds back a whimper of pain. His free hand drops to his dirty sweatpants as he yanks out his vulgar erection. It bobs in front of her pinched face. The girl tries to put some space between her and the grotesque part of his body, but the man jerks her forward. He grips his cock, excitement curling low in his belly at the thought of forcing her on him. He can hardly contain the cum in his balls as he pushes himself closer to her mouth. “Suck me off, Lelu. Make it perfect.” The girl gags silently and tightens her lips against his advance. His anger ratchets up a notch at her obvious disobedience. He tries forcing his cock between her lips again, but is met with the resistance of her tight lips and teeth. “Open!” he roars, reaching down at the last second and jamming his finger into her mouth to the back. It slides along her clamped jaw to the back where he hooks his finger into the space her wisdom teeth are yet to come in and jerks forward and down. Her jaw flies open with an audible pop! With the defiance gone, he forces his throbbing cock inside. The girl begins to whimper and gag as tears

slide down her cheeks and drip onto her naked chest. He reaches down and fingers her cold nipples, pinching and pulling without remorse. Her stomach roils further in disgust as he continues, jamming his vile penis deeper into her throat. The gag reflex kicks in, something she’s powerless to control as he continues over and over again. Her fingers dig into her thighs as she tries to hang on. Tries to hold back the vomit crawling up her throat with each thrust into her mouth. The whispers and grunts and groans of the man push her further into a disgust beyond her willpower. The man raggedly shouts her name, “Lelu!” and pours his revolting semen into her mouth, pushing her past the point of control. She vomits forcefully. All over herself, his legs, his penis still deep in her mouth. It spills out the corners around him and drips down onto her naked body and the bed. She gags, coughs, and sputters on the putrid taste as tears of agony crawl down her cheeks. “You fucking bitch!” he screams, disgusted that his perfect release is spoiled by her lack of control. Wanting to teach her a lesson, the man grabs her ankles in an attempt to flip her onto her stomach. If he fucks her ass, she can’t puke all over him. The girl locks eyes on the mirror image of herself in the dirty reflection to her right. Where she’s silent and scared, the other screams in terror.

The image of that silent mask of horror spurs the girl to fight back. She kicks her ankles, pulling them from his weak grip, but that doesn’t stop the man from advancing. He begins covering her with his body. Dragging her underneath him as if she weighed nothing more than a feather pillow. Somehow, her knee connects with his vile manhood, and he starts to roll off her with a loud grunt before he latches onto her with a fist in her hair. As a last attempt to make him let go, the girl spits a mouthful of saliva and vomit into his face. Time stands still as the man releases her hair and brings his hand to wipe the fluid away from his eye. He takes one look at the mess on his fingertips before backhanding the girl so hard, she falls back onto the mattress. Unconscious. When she wakes, he’s gone. Days filter past in a blur, just like the days prior and the days to come, except the man doesn’t visit. She tries to understand the passage of time, but the room she’s kept in is dark. She can’t mark the hours by the sun. Instead, she counts time by when she sleeps—each sleep counting as one day. Food becomes scarce as the man stops bringing her anything to eat. Her body still reeks of the putrid vomit she wasn’t allowed to clean from her skin. She did her best to wipe the slime away with a filthy rag, but it did nothing for the stench.

As time passes and hunger turns to desperation, the girl starts to beg. She sits beside the locked prison door and cries for the man to help her. She kicks and hits the door in anger until finally, one day, she gives in. She gives in to what she knows he wants and starts offering her body in exchange for something to eat. The man stands outside the door, listening to her pleas and jerking his hard cock at the sound of her desperate voice. Her pain feeds his depravity. The more she begs, the more time he spend standing outside the door masturbating instead of watching her from behind his computer screen. The sound of her pleading voice is much more of a turnon than her fuzzy image on the screen, and he listens to her until he starts spilling his semen into the plastic jug in his hand. Her lips are parched. She’ll do anything for a simple drink. The girl lies limply on the mattress, her head hanging off the edge with her eyes trained on the door. She begs for death. The man hasn’t visited her in so long she stopped trying to count the days. Her body is wasting away into nothing but a skeleton covered in skin. Her heartbeat slows. Her eyes are heavy with sleep in a way she knows if she closes them, she may never wake up. The lock clanks. Metal on metal scrapes and her ears perk up, but she’s too exhausted to move. He enters, carrying with him two large dog dishes.

Water sloshes over the edge of one and splashes on the ground. Just the sight of it has the girl attempting to push herself off the bed and crawl over. “Lelu. You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you?” “Y-y-y-yes,” she stutters weakly, still trying to push herself up. “Shh.” The man reaches her and strokes her dirty, limp hair. “Take your punishment my Lelu, and you’ll be forgiven.” “Yes,” she croaks nearly inaudibly. The man smiles, showing yellowed teeth, and a rush of excitement courses through him. “I brought you something to eat. Finish it, and you’ll be a good girl again.” At the thought of food, the girl perks up and gets onto her hands and knees. “Yes,” she nearly begs. “Good girl.” He sets down the other bowl not containing water and watches her. She moves forward eagerly, peering into the dish, before abruptly pulling away. “No,” she cries. “Yes!” he whispers harshly. “You will eat it all, or I’ll leave you to die.” He peers down into the dish filled with saliva and what she can only guess is his semen. He’s been saving it for her for as long as he’s been gone, and the man is thrilled to offer her his present.

“You will be filled with me, and you will like it.” “Please,” she begs. “Please give me food.” Done with arguing, he tangles his fingers in her hair and forces her face into the pile of slobber. The girl chokes and gags as the mess is forced into her nose and mouth in a way she has no choice but to consume his fluids. When he pulls her away, she gasps for breath and coughs on the vileness in her mouth. His cock hardens as he gazes at his mess coating her face, and he shoves her back in. “Eat it all, Lelu, and you will be rewarded.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Niko I JERK AWAKE. L OOKING DOWN AT THE MESS OF papers of my desk, I feel my head spin in confusion. What the fuck just happened? I blink away sleep as the sound that must have woken me rings out again. I snatch my work phone from the receiver on the edge of my desk. “Detective James,” I mutter groggily and scrub a hand over my sweaty brow. “My office. Now,” Tavers barks, and the line goes dead. Shit. I have a sinking feeling I know what this is about. I’m no wuss, and Tavers doesn’t scare me, so I tug on my jacket, forward my desk phone to my cell, and shut my office door behind me. The hall separating our offices is short, and I find his door open. I stroll inside.

“You rang?” “Shut the door, would you?” I cock a brow but keep the comments to myself. I can’t say I begrudge a private conversation. It’s a rare thing here—easier for the two of us because we have private offices—and I’ve learned not to take it for granted. The door snicks closed. I lean against it and cross my arms over my chest. “Can we make this quick? I have somewhere I need to be.” “If you’re headed back over to the damn hospital, you’d better think again.” I try to keep my face neutral, but inside, I’m cussing up a storm. Nothing feels more hypocritical than lying to those I trust. Even a lie of omission here instantly brings on the guilt. Pretending I don’t know what he’s talking about makes me feel even worse. “Tavers…” I begin but am cut off by him raising his palm to me. “Save it. Do you know what Captain would do to your ass if he found out? You’re lucky it was me so I can kick your damn ass myself. What were you thinking?” I ignore his question to ask one of my own. “How’d you find out?” “You aren’t even going to try to explain? You weren’t even authorized to be there. You broke orders. Jane Doe isn’t even your case. You could be

fired in a second. Fuck, you could get ME fired. When I gave you her file, I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to take off to the hospital.” I clench my jaw and look at the wall on my left. “She was at my house. I thought I could get some answers that would help us both.” “So you went back again?” Shit. “Are you keeping tabs on me?” He leans back in his creaking chair. “Mr. Stewart came to see me yesterday, demanding we test Jane Doe’s DNA against his niece Rebecca’s after you refused. When I pushed for more info, he said he saw you at the hospital. Hardly me keeping tabs. I just want to know why. Why are you risking your career for a simple curiosity? I could have asked her for you and saved both our hides.” I finally lift my eyes back to his and find him regarding me with some pissed-off emotions but mostly concern. “I went there the first day to ask some questions, and she was a fucking wreck. I don’t know exactly why I went back. I think because she’s all alone. She’s got nobody. I thought if I could be someone she could trust, I’d get some real answers.” “Leave that up to me. There’s other work for you to do. The work you’re assigned.” “Yeah, and I’ll get to it.” Tavers levels me with a stare. “You’re going

back,” he states flatly. He knows me well. “I am. In two visits, I’ve made some headway with her. A couple more and I feel like I can get some answers.” He’s quiet for a moment. “You’ve got about an hour. That’s all I can cover you for.” “I don’t need you to cover for me,” I bite out tersely. He holds up his hand and cuts me off. “You might if Captain finds out what you’ve been up to. He specifically ordered you off this case, and I can’t blame him for doing it.” “Why the fuck not?” “You’ve been unpredictable lately. Reckless. Not like the careful, by-the-book partner I’ve had over the years.” My back molars grind together. “Can you blame me?” I mutter, not the least embarrassed at showing some vulnerability. Tavers knows. If anyone in my life gets it, he does. He’s been around me through enough of this investigation into Aislin not to be a fucking dick about my pain. “No. I can’t blame you. But I sure as hell can’t just sit back until you get yourself fired either.” A silence passes between us. “You think they’re connected?” My chest tightens. “Could be,” is all I can manage to say. “Niko… we’ve had a lot of false alarms lately.”

“You haven’t seen her,” I growl through my teeth. “Those cuts? Those scars? They aren’t exactly brand new. She’s been somewhere. I don’t know where, and I don’t know who did this to her. What I do know is she’s not Rebecca from the Stewart case. I also know there’s not a whole lot of missing persons reports that match her description. Who is she? Where’d she come from? It’s like she appeared out of thin air.” Tavers nods. “We’re issuing a press release this afternoon. Asking the public to come forward if anybody recognizes her.” “You’re releasing her image to the public?” I reach back and grip the doorknob behind me in a white-knuckled grasp. The funny thing is I don’t know if it’s to keep my balance or because I’m about ready to run out of here. “We don’t have much of a choice,” he replies calmly. “Bullshit!” I damn near explode. “We don’t have a clue where she came from, but this is the middle of bum-fuck Egypt. We aren’t the NYPD. You release her photo and our location, and you could lead her abuser straight to her.” I run a hand over my head. Tavers doesn’t speak, giving me a minute to catch my breath. In doing so, I clear my head. “That’s what you’re hoping for.” “It’s one outcome, yes. Another would be that a relative comes forward. Someone who knows her.”

“The chances of that—” I pause when he cuts me off. “Are good,” he replies calmly. “The chances of anyone—a friend, a relative, an old teacher or coworker—recognizing her is relatively high. You said it yourself; this is the middle of nowhere.” I release a sigh, knowing but not fucking liking that he’s got a point. I rub a hand over my hair. “Are we done with this? I don’t think I need to say it, but I’ll say it anyway. I’d really like to get going to the hospital and see how she is today. See if I can get some information.” “Go.” Tavers nods. “One hour. Captain’s been unpredictable lately, and I only have so many stall tactics.” I snort. “And what would those be?” He leans back in his chair. “I lied. I don’t have any. Unless you count ex-lax in his coffee, but man, we just had a new baby. The last thing I need is to get my ass canned.” I’m halfway out the door when I lift my hand in a half wave. “You’ll be fine. Thanks.” If he replies, I don’t hear it as I’m nearly to the exit. Lifting my chin at our receptionist, Grace, I jog out into the sunshine. It doesn’t pass my notice that the weather is such a stark contrast to the day I first met Doe. This feels different, too, in my gut. Not as… ominous but still confusing as hell.

Although, I think part of me is looking forward to seeing her again. I don’t know what that says, but for the first time in as long as I can remember, it’s not necessarily a bad feeling. I arrive at the hospital, go through the necessary procedures, and head up. This time when I walk into her sterile room, I find her sitting cross-legged on her bed. As she’s been known to do, her nightgown has ridden nearly to the tops of her thighs, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Morning, Doe,” I call softly, accompanied by a gentle knock on the doorframe. Her head whips up, and my gut sours at the wild look in her eye. I hold my gaze steady, waiting until hers locks on mine and a familiarity washes over her face. “Morning, Detective,” she answers in a soft voice that’s a contrast to her expression. “How’re you feeling?” Two steps into the room. Four more to the chair I want to sit in. A move that should take fifteen seconds to complete takes a minute or two as I give her time to adjust to my presence. She shrugs. “I’m fine.” I rake my eyes over the innumerable cuts, scrapes, and bruises covering her exposed skin. ‘Fine’ is not the most accurate word to describe her condition. I don’t know if she used it because she’s trying to hide the truth or because she’s so accustomed to operating at this level of hurt it no

longer bothers her. But there’s no way in fucking hell she’s simply ‘fine.’ “Is ‘fine’ a new way to say I’m hurting like hell but tough as nails?” I ask before I remember to censor my question. Shit. Kid gloves, Niko. Her body stiffens, and she sits up sharply. “No, no, I’m really f—” “I swear to God, Doe, if you say you’re fine one more time…” The threat trails off my tongue. At the fear on her face, I keep talking. “Just… be honest with me. I know that can’t feel good. The more you tell me, the easier it will be for me to can help. The doctors too.” She looks down at her thighs, to one particular bruise that stretches the entire width of her thigh. “It’s nothing compared to what I’ve felt before.” She shrugs again. “I am fine because I’m here. These cuts are nothing.” I hit high alert, my chest tightening with each word out of her mouth. “Do you remember something you’d like to share with me?” I ask carefully, not wanting to scare her into shutting down again but desperate for her to keep talking about what she knows. Even this little bit of information helps. Knowing she’s been hurt worse in the past tells us this isn’t a random occurrence. This woman has been abused. Repeatedly. Maybe even for months or years. Like Aislin.

“Not really. I know I’ve been hurt before. I know I’ve been hurt much worse. It’s not that I remember so much as I feel.” She pauses, wearing a faraway look on her face, so I hold my tongue and wait. My patience pays off. “Have you ever had a pain memory, Detective?” I think for a moment. I remember once breaking my nose in college. We were at a party, and some drunk girl thought it’d be fun to sneak up behind me and tickle me, not knowing how ticklish I was. She wouldn’t take her petite hands from my armpits, and I got to the point I could hardly breathe. In order to throw her off, I bent forward to buck her over my shoulder, but in doing so, I faceplanted the bridge of my nose on the back of a dining chair. The crack was so loud it could be heard over the stereo. I remember the pain of the break, but more so, having it reset by a hotshot frat boy who was in his early years of med school. The problem was we were all drunk, so even if he had a basic knowledge of this medical technique, that went out the window with the bottle of tequila we’d consumed. “I think so,” I replied after I finished reliving that particular college memory. “Well, it’s like that. Like here.” She pointed at the middle of her left arm. “I can tell you this has

been broken before. I can’t remember how or when, but I can distinctly remember the pain of having my arm practically snapped in two. And here.” She moves to pull up her nightgown to reveal her lower abdomen. I uncomfortably fix my gaze on her stomach and avoid looking at the sterile cotton panties she’s also exposed. Her stomach is as torn up as the rest of her skin. Various lines crisscross her abdomen. Some pink, some white, some raised, and others depressed into her delicate skin. Is there any area left untouched? “Here I had something. The feeling of my insides being sliced out of me is so easy to recall. The reason, not so much.” I choke down the acrid taste in the back of my throat. “Anywhere else?” I ask gruffly. Another nonchalant shrug. “Almost everywhere.” “Do you remember going to the hospital or being treated anywhere for these injuries?” I tug my notebook out of my breast pocket and flip to a blank page. She tugs her gown back down. “No. I don’t remember.” Shit. Still, I make note of the two injuries she mentioned. If she had her arm broken, then surely, she went to a hospital somewhere. When I get back, I’m going to search medical records. “I’d like to get out of here,” she mentions

quietly, pulling me from my thoughts. “You want to go for a walk?” “No. I want to leave. Do you know when I can leave?” I look at the IV bag hanging from the pole beside her bed. “I think you need to wait until they’re done treating you. You were severely dehydrated when you came in. They’re doing their best to get some fluids in your system.” “Can I leave when that’s finished?” Something sounds off in her voice, but I can’t place what it is. She seems almost unconcerned about her current state and the way she was found when she was brought in. I gentle my voice and lean forward in my chair, resting my elbows on the tops of my knees. “Can I ask you a question?” Her fingers tighten into the sheet twisted around her feet, blanching her knuckles. “Okay?” “Where are you going after this?” What I want to ask her is why she was sneaking around my house that night, but I feel we still aren’t at that point. So I’ll be patient even though I don’t want to be. Doe licks her lips, flipping her gaze from the door to the window as if the answer is lying in wait and she just has to lay eyes on it. “I-I’ll go home.” I brace my chin in my right hand, running my index finger over my lips as I study her. “Where is

home for you, Doe?” “Why does it matter?” she answers icily, flitting her gaze past mine and back out the window. But for a second, I had it, and I saw the unmistakable fear of a woman who has nowhere to go. “Because you matter. Wherever you came from doesn’t seem like a very nice place, and I’d like to help you not go back there.” She wraps her fingers around her elbows and looks back at me. “I have a home. I know I’ll be okay.” “Doe—” The sudden ringing of my cell cuts off my argument. “Sorry, one second.” She goes back to staring, this time at the wall between the door and closet, as I dig my phone out of my jeans pocket. Tavers flashes across the screen. The time shows I’ve only been here for about forty minutes. My stomach tightens when I answer. “Hello?” “I’ve got something here. Need you to come back to the station.” “When you say you’ve got something, you mean what exactly?” I glance from the floor back at Doe and catch her watching me with her big, guarded eyes. “A possible break in Aislin’s case.” “Tavers… you said it yourself, we’ve had a lot of false alarms lately.”

He clears his throat then the sound of a door closing follows a minute later. “I hope like fuck you’re sitting down right now.” He pauses. “We’ve had a witness come forward.” “Bull. There haven’t been any in fifteen years.” My temper flares as scenarios fly through my brain. “The guy was just a kid back then. Only about eight. I haven’t taken his statement yet because I wanted to wait for you to be here, but Niko, this is the real deal. I don’t get the vibe he’s bullshitting us. There’s no money on the table and no other reason for him to come forward besides his own damn conscience.” “Why now?” My voice sounds raw to my own ears. “I don’t know. As soon as you left, we sent out the press release early. I thought it’d keep Captain busy until you got back. I think maybe it triggered something for the witness. He mentioned seeing it before he came in.” “I’m on my way. Wait for me.” If I could hear the desperation in my voice, no doubt he could as well. “Got it.” I hang up without saying goodbye. Fuck. There’s something incredibly painful about trying to hold down the hope when all it wants to do is rise up and be set free. When I look up from ending the call, Doe is still watching me.

“Work calls. I have to go.” “Okay.” I get up and start for the door, entirely preoccupied with Tavers’ phone call, but her voice stops me. “Will you be back?” I forget how to move my feet. My torso swings around so I can face her, and without hesitation, I murmur, “Absolutely.” “Okay, Niko. Bye.” I haul ass down the hallway, into the elevator, out the doors and to my truck, and I’m halfway to the station when it hits me—she remembered my name. Not Detective but my first name. And second to that thought is that I couldn’t remember telling her it except during that very first moment I visited.

THE DOOR TO THE STATION OPENS AS OFFICER KEELY steps out, and I grab it before it closes to haul my ass inside. My trajectory is aimed at Tavers’ office. I give a short knock and pull it open before waiting for an invitation. Once inside, I turn around to shut the door gently behind me and lean my back against it. Then I take him in. The guy who held back information.

Kid or not, I’m instantly cautious of his story. I need to hear it for myself, to feel him out. Is he truthful? Can I trust the story he’s telling me or is this some play at a moment of fame? More often than I ever thought, that shit happens. People wanting a little notoriety fabricate stories to see their face on the evening news. Makes me fucking sick. And if that’s all this guy is, I’m going to be fucking pissed. “Mr. Dune, sorry to interrupt, but this is Detective Niko James. He’s the lead on this case.” Tavers looks down at the notepad on the table. He and Mr. Dune sit at the small circular table to the left of the door. The setup is more personal than sitting on opposite sides of the desk. “Could you start again?” I keep my feet planted, not sure I could move them to save my life at this point, and cut my gaze to the man. I see his profile—his short cropped brown hair and clean-shaven jaw. Normal. Average. Nothing about him screams “I need attention.” “Right.” Mr. Dune shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat. “I, um, well, like I said, the year the Mathers girl disappeared, I was about eight or nine. About third grade at the elementary. My ma worked two jobs, morning to night for twelve plus hours a day. I was an only child and took care of myself, ya know? Made my breakfast, got dressed, and got on the bus to school every morning.”

He stops, unscrews the cap on the bottle of water with only his left hand, and takes a long drink. “But that morning...” He goes on. “I don’t know what happened that morning. I was sick, and my ma had to take the morning off work to bring me in. It upset her a lot. Of course, I understand now, but I didn’t get it at the time. Anyway.” He stops to take another drink of water, and I cut my glance to Tavers. My eyes burn with the desperation I reveal. The need to tell him to cut to the fucking chase. Tavers looks back at Mr. Dune. “Then what happened?” “Sorry, I went off there. So she had to take me in, which is why I wasn’t in school that morning. And… dammit if I had only realized back then what I was seeing.” His jaw solidifies, and he looks out the window behind the desk. “I watched that little girl get kidnapped. Happened before my eyes and I didn’t say a goddamned thing to nobody.” “What did you see exactly?” I growl low in my throat, unable to hold back much longer. My fingers curl into fists, and I fight the urge to throw them into something solid. Something I can hit over and over again without the fear of reducing it to dust. Another throat clear. Another shift. “I saw everything. A white Honda Civic parked on the side of highway 45. It was a man. Not too old, maybe late twenties to early thirties. Medium build and

slightly out of shape. He had a bit of a gut going on, though he wasn’t fat. Blond hair and rounded square frames. He had on a simple pair of jeans and a black tee shirt. And as we drove past, he lifted a small brunette girl and put her in his trunk. Didn’t look like she had a whole lot of fight in her.” My stomach revolts, and I hide the retching sound with a fake cough. “Did your mother see? Anyone else around you noticed?” Mr. Dune’s expression is hard to read as I can only see his profile, though I don’t miss him scrubbing a hand over his brow. He shakes his head. “No. My ma never said a word, and I never asked. By the time I twisted in my seat to watch behind me, the man was in the driver’s seat. Whipped a U-turn and disappeared over the hill. It was that fast.” It was that fast. Fuck. The kidnapping was fast, but the next fifteen years? Sounds like it was a long-drawn-out hell for her. I clench my back molars and shift my weight onto my heels. Tavers writes down a few notes on the paper in front of him before directing his attention back at Mr. Dune. The sound of his pen hitting the table rings with finality in my mind. “We appreciate you coming in. If you remember anything else—” “I won’t. Sorry to say it, Detectives, but I’ve

held this memory for a long time, and that’s all the details I’ve got.” “Well, thanks for coming in. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.” Tavers and Mr. Dune stand, exchanging a quick handshake. Mr. Dune turns to me next and holds out his hand. I grasp it firmly but briefly before letting him go. It takes a massive amount of restraint to keep from throwing his hand away from me. “Yeah, thanks,” I offer. I’m not trying to be a dick, but this hits too close to home for me. So many years wasted when all he had to do was come forward with the information. Tavers walks him out while I wait, pacing the small office space. I look at the yellowed walls, blank except for one photograph of a mountain in Alaska. A moose stands tall in a field with the bluish gray mountain backdrop behind it. I have never asked him the full story on the image, but I believe it reminds him of a trip he took with his dad when he was younger. His father passed away the same year he landed detective. That was bittersweet. I lean against his old wooden desk, the palms of my hands supporting me on the edge, and I let my head drop forward. I’m so angry. And tired. And tired of being fucking angry. I grip the wood tighter just as the door swings open. “I’ll get on the phone and makes some calls,”

Tavers announces. “Going to start running DMV records for the entire state of Ohio and the western side of Pennsylvania. Brace yourself. This is going to take us a while.” “Yeah,” I mutter. Tavers stalls in reaching for the phone. “What can I do for you?” I push away from the desk and shake my head. “Not one goddamned thing.” I start for the door. “Where’re you going?” “I’m going home. Take a few to clear my head. Then I’m going to search medical records.” “Medical records for what?” “For Doe... I mean, the girl at the hospital. She might have had some injuries in the past that required medical care.” “Nice work,” he says then picks up the phone. “Take all the time you need at home. I’ll get started here.” I nod once. “Yeah. Thanks.” Tavers holds the phone to his ear when he calls out to me. “We’re going to get him, Niko. We’re going to nail this fucking bastard.” God, I hope so. I don’t know how I’ll move on if we don’t. There’s going to come a time, a time I’m feeling will be sooner than later, that I’m going to have to accept this and move on. The case is going to be ice cold and buried in a pile of unsolved mysteries. Her face forever memorialized on an old,

yellowing flier. It’s going to be something I have to accept. Something I’m not ready to accept, but it’s coming. I can feel it in my bones.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Niko “FINE!” I BARK OVER THE PHONE. “JUST FUCKING call me when you have something.” I slam the phone down on my desk so hard that it probably breaks the screen. I could give two shits about that right now, though. It’s been two fucking weeks since the tip came in on the make and model of the car. Two fucking weeks and a match still hasn’t been found. Fucking small towns and their slow ass technology. The only thing keeping me sane is knowing they still have a quarter of the registered white Honda Civics during that time period to go through. They’re looking at a hundredmile radius of Westbridge just to be on the safe side. That makes for a shit ton of records to go through because that particular car is one of the

most common. Not one fucking person who’s owned that make and model during the time is even remotely related to the case. My chair slings back and slams to the floor when I stand. I grab my half-empty coffee cup and chunk it across the room. It shatters against the wall, the shards of porcelain and dregs of coffee flying everywhere. “Fuck!” I bellow to the ceiling. I hate fucking waiting. I’ve waited fifteen goddamn years. The witness who claimed he saw Aislin being dragged into a white Honda Civic was the biggest break we’ve had so far. At least we have something more to go on now. When I first heard the tip, it pissed me the fuck off because the guy waited so long to come forward. The police could have stopped the bastard when Aislin was first taken had they had that information then. After taking time to cool off, my brain began to function rationally. The guy was a kid at the time and was scared. As much as my heart still raged at him for not coming forward sooner, my head got in the game and recognized why the kid was scared. Any kid that age would be terrified. I turn and kick the shit out of my chair. It slides across the floor and hits the wall so hard it leaves a dent in the drywall. I snatch my phone from the desk, not even checking to see if it’s still functional, and storm from the room. I feel restless and caged.

This break may be big, but right at this moment, it’s useless. Even with that thought, adrenaline pumps through my veins. I feel it. It’s right fucking there. I don’t know what it is, but it’s big and significant. I know deep in my gut something’s coming. My body tenses as if preparing for something massive heading its way. My hands tremble, and the top of my scalp prickles. I can’t shake the fucking feeling. But I want it, need to feel it, because it means I’m about to find what I’ve been looking for for the past fifteen years. My hands slam on the bar, and I lean over, my head dropping down to hang from my shoulders. Liquid meets my hand, and I look up to see a cup has fallen over. I shove the cup away, and it slings across the kitchen. I hang my head again and try to calm my erratic heart. I close my eyes and pull in a deep breath. It doesn’t fucking work. My nerves are too shot, and all I see when I close my eyes is Aislin’s beautiful face riddled with cuts, scars, and bruises. Her lifeless body on that forest floor and the slab in the morgue, so malnourished that her bones were sticking out and her skin damn near see-through. And the obvious evidence of years of sick abuse by a bastard I’m dying to get my hands on. Every muscle in my body tightens, the need to hunt him down and decimate him making my head pound.

Hearing a soft whine, I open my eyes to find Betsy sitting on her haunches looking up at me. Normally, having her comforting presence near calms me, but not today. I’m not sure anything can. Unbidden, an image of Doe pops in my head, and I straighten. An irrational need to see her grips me. For some reason, when I visit her, the pain and anger I constantly feel lessens. I don’t know what it is about the girl. Maybe it’s because she’s been through her own horror and pain, and I can relate to what she went through. Not that her ordeal and the pain that I live with are the same. From the marks on her body and the condition she was in when she was first picked up, she went through hell and back, multiple times. Or maybe she’s one of the strongest people I know, and I want to harvest some of that strength. If most people went through even half the shit she has, they’d be in an insane asylum right now. We may not know the details, but it’s not hard to figure out her time in hell was excruciating and horrifying. It could be her quiet and watchful nature. She’s still very skittish, something you would expect given her situation, but at times, I find her watching what’s going on around her very intently, like she’s taking everything in and learning it all. At times, she seems very innocent and uneducated on normal things in life, but at other times, she seems to be well beyond her years.

No matter the reason, the need to see her right this very minute has me hunting for my keys. I ruffle Betsy’s fur, saying a few soft words to let her know everything’s okay, and then I bolt out the door. Stopping by a fast food joint on my way to the hospital, I grab some burgers, fries, and milkshakes. I always try to bring her food when I come by because I know how terrible the hospital food is. It only takes me fifteen minutes from there to get to the hospital. When I walk past the front desk, the receptionist shoots me a wave. “Afternoon, Detective,” she says, smiling. “Hey, Emily.” I’ve become a common face around here lately with how many times I’ve stopped by to visit Doe. I get off on the sixth floor, and the closer I get to her, the calmer my heart becomes. I’m glad I decided to visit today before I lose my ever-lovin’ mind at home. I’m steps away from her door when someone calls my name. I turn and watch Dr. Evans, one of the physicians overseeing Doe’s care, walk toward me. “How is she today?” I ask before he gets a chance to open his mouth. “She’s a strong girl and is doing good.” He takes a step toward me and lowers his voice. “Anything yet on who she is or where she comes

from?” “Nothing.” I shake my head, frustration wanting to take hold at his question. “Only thing we have to work with is where she was picked up before she was brought here. I’ve been trying to jog her memory when I visit, but there’s been nothing so far.” He looks toward her door then back at me. “Thing is, she’s almost ready to be released, but we don’t have anyone to release her to. It’s not smart to let her go out on her own. She’ll need watching over for at least a while afterward to make sure no mental or physical problems arise.” A pang hits my stomach, thinking about Doe walking the streets alone and afraid and having nowhere to go or no one to look after her. “You sure she’s ready for that?” I’m no doctor, but from what I’ve seen physically, she seems to be healing normally, but at times, I wonder if she’ll ever heal mentally. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t surprise me if that answer was no. “I highly advise for her to continue her therapy sessions, but physically, her wounds are healing nicely.” I nod. “I’ll see what I can do.” I’m not exactly sure what I can do, but I’m not letting them release her to her own devices. As much as she hates being around people, being alone

is the last thing she needs. The option to put her in a homeless shelter doesn’t sit well with me either. Before walking in the room, I turn back to the doctor. “Can she go outside today?” His smile is kind when he answers. “Yes. I think it’ll do her some good to get fresh air.” I tap lightly on the partially closed door then push it the rest of the way open when she doesn’t answer. I look around the room until I spot her on the bed, sound asleep. I lighten my steps so I don’t disturb her until I’m standing by the bed. I set the bags and drink holder down on the table beside the bed then look down at her, taking her in. Not for the first time, I notice how beautiful she is. Her long brown hair hangs over one side in a loose braid, and her head is facing me. Except for a few yellow areas, most of the bruising is gone. The scrapes and cuts are healing nicely, but she’ll always carry scars. I run my eyes down the rest of her body. The covers are pulled to her waist and her hands are resting on her stomach. Tavers spoke with his wife about Doe, explaining she had no idea who she was, where she came from, and had no family that she knew of. After learning of my visits to her in the hospital, and Mindy being the kind-hearted woman she is, she insisted I bring her clothes and toiletries. She said that no woman should be forced to wear the stiff gowns provided by the hospital or use the

harsh shampoos and soaps. I didn’t tell her that I had already bought her one nightgown and replaced the bathroom necessities with better ones. I just let the woman do her thing. The gesture was just like Mindy; always giving and caring for others. The gown Doe’s wearing right now, light blue with tiny white stars, is one that Mindy brought for her. I’m glad to see she’s steadily putting on weight. She’s still got a long way to go, but she looks a hundred times better than she did that first day. I frown when her once restful breathing becomes labored. Her hands twitch on her stomach, and her eyes flicker back and forth behind her closed eyelids. A small moan slips past her lips, and her head starts tossing. Pain stabs my heart when I notice a tear leaking out the corner of one eye. She may not remember her time in hell, but it’s still in her, still grips her in her sleep. I know the feeling, and I fucking hate she’s going through this. Over the past three weeks, I’ve come to know Doe as much as anyone can under the circumstances. I don’t know who she was before, but I do know who she is now. The wary, oftentimes scared woman. The woman who’s strong but still so fragile. She looks so lost at times, like a little girl, and it makes me want to hold her and tell her everything will be okay. I’ve never been able to handle women crying. It does some serious shit to my gut.

Her brows wrinkle, and her lips purse. Knowing I shouldn’t because of her repugnance to touch but unable to allow her to remain in the throes of her nightmare, I reach out to touch her shoulder. Just before my hand touches her, she lets out a soft cry, and her eyes snap open. Fear like I’ve never seen before stares back at me, and I freeze. I hold my breath, unsure of what she’s going to do. A split second later, she bolts up in bed, and cries, “No!” She bolts to the other side of the bed, and I reach out to grab her arm before she can fall off and hurt herself. She flinches as if my touch burns her, and her eyes widen. They travel down to my hand on her arm before lifting them to me. “It’s okay, Doe,” I say with a calm voice. “It’s Niko.” Her brows furrow as recognition dawns. “W-w-what happened?” she asks, her voice trembling. My hand is still gripping her arm because it’s the only thing keeping her from falling. “You were having a dream,” I answer then watch her closely. “Oh.” Her voice is small and timid, and I don’t fucking like it. She’s gotten better with her skittishness over the past few weeks, but right now, she looks like a frightened kitten or some shit. Her eyes go back to my hand gripping her upper

arm, and she swallows before looking back up at me. “Y-you can let go now.” One corner of my mouth tips up. “If I let you go, Doe, you’ll topple over the edge.” She looks behind her and finally realizes she’s practically hanging off the bed. Using her free arm, she scoots herself back on the bed. Once I know she’s not going to fall over the edge, I unwrap my fingers around her bicep. “You okay?” I ask. She runs her hands up and down her thighs, and her throat bobs as she swallows. “Yes.” I grab the bag of grub from the table and hold it up for her to see, hoping it’ll distract her from her nightmare. “I brought burgers, fries, and shakes.” She eyes the bag hungrily then looks at the shakes. Reverence washes over her face. Except for the first time, every food I’ve brought, she’s eaten slow and with wonder on her face as if she’s never tasted it before and it’s her new favorite thing. Who in the hell hasn’t had donuts before? A week ago, I introduced her to chocolate shakes, and I laughed when she closed her eyes and moaned deeply. “You want to go outside to eat?” I suggest. Her eyes widen in surprise, and I smile. “Doc Evans says it might do you good to go out today.”

She looks at the window, back at me, and then shocks the shit out of me when she smiles. This is the first time I’ve seen her smile, and it’s absolutely breathtaking, completely transforming her face. She was beautiful before, but seeing her features relaxed with a smile is utterly captivating. She not only smiles with her lips but with her whole damn face too. “I would love to go outside,” she says, and I shake my head to relieve it of its thoughts on her beauty. “Go put something else on and we’ll take everything outside. Maybe you can try your hand at reading to me today?” She looks uncertain but nods after a minute. Getting up from the bed, she stops by the bag Mindy packed for her, picks something out, and then walks to the bathroom. Once the door closes, I sit on the edge of her bed and blow out a breath. These visits started out as a way to gain Doe’s trust to find out why she was breaking into my property, but they’ve become so much more. I find I enjoy being in her company. She soothes something dark inside me when I’m around her. I think back to what the doctor said outside her room. She’s almost ready to be released, but we don’t have anyone to release her to.

As soon as that thought leaves my mind, another takes its place. A ludicrous thought. One that I should wipe from my head immediately. But I don’t. No, I can’t. It’s taken root and isn’t going anywhere. Not until I talk it over with Doe and get her take on it. The door opening has me getting up from the bed. I look over as Doe walks out of the bathroom. A pair of long black linen pants and soft pink Vneck shirt with sleeves that come to her elbows have replaced her gown. Her hair is still in a thick braid and drapes over her shoulder, the end almost coming to her waist. She stands in the doorway, her hands twisted together in front of her. She looks nervous for some reason. I turn and grab the bag of food, tuck the book under my arm, and pick up the drink carrier. Turning back, I ask, “You ready?” She nods. “Yes.” I gesture at the door with my head. “Let’s go get some fresh air then.” She slips on a pair of flip-flops, something else Mindy packed, and I follow her to the door. She stops in the doorway and turns to face me. “Could you…?” She stops for a moment then begins again. “Could you go before me?” Her voice is so damn small; it rips my heart in two. I take a step toward her, and I’m glad to see she doesn’t flinch away. She’s gotten better with me

being close to her. Touch is still an issue, understandably, but she’s gotten better with being near people. Or with me anyway. I’m not sure about the doctors and nurses. “You’re safe, Doe,” I tell her softly. “Nothing can get you here, especially not when I’m around.” She nods, but I can still see the fear lurking behind her eyes. Unable to bear seeing the look on her face, I step past her. Her sigh of relief reaches my ears. I walk out the door and turn my head to make sure she’s following. We stop by the nurse’s station to let them know where we’ll be. They kindly detach her IV to make our adventure easier, and we make our way to the elevator. The sun is bright when we step through the doors. I come to a stop, and Doe walks up beside me. Her eyes squint against the brightness. I pull my sunglasses from the collar of my shirt and hand them over. She looks down at them quizzically. “Wear them until you get used to the sun.” Tentatively, she reaches out, grabs them, and then slides them up her nose. She looks cute in my glasses. I lead us over to a grassy area away from the parking lot where a picnic table sits underneath a tree with white blossoms. After I set our stuff down, I sit on one side, and she sits on the other. I can’t see her eyes from the reflective lenses of the sunglasses, but I can tell she’s taking in everything

around her when she’s turning her head from side to side. She’s clenched her hands tightly together on the table. She appears both nervous and tense. I pull one of the shakes from the carrier and stick a straw in it. “Here.” I slide the drink across the table, hoping to distract her enough to relax. “Drink it before it melts.” Her eyes land on the shake, and she takes the bait, grabbing it and sucking on the straw. I chuckle when she doesn’t release the straw for a full minute. “You’re going to get a brain freeze,” I warn. We’re in the shade now, so she pulls the glasses off and sets them on the table. After looking longingly at the drink for a moment, she pushes it away. I laugh. “I got you the largest they had. It’ll last you a while.” Her mouth drops down into a frown. “They don’t make them any bigger?” “Nope,” I say then promise, “But the next time I come, I’ll bring you another one. Want to try strawberry next time?” I pull the wrapped burgers out of the bag and set them on the table. Next, I put one napkin in front of her and one in front of me before placing our fries on top of them. She immediately snatches one of her fries and stuffs it into her mouth as if she’s starving.

“Yeah. I think I’d like to try strawberry.” We sit in silence for a few moments while we eat. Before she finishes her fries, I tell her to take the lid off her shake. “Why?” she asks suspiciously. “Just do it.” I keep my tone calm so as not to sound like I’m giving her an order. After a moment, she pulls the lid off and sets it down on another napkin. Grabbing one of her fries, I dip it inside her chocolate shake and hold it out to her. “Try it.” She looks at the chocolate shake covered fry then back at me. Her expression says I’ve lost my mind. It’s so comical that a laugh slips free. “A lot of people do it. I wouldn’t steer you wrong.” I wiggle the wet fry in front of her. “Just try it. Trust me.” The words slip out, and for some reason, I mean them more than for just the fry. I want her to trust me. I want her to know that as long as I’m around, nothing will happen to her. Not only because it’s my duty as a detective but also as a friend. And that’s what she’s become; a friend. Yes, I’d still like to know why she was in my neighborhood and, ultimately, my house, but I also want to help her because no one should ever be as lost and alone as she is. She eyes the fry with trepidation. I hold my

breath as she thinks over whether to trust my words. Surprisingly, she reaches out and takes the fry from me. The act warms something inside me, knowing that in a small way, she does trust me. It may only be for food, but at least it’s something. Her eyes follow the fry all the way to her mouth, so much so that they cross when it gets close to her nose. Wrinkling her nose cutely, she puts the end of the fry in her mouth and takes a bite. After several chews, her eyes pop open wide. “Wow,” she breathes. “That’s really good.” Chuckling, I say, “Told you.” She picks up another fry and dips it in her shake on her own. After doing this several more times, she notices me watching her. “Why aren’t you doing it?” I smirk. “Because that shit’s nasty.” Her mouth drops open, and then a second later, she laughs. I’m stunned for a moment from the carefree look on her face, but join in and laugh as well. Once our food is gone, I gather our trash and take it to a nearby trash can. I retake my seat across from her. “How have you been doing the past couple of days?” My last visit to her was two days ago. I normally try to stop by at least every other day, but

yesterday was an intense day at work, and all I wanted to do once I got home was take a shower and fall into bed. She shrugs and looks down at the splinter of wood she’s picking at on the table. “I’m doing better every day. Or that’s what the doctors say anyway.” “You don’t believe so?” I know she’s doing better. A week ago, she would have had a panic attack at me touching her when I grabbed her arm to keep her from falling off the bed. She also wouldn’t be sitting out here alone with me right now. She’s talking more than she used to as well. Slowly but surely, she’s starting to open up. She lifts her head and looks to the side, a faraway look on her face. “I don’t really know if I’m getting better.” She turns her face to me, and I want to reach out and grab her hand in comfort, but I know she wouldn’t like that. “Sometimes, I feel like I am, but other times… Other times, I don’t.” She’s referring to her dream. Whatever horrors she saw in her head plague her greatly. “Want to tell me about your dream?” I ask. She chews on her bottom lip for a while, dropping her eyes in the process. Her hands fist on the wooden table. I can tell she’s undecided about whether to talk to me.

After several seconds, her eyes go back to mine, and I’m both proud and pleased when she starts speaking. “I don’t really remember much. It was dark and cold. And… and...” She squeezes her eyes shut and pulls in a ragged breath before opening them again. “The shadow man was there,” she whispers, fear in her voice. “H-he was just standing there.” Her eyes meet mine, and they carry a mountain of pain. “I could only see his eyes. They were glowing.” My hand literally fucking itches to reach across the table and grab hers. The devastation and fear on her face are nearly my undoing. No one, fucking no one, but especially a woman, should every carry that look. I fucking hate it and want to obliterate the person who put it there. “You don’t remember anything else? Maybe a landmark or something on the floor or walls that can help us determine where you were? Any noises? Try to use your other senses.” Her eyes close again, and they flicker back and forth beneath the closed lids as if she is trying to go back to her dream and look around. “No.” She shakes her head then opens her eyes. “Everything is just so faded.” I want to growl in frustration, but I force back the need. “And no other memories of your life before three weeks ago?”

I ask this question every time I come here, hoping the answer will be different than the time before. But it never is, and this time is no different. She rubs her temples as if warding off a headache. “No.” I blow out a breath to try to calm the blood rushing through my veins. This case has become personal to me. Maybe it’s because it reminds me so much of Aislin’s. The thought has crossed my mind that the two could be related, but something just doesn’t fit. I don’t see the person who took Aislin simply letting Doe go. It doesn’t match his profile. I bring my eyes back to Doe to find her watching me. I force a smile to my face and hold the book up. “Want to give it a go?” She looks at the book wearily but with a hint of relief at the change of topic. “I don’t know if I can.” I get up from my seat and walk around to her side. Before sitting, I ask, “May I?” Using the book, I point at a spot on the bench a foot away from her. It takes her a minute, but then she gives me permission to sit. Slowly, so as not to spook her, I take a seat, making sure to keep that foot of distance between us. I set the opened book down in front of her. “I can help with the words you don’t remember.”

I can tell she doesn’t want to try, or rather, she’s too scared to try and fail, but being the strong person she is, she pulls in a deep breath and reaches out for the book. She starts out stilted, saying the words slowly. I help her with a few words, but for the most part, she’s got it down. I wonder if her slowness with reading is due to her memory loss or lack of schooling. It would fit in with the memory loss, since there seems to be many things she doesn’t remember. Basic things like playing cards or working a television remote. I notice her eyes flicker to me every few minutes. I’m unsure if it’s because she’s making sure I’m keeping my distance or if it’s for some other reason. I keep my eyes on her, enjoying watching and listening to her read. She’s read one full chapter when I notice her eyes are starting to droop. I feel a pang of guilt for keeping her out so long. She’s still recovering, so her body’s strength isn’t up to par yet. “We need to get you back inside so you can rest,” I tell her. She dog-ears the page where she stops and sets the book down then places her hands on top. She looks around for a moment before bringing her eyes to me. “Thank you for bringing me out here. It’s nice to sit outside, feeling the breeze on my face and

smelling the flowers.” As if hearing her words, a gust of wind hits us, and she closes her eyes and tips her head back. A small smile plays on her lips, and a few loose strands of hair whip in her face. One gets snagged on her bottom lip, and she reaches out to tug it free. It’s nice to see her look so free when she always appears so locked within herself. “My pleasure,” I tell her, and she lifts her head to look at me again. “We’ll come back out the next time I’m here if you want.” She nods. “I want.” Chuckling lightly, I get up from the bench. “You got it.” I grab the book from the table, and we both carry our empty cups to the trash can. Doe stays quiet as we make our way across the lawn and in through the sliding doors; I’m sure reflecting over the day. I let her have her silence. By the time we step off the elevator, she seems to be dragging her feet. Her eyes look red and tired. If I knew she wouldn’t freak out, I’d scoop her up and carry her the rest of the way, but I know that would be a big no-no. A couple of the nurses greet us as we pass by the nurses’ station. I place the book down on the table by the bed as Doe takes a seat on the edge. “I wanted to talk to you about something before I head out.”

She leans back against the pillows and rolls to her side, one hand tucked beneath her head. She looks like a small child lying there. “What?” Sliding a chair closer to the bed, I take a seat, resting my elbows on my knees and dangling my hands between my spread legs. “The doctor said you’ll be ready to be released soon.” As soon as I say the word released, the fatigue leaves her face, and she springs up in bed, her frightened eyes snapping to the door like she’s worried someone will come through it any minute and kick her out. “Hey, hey!” I call. Her scared gaze clashes with mine. “Nothing is going to happen to you.” Her eyes close tightly, and she shakes her head rapidly. “I can’t… I don’t…” She stops, and I can see the fucking shakes start in her body. She’s so damn terrified to be out on her own. For her not to remember what happened to her and still be so terrified is very telling. Her chest is pumping up and down in short bursts, and I know she’s on the verge of a panic attack. I reach out and grab her clammy hand, knowing it’ll pull her attention away from wherever she’s gone in her head. The minute my hand touches hers, her rapid breathing ceases. She actually stops breathing altogether and opens her eyes. She looks down at

my hand over hers, and I’m pleased when she doesn’t flinch or pull her hand away from the contact. Her brows pull down into a frown then she looks up at me. Once I have her attention, I repeat quietly, “Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise.” She takes in my words and the silent force behind them. Sensing my promise from the look on my face, she takes a deep breath and nods once. “I want you to think about something after I leave.” She nods again. “I know you have nowhere to go. So…” I squeeze her hand lightly. “How do you feel about coming to stay with me until we figure out if you have someone looking for you?” I fully expect her to refuse the offer from the start and to have to explain why it’s a good idea. Surprisingly, I see the wheels turning in her head as she thinks it over. Not getting an immediate no is a good sign. Thinking about this strong but vulnerable woman out on the streets or being stuffed into a crowded homeless shelter doesn’t sit right with me. She doesn’t belong in either of those situations. “You don’t have to answer now.” I release her hand and stand. “Just think it over. I’ll be back in a couple of days, and you can give me your answer then.” She’s breathing normally once again, and the color is back in her cheeks. Her pending nervous breakdown from before has passed and is once

again replaced with tiredness. Knowing she needs rest, I take a step back from her bed. “Rest. I’ll be back in a couple of days.” She doesn’t say anything as I turn around and make my way to the door. Just as I’m passing through the threshold, her softly spoken one word stops me. “Yes.” I turn back to find her eyes on me. She still appears unsure of her answer, but a hint of determination hides there as well. “You’ll be safe with me, Doe,” I reassure her. Shocking me, she says, “I know.” After giving her a smile and a chin lift, I turn back and leave her room. As I make my way out of the hospital, I ask myself what in the hell did I think I was doing. The last thing I need is to bring her home. My plate is already full with Aislin’s case, Rebecca’s, the other cases at work, and now finding out what happened to Doe. Adding on caring for her at home is something I don’t need right now. But it feels right; as if it’s something I not only want to do for a friend, but also something I need to do. Knowing she trusts me enough to allow herself to be alone with me on a daily basis solidifies that need because I know she hasn’t given that trust to anyone else, not even her doctors or nurses. My steps are lighter than what they were when

I first arrived a couple of hours ago, the anger and bitterness gone. But I know it’s only a matter of time before it seeps back inside, waiting to dig its claws in.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Niko B ETSY’ S WET NOSE NUDGES MY HAND IN THE DARK . Automatically, I reach out and rub the scruff around her neck. She’s so intuitive; it doesn’t take much for her to know something is wrong with her master. I sit quietly in my dark room with my legs thrown over the edge of the mattress, resting my head in the cradle of my hand. Quiet. Contemplative. In a few hours’ time, I’ll head to the hospital with a small black duffle bag I pulled from deep in my closet. I’ll pack up the measly items Mindy and I have bought for Doe over the past couple of weeks, and I’ll wait as she’s discharged. Guilt consumes me, creating a heaviness in my chest I haven’t been able to shake for days. She’ll be

coming home here with me. All night I’ve been questioning my thinking. Other times, I feel like this had to have been Aislin. Somewhere, beyond the grave, she’s forcing me to do the right thing. To help someone just as I’ve always tried to help her. That is, until I failed her. And then I feel like I’m utterly insane and go back to sitting quietly. Mindy and Tavers came by earlier today with a few bags of pre-pregnancy clothes that Mindy no longer fits into. I took my time folding them and putting them away in the guest bedroom. New sheets went on the bed and a line of girly toiletries sit on the dresser, awaiting their new owner. They also brought over a bag of healthy food, knowing I’m a man who takes care of his body, but that doesn’t mean I don’t eat one too many tv dinners or delivery pizzas. To avoid later issues, I went to visit Captain about Doe temporary living with me. He was pissed about the idea, but he couldn’t do much since I’m no longer on the case. He certainly wasn’t going to let the woman be shoved off into an overcrowded homeless shelter based on his own principles. I also requested time off. I knew Doe wouldn’t be ready to be left alone, so I gave myself a week to get her settled in and comfortable. With that taken care of, everything is ready to go. Everything but me.

Exhausted from sitting here all night, I pull my legs back onto the mattress and lie back on the pillow, cocking one arm and sliding my hand beneath my head. The sheets rustle as Betsy jumps up and settles herself near my feet. The warmth of her body seeps through the covers. My eyes feel weighted in this new position, and I find sleep rapidly approaching. As I try to push off thoughts for tomorrow, I send up one more silent prayer to the only girl I’ve ever loved. Aislin … please forgive me.

STRAIGHT SPINE AND A CONFIDENT STRIDE CAN ’ T HIDE the shaking in my hands when I sign the discharge form at the hospital. Age-wise, Doe’s an adult, but she’s being signed out into my care because without a memory or identity, she could be considered a danger to herself. I drop the pen into the red cup on the edge of the receptionists’ desk and take a large sip of my black coffee. I got a good six hours of sleep last night, though, it feels like a half an hour passed between the time I laid down and the time my alarm started blaring. Hence, the extra-large coffee. When I first arrived, I brought the black duffle bag to Doe and requested she pack up before walking out. When I spoke to her doctor on the

phone yesterday, he recommended I let her be as independent as possible. Even things that seem miniscule and unimportant to us—like packing her own things—could make huge strides in her recovery. Doe needs to learn how to function as an adult. The first step to that is doing small tasks on her own. The receptionist takes the form, and I meander into the room, looking around for hopefully the last time in a very long time. The second I hit the open door, my eyes land on Doe staring into her half-full yet fully packed duffle bag. “Hey,” I say on a rasp, stopping to fully clear my throat. “Papers are all signed. The nurse will bring in a copy for you and then we can go.” “I’m not… so… sure I should go.” She speaks hesitantly, and it breaks my fucking heart. “Doe—” Her large, round eyes swing in my direction, and she looks very much like the animal namesake. I take a hesitant step forward. “You have nothing to be afraid of. I’m going to help you.” She looks back and forth between the window and the open door before bringing her gaze back to mine. “It’s not you. It’s just the thought of leaving here. I’m safe here. Sort of. And I haven’t left since I was brought here.” “We went outside a few times,” I remind her gently, taking another step closer.

“That was to the courtyard. We’re going to be walking outside and… and vulnerable.” A strong urge to cross my arms over my chest takes me. It takes everything inside to keep them limply at my sides. “I’ll drive the truck around. The farthest you’ll have to walk outside is from the hospital door to my truck. That’s about ten feet. Another few feet from my truck to my front door.” I move in front of her. Closer than I think we’ve ever been as my chest nearly touches hers. The proximity I hope shows her me—all of me. How big I am and how strong and muscular. That I can shield her. That I can keep her safe. She sucks in a short, sharp breath. “You are safe with me, Doe. I have a trained German Shepherd who’s a big, sweet baby but would tear a man apart at my command. And I’m a cop.” I shouldn’t do it. I don’t know why the thought even crosses my mind, but I need her to understand. With the barest of touches, I rest the pad of my index finger beneath her chin and tilt her face up. “Which means that I carry a gun, at all times, and I’m very good at using it.” A full-body tremor assaults her from head to toe before she gives a jerky nod. As soon as I have that sign, I drop my hand and step back. “Are you ready?” The tone of my voice changes from serious to casual as I pick up the light bag from the bed.

“Y-yes.” “Good.” I half grin in what I hope is reassurance. As if on cue, a nurse bustles in with a paper printout. “Here’s your discharge papers. Your follow-up appointments are all listed on this front page. We highly recommend you continue your therapy sessions as outlined by Dr. Kerns, and Dr. Erickson has been assigned as your primary care physician. She’d like to see you back here in a few weeks to see how you’re healing. Do you have any questions?” she asks as she hands the papers to Doe. Doe just shakes her head. Interesting. Is her nonverbal response because she’s overwhelmed by the information or because she doesn’t want to speak to the nurse? I’ll have to test this out once we get her settled in. See if she opens up around Tavers or his wife, Mindy. “Alrighty then. You’re free to go, hun. Take care of yourself and make sure you get plenty of fluids and rest.” She gives a kind albeit quick smile and leaves the room. A few quiet seconds tick past before I break the silence. “Shall we go, then?” She nods stiffly, and the motion makes my heart sink. I hope like fuck she’s not regressing back into her shell. I hold my hand out in front of me, gesturing for her to leave first, but I don’t let her

get far. As soon as she clears the doorway, I’m right there at her side, slightly to her back right. Close. Closer than I should be, but at the same time, it doesn’t feel close enough. This poor woman is scared to leave the damn building. I almost feel like I should simply carry her out. The doctor’s words pop into my head again. Let her be independent. I don’t know which’ll be harder—living with her under my roof or letting her take care of herself. After all, I failed Aislin, so I feel like I need to make things right by helping Doe. But helicoptering over her isn’t the way to do it. She needs to grow on her own. We take the elevator down while I have these thoughts, and when we exit, I stop her by the receptionist’s desk. “Wait here.” She gives a simple nod, and I jog out the doors to my truck. We didn’t share much conversation on the short ride from the hospital to my place, and by the time I pull into my driveway, she only looks slightly less like she wants to bolt. I hit the garage door opener, the door opens, and I drive inside. I couldn’t help but glance at her as we hit my street, the area where she was picked up, and all the way to my house, looking for any sign she recognized the location. Not a flicker crossed her face. Even as I passed the house I’m almost positive she was sneaking into and turned into my drive, she kept a

neutral expression. But after I kill the ignition, and when I move to unbuckle my seat belt, I catch the look on Doe’s face out of the corner of my eye. She looks stunned. “Everything okay?” “Huh? Yeah. I, um, I don’t think I’ve ever seen something like that before.” I tilt my head. “An automatic opener?” I ask, and she nods, prompting me to make a mental note of this. “Do you remember something?” I push carefully. She shakes her head and unclicks her belt. “No. Not a specific memory. I didn’t expect you to push a button is all.” Before I can respond, she opens her door and hops out. I snag her bag and follow. When I close my door, I stop. This is because she’s standing in front of the door to the house rocking up and down on the balls of her feet. A tiny grin cracks my face. “Everything okay?” “Is there a button or something?” “A-a what?” “A button. To make the door open.” The grin grows bigger. “No, sweetheart. You have to turn the knob.” I step forward, angling my arm between her and the door and insert the key into the lock. With a quick twist, the door creaks open.

“Oh,” she mutters. “I thought…Well, you used a button outside, and all the doors at the hospital just seemed to open on their own.” “Those are called automatic doors. A lot of businesses have them. They’re more handicap friendly for people in wheelchairs or using canes or crutches.” “Makes sense… oh!” Her frown instantly flips into an expression of uncertainty as Betsy trots forward and butts her head against Doe’s thigh. “Is this your dog?” “Yeah, that’s my girl Betsy.” I smile to myself as I cross the room into the kitchen and snag us two waters from the fridge. “She’s big.” Doe drops to her knees right there in the entryway and rubs her hands up and down Betsy’s back. When Betsy starts licking her chin and face, Doe giggles. That sound. Damn. My heart plummets into my stomach, and the smile slowly slips from my face into a more serious expression. Weeks I’ve spent with this woman and I don’t think I’ve heard her laugh before. It does something to me, knowing that my dog brought her that. A small ounce of joy after everything she’s gone through. “She’s sweet,” I murmur back, shaking those thoughts from my head. I extend a bottle toward her. “Here. Doctor’s orders. You need to keep up on your fluid intake.”

At the word doctor, the playfulness slips from her face. Fuck. “Right. Thanks. I’m kind of tired; can you show me somewhere to rest?” I curse myself inside. “Of course. Let me show you to your room.” I walk her down the hall, giving her the very brief tour and pointing out my room on the end, the bathroom to the left, and on the right, her new room. “This is where you can stay,” I say, pushing the door open and gesturing for her to go inside. She walks in slowly and does a turn, taking in the entirety of the room. “It’s so big. I don’t think I need this much space.” I look around, trying to see the space from her eyes. It’s not a room I’d call big by any means. I can barely fit a queen bed and dresser comfortably. I just managed to squeeze an armchair near the window for an extra place to sit. But no way in hell is this space big. “Don’t worry about it. I have no use for it. My parents and my sister’s family are the only ones who come to visit, but they won’t be up anytime soon. It’s yours as long as you need it to be.” She turns back to the bed. “Thank you.” An uncomfortable silence stretches, so I break it. “Here, let me show you some things.” I finally drop the duffle bag on the bed. I’ve been holding it this entire time, and it was starting to dig into my shoulder. “I have a good friend named Dave

Tavers. He has a lovely wife named Mindy. She got together some clothes and things for you to have.” I start tugging out dresser drawers to show her the contents. “It’s not a lot but enough to get you started. Maybe the two of you could go shopping sometime.” “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think that’s necessary,” she rambles, backing up toward the bed. Okay, too much too soon. I hold both my hands up, palms out toward her. “Okay, that’s okay. There’s plenty here to get you started. We’ll have to do laundry more frequently is all. I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for.” She releases a deep breath as if she were holding it. “Thanks. Can I sleep now?” she asks brusquely but not unkind. “Of course. I’m going to make some lunch in about an hour, but I’ll wake you when it’s ready. You can sleep as much as you need, but I can’t have you skipping meals.” Doe’s hands drop to the waistband of her jeans, and the movement draws my attention. She starts unbuttoning them and tugging them down her hips. “Sure. Thanks.” “What are you doing?” As soon as I realize what’s happening, I turn my head to the side to give her some privacy, and discomfort takes root in my gut. What is with this girl and her nakedness?

“These aren’t comfortable to sleep in. I’m taking them off.” “Generally speaking, if you’re going to undress, you should wait until you’re alone or let the other person know so they can give you some privacy.” The words sound harsher than I intend them to. She drops the jean material, causing it to fall down her thin legs and pool on the floor at her feet. Her hands hang limply at her sides as she raises her head to look at me. The only thing on her face is confusion. The woman doesn’t even have it in her to be embarrassed. Again, I’m struck with wondering what in the hell happened to her and where did she come from? “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Isn’t this okay? Haven’t you seen a naked person before?” A multitude of images flash through my head; none of them pleasant. All of them cases or past victims. Several of them—Aislin. An acrid taste rises in the back of my throat. I’ve breached my limit for the day. “I have, but that doesn’t mean I want to. Clothing is nonnegotiable in our society. If you were on the streets, you’d be arrested for public indecency.” “I didn’t know.” I sigh. “I know, which is why I’m telling you. I’ll leave you to rest and wake you when lunch is

ready. Sleep well.” My mind starts thinking about lunch options. I know Mindy brought over a few premade meals to get me started. As I hit the doorway, I hear Doe murmur, “Come here, Betsy.” When I turn to shut the door, I see my dog bound onto the bed and curl into the space near Doe’s abdomen. Her hand immediately ties into the scruff of the dog’s neck as Doe shuts her eyes. My chest warms. I’m glad she’s taking comfort in Betsy. She’s a good dog, and I wasn’t kidding when I said she’d tear a man apart. She’s probably a better companion for her than I’ll ever be. I’m just the guy holding the gun. “Stop!” The sound of a shrill scream wakes me in the middle of the night. The dream of the cold, dead woman on the slab recedes back into my subconscious. I blink against the sand in my eyes, the heavy lids and tiredness, but it’s no use. Everything is black around me. A scream sounds again, and this time, I leap into action. Blankets hold my legs down like bindings, and I tangle in the sheets in my attempt to stand. My legs kick to free me, but my forward momentum sends me spiraling off the edge of my bed and onto the floor. I throw out an arm. My wrist crumples beneath the weight of my body, and a sharp pain ricochets up the limb. A growl of pain sounds from my lips as I try to

reorient myself. What the fuck just happened? A whimper in the darkness draws my attention to the right. I turn my head that way, finding a pair of fuzzy teal slippers standing near the barely lit doorway. I follow them up a pair of legs in pink pajama pants up to a white long-sleeved shirt, and the pieces begin to fall into place. “What’s going on?” I groan. Planting my good arm on the bed, I cradle the other to my chest and pull myself to standing. “You-you-you-you-you-you,” she chants, the words falling out like she’s shivering in the cold. I take a step forward, and she immediately jumps back and holds her palms out. “No-no-nono-no-no.” “Aisl-fuck, I mean, Doe. It’s okay. You’re okay.” I’m still disoriented from the dream, but I do my best to calm her. The room is nearly black, but I can still see the vigor in which she shakes her head. I can imagine the terror on her face, and I can hear the fear on her breath. I know she’s afraid, but I don’t fucking know why. I move another step closer, and she backs up again. I see her stumble, the outline of my dog standing behind her. At the last second, she rights herself before fleeing the room. Goddammit! I make chase. My heart races from the

remnants of my dream and from the sheer terror in her voice. “Doe, wait!” I round the corner and see her sprint into the guest room with Betsy fast on her heels. Knowing she has no escape, I slow my steps and take a deep breath. Cradling my pulsating wrist to my chest, I lean against the doorframe. My eyes scan the darkness until I pick out her unmoving form standing in the far corner by the window and the chair I dragged in there just yesterday. “Please, tell me what’s wrong. What has you spooked?” Her body trembles visibly in the meager light from the moon. “It-it-it was y-you.” “What was me?” I ask back with as much patience as I can muster considering the circumstances. She wraps her arms around herself. “You woke me up by shouting. I-I-I thought the shadow man had found me and was attacking you.” “The shadow man?” I ask back, glad she’s actually speaking to me and not shutting down. “From my dreams. I think it might be a memory, but I can never see his face. Only that he has glowing eyes and he’s always in a shadow. I thought he had you.” “Doe… I’m okay. You’re okay. It was just a dream.” “It wasn’t a dream,” she insists, her eyes turning determined. “You were the one having the

dream! You woke me by screaming. Why were you screaming, Niko? I went into your room, and you were still asleep and…and… having a nightmare.” Embarrassment steals over me. The last thing that crossed my mind about moving Doe in was having a nightmare. I knew I didn’t sleep well. I knew I had them fairly often. Why didn’t I consider this before asking her to stay? What are we supposed to do now? I step into the room. My chest constricts a little when she doesn’t cower farther into the corner. We’re making progress. It may be a tiny step, but it’s still progress. Still, I don’t miss the way her fingers dive into Betsy’s scruff as if that one tangible thing is holding her together. “I am so sorry. I didn’t… I don’t…” I clench my teeth together, blowing out a harsh breath. Reaching back, I rub the tension building at the base of my skull and try again. “I have nightmares, too. Bad ones. I didn’t think about how that would affect you here. I’m incredibly sorry I frightened you. You shouldn’t ever feel afraid around me.” “Are they about the shadow man?” she asks in a deep whisper as if speaking about him out loud will somehow conjure him into this room. I shake my head sadly. “No. I lost someone a long time ago. They’re all about her.” Surprising the fuck out of me, Doe takes the few steps across the room until she’s standing in

front of me. What leaves me utterly speechless is that she murmurs, “Please don’t move,” and lifts her left hand until it’s level with my face. With the softest touch I’ve ever felt in my whole damn life, she puts the tip of her index finger on my cheek. I hold my breath. My skin seems to explode from that singular point of contact with the girl who’s terrified of just about everything. I have the urge to reach out and flatten her entire hand there, to cup my cheek with my hand wrapped around hers. Some of the tension begins to leak out of me, and I have to fight against closing my eyes. “I’m so sorry you’ve lost someone. She must have been very special to you.” “She was,” I croak in a raw voice. When Doe pulls away, I feel that loss of contact like a physical chill. For the first time since they started, I had someone here after a nightmare, and I didn’t hate it as much as I always thought I would. Her touch removed some of the deep shame that lingers afterward. “I don’t want to be responsible for scaring you in the middle of the night. Or at all. You’re supposed to feel safe here. You are safe here.” “I can go back.” My brows dip in confusion. “Go back?” She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Where I came from.” “Do you even know where that is?”

Doe dips her chin to her chest and shakes her head without looking at me. Fuck, she’s retreating. “I have an idea,” I mutter then flip on the bedroom light, temporarily blinding us both. “Fuck, sorry. I just need to see.” Doe shields her eyes with her forearm. “What are you doing?” I scope out the room, moving once I find the unpacked duffle bag beside the bed. I snatch it up and begin filling the remaining space with the toiletries and other items of clothes from the dresser. At first, the task takes all my attention, and I miss her question. “Come with me.” Hefting the now full bag over my shoulder, I exit the room. Her soft footfalls and Betsy’s alert trot follow me down the hall. When I reach the foyer, I grab my keys and cross the space to the patio door. “Come on,” I call to them. “We’re going next door.” Something makes her trust me as she follows me out in her fuzzy slippers and pajamas. We cross the short distance, and in thirty seconds, I’m unlocking the back door to Aislin’s old place, letting us both inside. “Where are we?” she whispers beside me in the dark. Searching the wall blindly, I find the switch and illuminate the small kitchen. “My other house.” “You have another house?” “I like to work with my hands when I’m not

doing police work. I buy old, broken houses and fix them up. It’s called flipping houses.” “Oh. So you built this house?” she asks, wonder filling her voice. It makes me crack a smile. “I didn’t build the house itself. I just tear down the broken parts inside and make them new again. This kitchen we’re standing in? I gutted it down to just the walls and rebuilt it. I made these cabinets and put in the new floor. Everything down to the knobs on the drawers are new.” She doesn’t say anything, but I watch her examining the space with clear wonder on her face. “Follow me.” I lead her through the living space and down the hall. I point out the bathroom and take her to the room at the very end. It was an old spare room that Aislin’s mom used as just another surface for her fuck buddies, but I’ve done so much with the space, there was no way to tell that now. Thank fuck a few weeks back I decided to buy some furniture to stage the house in case I decided to sell it, even knowing that I probably never would. Now Doe doesn’t have to sleep on the damn floor. “I thought it might be better for you to sleep over here.” A war of emotions flickers across her face. Confusion and fear dominate, but I also think I see relief, too. “It’ll be better. You need plenty of rest, and you

won’t get that if I keep waking you in the middle of the night with my bad dreams. You already have your own bad dreams to deal with. I think we’ll both sleep better this way, and I’ll be right next door. You’re still safe here, Doe.” And she is. I might have had that incident a few weeks ago, but I’m almost one-hundred percent certain it was her sneaking into this house. And that whoever was in that car on my lawn was looking for her. I have installed a security alarm on the place since then, and the person from the car is long gone. They’d have no reason to suspect she’s still here after all this time. “I’m scared to be alone,” she whispers, worrying the hem of her shirt with her fingertips. I dump the bag on the floor just inside the room and take a step closer until I’m right in front of her. I wish I could hug her and translate some of my confidence into her, but that’s not possible with all that’s happened to her. I’d scare her straight into a catatonic state. “You won’t be alone. This house is safer than mine, and I’ll be right next door. There’s an alarm system wired to my cell phone that’ll wake me up if anyone tries to break in. It’d take me thirty seconds to get over here with my gun.” “I’m still not sure.” She turns her head away from me again. This time I call her back with a, “Hey.”

When she looks back at me, I ask, “What would make it better?” A few seconds tick past. “Can Betsy stay?” At her name, the German Shepherd butts her head against Doe’s thigh, and she immediately slides her fingers into her fur. “You want my dog?” She nods. “She makes me feel safe.” I crack a small grin. “Sure, I’m the one with the gun, but you feel safer with the dog.” “She can bark loud. And you said she could tear a man apart.” “She could,” I reply in a deadly serious tone. “Okay. I’ll stay here to sleep if Betsy stays with me.” “Good. One more thing.” I jerk my head toward the hall in a gesture for her to follow me. I stop in front of the one door I didn’t point out to her before. Aislin’s old room. “You aren’t allowed in this room. There’s nothing bad or weird in there. It’s just my rule.” A fearful look crosses her face again. Shit. I steel myself with a steady breath then crank the knob. The door swings open. Thankfully, adequate light shines in from the moon and I don’t have to flip the light switch. I try to hold my breath and not think about the last person who lived in here, but it’s nearly impossible. “See? Nothing weird. Just please stay out of there.” Before I lose my nerve, I

shut the door again. “Okay, Niko. I’ll stay out of there.” “Thank you. Now, it’s late. Get into bed and when you’re settled, I’ll head out and lock up. Sleep as late as you want, but I’ll come check on you in the morning so you don’t have to go outside alone. We can have breakfast at my house whenever you’re ready.” “Okay. Good night, Niko.” “Good night.” She turns out the bedroom light, and I hear her getting into the bed. Once she gives the okay, I walk back through, turning on the bathroom light and closing the door most of the way. I don’t want it too bright, but it’s an unfamiliar house. She shouldn’t be too afraid to use the toilet in the middle of the night. I darken the kitchen, set the alarm, and lock up. Part of me feels lighter, and the other part feels guilty as hell. Not only because another woman is sleeping in Aislin’s house. That’s hard enough as it is. But going into Aislin’s old room, no matter how brief, feels a bit like opening Pandora’s box. This is one time I absolutely hope my gut feeling is wrong.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Niko Age Fourteen I SIT ON THE BUMPER OF M OM ’ S CAR AND IMPATIENTLY tap my fingers to a silent rhythm on the hood. I look over at the pharmacy, but there are too many pictures on the windows to really see inside. Looking down at the watch I got for Christmas, I note they’ve been in there for at least fifteen minutes. What in the world is taking them so long? Today’s Aislin’s thirteenth birthday. Mom is supposed to drop us off at a small restaurant down from the movie theater to eat then we’re walking to the theater to watch a movie. We’re going to be late if they don’t hurry up. I’ve worked for the past three months doing yard work to earn enough money to take her out for her birthday. It’s a big

day because she’s officially a teenager now. Something’s off, though. When she came running over to my house earlier, she hardly acknowledged me; she just went straight for Mom, whispered something in her ear, and then they both walked off to Mom’s room with the door closed. She seemed upset and angry. I wanted to demand what was wrong, but something held me back. I could sense she needed Mom for some reason, so I let it go. I wanted to walk to the door and press my ear against it, but again, I didn’t. Whatever the problem is, I’ll ask her later. Her own mother sucks, so when she needs mine, I let her have her. I stand when Aislin and Mom walk out of the pharmacy, Aislin carrying a brown paper bag. I try to catch Aislin’s attention when she walks by me, but she avoids my eyes. I may not have asked her what was wrong this morning, but that doesn’t mean I’m not curious and slightly worried. We don’t keep secrets from each other. Normally, we don’t even need to ask what’s wrong. We just tell the other on our own. But Aislin is acting different, and I don’t like it. We both get in the back seat and buckle up. Mom wouldn’t mind if one of us sits up front with her, but we always choose to sit in the back together. I look over at her as she sits quietly in her seat, her arms wrapped tightly around the paper bag in her lap. I frown when I notice the

mixture of sadness and fear on her face. It’s a look I know well because she’s carried it so many times over the years we’ve known each other. Only this time I don’t know the cause, and I don’t like it. I don’t like knowing something is wrong with her, and she hasn’t come to me. I keep my eyes on her face, hoping she’ll look my way, but she never does. Her head stays turned away from me, preventing me from uncovering her secrets. Not for the first time over the past few months, I notice how pretty Aislin is. I’ve always thought she was pretty, but something’s been different lately. The way she smells or when she touches my hand makes me feel different. I know what I’m feeling, and it kind of freaks me out because Aislin is… well, Aislin. She’s like a little sister to me. I’ve never thought of her as anything more, and I don’t know why I am now or what to do with these feelings. Before I realize it, Mom’s pulling the car into our driveway. I stare out the window in confusion. We’re supposed to get dropped off at the restaurant. “Why are we here?” I ask, looking at Mom in the rearview mirror. She doesn’t answer, but Aislin does. “I can’t go out tonight.” I bring my eyes to her. “What? Why?”

I can’t keep the hurt from my voice. I was looking forward to taking her out. She deserves to be taken out for her birthday. Especially since she won’t get anything from her mom, not even a simple happy birthday. “I just can’t,” she answers then pulls the handle to open her door. We all get out, and I walk around to Aislin’s side. She tries to slide past me to go home, but I grab her hand to stop her, sending tingles through my palm. “What’s wrong?” I ask, ignoring the feeling. I’ve grown a lot over the past year, so I tower over her even more than I did before. She keeps her head down and mutters, “Nothing.” Her answer sparks my worry even more. She never keeps anything from me. “North, please look at me,” I beg. She shakes her head, yanks her hand from mine, and races off across the yard to her house. I watch, stunned, as the door slams behind her. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep back the emotion of her withdrawing from me. It feels like someone just punched me in the stomach. I take two steps to follow her, but Mom’s voice stops me. “Leave her be, Niko.” I turn around and scowl at her. “I can’t just leave her, Mom. Something’s wrong.” I walk closer

to her. “What did you guys talk about?” Her smile is sad when she replies, “I can’t tell you that, sweetie. Give her time. She’ll come to you when she’s ready. She’s just going through some tough things right now.” I’ll be fifteen in two months, but I want to stomp my foot like I’m still seven years old. I hate this distance between us, and I hate even more that she won’t tell me what’s wrong. I always try to fix what’s bothering her, but I can’t if I don’t know what it is. Leaving Mom standing there, I walk over to the steps leading to our front door and take a seat on the top one. I’ll give her time but not much. I can’t. It’ll drive me crazy. I’ll sit here and wait. I know she’ll come to me before long. She has to. Mom pats my shoulder as she passes me on the steps. “Just be patient,” she says softly, knowing how much this is eating me up. I hear the screen door shut and glance over at Aislin’s house. The driveway is empty, which is a blessing. It means her mom and one of her many boyfriends aren’t home. She actually hasn’t been home for a couple of days now. She does this sometimes and has been for years. Aislin never knows when it’s going to happen until her mom just doesn’t come home. Under normal circumstances, this would be worrisome for a kid Aislin’s age to be left alone, but she’s actually better off when she’s

gone. Besides, she’s normally over at my house most of the time, so she isn’t alone. That’s another thing that has me worried. She chose to go home instead of coming here. I drop my head and grip my hair with my fists in frustration. My eyes tingle, but I push back the moisture wanting to spring to the surface. Anger starts to override my worry. She has to know this silence is killing me, but she’s still over there and not here telling me what’s going on. A growl slips past my lips, and I throw myself from the porch steps. My shoes kick up clumps of grass as I storm across my yard. I hear the creak of our screen door a split second before Mom yells, “Niko!” I’m already in Aislin’s yard, so I ignore her and continue my trek. She’ll yell at me later for not listening to her, but I don’t care. Aislin is more important than not being yelled at. Besides, she has to know I wouldn’t last long not knowing what was wrong with Aislin. Aislin herself should know too. Finding the door unlocked when I turn the knob spikes my anger even more. Aislin knows better than to leave her door unlocked even during the day. An unlocked door in this neighborhood is just inviting anyone to come inside. She’s normally good with remembering. Just goes to show something is seriously wrong here.

The house is quiet when I walk into the living room. I wrinkle my nose when the smell of stale smoke hits me. The place is a disaster. The carpet is stained and worn, the furniture is ripping at the seams, and the walls have several holes the size of fists. The once white paint is now stained a dull yellow. I hate that Aislin lives here and has to breathe in the stench of this place. Aislin tries her best to keep it as clean as possible, but it’s pointless because her mom just comes right behind her and makes it disgusting again. I walk through the living room, making sure to step over the weak spot I know is under the carpet by the ratty recliner. The hallway is dark but not because the light isn’t on. There hasn’t been a light bulb in the fixture for years. Aislin’s mom won’t buy any to replace it, preferring to spend her money on booze and drugs. The last time Aislin’s light went out in her bedroom, she had to get one from us. I stop at her door, pull in a deep breath, and then knock. “Go away, Niko,” Aislin’s muffled voice comes from the other side of the thin wood. Ignoring her demand, I reach for the doorknob then blink in surprise to find it locked. She uses her lock frequently, fearing one of her mom’s men will try to come in her room, but she’s never used it against me. And right now, it’s not locked to keep

bad men out; it’s meant to keep me out because she knew I would be coming over. A fierce stabbing pain hits my chest, forcing me to suck in a sharp breath. It takes me a minute to push back the pain this gesture causes. “Open the door, Aislin,” I say through the door. She may want me to go away, but I’m not going anywhere. Not until she opens up to me. “No. I’m not feeling well. Just leave.” I hear a sniffle, and it ramps up my need to see her. “Open the door, or I’ll bust it down,” I growl. I look down at the wood separating me from her and determine it won’t take much to force it open. “Please, Niko, just go. I’ll come by later and explain. I just need to be alone right now.” Her voice cracks, and it snaps the thread holding my control in place. She seriously can’t expect me to just leave her alone. If the situation were reversed, she’d be yelling at me to let her in. I step back a foot, turn my shoulder to the door, and then ram it forward. As expected, the door slams open easily and hits the wall. My eyes zero in on Aislin sitting on the end of her bed, her knees drawn up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them. Her beautiful eyes round as she takes me in. Adrenaline of knocking her door in has my chest pumping. When I see her red and splotchy face, fear has

me racing across the room and dropping to my knees in front of her. Her bed consists of a single mattress on the floor, so my position puts us at eye level. She watches me cautiously, her eyes guarded. She’s never been guarded with me before. What in the hell is going on? my mind screams. “North,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. I reach up and pull one of her hands from her leg. Another tingle starts in my fingers as soon as I touch her. Again, I push the feeling away. “Please talk to me. You’re scaring me.” She squeezes her eyes shut and drops her forehead to her knees. My heart drops because I think she’s still going to keep me in the dark, but then she lifts her head. “It’s stupid,” she mumbles. I frown and scoot closer to her. “Nothing that has to do with you is ever stupid.” She rolls her eyes. “This is. And it’s embarrassing.” “Aislin, just tell me. I promise there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re my best friend. If something is bothering you, then I want to know about it. I want to help.” She laughs, but the look on her face says it’s fake. “You can’t help with this.” Frustration has me gritting my teeth. I’m about to give her a shake to make her see reason when she blurts out, “I started my period today.”

I blink, and it takes me a minute to process her words. I started my period today. Her words repeat over and over in my head. My eyes widen, and when she sees them, a blush creeps up her cheeks. Seeing that color on her skin makes my own body heat. I drop my eyes from her and sit back on my heels. When she tries to pull her hand from mine, I tighten my fingers and look up at her. “Are you okay?” I ask, remembering the pain my sister goes through every month. She shrugs, not looking at me. “Aislin,” I call. “What?” When she still doesn’t look at me, I squeeze her hand and call her name again. Her eyes finally meet mine, and I can tell she feels awkward. What I thought she knew, but I now realize she doesn’t, is that there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, she needs to be embarrassed about with me or scared to talk with me about. I don’t care what it is; I’m always here for her. Even something as private as this. Aislin is my North, she’s my everything, and there’s not one thing on earth I ever want her to have to go through alone. With her hand still in mine, I get back on my knees and scoot closer to her. My chin goes to the top of her knees. I’m so close that she has no choice but to keep her eyes on me. “Why are you embarrassed?” I ask, tilting my

head to the side. She wrinkles her nose and gives me a look that says I’m stupid. “Because it’s weird and makes me feel icky. I hate it.” Her voice drops. “And I’m scared you’ll think differently of me.” My eyes nearly bug out of my head at her crazy statement. “What?” I ask loudly. “Why would I think differently of you?” Her shoulders lift and drop. “I don’t know,” she mumbles. Shocked that she would think such a thing, I get up from the floor and sit on the bed beside her. I pull her arms from around her legs, throw my arm over her shoulders, and pull her side against mine. “There’s nothing that would ever make me feel differently toward you, North. Nothing. You’re my best friend, and you always will be.” She wraps her arms around me and snuggles closer. Vanilla drifts up and surrounds me. The smell is nice. I close my eyes and take several deep breaths. “Told you it was stupid,” she says quietly. I don’t reply because her thinking I would feel differently toward her for something she has no control over, something that’s natural, is stupid. Relief rushes through me, grateful the problem wasn’t something more serious. “Can we go to your house and watch a movie instead of going out?”

I look down and see Aislin staring up at me. She looks tired, her eyes still red from being upset. It hurts my heart that she felt she couldn’t come to me with her worries. “Are you sure?” I ask. Her smile is small. “Yes. My stomach’s been hurting today.” Her cheeks turn pink, and I know she’s referring to cramps. I’ve heard both my mom and sister complain about them before. I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “We can do whatever you want. Today is your day, remember?” “Thanks. Can we do the dinner and movies in a few days?” I nod, and she turns quiet for a moment before saying, “I’m sorry for not telling you. I just kind of freaked out and didn’t know what to say.” My arm squeezes her shoulder. “Just promise me you won’t keep me in the dark like that again. I was scared.” She leans her head against my chest and sighs. “I won’t. I swear.” A few minutes later, she pulls back, gets up from the bed, and grabs the paper bag from the floor. She turns to leave but walks back over to me. This time she drops to her knees before me. My legs are bent and spread apart about a foot. She scoots and wedges her body between them until we’re only inches from each other. Her stunning green eyes shining up at me, she throws her arms

around my middle. Her head lands on my chest while her chest meets my stomach. The innocent position isn’t different from what we’ve done before, but this time, it feels different. It feels like more. It takes me a minute before my arms slide around her, my turn now to feel awkward. Confusion sets in when the sensation of her against me feels perfect and right. I close my eyes and try to make the feeling disappear. It doesn’t work. When I open them again and look down, Aislin is gazing up at me with bright eyes. “Thank you, Niko. I was stupid to worry so much.” “Never be afraid to come to me. I’m here. Always.” “I know,” she says, smiling. She releases me and steps back. “Come on. Let’s go find a movie to watch.” I nod. She grabs my hand and drags me out the door, the feel of her hand in mine making my stomach do flips.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Niko I STAND WITH MY BACK AGAINST THE COUNTER , coffee cup in hand, and stare out the window across from me. I feel anxious and twitchy as I look at the house next door. No windows are in my view, and it’s bugging the shit out of me not to know what’s going on over there. Moving Doe into Aislin’s old place, or rather my new place, was the right thing to do for a couple of reasons. One being the scared look on Doe’s face when she heard me yelling from my nightmare. I hated that fucking look. I hated knowing she wore that look because of me. She’s been through so much, too much, and is already skittish enough. I really don’t want to add to it. Another reason is because having her here in

this house, so close, seems… different than being around her at the hospital. When I initially invited her to stay here, it felt like the right thing to do at the time. While I still believe she’s better off here than on the streets or in an overcrowded homeless shelter, I’m not sure I like the way it makes me feel to have her in my home. She’s still rail thin and many of the marks on her face and arms are still an angry red, not to mention all the old scars, but even through that, she’s beautiful. With each visit to her in the hospital, her hair looked healthier, and I’m sure it was from the regular washing and the nutrients she was now getting. I’ve noticed most of the time she likes to wear it down with some over each shoulder and some hanging down her back. For some reason, it bothers me that she uses her hair to hide her face at times, but I also understand it’s a defense mechanism. I bring my coffee up and take a swallow then deposit it on the counter because it’s too fucking cold now. I cross my arms over my chest, feeling a slight twinge in my sore wrist but ignoring it. I scowl at the house across the way. Although having Doe in the other house was the right thing to do, I still don’t like having her there. Part of me wants her here, with me, but then that part cringes at knowing she’s in a place that means so much to me. I’ve warned her away from the only room in the house that still has an old discolored door, but that

doesn’t mean she will stay away. What if she goes in Aislin’s room and rifles through her things? I’m too scared to enter the room, and I sure as shit don’t want someone else going in there either. It’s fucking stupid, but I consider that room sacred. That room isn’t mine; it’s still Aislin’s. I haven’t seen Doe since yesterday evening when I moved her in, and I’m ready to pull my fucking hair out. Why in the hell do I feel this strong need to see her, as if I need to make sure she’s okay? And why in the fuck does my skin crawl with the thought of her being in Aislin’s old house? It’s a goddamn house, for Christ’s sake. “Fuck,” I snarl to no one then jerk away from the counter. I need to do something besides stand here all damn day and stare at the house and wonder what she’s doing. I go to my office, sit at my desk, and fire up the computer. I came across a couple of houses a few days ago that I’m interested in buying to flip. Now that I’ve finished Aislin’s house, I need a new one to occupy my time. The houses are local; actually, one is only a couple of blocks over, and that’s the one I’m most interested in. It’s a two story with four bedrooms and two baths, wraparound porch with a detached garage. It’s old—like, really old— and in terrible condition, which makes it cheap. I’m waiting on a reply from the realtor about an appointment to see the inside.

I’m just pulling up my email when I hear a knock on my front door. Getting up, I head straight for the door, wondering if it’s my new neighbor then ignore the feeling that thought gives me. When I pull open the door, it’s not Doe I find on the other side, but Tavers. He doesn’t greet me or wait for me to welcome him inside; he just walks past me, throwing over his shoulder, “Where’s Doe?” I close the door then turn to face him. “Next door.” At his questioning look, I explain better. “She’s staying next door. With what she’s been through and the way she’s still so uneasy being around people, I figured it would be good for her to have her own space.” I don’t tell him about the nightmare, and the fear I know she felt at finding me like that. “That’s good,” he mumbles. It’s only then that I notice the tenseness of his body. Whatever he’s here to say, I’m not going to like it. “What is it?” I ask, my own body growing stiff. Instead of answering, he turns his back to me, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. “Goddammit,” he mutters. “Tavers,” I growl and take a step toward him. “What the fuck is wrong?” He spins around, his own anger lighting his face, but there’s also something else there. Something that has the blood in my veins turning

hot. “The tip for the cars didn’t pan out,” he grits out. He keeps his eyes on me as he continues. “Every single fucking white Honda Civic in the area around that time has been accounted for, except for one, and that one was reported stolen two months prior to Aislin being taken. It was stolen outside the Detroit area when the owner was visiting her mother. It was never found. With all the others, either there’s no connection to Aislin whatsoever, the owners had alibis, or there was no fucking way they could have pulled off kidnapping her.” Red. Bright blinding red is all I fucking see as Tavers’ words hit me. Uncontrollable rage has every muscle in my body tensing, ready to lash out and obliterate something. My temples throb, and my jaw fucking hurts from clenching it so hard. “How in the fuck is that possible?” I ask Tavers, my voice sounding unnatural even to my own ears. Although Tavers’ eyes carry anger, he looks at me wearily as if he’s unsure what my next move will be. “I had them all checked three times before I came to you with this,” he answers. “The witness must have made a mistake on the make of the car. We’re bringing him back in for more questioning.” The words barely leave his mouth before I’m turning away from him with a roar and slamming

my fist against the nearest wall. Drywall crumbles to the floor as I drag my fist from the hole I just made. The table beside the front door bashes across the room when my booted foot connects with it. The old coat rack Mom’s had since I was a kid gets snatched up and slung across the room. “Niko!” I’m reaching for a lamp on the coffee table when Tavers’ voice booms at me. His hand lands on my forearm, forestalling me from grabbing the lamp. I snatch my arm away from him with a growl. My hands go to the back of the couch, and I drop my head. My breaths come out choppy, and my heart beats an unsteady rhythm. I pull in a deep breath, count to ten, and then let it out, trying to calm the raging fire burning inside me. “This isn’t over yet, Niko,” Tavers says quietly beside me. “We’ll get this fucker and nail his sick fucking ass to the wall.” He leans over and stresses, “This is not fucking over.” I ignore his words because no matter how hard we try—no matter where we look, what we do, or who we pull in and question—every goddamn thing that could even remotely be a lead turns up empty. Am I giving up? Fuck, no. I’ll never give up, but the state I’ll be in when we do find the bastard is questionable. The longer it takes, the more the wrath has time to grow. I feel it festering and building strength inside me until it damn near

consumes me. I close my eyes, and an image of Aislin pops in my head. It’s of her when we were kids. She and I are riding our rusted bicycles down the street in our neighborhood. She has her head thrown back, laughing; the expression makes her look like the little girl she was, instead of the more mature version she was forced to be. It wasn’t often that Aislin laughed, but when she did, her whole face lit up and my whole world brightened. I loved listening to her laugh. And what’s fucked up is that even after fifteen years, I swear I still hear it sometimes. I both love and hate the sound now. The image changes to an older Aislin. This one is of her lifeless and brutalized body on the cold slab of metal in the morgue. My chest feels like a ton of bricks is sitting on it. I will never in my fucking life forget the image of seeing her there like that, wishing with everything I had that she would open her eyes and show me the gorgeous green beneath. But then I think she’s probably better off dead because with the condition she was in, there’s no fucking way she would be the same Aislin. Her body may have survived, but her mind wouldn’t have. That thought hurts so fucking much. Even knowing what she went through and the condition her mind would have been in, I wanted her to survive, but I’m also glad she didn’t. I pop my eyes open, and they land on the house

next door through the window. I turn my head to Tavers. “Can you stay with Doe?” I ask, suddenly needing to do something. His eyes move to the window then turn back to me. “You know I would, but I can’t right now. Told Captain I was coming to tell you in person about the tip not panning out, but I’m on the clock and need to get back to the station.” His brows pull down. “What are you thinking?” My fingers grip the cloth of the couch, and I grind my molars before responding. Pushing against the couch, I stand. “I need to do something.” “Don’t do anything stupid, Niko,” he warns. I scowl at him. “Like what?” I grit out. “I don’t know. I just know this news is getting to your head. Don’t do anything stupid,” he repeats. I walk to the bar and swipe my keys off the surface before heading to the door. “Fuck you, Tavers,” I throw over my shoulder, not caring I’m being a dick. “I’m not a fucking idiot.” I pull open the door and step outside. “Lock up when you leave.” I close the door behind me then take the steps two at a time and head to the house next door. Anxiety and nervousness run through my body as I walk up the steps and stand in front of the door. I debate on just walking inside or knocking first. It

takes me a minute to do both. I rap my knuckles hard against the door twice then reach for the knob. It’s locked, which doesn’t surprise me because I told Doe to keep it locked at all times. The neighborhood has cleaned up, but it’s still good to be cautious, especially since the shooter from a few weeks ago still hasn’t been caught. Using the key on my key ring, I unlock the door, pull it open, and step inside. Immediately, the alarm starts to beep and I disarm it. The smell of fresh paint immediately assaults me, momentarily surprising me as I still expect to smell the stale stench of cigarette smoke and body odor. That smell hasn’t been around for months, but I still expect it every time I step foot in this house. The living room is empty except for an old couch. I walk through it into the kitchen, which only holds a small card table and a single chair. I told Doe we would go shopping for some furniture in the next day or two. I can’t really expect her to live in a house with this minimal furniture. Leaving the kitchen behind, I walk down the hallway. The old door on the left haunts me as I pass, and I try my best to ignore it. Seeing that it’s still closed tight and doesn’t appear disturbed does nothing to settle the nerves of someone else living here. I come to a stop at the door across from Aislin’s old room. I didn’t want Doe in her mom’s old room

because she deserves more than to sleep in a room that’s held many, many depraved acts. From the partially open door, I spot Doe on the single bed. It’s actually my old bed from a kid that my parents stored in the basement. She’s sitting up with her back against the headboard, her arms wrapped around her legs, with the book we started reading together in the hospital. My heart constricts because she looks so small, almost childlike, on the small mattress. She’s put on a lot of weight but not enough to be considered healthy yet. Betsy’s lying on the bed beside her with her head on Doe’s feet. Her head lifts right as I lightly tap on the door. Doe jumps, and her eyes appear frightened when she first darts them to the door. “Hey,” I rumble, pushing open the door the rest of the way and stepping inside. The scared look disappears, and she sets the book down beside her hip then rests her chin on her raised knees. “Hey.” I pull in a breath then release it, pushing away the fury still very much rushing through my veins at the news Tavers just delivered. The last thing I want to do is come across as angry in front of her. “There’s somewhere I need to go. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” Her eyes widen, and the fear that flashes through them leaves me feeling like a dick. I know she holds a certain amount of trust for me, and for

me to leave her behind in a strange place with no one around except Betsy is insensitive and a bastard thing to do. But there’s something I need to do. It’s a need I can’t ignore right now, and it’s the only thing that’ll keep my mind from going fucking crazy. Her lip trembles when she says softly, “Ookay.” I step farther into the room, and her eyes track me as I come to stand at the end of the bed. “Nothing and no one will get you here. You’re safe. And Betsy’s here to ensure that as well.” That’s not the first time I’ve told her that since she was discharged and came to stay here. With her not having her memory, I’m sure it’s something hard for her to grasp and believe. She gives me a single nod, but the fear is still apparent in her eyes. I hate that fucking look. Her arms tighten around her legs as if she’s trying to draw into herself and make herself smaller. It breaks my heart she feels the need to do that. I take a step back from the bed, the place I need to be calling my name. “A couple of hours, Doe. That’s it; then I’ll be back. I promise.” She opens her mouth to say something then snaps it closed. I clench my fists and turn around, hating myself for leaving her but knowing it’s for the best right now. Betsy is with her and seems to

have taken a strong liking to her. That’ll be enough for a couple of hours. I need to release some of the boiling anger I have riding inside me, and this is the only thing I feel will help. I make it halfway across the living room when feet quickly squeak across the clean floor. “Wait!” Doe calls out, and I turn around. I’m almost knocked back by the sheer terror now marring her face. “Please,” she pleads, her hands clasped together in front of her chest, tears swimming in her wide eyes. “Please don’t leave me. I can’t…” She stops and shakes her head then finishes with a broken whisper, “I’m scared.” I’m frozen on the spot. Not because I don’t know what answer to give her, but what the utter devastation and fear on her face does to me. This woman isn’t just scared; she’s fucking petrified, and that sends a pain so sharp to my chest it feels like someone’s stabbed me with a dull knife and is sawing down my sternum. It physically hurts to see her this way. As much as I need to leave and do this on my own, there’s no fucking way I can leave her. There’s no telling what state she would be in when I get back, and that would not only affect her but me as well. “Okay, Doe.” I keep my voice low for fear it may sound raw. “You can come with me.” The relief I see as soon as the words leave my mouth says I’ve made the right choice.

I walk to her slowly and hold out my hand. She grabs it without hesitation, which shocks the shit out of me because she’s never willingly touched me on her own. It also shows just how much she doesn’t want to be left alone. Her hand feels warm in mine, and there’s a slight tremble. I grip it tight, showing her silently I won’t let go. At the door, I notice Betsy following behind us. “No girl, you’ve got to stay.” Betsy whines and turns her head to Doe, giving her pleading eyes. My dog has never taken to someone as much as she’s taken to Doe. Her behavior is strange, but in an odd sense, I like that my pet is so drawn to her. Doe releases my hand and squats in front of Betsy, running her hand from her head down her spine. “It’s okay, girl. We’ll be back soon,” Doe says softly. Doe seems to be just as taken with Betsy as she lovingly pets her. Betsy whines again, and I watch curiously as she licks Doe’s cheek before rubbing her snout into the crook of Doe’s neck. Doe looks up at me, and I answer her question before she has a chance to ask it. “She can come.” I clear my throat of the scratchy feeling from watching Betsy and Doe interact. The smile that graces Doe’s face has my chest tightening. She stands and reaches for my hand

again, further surprising me. I lead her out the front door with Betsy following, lock it behind us, and then walk us over to my truck. Betsy automatically jumps in the back. I’ve taken her places with me multiple times, and she usually sits up front, but she must know her place is in the back when Doe is with us. Where we’re going, the drive isn’t far. I turn the radio on but keep the volume down low. I don’t really care to talk at the moment, but having an awkward silence isn’t something I want to deal with either. Doe stays silent as well, which I’m grateful for. Without thought, my eyes slide over to her every few minutes. She has her fingers laced together in her lap and some of her long hair settles over her shoulders. She has her head turned away from me as she looks out the window, but I can see that she’s tense. I stop by a small vendor on the side of the road in town and grab a dozen gardenias. When I set them beside us on the console, Doe looks at them. “They’re gorgeous,” she comments softly. I look down at them and a pang hits my chest. They were Aislin’s favorite. I once asked her why she liked them so much, and she told me they looked pure. It made me angry to hear her say that —not angry with her, but with the people who made her feel impure. She was one of the purest people I knew, but with her life the way it was, she

didn’t feel that way. “Thanks,” I mumble then start the truck. We pull up to the Westbridge Cemetery five minutes later. I cut the engine and just sit there, looking out at all the headstones in front of us. Doe doesn’t say anything, but I know she’s curious. I feel her eyes on me as I stare out the windshield. My hands, which are still on the steering wheel, grip it hard. I’ve only been here once since Aislin died, and that was the day of the funeral. It’s just been too hard to come here. It makes it more real that she’s no longer here, which is stupid because she hasn’t been here for years. I’ve seen her dead body, but being here, knowing she’s buried six feet in the ground, makes it more real. “Stay here. I’ll be back.” Before she has a chance to respond, I grab the flowers and climb from the truck. I don’t look back as I walk away, my gaze focused ahead on the gray headstone five rows over and six plots down. I may have only come here once, but I remember exactly where she’s at. My palms sweat and my legs feel like they are filled with lead the closer I get to her grave. My heart beats erratically, leaving a hollow feeling in my throat. I have to fight back the tears threatening to fall. I stop at the end of her grave. My knees grow too weak to hold me up, so I don’t even try and

drop them to the damp ground. Looking up, my eyes land on the headstone. Several stars surround the words. Aislin Kennedy Mathers Date of Birth July 21, 1989 Date of Death August 30, 2017 She’s safe among the stars. I clear my throat and try my best to talk past the tears. “Hey, North.” My voice still comes out scratchy. Clearing my throat, I continue. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been by yet. It’s been really hard thinking of you in a place like this. This isn’t where you belong. You had too many years left of your life.” Something warm trickles down my cheek, and I swipe it away. I lean over, making sure not to disturb the freshly grown grass, and place the flowers up by the headstone. I sit back on my heels and place my clenched fists on my thighs. “I got bad news today, but I swear to you, it won’t stop me from finding who did this to you. I promise I’ll get this guy, and he’ll never touch another girl again.” I drop my head and squeeze my eyes shut, releasing a couple more tears to fall on my hands. “I’m so sorry I failed you,” I whisper hoarsely.

“I’m so sorry you went through so much pain. I hope you’re happy where you are.” The wind shifts, sending a cool breeze over me, and goose bumps appear on my arms. Somewhere off in the distance, a bird chirps. The sun filters through the trees, the rays shining down on the ground in some spots while leaving others in shadows. Flowers of many colors surround the cemetery on all four sides. To anyone else, the day appears to be bright and beautiful, but to me, it’s bleak and dark. Nothing about today is appealing. A hand lands on my shoulder, and I jerk. I don’t need to turn to know who it is, and my initial reaction is anger that she’s near this sacred grave. Even though this is only my second visit, I consider this small patch of ground mine. It only takes a second for the anger to dissipate and for an odd sense of gratitude to replace it. I don’t know why, but I’m glad she’s here. It’s also not lost on me that that’s the third time she’s voluntarily made contact. “Who was she?” Doe inquires gently then removes her hand. “She was my friend,” I tell her just as softly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her step beside me, the wind blowing the long white skirt she’s wearing against her legs. Her hands stay clasped together in front of her. I’ve noticed when both her hands are free, she keeps her fingers intertwined.

“What happened to her?” Her question both surprises me and doesn’t surprise me at all. It’s natural for someone to be curious about the death of another, especially someone so young. What surprises me is how the question doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would, and what surprises me even more is I find myself wanting to tell her. I know it’s Doe, though. For some reason, she makes me feel safe to talk about Aislin. Had anyone else asked, I know the pain would be gripping and anger that they dared to ask such a question would replace any desire to tell them. “She was murdered,” I say then see her body jolt. “She was taken when she was thirteen. Her body wasn’t found until a few months ago.” Doe drops to her knees beside me, keeping a foot of space between us. “I’m so sorry.” I look over and see her tearful eyes looking at the headstone. There’s pain on her face, as if she understands Aislin’s pain, and in a way, I’m sure she does. I don’t know if she went to her abuser willingly, not knowing what was in store for her, but I’m sure the horror she received from him wasn’t something she asked for. Her hands rest against her thighs, for once not grasped together, and I want to reach over and grab one. I wish I could take away her pain like I

couldn’t for Aislin. However, I’m not sure she would appreciate me touching her hand, so I leave mine balled into fists on my own thighs. She looks over at me, tilting her head to the side. “Is that why you’re helping me?” My eyes leave hers and go back to the headstone to think about her question. “I’m an officer of the law, so it’s my duty to help people who need my help. I chose this profession to help find answers about Aislin’s disappearance. To help me find her. It’s more to me than that now, though. I feel a need to help people in similar situations, but I have to force myself to look at them purely from a professional standpoint and not let it personally affect me.” I bring my eyes back to her. “But with you, it’s different. I don’t really know why, but your situation hits closer to home. Actually, I do know why.” I stop and take a deep breath. “Aislin was beaten and raped for years.” She sucks in a sharp breath, her bottom lip wobbling before she bites it and looks back at Aislin’s grave. Her head nods twice. There’s no need for me to say more. Doe understands what I’m saying. She and Aislin went through similar abuse. We both sit in silence for a few more minutes before I push to stand. When I turn to reach out to help Doe up, she stands before I get a chance. Wet

grass stains appear on her skirt about halfway down where she was kneeling, which is a shame because the skirt looks nice on her and I’m sure it’s ruined now. We both walk back to the truck, where I pull her door open for her. After closing it, I turn back and face the cemetery, my eyes finding the grave we just left. “Goodbye, Aislin,” I say quietly. “I promise I’ll be back.” I close my eyes, tip my head to the sky, and silently add, And when I do, I swear the bastard will have paid for what he did to you.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Niko “HELLO ?” THE SMALL VOICE ANSWERS, SOUNDING nervous. I smile. “I see you remembered how to use the phone.” Today was my first day back to work and her first day on her own. Two days ago, in anticipation of me returning to work, I bought her a prepaid phone in case she needed to get in touch with me. I had to teach her how to use it; something else about her I found strange. In the world we live in today, it’s almost unheard of for someone her age not to know how to use a cell phone—even the simple one I got her. Hell, I’ve seen kids as young as seven and eight carrying around the devices. “Niko?” she asks, drawing my attention back to

her. “Who else would it be?” I cock my brow even though she can’t see it. “I-I don’t know,” she stutters. I sit back in my chair and prop my feet on my desk. “How are you doing?” “Umm… okay, I guess.” She’s lying. I can hear it in the tremble of her voice. She’s terrified but for some reason doesn’t want me to know it. While I’m proud of her bravery, it still bothers me that she feels she has to lie when she obviously isn’t okay. “It’s okay to tell me the truth, Doe, and it’s okay to be scared.” I tell her this, but I still hate that she is. I want to take all her fears away, shove them in a box, lock it, and lose the key. “I’m okay. I promise.” I sigh, knowing she’s not telling the truth but not willing to question her further on it. For whatever reason, she wants me to think she is. She’s strong, and I’m beginning to think stubborn as well. “How’s Betsy?” “She’s fine,” she answers, and I’m pleased to hear the smile in her voice this time. “She’s lying beside me asleep.” “Good. Keep her with you,” I tell her. “I’ll be home this evening around five thirty.”

“Okay.” I hang up and glance down at my watch. Six more hours until I can head home and ease the ache in my chest by seeing her in person.

MY FEET BEAT AGAINST THE CONCRETE STEPS leading away from the precinct, and I head straight for my truck. Anxiety and worry have my movements rushed while impatience and nervousness have my gut twisting into knots. I’ve spoken to her twice today, and both times she said she was fine, but I knew better. Each time, I heard the uncertainty and fear in her voice. For the past week, she’s been doing well. Her memories haven’t come back, but she’s been talking and opening up more. She’s also learning how to cope with being near other people. Or rather, with me. We’ve spent a lot of time together since she’s been out of the hospital. If I don’t go next door, then she comes over to my house. We have breakfast together most mornings then sit and watch television. Betsy normally sprawls out between us with her head on Doe’s lap. Sometimes, we’ll sit out on the back porch, and she’ll read to me. The first couple of times she read to me in the hospital, her words were stilted, and I had to help

her at some parts, but she’s gotten a lot better. She likes to read. I see it in her eyes. They’re more alive when she’s reading than any other time. I’ve also been trying to teach her how to cook. It’s during those times that I subtly shift my body closer to hers. Not to push or frighten her, but to let her get used to being near another body. She still tenses at times, and her eyes flash to me, but she doesn’t scurry away like she did before. I always ignore the slight movements and let her work at her own pace to overcome her fears. This morning before I left for work, Doe came over to cook me breakfast. She told me last night she wanted to try to cook on her own. She said she wanted to do something nice for me because I had taken her in when she had no one. Her words hit my chest hard. Her gratitude isn’t necessary. I tried to explain she didn’t need to do anything for me and that what I was doing for her was just a kind thing people do for others sometimes. I know that it’s more than that, but I didn’t tell her that because I don’t know why I have such a strong need to care for her and make sure she’s okay. All I know is it’s something I have no desire to ignore. We’ve also been working in Mom’s old flower garden. Two days after her release, I left her on the back porch while I went inside to make us sandwiches. As I was standing at the counter facing the backyard, I watched as Doe got up from her

seat and approached the flower pots Dad had attached to the railing of the porch for Mom years ago. Although the flowers weren’t as pretty and full as they had been before my parents moved away and I took over the place, the look on Doe’s face as she gently touched the soft petals couldn’t be described as anything other than enthralled. I don’t know what it was that captured her attention so much, they were just flowers, but they completely mesmerized her as she bent and smelled each flower she came across. I stood there for a long time just watching her, fascinated by how simple flowers could bring such a soft look to her face. Later, after we finished our sandwiches, I took her to Mom’s old flowerbed in one corner of the yard. I told her it would take some work since it was overrun with weeds, but if she wanted, we could restore it and make it pretty again. The smile she sent my way at my suggestion had my heart squeezing in my chest. I had to look away and clear my throat before I could tell her we could go to the nursery tomorrow to get everything we would need. Every day since then, she’s spent time out there making sure not even the smallest of weeds has started to grow. I enjoy watching her among the flowers. The lost and desolate look her face normally carries vanishes. She no longer looks sad, but free and unburdened. I’m almost to my truck and pulling the keys

from my pocket when my name is called from behind. I barely hold back the urge to turn and snarl at the person who’s preventing me from checking on Doe, but I don’t. Instead, I turn and face Tavers, holding in my impatience but unable to wipe the scowl from my face. “What is it, Tavers?” He comes to a stop ten feet from me, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Everything okay?” he asks, cocking a brow. My keys dig into my palm as I tell him truthfully. “No. I need to get home to check on Doe.” “How is she doing?” I look off to the side when I answer. “She’s getting better, but there’s still a lot of shit she has to work out.” I look back at Tavers just as he gives a single nod. “That’s to be expected.” He clears his throat and takes a step closer. “Look, I wanted to catch you before you left. Mindy’s been bugging me about having Doe and you over for dinner. I keep telling her she needs to give her time, but you know how she is. She knows part of her story, and you know how big Mindy’s heart is. She really wants to meet her. She cornered me this morning and made me promise to ask you if you both could come over for dinner tonight.” I blow out a breath and twist my neck to the

side, hearing a pop as I do so. Tavers has mentioned having us over for dinner, but I don’t think Doe’s ready for something like that. I feel shitty because Mindy hasn’t even met Doe, yet she’s already done so much for her. Doe knows about Mindy’s generosity, and I’ve told her she wants to meet her. Her expression carried apprehension at the prospect of meeting someone new, but I could tell she wasn’t completely against it. I bring my gaze back to Tavers. “Doe’s not ready for something like that.” Tavers nods. I look down at my watch. “How about you and Mindy come to my place around seven or so. That’ll give me a few hours to talk to Doe about it, and it’ll be in an environment she’s familiar with.” “We can do that.” He pauses. “How are you doing?” There’s no need for him to clarify. I know exactly what he’s referring to. I clench my jaw and push back the ever-present anger I feel when I think about our lack of movement on Aislin’s case. “I’m trying real fucking hard not to let it take me under and having Doe at the house helps. Keeps my mind occupied.” “It’s not over, Niko,” Tavers says with conviction. “He’s still loose on borrowed time.” I don’t say anything, just nod in agreement.

“Get to Doe. Check on her and call me if you need anything.” Giving him a chin lift, I turn on my heel and close the gap between me and my truck. The drive home isn’t but fifteen minutes, but it feels more like an hour. By the time I pull in the driveway, it feels like lead balls are rolling around in my stomach. There’s really no need for my nerves to be so shot; Doe has a phone, and she would have called if she had any problems, but the thought doesn’t ease my mind. I shut off the engine and climb from the truck. I force my feet to take me to my place instead of the house next door. It’s not lost on me that this isn’t the first time I’ve had to force myself not to go to the person living in the neighboring house. Hell, it’s not even the twentieth. As a kid, I had that urge more than I didn’t. Any time I wasn’t with Aislin and I knew she was at home, I worried about her. I hated her being there, especially when her mom and one of her men were there. Luckily, Aislin hated it as much as I did and was only there when she had to be. Although I force myself to go inside to at least drop off my gun, my eyes still stray over to the quiet house. Unlocking and opening my door, I expect Betsy to be on the other side to greet me but then remember that she’s next door. It only makes me feel slightly better knowing Betsy’s there. She’s

a trained police dog, but even so, she’s still just a dog. It wouldn’t be so worrisome if the guy who shot up my yard a few weeks ago had been caught. Something tells me it had something to do with Doe. I just don’t know what, and with her memory gone, it doesn’t look like we’ll find answers anytime soon. To say it’s frustrating is an understatement. I drop my keys on the bar then pull my holster and gun from my hip, setting that beside my keys. My blazer comes off next, and I drape it over the back of the high back stool. As I walk into the kitchen for a bottle of water, I roll the sleeves of my black button-up shirt to my elbows. I turn toward the window as I guzzle down the water, my eyes landing on the white house through the pane of glass. I crush the empty bottle and toss it in the trash then leave the kitchen and head straight for the door, my impatience getting the best of me. Just as I reach for the doorknob, I hear a bark on the other side of the wood. Yanking it open, I find a startled Doe with a panting Betsy at her side. As soon as Betsy sees me, she trots inside and throws her paws on my lower stomach. Keeping my eyes on the woman in front of me, I absently run my hand over the top of Betsy’s head. “Hey, girl.” Seeing for myself that Doe is fine has the knots

in my belly loosening. She looks at me, not saying a word, but from the relieved look in her eye, she’s just as pleased to see me too. We’ve been together nonstop for a week, except for when we sleep. I know her relief stems from her being in a new place. Mine, though, is in part because I know she has no one to worry about her. Everyone should have someone who cares about their well-being, but there’s more. It’s more than just a friend being concerned for another friend. There’s some kind of connection between us that I think is there because her and Aislin’s situations are similar. She needs me like Aislin needed me. I failed the one woman I always swore to protect, so I refuse to fail another. I don’t know. Maybe I’m transferring my need to protect Aislin over to Doe since Aislin is no longer here to be protected. Doe shifts on her feet and looks at me nervously, reminding me she’s still standing right in front of me. “Shit,” I mutter, taking a step back for her to enter. “Come in.” She walks inside, and I’m surprised when her arm brushes against mine when she passes me. The connection lasts less than a second, but she’s never voluntarily been close enough for it to happen, except the two times she took my hand the day I took her to the cemetery. Betsy trots in behind her, stopping at her feet

when Doe turns to face me. I close the door and regard her. “How was your day?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest. She bites her lip before she answers. “It was okay.” I unfold my arms and take a small step toward her. There’s still several feet between us, so she holds her place. “Doe,” I tell her, keeping my tone even. “I know you were scared today being alone. I could hear it the couple of times we talked. It’s okay to tell me the truth.” She drops her eyes from me, opting to look at her clasped hands. I give her the minute she obviously needs to gather her thoughts. When she lifts her head, the brave front she’s been fighting to hold is no longer present. The frighten look that replaces it isn’t the intense one I’ve seen on her face so many times before, but it’s still present. However, her jaw is locked in stubbornness. “I was scared, okay?” I give her a chin lift. “I don’t like being alone in this place I don’t know, but I’m determined to push past it. You’ve done so much for me, and I know you won’t always be there. I need to learn to be on my own.” She pulls in a shaky breath before she continues. “So no, I wasn’t okay, but I was okay.” Admiration… That’s what I feel for Doe right

now. From the scars she carries, both physically and mentally, this woman has been beaten down repeatedly, but she must be one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. Most women in her situation would have crumpled and been left a blubbering mess, but not Doe. I may not have known her before, but I have no doubt that what she’s been through has only made her stronger and more resilient. I nod, letting her know I understand, then remember my conversation in the parking lot with Tavers. I wonder if this dinner will be too much or if I’ll be even more surprised with how she handles it. “You remember my partner, Tavers, and his wife, Mindy, right?” She nods. “How do you feel about them coming over for dinner tonight? Mindy’s been asking Tavers about meeting you.” Although I’ve already told Tavers that it’s a go, if Doe says no, I’ll call him and tell him we’ll do it another time. I know they’ll both understand. Uncertainty clouds Doe’s eyes for a moment, but the look clears. “Okay.” I take stock of her fingers gripping each other tightly and the way she holds her body stiff. I know she doesn’t really want to do this, but again, she’s fighting her fear and anxiety. If it wasn’t for the fact that what she said a few minutes ago about me not always being there, I’d let her off the hook and

reschedule for another time, but what she said was true. It’s only been a few weeks since she was picked up and taken to the hospital, but even so, it’s better to learn now how to function in society than to learn to be dependent on someone else. Again, I’m proud of her for trying. “It’ll be a few hours before they get here. I’ll grab some meat to defrost. The day’s nice, so we could grill. Maybe it’ll help to be outside instead of cooped up in the house,” I suggest, trying to make the prospect of meeting people she’s never met before more appealing. She still looks nervous but nods anyway. I step closer to her, not stopping until I’m only a few feet away. She fights with herself on whether to move back, and after a moment, she decides to hold her ground. “Tavers and Mindy are good people,” I tell her, bending my knees so I’m eye level with her. “They won’t judge, and they won’t hurt you.” “I know,” she says softly, her throat bobbing as she swallows. All of a sudden, I feel a need to reach out and touch her, give her some type of comfort, to make her believe that nothing will happen to her. Life is full of unpredictabilities, but for some reason, I want to protect her from them. I want to be that force between her and anything that could harm her.

I take a step back, not at all sure I care for the strong desire to be her protector. Of course, I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her—not only because it’s ingrained in me from being a cop, but also because I consider myself her friend—but this feels like something more. Something I’m not entirely sure I should be feeling, so I shake the feeling away. “Why don’t you head outside and check on your flowers? I’ll bring us some waters, and we can sit outside for a while.” It’s not normal for me to enjoy sitting idle. I like to move, always doing something, but I find I like sitting outside with Doe. Even if we’re just sitting in silence or she’s reading her book to me. It’s peaceful. “Okay.” She turns and makes her way to the back door, looking down at Betsy as she trails beside her. I only see the side of her face, but I don’t miss the smile that has her lips tip up as her and the dog walk out the door. I watch through the window as both female and canine go straight to the flowerbed. Doe drops to her knees, inspecting the weed situation. Something tight forms in my chest, and I grunt at the pain. Reaching up, I run my hand over the back of my neck. I turn away from the window and head to the fridge to pull out a package of steaks.

SEVERAL HOURS LATER , I PULL OPEN THE DOOR TO let Tavers and Mindy in. I left Doe in the kitchen cutting vegetables for the salad to give her a couple of extra minutes. I clasp Tavers’ outstretched hand then knowing how Mindy is, I turn my cheek just as she steps up to plant a kiss on it. When she pulls back, she has an anxious smile on her face. I’m glad she’s so excited to meet Doe. It’ll give Doe the opportunity to make a friend, and I know Mindy will be a good friend to her. “Are you sure it’s okay to be here?” she asks, keeping her voice low. Tavers puts his hand at the small of her back when she pulls away. “I certainly don’t want to overwhelm her.” “I think she’ll be fine. She’s strong and determined. Just don’t get too close. She’s still working on that.” Mindy nods. I glance over at Tavers and see him giving me a look I don’t like. His eyes hold concern, but his jaw is set into a hard line, as if he knows something I don’t. I have a feeling I know what he’s thinking, and he couldn’t be more wrong. If Mindy wasn’t here, I’d flip him off and tell him to go fuck himself, but she is, so I settle for turning my back and ignoring him as I lead us to the kitchen.

I walk into the kitchen first. Doe’s still at the counter. She keeps her head bent, looking down at the half-sliced tomato, but the knife stops, so I know she’s aware of our presence. It’s normally a simple thing to meet new people, but in Doe’s case, she not only has to overcome her anxiety of being around people because she feels lost from her lack of memories, but she also has to face the fear of rejection or disgust from all the scars she carries. I know it will make no difference to Tavers or Mindy, but Doe doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know that Tavers and Mindy won’t think less of her because of the proof of the abuse she endured. I feel Tavers and Mindy at my back, but I don’t move to the side and let them enter yet. I don’t like the thought of them seeing her in such a vulnerable state. As I stand there, giving her the time she needs to gather her courage, I take in her appearance. She’s wearing the same long dark blue skirt she was wearing when I got home, but instead of the short sleeve shirt she was wearing before, she’s changed it for a long-sleeve white one. I have no doubt it’s to hide the marks on her arm. She’s also let her hair down, again to use as a shield. I hate that she feels she has to hide away. Her body may be marred, but that doesn’t make her weak or any less of a person. Those marks are a sign of strength; whoever put

them there didn’t destroy her—she fought and came out on top. I step closer to the bar and call her name gently. “Doe.” It only takes her a second to look up at me. Her eyes don’t meet mine; instead, she darts her gaze over my shoulder. I know Tavers and Mindy are standing there, but they aren’t advancing, giving me a few minutes with her. “Look at me.” When she does, I step even closer to her, keeping a couple of feet between us, but ensuring she sees me and not the people behind me. “You’ve got this.” She nods after several moments, and I witness her pulling her strength forward. Her chin lifts, and the stubbornness I saw earlier is back. I hold the smile I want to let loose and step to the side. “Doe, I’d like you to meet my good friends, David and Mindy Tavers.” Mindy speaks first. “Hi, Doe. It’s very nice to meet you,” she says with a smile. She stays at Tavers’ side, but I know she’s dying to step forward and wrap Doe in her arms. That’s just the way Mindy is. She’s sweet and caring, wanting people to be as happy as she is and hating it when someone is hurting. “Hi,” Doe replies quietly. Her head is lifted, but her hair is still partially covering her face. She smooths her hands along the material of her skirt. “Thank you for all the clothes and the other things

you sent for me.” Mindy smiles. “It was my pleasure. Please let me know if you need anything else.” Tavers clears his throat, and Doe’s eyes flicker to him. I feel rather than see her body stiffen slightly, and it makes me want to step closer to her. Shield her from a threat that doesn’t exist. “It’s nice to meet you. Call me Tavers. Only my wife and mother call me David.” Doe nods then we all stand there for a moment until Mindy steps around me, making sure to keep several feet away from Doe as she makes her way to the sink and washes her hands. “Is there anything I can help with?” she asks Doe after drying her hands on the hand towel hanging from the handle on the oven door. Before Doe turns to face her, her eyes lift to mine, and I give her an encouraging smile. She pulls in a breath then walks around to the other side of the bar. I watch as she quietly starts conversing with Mindy, telling her she can finish the tomato while she starts on the cucumber. Doe doesn’t talk much, but that doesn’t bother Mindy. She talks enough for them both. Not in an annoying or pushy way, but silently telling Doe she can move and interact at her own pace. Tavers has that same look on his face when I look over at him, and again, I ignore it. I walk over to the end of the bar.

I keep my voice low when I tell Doe, “Tavers and I are going out back to throw the meat on the grill. You good in here?” I can tell she doesn’t want me to leave, but she gives me a silent nod. I glance over at Mindy, and she gives me her own nod, letting me know without words she’ll take care of Doe. I lift my chin in thanks, grab the plate of marinated meat out of the fridge, and with Tavers behind me, we walk out back. I don’t turn to face him when he comes to stand beside me, intent on lighting the gas grill. After the meat’s situated on the grill, I close the lid then lean back against the railing, only then looking at him. Before he has a chance to say whatever’s on his mind, I shoot him a glare and forestall him. “Don’t.” He doesn’t heed my warning, just as I knew he wouldn’t. “She’s not Aislin, Niko,” he says. “You don’t fucking think I know that?” I stand from my perch on the railing and stalk over to the small cooler I have underneath the patio table and grab two bottles of beer. After tossing Tavers one, I twist the cap off mine and throw back several long pulls. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I regard Tavers again. “Helping her won’t make what happened to Aislin any less painful,” he continues.

I open my mouth to argue. Not because I think helping Doe will somehow relieve me of the guilt for not helping Aislin, but because he has the situation all wrong. I’m not helping Doe because I think it will help me. I’m helping her because she has no one. Just because I feel a pull toward her doesn’t mean it has anything to do with Aislin. Yes, their situations are similar, but I haven’t replaced Aislin with Doe. “You’re getting too close,” he says before I get a chance to voice my opinion. “What if this doesn’t turn out the way you want it to?” “What the fuck does that mean?” I growl. He sets his beer down on the shelf connected to the grill then leans back against the railing, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just mean, you don’t know anything about her. You don’t know where she came from or if she has family out there. If she gets her memory back, she may remember someone out there who’s looking for her.” “And? You don’t think I want that?” I run my fingers through my hair roughly, becoming frustrated. “It would be great if she has family out there. That means she’s not alone. But it’s not looking promising. Her picture’s been out over a week, and there have been no leads.” He looks down at his boots before lifting his head again, the look in his eyes turning uneasy.

“What happens if someone does come forward? Are you prepared to let her go?” His question has my chest feeling like it’s caving in on itself. I’m aware of the crushing sensation, but I refuse to acknowledge it or give it credence. It’s a feeling that has no right in my life. It’s not the time—I’m not sure there will ever be a time for me—and Doe is not the woman. Not that having those sort of feelings for Doe isn’t incomprehensible, but she isn’t ready for something like that. She may never be ready. It’s all irrelevant anyway because I don’t have those feelings for her. I just don’t want to see her hurt or left alone. I look Tavers in the eye and speak through a thick throat. “I have no claim over her. I don’t want a claim over her. If someone comes forward and that person genuinely cares for her, then yes, I’d let her go.” I ignore the way those words taste sour in my mouth. Tavers doesn’t say anything, just looks at me doubtfully. I hold his stare, hoping he takes my words for what they are. The truth. Would it bother me on some level if Doe were to leave? Yes. I have grown attached to her in a sense, but only in the way a friend grows attached to another friend out of concern for their well-being. I feel Tavers’ eyes on me as I walk to the grill

and flip the steaks. “Just watch yourself, James,” he says, still leaning against the railing. “It has a way of sneaking up on you.” My only response is a grunt. He doesn’t say anything more, and I’m relieved the subject is dropped. I may not feel for Doe the way Tavers thinks I do, but that doesn’t make the conversation any less painful. Thirty minutes later, Doe and Mindy are carrying side dishes outside and setting them on the table. Doe doesn’t seem as tense as she was when Tavers and Mindy first arrived, and I’m sure that’s Mindy’s doing. She has a way of making people feel comfortable around her. Although Doe still eyes Tavers wearily, her mannerism toward him isn’t as tense either. We all take seats at the patio table on the back porch. I set a steak on Doe’s plate then mine. Next, I scoop some potato salad on both our plates then pass the bowl to Tavers, and he does the same for his and Mindy’s plates. “Where’s Shelly?” I ask. “At Mom’s for the night,” Tavers grumbles. “She wants to take her shopping tomorrow.” He rolls his eyes. “She’s only five and a half months old, and she’s already spoiling her rotten. How in the hell do you take a five-and-a-half-month-old baby shopping?”

Mindy laughs and slaps her husband’s arm with the back of her hand. “She just wants to spend time with her, and you know it. Let her be. We’ve kept Shelly to ourselves long enough.” “Still don’t see why she wants to take a baby that young shopping. What’s the point? It’s not like she can give her opinion on anything Mom wants to buy.” “The point is,” Mindy states, “she wants to buy pretty dresses and cute little bows for her only grandchild, and she wants to do it with her. It doesn’t matter if Shelly will sleep the entire time. She’s there with her; that’s all that matters.” “You have a baby?” Does asks, her voice so low it’s barely heard. Mindy looks over at her and grins. “We do. A beautiful little redhead.” The look that Mindy’s words brings to Doe’s face is heartbreaking. Longing, so much fucking longing. “We can bring her by sometime if you’d like,” Mindy offers. Doe looks startled by the suggestion at first, but then a hint of curiosity replaces it. I get the feeling this idea interests her. “I’d like that.” “Good. I’ll have David get with Niko about a time next week.” Tavers, Mindy, and I enjoy small talk as Doe silently listens, only joining in when she’s prompted

by a question aimed her way. The sun is starting to set, but the lights on all four corners of the porch afford us enough light to continue our meal. By the time we finish eating, Doe seems to be more at ease with our guests, and I’m thankful the dinner went as well as it did. Her lips even twitched a couple of times at one of the embarrassing stories Mindy told about Tavers and his pathetic flirting attempts before they got together. I know it was hard on Doe, but in the end, I hope she enjoyed herself. She pushed past her fears, and I couldn’t be more proud of her. Tavers and I help the women carry the dishes inside. Mindy insists on helping Doe clean up. While they do that, Tavers and I take a seat on the couch and catch the last thirty minutes of the Browns game. When Doe and Mindy walk back into the living room, I notice that Doe looks tired. Her eyes droop and dark circles appear under her eyes. It’s been a stressful day for her. Luckily, I don’t have to be a dick and ask them to leave. Tavers sees the fatigued look as well, stands, and walks over to Mindy. “You ready to go? It’s getting late.” She smiles at Tavers and clasps her hand in his. “I am.” She turns to Doe. “It was so great meeting you. Let Niko know when a good day is for us to stop by with Shelly.” “Okay.”

Doe walks beside me as we both lead them to the door. Mindy stops and spins around. “Do you have a phone?” she asks Doe. “I do, but it’s next door,” she replies. Mindy looks at me. “Text Tavers her phone number.” She looks back at Doe. “If you need anything, even if it’s just to talk, text or call me.” Doe nods. They leave after saying their goodbyes, and I close and lock the door. Doe stands off to the side, and I can tell by her relaxed body language that she’s about had it for the night. “Did you have a good time?” I feel the need to ask. Her lips don’t move, but I see a smile in her eyes. “I did. I’m glad you invited them over.” “I’m proud of you,” I inform her and watch a blush creep up her cheek. She turns her head away for a moment then brings her gaze back to mine. “Thank you.” “There’s no need to thank me. I didn’t do anything. You did it all on your own.” She shakes her head. “No. For everything. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” “Again, there’s no need to thank me, Doe.” She holds my stare for a moment then dips her head back down. Her long hair falls against her cheeks, hiding her face from view. An unreasonable need to reach out and push the hair back has my

hand balling into a fist to keep from doing just that. She’s a beautiful woman despite her scars. I wish she knew that. “Come on.” I gesture to the back door. “It’s late, and you look tired.” I’m just about to whistle for Betsy when she comes around the corner of the couch, I’m sure sensing Doe’s departure. Doe stops long enough to ruffle the top of her head before pulling the door open and stepping outside. Although she only lives next door, I still don’t feel comfortable with her walking over by herself, even with the company of Betsy. We’re both silent as we walk across the damp grass to the property next door. After stepping up on the small perch at the back of the house and opening the door to let Betsy inside, Doe turns around. She tips her head back and looks up at me. “Can I come over in the morning and make you breakfast again?” she asks. I rock back on my heels and stuff my hands in my pockets. “You don’t need to do that.” She frowns. “But I want to.” I nod slowly. “Okay.” She nods in return, her lips almost forming a smile. I want to see her smile. “Okay.” We stand there for several moments. The light from the porch reflects off the long strands of her hair, almost making her look like she’s glowing.

I hold my breath and stand perfectly still when she takes a step toward me. I have no idea what she’s doing, but I don’t want to frighten her by moving. My fingers dig into my thighs through my jeans pockets when she stops only inches away from me. I keep my eyes steady on hers as she looks up at me. When I feel her tiny hand land on my forearm, I have to force myself not to jerk in surprise. It’s warm and soft. She makes a move to turn away when the light from the porch glints off something on her wrist. Before I realize what I’m doing, my hand darts out and grabs her upper arm, to stop her. My grip isn’t tight, but she still flinches. Pain stabs me in the gut because I never want her to fear me, but locking my eyes on the bracelet on her wrist has the pain changing from her fearing me to the pain I’ve felt for the past fifteen years. It grabs my heart and squeezes tight, nearly suffocating me. Anger pushes its way in beside the pain. My veins start to throb and sweat breaks out on my forehead. I try to loosen my grip on her, but my hands won’t let go. Seeing that bracelet on someone else’s wrist, a bracelet I thought was lost, has my mind going crazy. “Where did you get that?” I ask, unable to hold back the anger in my voice. I know I’m being an asshole, and there must be a reasonable explanation as to why she has it, but at the moment, my only

thought is Doe’s wearing something that belongs to Aislin. It’s cheap plastic, but that bracelet is more precious than the finest of diamonds. No one deserves to wear it but Aislin. Doe whimpers, and just that small sound snaps some of my control back into place. I yank my hand away and close my eyes. I drop my head and pull in several deep breaths. When I look back up at Doe, the fear I haven’t seen in her eyes when she looks at me is back, and I fucking hate it. I keep my tone calm when I ask again, “Where did you get that?” I tip my chin toward the bracelet. She looks down at her wrists, licks her lips, swallows, and then lifts her head back to me. “It was in the room,” she whispers fearfully. I clench my jaw and force back the anger that’s building again. “I told you not to go in there,” I grit out. “I know.” “Why did you?” She huddles her back against the door frame before she answers quietly, her voice trembling like she’s afraid of my reaction. “Because I like it in there. I feel safe in there.” A growl forms in my throat, and I barely catch it before it leaves my lips. Instead, I spin on my heel and rake my fingers through my hair, gripping some strands in the back and giving them a yank. The slight pain does nothing to calm the raging pain

and anger I feel. Doe doesn’t understand. There’s no way she could understand the magnitude of her going in that room. No one does, not even my family or Tavers. That room is sacred and the only thing I have left of Aislin except for the few trinkets I have of hers in a small box. I’ve been fooling myself into thinking I could one day go in there and go through her things. Get rid of the nonimportant items and maybe keep a few of the significant ones. That room will stay as it is for as long as I live. Knowing someone went in there, rifling through her things... A thought occurs to me, and I spin around to face Doe again. She still has her back against the frame of the door. Seeing her so scared does something to my chest. As much as I hate knowing she’s been in Aislin’s room, I equally hate knowing I’ve frightened her. “That’s where you went,” I state then watch confusion flash over her face. “When you broke into the house. That’s the room you stayed in.” Tears fill Doe’s eyes, and she looks down again. Her hands aren’t balled into fists this time; instead, she has one hand over the bracelet, almost as if she’s protecting it. “Why?” I ask and take a small step toward her. “Why did you break into my house?” This is the first time I’ve brought it up, hoping she would tell me on her own. She never did, and

over the past few days, I’ve pushed it to the back of my mind. I don’t step too close, but I bend my knees until I can see her face. Tears leak from her eyes, and she’s biting her bottom lip. After a moment, she lifts her eyes back to mine. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” she whispers brokenly. “Why that house, though?” I press. I’m being a dick and pushing her too hard, especially after the stressful day she had, but this is something I need to know. “Why, Doe?” “I don’t know!” she shouts, surprising me. “It was just the first house I came across that didn’t look like anyone lived there! That room was the only room that had a bed, and I was so tired. I just wanted to sleep.” By the time she’s done, her chest is heaving up and down. Her eyes are tightly closed, but tears still flood from them, soaking her cheeks. I fight back the urge to pull her in my arms and comfort her as my anger from a few minutes ago dwindles. This woman has been through so much already, and here I am, putting her through more. She was lost and broken and had nowhere to go. It’s not her fault she picked the one house and one bedroom that had so many terrible memories. “Doe. Look at me,” I say gently, needing to fix this somehow.

She shakes her head, and it only makes me more determined. Before I get a chance to call her name again, my phone rings in my pocket. I snatch the device out and glare down at the screen, already pissed at the person who’s calling at the worst time possible. Mom calling… I lift my eyes to Doe at the same time I swipe my finger across the screen, preparing to tell Mom I’ll call her back later. “Mom, now’s not a good—” “Niko?” My back stiffens at my mom’s tearful tone. “What’s wrong?” I demand. “Oh, Niko,” she cries. “It’s your father. He’s had a heart attack.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Lelu DRIP . Drip. Drip. It’s not the heavy breathing or the sluggish pounding in her ears that the girl hears, but the steady dripping. Through the pain on her back and butt, her swollen eyes stay focused on the red splashes that land on the floor below her. Drip. Drip. Her body jolts as another wave of pain hits her. Tears fall from her eyes and mix with the small puddle of blood. A scream creeps up her throat and she tries so hard to force it back, but it slips free anyway.

Snapping her mouth shut, she ignores the laugh her screams cause and focus once again on the drips. Drip. Drip. Drip. She’s grateful she’s on her stomach with her head hanging off the bed and not forced to look at the man. She’s glad she can’t see the blows coming from the belt he’s using on her. At least this way, she can close her eyes when it gets to be too much and not be punished even more for it. “Lelu, Lelu,” the man tsks. He lifts his arms and swings it back down, landing the belt against her back again and breaking open the skin even more. “You know you’re mine, right?” The girl lies there stiff, unmoving, and not saying a word. He grabs a handful of her hair and yanks back. Her groan of pain sends pleasure through him. “Answer me,” he growls in her face. Blood drips from her lips and nose from the blows he gave her when he first came into the room, and it makes him hungry. He’s always hungry for her. He’ll never get enough. “Y-yes,” the girl whimpers. “Say it!” he demands harshly. The girl closes her eyes before she can stop herself, but they immediately snap back open when

the man wraps his hand around her throat and squeezes. Her eyes feel like they are about to pop out of her head. “Say the fucking words, Lelu!” the man screams. The pressure around her neck lessens, and although the words taste more foul than anything she’s ever encountered before, she whimpers, “I’m yours.” Yellow teeth meet her answer as the man smiles in her face. He dips his head and runs his tongue along her cheek down to her busted lip, licking up the blood still dripping from it. “Remember that,” he whispers. “You’ll always be mine.” He releases her head and it bounces on the dirty mattress, leaving behind a smear of blood. Her eyes fall back on the puddle of blood and a moment later, blood starts dripping again. Drip. Drip. Her hands dig into the mattress by her hips when another blow hits her back. The trickles of blood sliding from the wounds on her back and butt scald her as if tiny flames move along the skin. Soon she’ll escape this nightmare. Soon she’ll be in a blissfully fatal slumber, never to wake again. The man sits back on the girl’s calves and contemplates the master piece of scars, cuts, and

welts before him. He loves looking at the many marks he’s put on her because he’s the cause of them. He’s the one that put them there. Any time she sees them, she’ll be forced to think of him. The thought sends blood rushing to his cock. He pushes the need to mount and fuck her to the back of his mind. Now’s not the time for that. The leather wrapped in his hand tightens, causing the blood circulation to cut off. There’s a pinch of pain in his palm and he looks down at the metal buckle. Gazing back down at the web of scars, a twisted smile forms on his face. He loosens the belt from around his hand, grabs the other end, and winds that part around his hand. He drags the buckle down her back, making sure to hit the open wounds. Streaks of blood trail behind it adding to the beautiful canvas in front of him. He wants more. There’s still not enough marks. He slides back further until his ass is on her feet. Once he’s situated, he brings back his arm, keeping his eyes on his target–her lower back–then swings forward. The girl screams as piercing pain radiates up and down her back. This is different. This is worse. It feels like he just shot a dull knife in her back. Dark spots filter through her vision and nausea forms in her belly. She wants to struggle, to beg for the pain to go away, to kick and yell, and do the exact same thing the man just did to her, but the

pain holds her immobile. It freezes her in place, scares her to move for fear of the pain becoming worse. Blood pools in the fresh wound and the man’s eyes fixate on it. A new mark that will forever be on her body, forever branding her as his. He lifts his hand again and lets the belt fly forward, putting another mark just below the first. He does this three more time, ending with five fresh marks, before he’s satisfied. After looking at his artwork for several moments, he bends and places his mouth at her ear. He rubs his chest against the wounds, causing the girl to cry out from the coarse hair scraping her back. “Now you’ll never forget who you belong to,” he whispers before grinding his hips into her backside, showing the girl just how excited he is from the pain he’s caused her, and what she knows will come next…

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Niko “W HAT?” I WHISPER IN A HOARSE VOICE AS MY stomach drops to my toes. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry to tell you this over the phone but—” I cut her off to painfully supply, “Is he…?” My voice drops abruptly, unable to finish the thought. “No, no, no! God, no. God, please, no, don’t even say that. He’s in the hospital, honey. His heart stopped in the ambulance but they got him back,” she sobbed. “They got him back.” “What happens now?” “They’ve taken him back for an angioplasty with a stent. The doctors believe surgery will treat his severe blockage better than a drug that breaks up the blood clots. The angioplasty treats the

underlying issue of the blockage and will reduce his chance of a future heart attack.” Fuck. “Is anyone there with you?” My mind flies a mile a minute, making plans and preparing to take off. As I lift my head, I notice Doe stepped up beside me sometime during the past few minutes. She’s not close enough to touch me but near enough to show her presence is meant to be a comfort. But at that moment, I’m not feeling so comforted. It’s nice to have another person near, but right now, she’s more of an obstacle. What am I supposed to do with her while I rush off to Florida? I can’t leave her all alone, can I? I can’t exactly shove her on a commercial flight when she has no idea who she is, let alone any form of identification. Do I have time to book a flight for myself and see if she can stay with Tavers and Mindy? Is it quicker to take her with me? Mom’s voice derails my thoughts. “My neighbor Denise drove me here. We followed the ambulance, and she’s waiting with me until your sister arrives.” “Have you called Reece?” I clear my throat after his name, almost as if because I haven’t said it in so long it was hard to get out. “Tori was calling him while I called you. I didn’t want you to have to…” She trails off, her voice filled with a mother’s pain that her only two

sons don’t get along. Fuck. “I’m going to my truck, Mom. I have to take care of something, and then I’m on my way down. I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.” A silent beat passes then, “You’re going to drive? Niko, that’s a good fifteen-hour trip if you don’t stop. Why don’t you grab a flight with Reece? The two of you could have some time to talk.” “I can’t. I’ve driven to Florida before, and I’ll be fine. I’ll explain when I get there, but I don’t have time now. I have to pack and…” I pause. My eyes going to the door as Doe bolts out of it. Shit, shit, shit! I don’t have time for this. “I’ll be there soon as I can. Love you, Mom.” “Drive safe, honey. I love you, too,” she murmurs, and we disconnect. I’ve barely tucked my phone into my back pocket before I’m tearing out the door after Doe. I cross the short span of grass between the two houses and push myself to run through the open back door. “Doe!” I shout, the breath heaving from my lungs. A noise sounds from down the hall. Movement of some sort. I jog in that direction. “Doe, I need to go. My family needs me.” I stop when I hit the open doorway to my bedroom. The breath is sucked from my lungs at the scene playing out in front of me, and I brace a hand on the

doorframe. I can’t move even though I’m nearly desperate to hit the road. I physically can’t unstick myself from the doorway. A painful constriction starts in my chest as Doe steps up to me and hands me a heavy black duffle bag. “I packed your clothes for you,” she whispers. Her tone strikes something inside me. It sounds worried but also hopeful. Hopeful for… what? I try to speak, but only a strangled grunt comes out. “If you wait, I can pack you some snacks.” I swallow hard, “No,” and watch as her face falls. “I-I’m sorry. I d-didn’t—” “Go pack your things,” I command gruffly. To my surprise, her face manages to fall further. She doesn’t reply, though. Without touching me, she squeezes between myself and the doorframe at my back and swiftly walks down the hall. “You’re coming with me,” I growl after her, and watch from the entrance to my bedroom as she stops in her tracks. Her head cocks slightly as if she’s turning her ear toward me in order to hear me better. “If you think for one second I’m kicking you out, get that thought out of your pretty little head. I’m taking you with me. For one, I can’t stand the thought of leaving you all alone here without

knowing when I’m coming back. For two...” I pause, not sure if I should say the next bit. Maybe it’s the adrenaline from the phone call or the rawness of the situation, but I push forward and lay out my honesty. “I can’t trust you’ll still be here if I did. Go grab the spare bag in your closet at the other house and pack a few days’ worth of clothes. Hurry, Doe. My mom needs me.” She scampers off without another word, and I’m finally able to unstick myself from the mouth of my room. I complete the task of grabbing us some snacks. A few bottles of water, a bag of chips, and some string cheese to get us through the first leg of the journey. It’s late, nearing ten p.m., so I hope we can make it until breakfast before stopping. My dear dog followed Doe to the other house, so I grab the bag of snacks and the clothes she packed for me and lock up. I reach the back door to the house next door as it flies open. Doe steps out with a heavy looking duffle slung over her shoulder and Betsy hot on her heels. “Ready,” she huffs. I tug the bag from her hands as she looks at me with confusion, and I replace it with the snack bag. “Carry this for me and set it inside the truck, yeah? I’ll take these. I’m just going to lock up.” She calls Betsy, and the two of them walk off like the perfect pair. She only throws one glance over her shoulder before hastening to my truck.

I miss the lock twice because my hand is shaking. Closing my eyes, I drop my chin to my chest and take a deep, cleansing breath. I can’t get us there safely if I’m wound up the entire drive down. I need to relax. I just don’t know how when Dad is in surgery hundreds of miles away, Mom is all alone in a hospital waiting room, and both my siblings are hopping flights in the middle of the night. I can’t lose another person who means everything to me. I know I alienated myself from my family after I lost Aislin, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love them and miss them. I still call my parents frequently, and they call me. And it fucking kills me that it takes Dad having a heart attack for me to realize that since I moved back here, I’ve been more distant. I’ve been so goddamned focused on solving Aislin’s homicide—the sleepless nights, the countless dead ends, the other cases, Doe—my thoughts stop on her name. I don’t… I can’t remember when I started being so consumed by her as well. I can’t deny that a part of me beats with the same vengeance it does for Aislin. That I want to catch the sick bastard responsible for hurting her as well. That I don’t know if I can just walk away and leave Doe’s case unresolved when I solve Aislin’s. What I do know is when all this is settled… when I finally catch the monster responsible for Aislin and, shit, possibly the one responsible for the

hell Doe’s endured, I’m going to be a better son. And brother. I fucking promise, even if it’s only between me, the universe, and a God I’m not sure even exists. I fucking promise. Betsy and the bags are in the back of the cab while Doe’s curled up on the passenger seat. She kicked her shoes off and tucked her bare feet on the seat beside her. Her head rests against the window with her fingers entwined beneath her cheek. She’s turned toward me, though, watching as I fire the engine and back us quickly out of the driveway. I point the truck toward the highway and attempt to settle myself in for the long drive. I turn on some quiet music, using it to fill the silence in the background. “I won’t need gas for about two hundred miles or so. Do you need anything before then? I have a few bottles of water and some cheese for snacks.” “No thanks,” she mutters and then lets out a huge yawn. Ah, fuck. I knew she was beat earlier. All that’s happened since must have drained the rest of the energy right out of her. Adrenaline in the moment can only keep a person up for so long before it’s time to crash. “You can rest. No use in staying awake in the middle of the night. We have a long drive ahead of us.”

She shifts, turning her head back the other direction, and settles in. “That’s a good idea. Wake me…wake me if you need anything?” Her voice sounds like a question as she lets out another yawn. My lips twitch, but nothing more. My life has taken a serious turn, and I’m too damn tired to smile. I drive through the night while Doe sleeps beside me. Though I can’t say it’s been a quiet trip. Her moans sound again, and she thrashes in her seat. Betsy whimpers from behind us and sticks her nose near Doe’s face. I can’t tell from the driver’s seat if my dog is touching her, but her closeness must comfort Doe some because she quiets. They’ve been doing this dance all night. With the first few whimpers, I attempted to wake her, but Doe kicked me in the ribs so hard I nearly rolled the truck. Even though my ribs sting like a bitch, I can’t help feeling some pride at her reaction speed, even in her restless sleep. After that, I tried not to touch her even though it was painful listening to her. The dog’s instincts must have kicked in, and she took over trying to provide comfort; something that Doe tolerated. I’ve stopped twice for gas, and neither time did Doe wake. We just left the second station in Virginia before crossing state lines into North Carolina. I debated with myself when I realized I needed an extra-large coffee to keep me going. Do

I wake her and bring her in with me or leave her with Betsy in the car? What if she wakes up alone and frightened? What if someone sees her and bothers her? In the end, my need for caffeine won out, and I booked it in and out of the gas station in record time. I even used cash so as not to wait for the machine, leaving my change with the cashier as he hollered at my back. Now, we’re driving through North Carolina, and the sun is beginning to rapidly rise. Doe stirs again, briefly drawing my attention. Her head rests against her hand near the window with her elbow propped against the door. I glance that way with a small smile on my face at her breathy whimper, but what I see causes my mouth to tighten. Aislin’s bracelet. The early morning sun glints off a shiny piece of the plastic. It looks perfectly natural on her, barring the fact it’s a child’s bracelet, but to any other person in the world, they’d never guess the meaning it holds. The memories. What surprises me is my own reaction. The pain in my chest doesn’t follow, nor do I want to shake her awake and demand she take it off. It could be that my father’s health and getting to my mother are more pressing. Or, just maybe, I don’t mind so much. I flick my gaze back over to her before looking back at the road. I’m not going to ask her to take it off. With everything going on, there’s a good chance I’d

misplace it and lose it forever. This way, at least I know where it is, and something tells me that Doe will keep it safe. She saw my reaction when I first noticed her wearing it, so she knows it means something to me. Regardless that I haven’t known her very long, I trust her to keep it on and not lose it. Something tells me she isn’t used to having possessions of her own, and she’ll cherish it. I can’t stop my gaze from drifting back over to the bracelet again, but this time, her pretty eyes are wide open and staring at me. I’m slightly startled but still manage a gruff, “Good morning.” She straightens in her seat. “Good morning.” I reach down into the bag near her feet and pull out a bottle of water and two string cheeses, handing them to her. “We’ll stop soon for breakfast. You can start on this.” She nods, setting the cheese down and uncapping the water. After a long pull, she sets the bottle into the cup holder and reaches back to scruff Betsy’s ears. “Doe,” I say low but gently, waiting until I have her attention to continue. “Eat the cheese.” Her hand immediately goes to one of the sticks, and she unwraps it. She often forgets to eat. I haven’t pushed it to ask if it’s because she never feels hungry or if she’s not used to scheduled meals. But it fucking destroys me to see her so tiny and not feed herself. Those first few days leaving

her alone when I went to work were terrifying for that small fact. I wound up calling her every couple of hours to remind her to eat something, going as far as to leave several premade options in the refrigerator. For the most part, she’s pretty compliant when I ask, so I think it’s the latter. She simply forgets to nourish herself. “Good girl,” I murmur quietly, not wanting to sound patronizing but wanting her to know it pleases me to see her take care of herself. “Have you ever traveled before?” I can feel her quizzical stare without looking at her. She swallows a drink of water before answering. “I can’t remember.” “You have now. When this trip is through, you’ll have visited six states. Maybe on the way back, we can stop and explore a couple of them.” “I think I’d like that.” A half an hour later, I pull the truck into the parking lot of a diner. I don’t know if the food here is any good, but I hope like fuck it is. I didn’t want to grab us some fast food shit, but we don’t have time to sit and enjoy a homecooked meal. After I kill the ignition, I turn to Doe. “I’m going to go in there and order us something for the road. I need you to stay here with Betsy so she’s not alone. I’ll lock the doors. I’ll be watching you the entire time.” The blood drains from her face with every word

out of my mouth, and her eyes grow wide with fear. I automatically reach for her face but drop my hand halfway there. I can’t touch her and freak her out more. Instead, I grip the headrest behind her and lean in. “Doe, look at me. My dog is the best damn guard dog out there. I’ll hear her barking before someone could even get near you. We need to do this. We need to start getting you comfortable in your environment.” She still doesn’t say anything, but I see her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. I keep going. “I promise you, I will never let anything happen to you. As long as I’m around, nobody will fucking touch you.” The vehemence in my voice isn’t something to argue with. The white-knuckled grip on the door handle gives away her anxiety of me leaving. She still doesn’t respond, but we’re short on time. I need to get us food, take a piss, and get back on the road. She’s going to have to deal this time. “Betsy,” I command and pat the front seat. The big shepherd dog jumps over and settles in. Doe immediately reaches for the fur around the dog’s neck and begins stroking. “I’ll be right back,” I murmur. I feel like running; not wanting to frighten everyone inside, I force myself to walk. Halfway across the parking lot, lost in my thoughts about

Doe, about Dad, and my family, someone touches my arm. My heart rate skyrockets at the surprise touch, and I whip around ready to fuck someone up. “Doe, dammit, why aren’t you in the truck?” The tips of her fingers dig into my bicep as if she’s trying to hang on. I take her in, top to toe, not missing the full-body tremble. When I reach her feet, instinct takes over, and I haul her into my arms. She thrashes and whimpers, her body bowing into an arc to throw herself away from me. Goddammit, people are going to think I’m trying to kidnap her. “Doe!” I growl low. “You didn’t listen and followed me out here, so now I need to carry you back. Hold still.” She stops arching, but her body shakes so hard I have to readjust my grip. My frustrations win out, and I start rambling. “Tore up your feet enough when you were found wandering around town. Bloodied as fuck. Now you follow me out into a cracked asphalt parking lot barefoot. I’m not going to let you tear up your feet again, baby. Not after they just fucking healed.” The words flow out of me, and I don’t even register what I’m saying. All I can think of is the amount of time I’m wasting taking care of this when I just want some food for us and to get to my

family. Shit, next time, swear to God, I’m just taking her with me. I reach the truck and plant her ass back in the passenger seat where Betsy is still sitting but whining. This time, I hand Doe my keys. She takes them from my fingers hesitantly. “This button locks the door, this one unlocks it. Got it?” I wait until she gives me a nod before continuing. “This one here sounds an alarm. Go ahead and try it.” The blare starts up as soon as she hits the button. I take the keys back quick to turn it off. “I need you to stay here. Lock the doors when I leave, and now you have this. You heard how loud the alarm is. If anyone bothers you, sound the alarm and I’ll come running, okay?” She gives a sharp nod. “I need to hear you say it, Doe. Give me your word you’ll stay put so I can get us some food.” “I will,” she says in a scratchy tone. “Be right back.” Within ten minutes, I’m making my way back out to the truck with two Styrofoam takeout containers in a plastic bag. I approach the passenger side first. I think it’ll startle her less. When I reach the window, my heart fucking explodes in both pride and sadness. Doe’s crouched down in her seat, eyes to the windshield with the key fob clutched in her grip. Betsy’s curled up on

the floor by her feet. I gently tap the window and call out at the same time, “Unlock the truck for me.” The locks click, and I walk around to my door, climb in, and pass the food to Doe. “Dig in. They’re both the same.” I steal my keys from her fingers, fire up the truck, and put us back on the highway. Conversation is light as we eat. Doe inhales her food while I pick at mine. The silence of the drive lends my mind time to wander to Dad, and that kills my appetite. Before long, my bacon’s turned cold. I wrap the muffin up for later, and Doe puts my trash back into the plastic bag. She starts doing crossword puzzles somewhere into South Carolina, and by the time we hit Georgia, she’s fast asleep. The next time I need gas, I stop and wake her up to use the restroom. She makes me check that it’s empty before she goes inside. I call Mom once to see how Dad is doing, and she tells me he’s resting in the cardiac intensive care unit. While I’m scared to shit Dad’s going through this right now and I can’t be there, I want the doctors to do everything they can to reduce the chances of this happening again. Dad’s still plenty young and has a lot of years left to live. He was damn lucky they decided to settle near one of the region’s leading heart hospitals. I spend the next four hours in the truck lost in my thoughts as we make our way down to the quiet

coastal beach community where my parents decided to retire. Part of me will relax when I get there and can see for myself that Dad is doing okay. The other part… well. I glance over at Doe as she practices reading some book Mindy brought over for her. That part may take a while.

W E HAVE TO STOP BY MY PARENTS’ HOUSE BEFORE heading to the hospital, and the small delay ratchets up my stress level. I damn well couldn’t leave my dog in the truck during an August summer in Florida. As quickly as I can, I lead Bets inside, fill her a bowl of water, and am back out the door to where Doe’s waiting in my truck. As I’m pulling out for the last ten-minute drive to the hospital, Doe notices the ocean behind their property. “It’s astounding, isn’t it?” “I’d like to go there,” she breathes, wonder filling her voice. I grin as she turns around in her seat to watch the view fade behind the residential housing. “Once I check on my family and take a nap, I’ll take you.” “Have you been to the ocean before?” she asks, her soft voice wrapping around me like silk. Something about the way she speaks is careful yet

free. Her curiosity shines through in a way that makes me think she’s not used to voicing her questions. “Not this one. My parents haven’t lived here long. This is actually my first trip down to see them. I wish it were under better circumstances.” “Me too.” “To answer your question, I spent some time on the West Coast and went to some beaches in California while I was there. My dad also took us on a fishing trip off the coast of Maine when we were kids. The ocean is vast and filled with the unknown. It’s a bit of a metaphor for my job.” I laugh humorously. The GPS directs me easily to the hospital, but even without the navigation, it would’ve been hard to miss. Innumerous signs pointed me in the right direction from several miles back. A tall, boxy building with gleaming walls of glass windows towers over us from the parking ramp. Shoreside Hospital emblazoned on the front. Doe follows me from the truck and across a skywalk into the hospital. Immediately, I’m put at ease. The newness of the place, the smell of fresh paint, and the gleaming fixtures remind me I’m no longer in Podunk, Ohio. This place screams money, and with money, the healthcare field secures the best. A text to Mom told me where to go and that she

would be waiting. The family was moved to a waiting room outside the CICU. “Niko!” I hear called when Doe and I step out into the hall. Mom stands near the double doors labeled Authorized Personnel. I quicken our steps. The closer I get, the easier it is to see how frazzled she looks. Her eyes are wide and alert, but dark circles rim the lower lids. Her hair is pulled on top of her head in a chaotic, frizzy bun, and her clothes are wrinkled. I mentally kick myself for not grabbing her a fresh outfit before I envelop her in my arms. “Mom,” I mutter hoarsely and kiss her on the cheek. She starts to pull back, but I hold her just a moment longer before letting go. “How is he? When can I see him?” I don’t miss the way her eyes briefly flit to Doe. She sucks in a short, quiet breath, and tears well in her eyes. She blinks them away before looking back at me, but I see the sympathy lingering there. “He’s resting,” she answers hoarsely. “Their visitation hours are very strict. A maximum of two people allowed at a time and only in thirty-minute increments. Tori and Michael are in there right now finishing up. The next one isn’t until three p.m.” I look down at my watch. It’s 1:25. Fuck. I glance over the top of her head as if I can steal a peek. “Can’t I see him quick?” Her hand caresses my cheek. “I’m sorry, honey.

You’re next. It’s probably for the best. You can grab a quick nap while you wait. You must be exhausted after driving all night.” I cover her hand on my cheek and gently pull it away, tucking it in mine. “I’ve done worse.” “I know,” she responds sadly. Clearing her expression, she turns to Doe. “Hello, dear. I’m Sandra, Niko’s mom.” From the corner of my eye, I see Doe cock her head. She turns to me, and I look down in time to see a nervous expression on her face. “Mom, this is Doe. She’s a… client I’m helping from work. And she’s a good friend.” Mom looks at me, and I can see the questions on her face. I give her a look that I hope tells her I’ll explain later because I can’t right now. Why I didn’t spend some of the fifteen-hour drive coming up with a better explanation is beyond me. Telling them the straight truth is not an option. At least not in the middle of a hospital hallway. “Hello,” Doe says quietly. “It’s very nice to meet you. Thank you for accompanying Niko on his long drive. I’m sure he enjoyed having the extra company.” What she doesn’t say is that she knows it’s because of Doe that I had to drive. Not the details, but Mom is a smart woman. She knows I would have chosen to fly unless there was a reason I couldn’t, so she knows Doe is that reason.

“Um, it was nice of him to bring me with and not leave me at home.” Mom’s eyes flicker to me again on the word home. The way Doe said it makes it sound like we live together. In a way we do, but not the way Mom would expect. Ever the hostess, Mom smiles kindly at Doe then gestures to her left. “Should we sit down in the waiting room?” Without waiting for our response, she leads the way. I gesture Doe ahead of me then remark, “Actually, I might stand for a bit. I’ve been sitting the past fifteen hours. My back could use a b—” “What the fuck?” The phrase is muttered loudly from inside the waiting room. My head snaps up, and I lock eyes on my brother, Reece. “Reece!” Mom admonishes. “Language!” “Are you kidding me right now?” Reece explodes. As his tone escalates in volume and anger, Doe retreats behind me. He’s scaring her, and that pisses me right the fuck off. “Simmer down,” I growl low. I feel Doe’s hand curl into my shirt at the small of my back. “Simmer down? Me?” He punctuates his words with a finger into his chest. “Yeah, you. Always the hothead. What’s your problem?” “My problem is you bringing your skanky little side piece along for the ride while Dad’s lying in a

fucking hospital bed,” he sneers, taking two steps forward and to the side, as if he’s trying to make eye contact with Doe. “Boys, knock it off!” Mom’s words fall on deaf ears. I’ve taken my own two steps forward until I’m right in Reece’s space. I know I dragged Doe with me, as her grip never loosened on my shirt, but I’m past the point of being able to tell her to let go. His words have my ears buzzing, and I’m seeing red. Instead, I reach behind me and pry her fingers open, giving her fist a tight squeeze before letting it drop back to her side. I’m not sure if she got my message, but she doesn’t grab me again. “You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” “Save it, Niko. You always were the selfish one. Thinking the world revolved around you. Lashing out after your friend disappeared. Now, Mom and Dad need you, and you drag your fuck buddy with. Real nice, brother.” I deck him. The Lord himself would have had a hell of a time holding me back from throwing a punch. After Reece’s rant, mentioning Aislin, and then calling Doe a derogatory name twice, I snapped. He throws his own punch, aiming for the face. I dip left and he misses but manages to lock his arms around my neck. I try to pry his arm off but can’t,

so I send an elbow sailing into his ribs. He grunts but still doesn’t let go. I knock him with another jab. “Stop, you guys! What the crap?” Reece throws a punch to my ribs, coincidentally the same spot Doe kicked me earlier, and the pain returns with a vengeance. I run him backward, hoping he’ll fall onto his back, but he hangs on. I’m able to land another jab to his gut before hands start tearing us apart. “Knock it off, idiots.” That voice I recognize as Michael, Tori’s husband. Reece’s hold finally gives, and I drag in a lungful of air. Tori’s skinny arms wrap around me, one in the chest and the other behind my back, as she pushes me into a chair. “What is the matter with you two?” I look up from my shoes and see Michael shove Reece into a chair. Shame starts to creep in when I see the blood on my brother’s lip. “Misunderstanding,” I grunt, keeping my eyes locked on Reece’s. “Yeah,” Reece sneers back. I’m about to get up and hit him again when I see his gaze flicker to my left. The expression on his face changes from anger to one of confusion. “Niko,” Mom whispers. I turn her way. “Shit.” I’m out of my chair in a nanosecond and crossing the waiting area. Mom sits in a chair with Doe in the one beside her, curled into a ball and

holding a white-knuckled grip on Mom’s hand. I pry their hands apart, replacing Mom’s with mine, and haul Doe from the chair. Her eyes stay clenched tight, but she lets me lead her across the room. I regain my seat and gently guide her into the one beside me. “You’re okay. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Shh,” I soothe, quiet enough only she can hear me. Fully aware all eyes are on us. I want to reach out and touch her, stroke her hair, do something to comfort her, but I don’t want to push her over the edge. Whatever the fuck happened to her in the past, that little scene I allowed to happen was too much for her. Regret consumes me. Maybe I should have left her at home. “I’m sorry, Doe,” I tell her again, and she gives my hand a tight squeeze. I sit sideways in my chair, facing her, trying to cage her in and keep the rest of the world out. Time passes in silence, and a while later, soft, even breaths sound from Doe as she sleeps beside me. I’ve been so focused on her that I’m not sure if everyone left or they’ve just been quiet. When I look around, I’m startled to see my family still here, watching us. And at that moment, I know I owe them an explanation, something, to describe Doe and who she is to me. “Several weeks back, she was brought into the hospital after being found wandering the streets one

night. She was barefoot and covered in cuts and scars. She was a Jane Doe.” I pause to look in their faces. How much do I tell them to explain but also respect Doe’s private history? “Were you the detective on her case?” Mom asks gently. The sound of her voice draws my attention her way. “Not exactly. The same night she was picked up, someone was outside my house. There were gunshots.” Reece grunts audibly, probably remembering the night I paid him a visit. I continue. “I made the decision to question her myself and see if she had been in the area. When I got there, though, she didn’t remember. She was a true Jane Doe without a memory.” I shake my head at the difficulty of the situation. Slipping my hand from Doe’s relaxed one, I prop my elbows on my knees and run my hands over my hair. I let my hands hang limp between my spread legs and raise my head up to look at my family. “She’s in recovery mode. She has no memory, no family, and nowhere to go. I gave her the name Doe and took her home. She’s been staying in the house...” I stop and swallow thickly. “In Aislin’s old house. When I got the call about Dad, I couldn’t just leave her there. I’m the only person she trusts at this point, and that took a fucking long time for her to give it.”

“Niko, I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Reece says, sounding contrite. “No, you didn’t. I bet you can see now how those comments of yours were even ten times more fucked up.” “I get it.” He raises his palms out to me. “I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to her too when she wakes up.” “Good. Now if you all don’t mind, I’m going to get some shut-eye. Someone wake me when it’s my turn to see Dad.” “Of course, honey, get some rest,” Mom says, and I send her a grateful smile before closing my eyes.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Niko SUNLIGHT FILTERS THROUGH THE SHEER CURTAINS blowing in the breeze. The sound of waves crashing the shore and gulls soaring overhead filters through the open patio door in the guest bedroom at my parents’ house. I look through the room from the pullout couch I slept on, noticing the bed is empty. In an instant, panic courses through me. Images of Doe wandering the streets of Florida, scared and alone, flash through my head. The creak of wood sounds from the open patio door. Moving into a sitting position, I lean that way and peer outside. Doe leans against the railing, gazing out at the beach. For the first time, she looks somewhat peaceful. Her hair blows in the breeze, and her skirt billows behind her. If it weren’t for the serious

expression on her face, I’d say she looks normal. Carefree. Instead, the smallest crease sits between her eyebrows, giving me the impression that she’s thinking. Deeply. Not wanting to startle her, I give her some more time alone to work out her thoughts. I’m not trying to be creepy, but I think this is good for her. And I’m afraid if I try to leave the room, she’ll hear me and follow. Not that I wouldn’t want her to, but I think she needs this. There’s a comfort here that she doesn’t have at home. Somewhere she’s never been— where she’s safe. Where the monster who hurt her can’t get to her. I think she feels that as much as I do. I know she’s just standing outside on the patio with Betsy at her feet, but the accomplishment is huge. This is unfamiliar territory. Just like yesterday when she was scared and took comfort from Mom or when she went with me to say hi to Dad. He did nothing more than sleep while we were in there, but that’s okay. The fact he’s still here to take a nap is all that fucking matters to me. When Tori and Michael kicked everyone out to go home and sleep, Mom included, Doe was the one to grab my and Mom’s hand and lead us out. And when we got to the house, she helped Mom chop veggies for a salad so we all could eat a nice meal rather than takeout.

They’re menial tasks, but the fact she’s doing them without hesitation or being asked is a significant step in her recovery. Before I know it, she’ll be able to live on her own. If we can find out who she is, she could at least get a job to sustain and provide for herself. I don’t know why, but the thought sours my gut a little. Her living with me wasn’t the most ideal situation, but I’ve grown to care for her, and I’ve grown to enjoy her company. A part of me might have realized just how alone I’ve been all these years. She’s grown into a friend. A companion of sorts. On that thought, I push myself out of bed. As I walk toward the patio, I notice the bed Doe slept on is hardly messed; an indication she didn’t toss and turn all night like normal. Come to think of it, I slept soundly as well. All the driving we did yesterday must have worn us out. She turns to me at the sound of my footsteps. “Good morning.” “Good morning,” I greet back and take up a spot beside her at the railing. Leaning a hip against the wood, I turn her way. “How’d you sleep?” “Good. You?” “Same.” She hums a response and looks back out at the ocean. Mirroring her, I do the same but try not to stare

at her as I do. “Can I ask you something?” she asks timidly, her eyes flickering over to me. “Of course.” She worries her bottom lip with her teeth, before releasing it. Instead of speaking to me, she asks the ocean her question. “Was what your brother said about me that bad? I don’t know what his words meant, but by the fighting, I gathered that it was mean.” “Yes,” I answer instantly, my hands curling into fists as his words echo around my head. “Oh.” The tone of her voice turns to hurt. “I’m sorry. Reece and I have been fighting for many years. He should have never taken that out on you.” She cuts me off. “He said I’m your… something. I didn’t know what the words meant, but it didn’t seem so bad to be called something of yours. I feel like I am.” My eyebrows pull together. “Like you are what?” “Yours,” she answers without hesitation. My stomach lurches. “No, Doe. No. You belong to you. Nobody owns you. Not now, not in the past, not ever,” I state vehemently. “First and foremost, you belong to you. That’s true for everybody.” “Is it true for you? Do you belong to you?” My thoughts turn harshly to Aislin. The thought

that she owns a part of my soul in a way that it’s gone forever. In a way, I’ll never get it back. My gaze drifts to the bracelet around Doe’s wrist; a bracelet she stole but is as much hers as it was the previous owner’s. Because that previous owner is dead and never coming back to reclaim it. On that painful thought, I move my eyes up to her face. I find her openly staring at me, patience clear in her gaze. And it’s the patience there that allows me to give her the only truth I can even if it is only a halftruth. “Yeah. I belong to me.” And I do. But I also belong to Aislin. And I might hate to admit it, but I think a part of me belongs to Doe, too. I clear my throat and push away from the railing. “Why don’t you finish getting ready and meet me downstairs? We can have a quick breakfast. Then I’d like to visit my dad. Check in and see how he’s doing today.” “Of course. I’ll get ready.” She walks past me and into the room. I allow Betsy to follow then walk over to the pullout couch and dig through my bag beside it. With an armful of clean clothes, I make my way to the hall. “Meet you downstairs,” I mutter then leave to dress. Fresh coffee awaits when I enter the kitchen. Mom fries some eggs at the stove. On my way to

grab a mug, I stop and plant a kiss on her cheek. “Morning, Mom, sleep well?” “As good as I can with your father not here.” She sighs, and I don’t miss the tiredness in her tone. “Have you checked in yet today? I’m thinking about heading over there after breakfast.” “I called this morning. He had a good night. They’re going to move him out of the CICU and into a private room. Hopefully, he’ll come home within another day or two.” I pop a piece of bacon into my mouth and smile while chewing. “Sounds promising. Let me know if you need anything. Doe and I will stick around until then, and we’re happy to help.” At the mention of Doe, Mom turns around and pins me with sympathetic eyes. “You and that girl will not be helping. Take her out. Go on a walk down the boardwalk. Get some fresh air.” “It’s fine, Mom, really. We spend a lot of time together back home. We can put that aside for a few days to help. Just until Dad is out of the hospital.” With precision, she sets down the spatula in her hand and turns down the heat on the stove. Her gaze intensifies with what she says next. “Whatever it is that girl went through was the purest form of hell. I’ve seen up close the scars on her face and arms; I can only imagine what the rest of her looks like. She doesn’t need to be dragged

down here by you to help some strangers she doesn’t even know. What she needs is you to show her life is worth living.” “Mom,” I croak, overcome with several emotions at once. “It’s not like that.” “It might not be. You may be nothing more to her than the detective who helped get her on her feet. But if you’re investing so much time to give her a place to stay, then you need to go all the way. Don’t half ass it. Don’t wait for someone else to come along and make her their problem.” Reaching back, I scrub the back of my neck. “Why are you saying this?” She grabs my elbow and pulls my hand away from my head. Her fingers squeeze mine. “Because I’ve seen the way she watches your every move; as if you step out of her sight, she’ll die. Because I’ve seen the fear up close. That even if she means nothing to you, you’ve come to mean everything to her. And you might not realize it, but you’re in the perfect position to show her how good life can be. She’s come from a hellish place. Now she needs to experience heaven.” “I don’t think I have that in me,” I mutter, glancing away from Mom’s piercing eyes. “It’s been a long time,” she starts, seemingly off topic, “but you aren’t the empty shell you think you are.” A shiver runs down my spine. I want to tell her

that’s exactly what I am, but I know I’ll get nowhere with her. She’s a tough, strong force of a woman. We’d spend hours arguing in circles if I said that. Thankfully, Doe quietly enters the room and breaks the moment. If I hadn’t already been looking in that direction, I wouldn’t have even heard her. She takes in Mom and me and asks timidly, “C-can I help?” Mom shoots me one last arched eyebrow that says “listen to me” before clearing her face with a welcoming smile. “No, but you can eat some of this food I made. Sit down and Niko will grab you a plate.” After setting up Doe, I grab my own plate of food and take a seat. Breakfast is quiet. Mom makes polite conversation with Doe, but I’m lost in my own thoughts. Once my plate is empty, I rinse it, load it in the dishwasher, and suck down the remainder of my coffee. “I’m going to swing by the hospital before going down to the beach. Doe, would you like to join me?” I try to avoid eye contact with Mom, knowing the triumphant look I’d find there. Doe’s eyes are wide at me over the top of her glass as she chugs her orange juice. Damn, I didn’t mean to rush her. I’m just ready as fuck to get out of here for a while and away from Mom’s prying.

Doe’s chair scrapes across the floor as she stands and hurries over to the sink. “One second and I’ll rinse these.” I step in front of her trajectory. “I’ve got them,” I murmur, sliding the dirty plate and glass from her hands. “Get your shoes.” She hurries from the room, only to stop in the doorway to the kitchen. She turns back to Mom. “Thank you for breakfast,” she says hurriedly then hastens from the room. “I think—” “Quiet.” “Niko, I just—” “No, Mom.” “Oh, for Pete’s sake—” “No.” I move in front of her where she sits at the table and crouch down. “You’ve said your piece. Now let us be.” Staring at me with a look of annoyance, she doesn’t answer. “I’ll call with any updates on Dad. Will you be there soon since he’s moving from the CICU?” She flips on the sink and rinses her own plate. “Once your brother is awake and ready, we’ll head on over. Hopefully soon. Tori and Michael have been there all night. I told her to come home, but she didn’t want your father to be alone. Even if she couldn’t be in the same room.” “Sounds like Tori. All right, Mom. Take care.

We’ll see you later.”

“DAD , LIE DOWN ,” I COMMAND AS MY OLD MAN tries for the umpteenth time to get out of bed. “I’m ready to get out of here. Let me go.” “You can go when you’re discharged. You went on your walk, had something to eat—” “That pile of mush is no better than prison crap.” I continue as if he didn’t cut me off. “And now you need to rest. You won’t do yourself any favors by pushing yourself too hard too fast. Oh, for Christ’s sake,” I mumble as he continues to fight. “Mr. James, would you like to go for another walk?” the nurse Christine asks as she bustles in the room. Dad shoots me a triumphant glare. “Only if it’s to my car.” “Dad!” I turn to the nurse. “Shouldn’t he stay in bed? The man just had a massive heart attack two days ago.” Her smile is kind but does nothing to ease the stress tormenting me. “Another walk will be okay, and he needs to work up his strength if he wants to get out of here in the next day or so. We’ll take it around the halls, and he’ll be right back.”

I clench my fists in frustration but don’t say anything else as I watch her help Dad from the bed, giving him a walker for balance. My fingers press so tightly a sharpness pricks my palms, and my arms tremble from the tightness of my grip. Warmth encompasses my left hand. It takes a moment to notice, but when I do, I glance down to find Doe wrapping both of her hands around mine. She’s touching me. Willingly, openly seeking me out. And it’s not even for her own comfort. It’s for mine. I swallow hard, trying to tamp down the feelings that gives me. Turning my wrist, I open my hand and wrap my fingers around hers and squeeze. Silently thanking her for attempting to comfort me. As quickly as I grabbed on, I let go. “Dad seems to be doing well, and Mom will be here soon. What do you say about going down to the boardwalk and getting to experience the ocean up close? I could use the fresh air. I love the man, but he can be stubborn as a damn ox.” “Okay,” she replies and offers a small smile. When we step out into the hall, we run right into Dad. Except now Mom has joined him and he’s giving her the same hard time he gave me. “What is with all you trying to keep me locked up in this place? I’m ready to go to my own bed and watch my own damn television.” “Christopher James,” Mom exclaims in a

disapproving tone and steps closer to him. “You are going to get your butt back into that hospital bed and be quiet. You are going to listen to your doctor’s instructions, and when, and only when, they say you are allowed to leave, I will take you home. Not a second before.” Her tone drops to a tearful one. “I thought I was about to lose you, and I will do everything in my power to keep you here even if it means pissing you off in the process.” Dad reaches out and brushes away a tear with the back of his fingers. “Aww, Sandy. It’ll be all right. I’m still here, dear.” “We’re getting older. It’s time to pack away the macho, alpha male crap and take a seat. I expect at least another twenty years out of you.” My chest tightens at the thought of either of my parents dying. I clear my throat. “Since you’re here, Mom, we’re going to take off to give you two some space. Hope you talk some sense into him.” “I heard that,” Dad grumbles over his shoulder as the nurse helps him back into his room. Mom leans up and kisses my cheek. “I’ll hold down the fort.” We say our goodbyes, and Doe and I head to my truck. “I’m glad your father is doing better.” I glance her way as I fire the ignition. “Me too.” “It’s strange. Seeing someone in the hospital like that. Did I look that way? Like I wanted to get

out?” “No, Doe,” I reply gently. “You didn’t look like you wanted to get out. You looked like you wanted to stay because you were terrified of what was on the outside.” She turns her head to the window. “I rather like the fresh air. I think if I ever went back to the hospital, I’d be like your father and want to leave immediately.” I chuckle and reach for her hand, grabbing onto it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. As my hand slides over her marred one, I come back to reality and quickly release it. “Hospitals are a good thing. They save lives. My dad’s just a stubborn old man who thinks he knows better than the welleducated doctors. In reality, he’s probably scared out of his damn mind.” “I would be too.” “Mmmhmm.” After a short drive from the hospital, I pull my truck at an angle to the curb. A few other vehicles dot the street, and some people wander the strip of concrete in front of the businesses here. The smell of salt and ocean assails us with the warm breeze as we step out of the truck. Doe’s eyes are wide with wonder as she takes it all in. The line of short, one-story businesses, many with tables of their wares set out front, a food truck proclaiming authentic Argentinian cuisine, and

beyond it all, a football field length of sand stretching to the massive Atlantic. “Come on, let’s have a look around.” She snaps out of wherever she was and follows me onto the concrete walkway. Every few feet, she stops, pausing when something catches her eye. A puka shell necklace, soaps, lotions, handwoven items. I offer to buy things for her—a trinket of her own—but each time, she refuses. We step into a small gift shop near the end of the block. Immediately, we’re assaulted with various smells of aromatherapy oils, soaps, bath toiletries, and the like. Once again, Doe stops a few times. I nearly talk her into letting me buy a coconut shampoo that she’s in love with, but in the end, she refuses. I’m about to suggest we move on to somewhere else when she stops in front of a glass jewelry case. After what feels like minutes of perusing, she finally waves down the clerk. “Can I see this one here?” From my position behind her, I can’t see what she’s pointing at, but the clerk smiles and nods, her hands immediately moving into the case. She pulls out a tray of rings and sets them on the counter in front of Doe. “If you’re in town for a while, it can be resized in a few days,” the woman says in a heavy South African accent.

“Can I try it on?” Doe asks timidly. “Of course, of course! Give me your hand.” Her eyes shoot to me in question, and I can see the fear there. With a small smile, I give her a subtle nod. She visibly relaxes with my approval. “Well, well, well! It looks like a perfect fit!” The clerk pulls her hand away, and I get my first glimpse of the shiny ring Doe picked out. It’s a chocolate cubic zirconia ring. A thick, rectangular, brown stone surrounded by a silver band. And it does fit perfectly. It looks nice on her finger. Doe looks down at the piece of jewelry, and there’s not a single doubt in my mind that I want to buy it for her. The pure look on her face, a look of admiration, is one I can’t afford to let her pass up. While Doe appreciates the sparkly ring, I slip my credit card to the clerk, who walks away to complete the transaction. “It looks lovely.” She startles at the sound of my voice. “I think so too.” “It’s yours,” I tell her, not even bothering to ask this time. She’d say no, and I’d have to argue. I want to do this one small thing for her. And when she looks up at my face with tears brimming her eyes, I know I made the right choice. “Thank you.” The clerk hands me back my card, and we make our way outside.

“Do you know why I picked it?” she asks as we enter the sandy beach and walk toward the water. Waves roll in and a boat skates across the water. “Because it’s beautiful?” “Because it wasn’t.” I stop walking, and my brows furrow in confusion. “You don’t think it’s beautiful?” She stops too, gazing out at the sea. “It was surrounded by beautiful. The entire case was filled with shining, shimmering clear diamonds. Even if they were fake diamonds, they still sparkled in the light. This”—she looks down at her right ring finger —“is just a brown stone. And even being one of the ugliest colors in the world, it still tries to sparkle.” As if to prove her point, she wiggles her fingers in the sunshine. Sure enough, the ring on her finger reflects the light. “I rescued it from being overshadowed so it could be beautiful on its own.” For someone with no memory, her words strike something inside me. For someone who doesn’t remember being taught kindness and love and selflessness, she exudes it every chance she gets. My words get stuck in my throat. “That’s… very meaningful. I’m glad you have it.” She starts walking again and socks me with her painful truth. “I feel like that sometimes. Plain. Ugly. Like this brown ring. Now every time I look at it, it gives me hope. That someday I might be free from the ugliness.”

“Doe.” I stop her again. “Are you trying to tell me something? Are you trying to say you remember?” She shakes her head forcefully. “No. No, I don’t remember anything. It’s just… a feeling.” I study her face but come up empty. She either still doesn’t remember, or she’s a damn good liar. My gut says it’s the former. To move us from the heavy, I peel off my socks and shoes. “Take your shoes off. I want you to feel the sand.” She wrinkles her nose adorably. “Really?” she says and watches me stuff my socks into my shoes. “This way we can walk along the beach where the waves are and not get our shoes wet.” “Okay.” She shrugs and copies my actions. I take her shoes from her, holding both pairs in my left hand as we make our way down to the water. The first few steps she takes are painfully slow, and I can’t tell if the unfamiliar sensation is a good one or a bad one. After a few feet, she picks up the pace and practically skips to the water with me chasing her heels. “This feels… strange. Squishy and rough at the same time. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like it.” Every few feet, a wave rolls into the shore, soaking us to our ankles. The bottom of Doe’s skirt becomes damp, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She

seems to be in an oblivious bliss filled with wet sand and fresh ocean air. Shocking the shit out of me, she detours from my side and takes a few more steps into the waves. I can’t remember a time when she’s willingly left my side, especially in public. Back at home, she’s been known to go next door where she sleeps, and she stays home while I work, but out in the open, she likes to stick close. I can’t help being drawn to her—standing on the shoreline, feet in the water, waves lapping against her ankles. She looks so carefree and childlike in the waves. I stare at the tendrils of hair licking her cheeks. Cheeks marred by the scars of her past still flush with a rosiness that exudes life. Scars might mark up her skin, but that’s all they are. Scars. Testaments to a history of heinous abuse. Those marks are nothing more than history on her skin much like words on a page. They don’t define who she is now, and they sure as fuck shouldn’t stop her from living. She radiates beauty—not only physical but mental and emotional beauty—and it’s there despite the marks on her skin. Her heart is pure. She helps without prompting and without obligation. She helps because she feels compelled to. Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my phone and snap a quick picture. Her back is to me,

but her face is in profile as she lifts her chin and smiles. It’s the first time since I met her that she’s looked at peace. I want to capture it for eternity. “Why are you standing back there?” she calls to me, breaking me from my thoughts. I smile and jog over. “You looked like you were enjoying a moment alone.” “I don’t like to be alone. I like spending time with you.” Instead of fighting it, I give in to what I feel and admit, “I like spending time with you, too.” A sudden desperation takes over; one I haven’t felt before. I want to touch her. To feel the warmth of her skin. To feel the weight of her in my arms. It’s fucking wrong of me, and I know it, but fighting it feels like trying to breathe underwater. So I don’t fight it. I give in. For one fucking second, I give in and satisfy a need I haven’t allowed myself to feel. “I want to try something,” I murmur, stepping closer to her and brushing her hand with mine. She doesn’t flinch. “Sure, what is it?” “Close your eyes.” “What?” Her body stiffens. The movement isn’t highly noticeable, but I’ve spent enough time with her to identify when she’s uncomfortable. This time, I envelop her hand with mine. “Close your eyes.”

Giving me a long look, in which I hold her gaze steady, she releases a deep breath and lets her eyes drift closed. “Good. Now tell me what you feel.” “What?” Her shoulders bunch, and she slides her hand from mine in order to steady herself on my forearm. I try not to relish the warmth of her palm too much as I move mine to cup her elbow. “What do you feel, Doe? Really think about it.” “Um…” She inhales then exhales slowly. “Well, I feel warm because of the sun.” “Good. What else?” “I feel like I want to go swimming even though I don’t know how. Because I can hear the waves and feel the water at my feet.” I smile even though she can’t see it. “That’s good.” “And I feel a little afraid.” That one surprises me. After all she’s shown today, I didn’t think she was feeling fearful. “Why afraid?” “Because I can’t see you.” I feel like I forget how to breathe. A shiver runs down my spine. Mom’s words from earlier resonate in my head. Because I’ve seen the way she watches your every move; as if you step out of her sight, she’ll die. “But you can feel me. I’m right here. Just feel me.” My heart pounds in my chest as I look down

at her. At the tendrils of hair floating around her in the breeze and the deep pink coloring of her lips and the flush on her cheeks. A pain grips me as I look at the scars on her skin and actively picture someone putting them there. This entire time I’ve distanced myself from her as a detective. For the first time, I’m seeing the marks on her skin as her friend. So lost in my own thoughts, I don’t notice she’s moved until she raises up on her tiptoes and presses her soft, cotton candy lips against my cheek. The place she touched burns, and as quickly as she pressed her lips there, she pulls away. “I do feel you, Niko.” Fuck. Fuck! What am I doing? Why am I doing this to the both of us? To her? I need to move us back to a safe place before someone gets hurt. That person more than likely being Doe. Curtailing my panic, I smile and brush the back of my free hand against her cheek until she opens her eyes. “I think it’s time we head back to my parents.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Niko I PULL AWAY FROM THE CURB , GRIPPING THE steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. My eyes should be on the road ahead of me, but instead they’re pinned on the rearview mirror and the woman still standing in the driveway. I don’t know why, but I hate leaving Doe behind while I go to work. I want to stay with her. Although the days Doe and I were in Florida were tense, I still enjoyed the time I spent with her, especially the day at the beach. I’m not the only one who learns more about her every day; she’s learning more about herself. She enjoys wet sand beneath her feet. The sound of seagulls is soothing to her. She discovered that she loves seafood. She loves the smell of coconut but

hates the taste. Regardless of her using unscented shampoo, her hair smells like peaches. I found this out when she fell asleep on me at the hospital. Despite her skittish and shy nature, she has a caring personality. She knew it was a stressful time and stepped forward to ensure I took care of myself, and when she knew I was struggling, she was there for me. She made the worry over Dad’s health more bearable, and I was glad she was there. Inadvertently, she also helped shorten the rift between Reece and me. When we got ready to leave, he apologized, not only to me but also to Doe. She still didn't fully understand what his words had meant at the hospital that night, but she knew they weren't nice. Taking the time to apologize to us, he showed me maybe our relationship has room to heal. I pull my eyes away from the rearview mirror and look ahead. I feel like a pussy for not wanting to leave her. I need to man up and get my head on straight. I pull up to the station and park in my usual spot. Several spaces down, I notice Tavers’ truck. I spoke with him a few days ago to update him on when we were returning. He suggested I talk with Capt about taking a couple of extra days off, but I refused. I’ve already taken more days off lately than I should have.

As I pass by Officer Landers at the front desk, she asks how my dad is. I stop and give her a brief update then head to my office. Spying Tavers through the glass when I walk by his office, he gets up and follows me. “How’s the old man?” he asks, taking a seat in the chair across from my desk. “Good. He went home a couple of days ago with strict orders to take it easy. Of course, my mom is making sure he sticks with those orders.” He chuckles. “I bet it’s biting his ass to be babied and forced to sit still.” I take a seat and lean back with my fingers laced over my stomach. “You know my dad. He hates to be idle, but I think he’s finally getting the picture that he has to slow down. They moved to Florida to retire and enjoy a stress-free life after working hard to provide for me and my brother and sister. They deserve it.” “How’s your mom holding up?” “She tried hiding it, but I know she was scared. Tori’s going to stay a few extra days to help out while Michael takes the kids home.” I pull open my desk drawer, grab a notepad, and throw it on top. “Catch me up. We got anything new?” For the next fifteen minutes, Tavers tells me about a case he took while I was away. Being his partner, it’s now my case as well. He explains that the station received a call from social services

about a possible Munchausen by proxy case. The mother in question has brought her eight-year-old boy into the emergency room eleven times in the past year. The injuries aren’t life threatening, mostly vomiting and stomach pains, but the number of occurrences is worrisome. I take notes as he relays all the information he has on the case. He just got the warrant to go over the child’s medical records this morning and was waiting on me to head to the hospital. Cases like these make my skin crawl and my anger spike. How in the fuck someone could purposely harm their child to gain attention is so far out of my thinking process. I’m an officer of the law, and it’s my job to uphold that law, but there are times I’m also just a man who really wants to beat the fuck out of people. We both stand to leave just as Benjamin, one of the forensic guys, taps on the office door. “Detective James, do you have a minute?” Grabbing my cell phone, I stuff it in my pocket. “Sure. What’s up?” His eyes flicker briefly to Tavers before focusing back on me. “We got the DNA results back for the Jane Doe who was taken to the hospital a few weeks ago. They came back yesterday, so I was hoping I’d catch you today before you went out.” He holds out a thin vanilla folder, and I look at

Tavers before reaching for it. As I look down at the folder, a sinking feeling forms in the pit of my stomach. I have no idea why the feeling is there. Whatever’s in this folder could reveal that Doe has someone out there who cares for and misses her. It’s what I want and not only what she needs but deserves. Even knowing that she could have a family just waiting to shower her in their love, it still leaves my chest feeling weighted down. In the few short weeks I’ve known Doe, she’s become mine in a way. Not as a possession, but mine to protect. And I do care about Doe. Probably more than I should. I don’t know how deep my feelings run or what my feelings are exactly, but I just know I don’t like the thought of her not being in my life anymore. It doesn’t seem natural to think about her not being around. A throat clears, and I look up to find the tech still standing in my doorway. I push the ridiculous emotions away. “Thank you, Benjamin.” I give him a chin lift, indicating he can leave before turning my back on him. The envelope feels heavy in my hand, and for some insane reason, I’m not ready to look at the results yet. I open my top desk drawer and slip it inside. When I turn back around, Benjamin is gone, but Tavers is looking at me with a raised brow.

“You’re not going to read the report?” he asks. “It can wait. We need to get to the hospital.” Before he has a chance to question me on my lie, I spin around and leave the office. It wouldn’t take more than a minute to read the results, and we both know it. Using the excuse of needing to get to the hospital is a lame one, but I don’t want to explain why the thought of looking it over scares me shitless. Thankfully, Tavers doesn’t call me on my lie, and we both walk silently to my truck. We walk into the hospital twenty minutes later, and while I’ve tried pushing all thoughts of what’s inside that folder to the back of my mind, it still lingers, and my stomach feels like it’s constantly churning. Being in this hospital again doesn’t help with trying to forget. All it does is bring back memories of Doe being here, the condition she was in, my visits to her, and how much she’s changed and improved. It brings back the memories of my first few visits to her and the sole purpose of them was to gain her trust to find out what happened to her and discover why she was breaking into my house. It didn’t take long for the reason of my visits to change. She intrigued me, and I genuinely wanted to help her. Not simply because it was my job, but because it felt like it was something I needed to do. She became my friend and the more I was around her, the more attached I got. I’d fooled

myself for a while, but I’d recently admitted to myself that I kept coming back for personal reasons. I know part of it was because her case reminded me of Aislin, but it was more than that. I felt a connection to her, as if I was meant to help her. Emily, the same receptionist as before, smiles as she looks up from her computer. “Hello, Detective James, Detective Tavers.” I smile. “Morning, Emily.” “What brings you by so early?” Tavers holds up the warrant as I answer. “We’re picking up medical records.” She nods, not asking what the papers are in Tavers’ hand. “You gentlemen have a good day.” Her head drops back down to stare at her computer screen, and we make our way to the bank of elevators. Instead of going up, we hit the basement level where the records department is. This level of the hospital is dreary and reminds me eerily of what an old mental hospital would look like, which isn’t really surprising since this used to be the psychiatric ward until the late seventies. The lights flicker slightly, the walls are a stale green, and the floor is an old, dingy cream color. Tavers enters the small records office first, and an elderly woman in black slacks and a light purple turtleneck greets us.

“Morning, ma’am. We’re here for the records of Noah Mason, date of birth is 04/14/2009.” He hands over the warrant. After looking over the papers, she sits at her desk and starts tapping on her computer. A couple of minutes later, the printer behind her starts printing out papers. As we wait for the records, my mind again wanders to Doe, and I wonder what her records would reveal. I’ve gathered from the marks I’ve seen on her body that she was cut and burned multiple times. Many of the marks were fresh when I first met her, but most of them were old. I know she’s endured a lot more than what I saw. As much as it angers me to think of the abuse she went through, I want to know everything. I want to know so we can use it to nail the guy’s ass to the wall who did it to her. I’ve asked her several times if she remembers who abused her, and her answer is always no. After gathering the papers, the woman places them in a white envelope, has Tavers sign a couple of papers, and then hands them over. We leave, and I’m grateful to be out of the damp and depressing basement. I don’t see how anyone can function for long down there. “Fuck, I hate going down there,” Tavers mutters with a mock shiver as he steps in the elevator. “Creeps me the fuck out every time.” I push the button for the first floor. “You’d

think they would have at least painted the damn walls by now.” He grunts his agreement. An hour later, Tavers and I are in my office, having just went over Noah Mason’s medical records. It’s understandable why the hospital called social services. In two years, the child has been brought to the emergency room over twenty times, all related to stomach issues. The mom claims the child has a severe food allergy and has had stomach issues for years, but what made the doctors suspicious was the high amount of sodium in the child’s bloodwork the last several times he’s been seen. Numerous tests have been performed with no results as to why his sodium levels should be so elevated. Funny thing is, when the boy visits his father, his health improves. “The mother of Noah’s friend is coming in later today to give a statement. Apparently, she’s called social services a couple of times already because she suspected the child was being abused, but nothing ever came of it. They claim there was no evidence to suggest abuse.” I nod and sit back in my chair. My eyes catch on the slightly open desk drawer, and my mind races back to what’s inside it. “Are you going to read it?” Tavers asks quietly. I look up at him then back down at the drawer. I stare at it for several moments before opening it

the rest of the way, reach inside, and pull out the folder. It’s stupid to be reluctant to look at the results when they can work in Doe’s favor. I pull in a breath then flip the folder open to the single piece of paper inside. It looks just like every other DNA result that comes through the department with minor differences due to an outside company performing the tests. We normally have our own guys do them, but Captain hired an outside company for faster results. I grit my teeth with annoyance because the lab we chose just happened to be going through a major employee overhaul, so we would have gotten them back faster if we had used our own guys. I snatch up the paper and peer down at it. My eyes skim over the usual personal information and case number, a graph with numbers and codes distinguishing the genetics of the DNA, and then to the short paragraph below. Conclusions: In regards to one Jane Doe, date of birth – Unknown, the DNA results indicate a one hundred percent match to Rebecca Jane Stewart, date of birth – April 3, 1991. I scan over the words over and over again, having a hard time believing them. Not once did I believe that Doe was Rebecca, even with Mr. Stewart’s insistence that she was. The only time he ever saw her was a brief glimpse that first day in the hospital. He’s called multiple times and even

spoke with Captain, demanding he be given a chance to see her. With Doe in her condition at the time, Captain refused the visit, something I was grateful for and would have forced myself even if I had to go behind Capt’s back to do it. I took his insistence and unwillingness to give up the notion she was Rebecca as a hysterical man desperate to have his niece back. None of it added up. Most of Doe’s scars are old, attesting to years of abuse. He claims that Rebecca never left the house and was never around anyone but himself, leaving me to believe the abuse had to have come from him. The paper in my hand starts to shake as rage builds in my system. Why in the fuck would he report her missing, knowing that we would find out what he had been doing to her for years? It doesn’t make any sense. There must be another explanation. Even though the circumstances surrounding Rebecca’s case were strange, I never got the vibe that Mr. Stewart had ill intent toward his niece. Regardless, Doe is Rebecca, and both she and Mr. Stewart deserve to know. A ten-ton boulder lands on my chest when I think about Doe leaving and going back to Mr. Stewart. Even if the abuse didn’t come from him, and he’s the loving and grieving uncle I had originally expected he was, I still don’t want her to leave. This is what I feared

when I was first handed the folder; knowing Doe has someone out there who could potentially take her away. I want to be selfish and shred the paper and pretend I never saw it, but that’s not who I am or what I represent as a detective. I find the truth and deliver it to the appropriate people. This case is just harder because I’ve formed an attachment to the victim. Even so, Doe won’t be leaving until I know she’ll be safe with her uncle. It’s time Mr. Stewart and I had a talk. I look up from the paper to find Tavers’ intense gaze on me. Being my friend for years, he recognizes the anger oozing off me. “Doe is Rebecca Stewart,” I tell him and watch his eyes widen in shock. “Damn,” he says low. “I didn’t expect that.” “Me neither,” I grunt then carelessly drop the paper on my desk. Agitatedly, I run my fingers through my hair. “You know what this means, don’t you?” A growl tries to work its way up my chest, but I force the sound back. However, I can’t hold back the anger that forms in my eyes as I answer him. “Either he’s been abusing her or there’s something he hasn’t told us.” He nods. “For Doe’s sake, I hope there’s some explanation. Although I don’t really see how he can

explain away her scars and recent injuries if he’s the only one she’s been around for years. This could be either good for her, to have a family member out there who cares, or bad for them both if he’s been hurting her.” I look Tavers square in the eye and tell him truthfully, “For his sake, he’d better hope like fuck not one of those scars were caused by him.”

MY MIND IS STUCK ON THE NEWS OF THE DNA report for the rest of the day. I need time to get used to the idea of Doe being Rebecca and the probability of her leaving. I also try to talk myself out of the hell I know I’ll want to rain down on Mr. Stewart if he’s been the one hurting her. The detective in me, the part that goes by the book and ensures justice is served legally, has drifted into the background, and the man in me has stepped forward. The need to rush to his house and demand answers has my body so tense the rest of the day, my joints start to ache. Our time will come later. Doe needs to be told the truth first. I try to concentrate on the interview with Mrs. Conners, the lady giving her statement in regard to the Mason boy, but I’m distracted. My legs bounce with aggravation. Tavers senses my preoccupied

mind and pulls me to the side and asks me to leave. I don’t take offense to his suggestion. I know my anxious behavior is making Mrs. Conners nervous. I try to keep my mind on other things, but nothing works. I keep picturing Doe in my mind, from what she looked like on the first day at the hospital to her standing in my driveway, waving goodbye to me this morning; her small smile the last thing I saw clearly of her face. She’s grown so much over the past few weeks. I don’t want to stop seeing her grow and flourish, becoming more comfortable with herself and surroundings. At five o’clock, I’m about ready to pull my hair out with both the anticipation of seeing her and the dread of telling her Mr. Stewart is her uncle. Tavers and I make plans to visit the man tomorrow and question him. As I tell him I’m leaving for the day, he tells me to call him if I need him after I tell Doe. It’s not going to be easy, and I’ll bet Doe’s not going to take it well. With her memory being gone, she won’t remember Mr. Stewart, but I hope she remembers something with the mention of his name. She doesn’t do well with new people, especially men. I’m the only one she feels remotely comfortable being around. I sit in my truck in my driveway for several minutes, thinking over how I’m going to tell her. I don’t want to scare or worry her, and I certainly don’t want to hinder her emotional healing. This is

going to be a big step for her. With a sigh, I climb from my truck, but instead of going to my house, I head to the one next door. I’ve told Doe several times she can go to my house any time she wants, but for whatever reason, she never does unless I’m there, opting to stay in the house I’m letting her borrow. As I cross my yard and into hers, something catches my eye. I turn toward the space between our houses and notice Doe kneeling in my backyard at her flowerbed. A smile tugs my lips up as she bends to smell a yellow flower, her long hair falling over her shoulders. I keep my steps light so I don’t disturb her as I make my way into the backyard. I’m going to miss seeing her attend the flowers. A twig snaps beneath my shoe, and her head snaps up. A brief flash of fear crosses her face before she sees it’s me. A light smile replaces the look, and it reminds me not too long ago she never smiled. I like to think that I taught her how to smile again. Betsy, who is lying a few feet away in a patch of sun-covered grass, lifts her head then gets up and trots over to me for a head pat. “Hi,” Doe says shyly. I reach my hand out for her to grab to help her up, and she slips hers in mine easily and without hesitation; something else she does now that she wouldn’t have done before. Her hand is warm and

soft in mine, despite the scars that mar her palm. “How was your day?” I ask. She smooths her palms down her long skirt. She likes to wear skirts, I’ve noticed. “It was good. How was yours?” I hold back my cringe. If I were honest, I’d tell her my day was shit, but I don’t. Instead, I grab her hand and lead her over to the bench sitting not too far away from the flowerbed. I want to wait to tell her, but I also want to get it over with. She sits first, and although I keep a few inches between us when I sit beside her, I keep her hand in mine. I’m not too much of a man to admit that I want the comfort her hand offers me just as much as I know she’s going to need the comfort as well. Betsy goes back to her patch of sun and plops down with a sigh. Doe tucks a piece of hair behind her ear then looks at me. Her brows pinch as she frowns. I’m sure she can tell my emotions are out of whack. Her hand tightens in mine. “What’s wrong?” Her voice quivers, and the sound breaks my fucking heart. “You have an uncle.” I tell her quietly. She sucks in a breath and her eyes widen. “What?” she breathes. I look away from her and stare across the yard at the orange, red, and yellow flowers. “His name is Clem Stewart, and he lives here in

town. He’s been looking for you for weeks.” Her palm in mine becomes clammy, and it trembles. I look down at it and see the difference between the two. My big tan one totally engulfs her small pale one. “He hasn’t been told yet, but I know he’ll want to see you. You were living with him until whatever happened to you happened. You have a home you can go back to.” Fuck, but I hate those words. To me, this is her home. “No.” I look up at her fearful tone. “Doe… this is good. This means you have family. Someone who cares about you.” Or at least, I hope like hell she does. Her head shakes and panic starts to fill her eyes. She yanks her hand away from me and stands. Her arms go around her middle, and she squeezes her waist tight. She starts to pant, and her skin pales. Betsy jumps up with a whine at Doe’s sudden movement, but I pay her no mind. I stand and take a small step toward her, not wanting to spook her more than she already is. “Doe—” “No!” she shouts, shaking her head frantically, tears forming in her eyes. “I don’t want to go!” Before I get a chance to try to comfort her, she

spins on her heel and takes off running, heading into the trees behind my house. Betsy whines again then takes off after her. I tip my head to the sky and close my eyes, the tense feeling in my neck causing a headache. “Goddammit,” I mutter to myself. I fucking hate how much I’ve upset her. Reaching back, I give my neck a rough rub then drop my head back down. Looking toward the woods, I follow behind Doe and Betsy. I walk slow, giving her a few minutes alone, but I refuse to leave her out there. I’m not really concerned with her getting lost or running off. I know these woods like the back of my hand. And she has nowhere to go. She’s smart and knows that. She just needs time. Even though the woods are dense with a shit ton of bushes and fallen branches, it’s easy to see the path Doe took by the matted down parts. I push branches aside, and my stomach lurches because I know Doe’s probably scraped to hell from them. With her frantic need to get away, she probably didn’t take the time to push them out of her way. The longer I follow her trail, the more my chest gets tight. It’s been years since I’ve navigated these woods, but I still remember them well. I’ve been this way so many times, I could probably find the spot with my eyes closed. My own palms start to tremble and sweat the closer I get to the area that holds so many memories for me. I’ve avoided

coming back here because those memories are too fucking painful. Coming up on a clearing, I stop and squeeze my eyes shut, trying my best to shut down the memories wanting to surface. Childish laughter pierces my ears so loudly that I would swear the source was right in front of me when there’s no way it is. I wish I could go back in time and hear it again for real. To see the rare smile only I was lucky enough to witness. Hearing a dog’s whimper, I drag in a ragged breath, uncurl my fingers, and crack open my eyes to see Betsy sitting at the base of my and Aislin’s old treehouse. Her head is tipped back, looking up at the wooden structure. I haven’t seen it in years, but other than the wood looking aged, it appears the same. I know without seeing her that Doe is up there. The question is, am I brave enough to climb the ladder and go up there myself? This treehouse and Aislin’s old room are the two most sacred places to me. I’ve avoided them both like the plague because I’m scared shitless of the memories that come with them. Hearing a creak coming from above, I know I have no choice but to face this fear. My legs shake as I walk to the base of the tree and grip the old spindle made of two-by-fours. I look up and see the door open. It feels like fucking spiders are crawling all over my skin, but I man up and make my way

slowly up the ladder, not only because I’m a pansyass, but also to make sure they’ll hold my weight. By the time I make it to the top, my heart’s pounding so hard in my chest, I hear the beat in my ears. I bring my head through the door and look around. Doe is standing over by a wall that has several old pictures Aislin drew tacked to it. I quickly advert my gaze back to Doe, not wanting to look at them. I climb the rest of the way through and take a quick look around. Our old trash box sits in one corner and the cushions we would sit on are on the floor by another wall. Faded coloring books and word search books sit next to them with a sixteen pack of crayons on top. There’s an old faded piece of fleece material thrown on top of one of the cushions. Aislin used to use it to keep warm when we were here and it was cold. Cobwebs are everywhere, and the ceiling is so low that I have to duck or my head will hit. The last time I was here, my head was an inch from the ceiling. Aislin used to pick on me, calling me a giant, saying my dad would have to help us build a bigger treehouse. “What is this place?” Doe asks, pulling me back to the present. Keeping my head down, I turn to face her. “This was my and Aislin’s old treehouse,” I answer. I clear my throat of the gruffness. She looks around. “It looks cozy.”

I don’t reply. She looks back at the wall and touches one of the drawings. “This is beautiful.” She sniffles, telling me without looking at her face she’s been crying. “Aislin drew it.” I keep my voice quiet. I’m afraid if I talk louder, I’ll reveal just how fucked up being here again is making me. “She was very talented.” Even though I don’t want to, I look at the drawing she’s talking about. It’s one of my favorites. Even at an early age, Aislin had a knack for drawing people. She couldn’t draw a flower or a swing set, or even a house without making it look dilapidated, that was more my talent, but she could draw people as good as any artist. This one is of a close up of me and her. I have my arm thrown over her shoulder with her head resting against my upper arm. We’re both smiling, and she captured every detail of our faces. I was amazed when she showed me even though I shouldn’t have because it wasn’t the first time she’d drawn us. She hung it on the wall because she said every home should have pictures of the family that lived there. To her, this was our very own home. “She was,” I grunt and drop my eyes from the picture. “Your name is Rebecca Stewart.” She squeezes her eyes shut and pulls in a deep

breath, mentally preparing herself. “Rebecca,” she breathes, opening her eyes again. She looks at me curiously. “It sounds strange, doesn’t it? I don’t feel like a Rebecca.” “To me, you’ll always be Doe.” She smiles sadly. “I like Doe.” She turns quiet for a moment before she whispers brokenly, “Please don’t make me go.” I want so badly to go to her and pull her into my arms. To promise her everything will be okay, that I’ll protect her, and that she can stay as long as she wants. I hold my place because I can’t do those things. She’s not mine to keep. She’s not mine to protect anymore. I was there for her while she needed me, but she has someone else out there now who will take that job of protector. “Your uncle misses you, Doe. He was so heartbroken when he thought he lost you,” I tell her quietly, wishing she knew this was just as hard on me as it was on her. “You deserve a chance at happiness and having a family again. Meet him and give him a chance.” Her eyes drop to the floor, and she reveals softly, “I’m scared.” I do walk to her then, unable to bear the fear and pain in her voice. Taking a chance, I put a finger to her chin and lift her face. She doesn’t flinch from my touch, and it shoots pleasure through me.

Her teary gaze meets mine. “It’s normal to be scared. Facing the unknown can be frightening. But you’re strong.” I wipe a tear away with the tip of my finger, and she trembles. “I’m going to go see him tomorrow to tell him about you. If it’ll make you feel safer, we can set a time for you to meet him at the station the next day.” The fear doesn’t leave her eyes, but after several seconds, acceptance slides in along beside it. She nods her agreement, but I can tell she still doesn’t want to. I force my lips to form a smile when I feel anything but happy right now. “Good. You’ll see that everything will be fine.” She doesn’t smile back, and it makes my already bruised heart twinge in pain. “You ready to go? Poor Betsy is down there wondering how you are.” I try to make a light joke, and this time, it earns me a sad smile as she nods. “Yes.” She walks to the door in the floor, and I help her down on the ladder. Before I follow her, I look back around the small room, knowing I’ll never come back here again. Betsy barks below when she sees Doe descending the steps, and I turn to make my way behind her. I close the door behind me, not wanting any wild animals to get inside. I may not ever come back, but that doesn’t mean I want it destroyed.

Doe and Betsy are waiting for me when I step off the last spindle. I turn and meet her sad eyes. I grab her hand and all three of us go back the way we came. As Doe’s warm hand rests in mine and the dried leaves crunch beneath our feet, I send up a silent prayer that Doe finds the peace she needs and deserves. I send up another prayer asking God to give me the strength to let her go.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Niko THE NEXT MORNING , TAVERS PULLS HIS TRUCK TO A stop at the curb outside Clem Stewart’s house. I slide from the cab and wait for him to meet me on the sidewalk. The place looks a lot different from the last time we were here. The once wellmanicured lawn is at least a foot tall. The colorful flowers that used to line the two front windows are now dried twigs sticking up from the ground, and is overrun by weeds. Tavers and I share a look as we walk up the sidewalk and onto the porch. He knocks on the door, and we wait. And wait. And wait. Several moments pass, and Mr. Stewart still hasn’t opened the door. A look to the left shows his car in the driveway, so we know he’s here. Just as Tavers lifts

his hand to knock again, the door creaks open. The yard isn’t the only thing that’s changed. Mr. Stewart looks like shit. There’s no other word for it. His hair is oily, and he looks like he hasn’t brushed or washed it in weeks. Dark circles surround his eyes. His face looks pale and gaunt, and he looks like he’s lost weight. The white Vneck shirt hanging from his shoulders has dirt and food stains on it, along with several holes. I stuff my hands into my pockets to keep from reaching out and wrapping them around his neck. The detective in me wants to give the guy a chance to explain, but the protector in me wants to act first and ask questions later. That’s part of the reason Tavers is here; to keep me in line. “Mr. Stewart, can we come in?” Tavers asks, being the professional in our group while I stand here and silently war with myself. He takes a step back. “Of course.” It comes out scratchy as if he just woke up. Mr. Stewart goes back to the same chair he sat in during our last visit while Tavers takes his same seat on the sofa. I opt to stay standing with my arms crossed over my chest. I try to rein in the glare I shoot in his direction, but it’s a feat I know I don’t manage. I look around the room and see the inside the house isn’t any better than the outside. “Is everything okay, Detectives?” Mr. Stewart

asks anxiously. Tavers leans forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together between them. He looks at him with concern. “Question is, are you okay, Mr. Stewart?” He looks around, the first bit of color staining his cheeks. I would guess in embarrassment as he takes in the disheveled mess of the room. His gaze drops to his dirty shirt, plucks it from his chest, and then releases it to fall back down. His eyes flicker up to mine before settling them back on Tavers. “I haven’t been sleeping, and well…” He stops, looks off to the side where the picture of Rebecca is sitting on a small table, and then looks back with tears in his eyes. “I haven’t really felt up to doing much,” he mumbles sadly. “Mr. Stewart,” Tavers says softly. More softly than I would have. Tavers has always been the more sympathetic one of our partnership. I’m having a damn hard time feeling sorry for the guy. “You need to take better care of yourself. You’re doing no good to yourself or Rebecca if you lose it.” Mr. Stewart nods and drops his gaze to his land. “I know. I just miss her so much.” Tavers lifts his head and looks at me. I give him a chin lift. “We found Rebecca,” he states quietly. His head snaps up, and his cheeks immediately

flush. His mouth drops open, and then he closes it, only to open it again. “What?” he nearly shouts. Tavers nods. “The woman who was picked up several weeks ago is Rebecca. There was a delay with the tests. That’s why it’s taken so long to get the results.” I watch closely as he scoots to the edge of his seat. His hand trembles as he lifts it to his mouth as if in shock. He closes his eyes and tears slip down his scruffy cheeks. His shoulders shake as he silently cries. It’s obvious he cares for her. When he opens them again several seconds later, he lifts them to me. Accusation is in their depths. He blames me because I wouldn’t let him see her. I’d feel guilty if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s the one who allowed those marks to be put on her body, whether by putting them there himself or allowing someone else to do it. I hold his stare and put some heat behind it, letting him know that I know about them, and I feel not one iota of guilt that I kept him from her. “When can I see her?” he asks after several seconds, moving his gaze away from mine. “It’s not that easy,” Tavers answers. His brows drop down into a frown. “I don’t understand.” “There are some questions that need to be answered first.” “Like what?”

“Like where in the fuck she got all the marks on her body,” I growl, unable to hold back the anger anymore. “Detective James,” Tavers warns, but I ignore him. “Did you put them there, Mr. Stewart?” I uncross my arms and take a step toward him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tavers stand. Mr. Stewart’s shoulders droop, and his hands that are laced together turn white as he grips them tight. His head drops. I’m two seconds away from prowling to him, yanking him from his chair, and demanding he answer. “I didn’t put them there,” he says quietly. “Then who in the fuck did?” I snarl. “Goddammit,” I hear Tavers mutter. “Niko—” Mr. Stewart cuts him off when he lifts his head. More tears slide from his now red eyes. Sadness, guilt, and hurt line his face. “She put them there herself.” I freeze and so does Tavers. Denial has my heart lurching in my chest. There’s no fucking way Doe put those marks on her body herself. She wouldn’t do something like that. I may not know much about her, she may not know herself, but I refuse to believe she would be capable of selfharm. Her words from that first day in the hospital

come to mind, and they send shards of ice in my blood. “I remember being hurt but not who did it. I think… I think I did it.” “Fuck,” I mutter. I turn away from Tavers and Mr. Stewart. What in the fuck would push her to hurt herself, and do I really believe she did? She doesn’t remember who she is, much less where she’s been or what happened to her. If she doesn’t remember those things, why would she think she hurt herself? Was her mind somehow telling her without giving her the reason why she would do such a thing? What happened to her to resort to that? I spin back around to Mr. Stewart and pin him with a hard gaze. At the moment, he’s the only one who can tell us. “Explain,” I demand. I know I’m acting unprofessional, but I couldn’t give one fuck at the moment. Mr. Stewart doesn’t seem to notice anyway as he stands from his chair on wobbly legs with defeat and pain written on his face. Tavers notices, though. He takes a step toward me with concerned eyes. He knows I’m on the edge. Mr. Stewart walks over to the wall where several pictures of Rebecca as a child and her mother hang. His voice is quiet when he starts to speak. “When Rebecca came to live with me after her

mother died, she was distraught. I tried to console her, but she didn’t want to have anything to do with me. I’m sure it’s because her mother told her she and I didn’t get along. I loved my sister, but we didn’t agree on some things. Our childhood was… intense. My mother chose me to abuse and Natalie to ignore.” His finger lightly trails over the picture in front of him. “As screwed up as it is, I think Natalie was jealous of the attention my mother gave me, even if it was the wrong and painful kind. In turn, I was jealous of the neglect Natalie received. She was older and left as soon as she could. I was seventeen when she got pregnant. When I moved out, I looked her up, hoping we could reconnect. I wanted to be part of both her and Rebecca’s lives. I guess she still harbored bad feelings toward me because she turned me away.” He turns quiet as he takes the frame from the wall and brings it back to the seat with him. “That still doesn’t explain the marks on Rebecca’s body, Mr. Stewart,” Tavers says more calmly than how I’m feeling. My give a shit radar is still off regarding him. He doesn’t look up from the photo when he starts to speak again. “Although Natalie wouldn’t let me be part of their lives, I still kept tabs on them, just to make sure they were okay.” He swallows thickly. “Rebecca started hurting herself the week after she

moved in with me. I was grieving over my sister, so I didn’t notice how bad it was for her at first. Once I did, I tried to talk to her, but she always refused and pushed me away. Anytime I mentioned getting her help, she freaked out and threatened to kill herself. It wasn’t as bad in the beginning, she’d only have fresh marks about once a month, but then they came more frequently. I’d notice a new one a couple of times a week. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I told her I would get help, and she promised she would stop. She would for several months, but then they would start back up again. This went on for years, the process over and over again, and I believed her each time she said she would stop. I know it was stupid of me, and I should have insisted she seek help, but I was so scared I’d lose her for good.” He finally looks up, and the devastation on his face is profound. A tiny spark of sympathy hits my stomach. “I couldn’t lose Rebecca too,” he says with agony. “I couldn’t fix things with my sister, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing Rebecca as well. I tried so hard to help her, you have to believe me, but she was always so sad and withdrawn and angry. It was because of those marks that she never left the house. She felt she was too disfigured for anyone to see her. She was disgusted with her appearance.” His voice is thick by the time he’s

done talking. “Do you know why she was that way?” He looks at Tavers and shakes his head. “No.” “Do you know if she hurt herself before she came to live with you?” I turn away from them both and walk to the side table that holds Doe’s picture. Her name is Rebecca, but she’ll always be Doe to me. I pick up the picture and examine it. It’s an old picture. She looks to be nine or so. Her smile, the same one I’ve been lucky enough to see a few times, seems to be bright and innocent as she stands beneath a cherry blossom tree. Her eyes, though—the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. If you weren’t looking for it, you’d think she was happy, but there’s a deep sadness there. Her brown hair is long just like it is now, but it’s lighter as if she spent a lot of time in the sun. Her complexion is a warm olive, not the pale skin she has now. No marks mar her face or arms. She looks just the same although much younger and with no signs of self-harm. I keep my back to the room, eyes on the picture, as Mr. Stewart answers Tavers’ question. “I don’t know. They lived two states away, so I wasn’t able to see them often, but the times I did, Rebecca looked sad. But I never saw any signs she was hurting herself.” “What about Natalie? Do you think she knew? Or was the cause of Rebecca hurting herself?”

Mr. Stewart sighs heavily behind me. “I don’t want to think so, but I can’t say. I think the neglect from our mother messed Natalie up. Had I had any inkling of her abusing Rebecca, I would have stepped forward and done something.” It’s quiet for several moments, and I turn to face the room. Tavers is once again sitting on the edge of the sofa as Mr. Stewart clutches the frame to his chest, tears still slipping down his cheeks. He directs his next question to me. “Can I see her?” As much as I don’t want it to happen, I know I can’t keep Doe from him. She’s his niece, and he cares deeply for her. However, there’s something I want to make clear. “She doesn’t remember you.” His face falls with regret and pain. “She doesn’t remember anything. And she doesn’t want to see you.” When he moves to object, I hold my hand up. “I’ve talked her into it.” Relief floods his face. “She’s starting therapy. You claim you wanted to help her, and if that’s the case, then you need to make sure she makes it to her therapy sessions.” He clears his throat before saying hoarsely. “Yes. Of course.” My next words are more personal than professional. “If I find out she’s not being cared for like she should be, I’ll be back to pay you another visit.”

Tavers shifts in his seat but doesn’t say anything. He knows how important Doe’s become to me. Mr. Stewart swallows but wisely nods. I replace the picture on the table. “Come to the station at two o’clock tomorrow. I’ll bring Rebecca and her things.” Blowing out a breath, he stands and offers an elated smile. “Thank you.” He looks at Tavers. “Thank you both. You have no idea how happy I am to know she’s okay and to have her back.” I nod then turn to Tavers. “You ready?” He stands as well, and Mr. Stewart walks us to the door. When we step onto the porch, he stops us with a question. “Where is she now?” I turn back. “She’s been staying with me since she left the hospital.” Surprise widens his eyes for a moment then he nods. “Thank you for taking care of her, and thank you for finding her.” The trip back to the station is quiet with my mind in turmoil. My anger against Mr. Stewart has simmered down. Yes, he should have gotten help for Doe, but I also understand his fear. We do stupid shit for the ones we love even if that means ultimately hurting them. And that’s what he did. He may not have put those marks on her himself, but he allowed her to do it. I want to hate the guy, but all I feel is pity for him. He lost his sister, and the

niece he wanted to love won’t let him. Instead, he had to watch her destroy her body. Although it seems wrong to put her back in the same home where she continually hurt herself, Mr. Stewart is still her family. Doe’s an adult, and if she really doesn’t want to go back with him, I won’t force her, but I think it would be good for her to at least give it a chance. I just hope that if she ever remembers who she is and what made her harm herself, she’s strong enough to push past those needs.

W HEN I UNLOCK MY FRONT DOOR SEVERAL HOURS later, I cringe with the headache pounding in my temples. Stress. So much fucking stress. I drop my keys on the small table beside the door, and I’m taking off my holster when a noise catches my attention. Whipping my head around toward the kitchen, I find Doe sitting at the bar, looking at me. “Hey,” I say softly and walk over to her. “Hi.” My eyes scan over her and notice the dark rings around her eyes and the tired expression on her face. “Everything okay?” I ask, wanting desperately

to reach out and push away the hair in her face. Her gaze drops from mine and looks over at the holster I set on the bar before lifting it back to me. “Yeah,” she answers softly. “Why are you over here?” It’s not that I don’t like her being here; she just never is until I come home. “I missed you and wanted to see you as soon as you got home.” Her cheeks pink in embarrassment. Her admission has my heart pounding. She’s never admitted to any feelings like that. I know it’s because her emotions are high right now in light of discovering she has an uncle, but it still feels really fucking good. It also fucking sucks because she’s leaving tomorrow. I lean against the bar and give her a smile. “I missed you too,” I admit. Surprise enters her face. “You did?” I nod, and my smile turns into a smirk. “I did.” “Oh.” I straighten from the bar. “Let’s make something to eat and sit outside for a while.” Nodding gratefully, she gets up from the stool and follows me into the kitchen. Standing side by side, we make meatball subs then carry them outside. We both smile as we watch Betsy run around the yard chasing bugs. The wind blows, and every few minutes, I get a whiff of Doe’s sweet peach smell. It sends a charge through my system

every time. My eyes keep drifting to her, and each time they do, I’m amazed at her beauty. I can’t imagine what made this woman harm herself so much that it left a multitude of scars on her. I’ve decided to wait on telling her about what Mr. Stewart said. I don’t want anything to dampen our last night together. I want her to remember it as being a good night, not one filled with worry and anxiety and fear. However, I do need to prepare her for tomorrow. “I’m taking you to your uncle tomorrow,” I tell her and want to curse when the smile fades from her face. She doesn’t smile nearly enough. She looks at me with fearful eyes, and the look splinters my heart. “O-okay,” she stutters. “Doe.” I reach for her hand. “It’s all going to be okay. You’ve got your phone. You can call me any time you want to talk. Just because you won’t be here anymore doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends.” Her nod is small, and the look stays in her eyes, but resolve moves in beside it. My girl is strong. We sit for a bit longer. Doe reads some of her book to me then asks me to read to her. It’s bittersweet, us sitting on the porch reading to each other. This action has become our ritual. While we both enjoy the experience, we both know this will be the last time we do it. If it were up to me, we’d

never leave this porch. Real life would never interfere, and we’d be stuck in our own safe bubble forever. Once we’ve both read several chapters apiece, we talk. She asks me about work, if I enjoy it. “Yes and no.” Her brows scrunch in confusion. “Some days I do; the days I can give a person good news about whatever happened to them or their family member. On the days those cases come in, those are the days that are hard.” “I can’t imagine how it must feel at times, knowing you can’t do anything, or what you can do isn’t what they wish.” I stare off into the distance. “Those are the days I wish I would have chosen a different profession.” I stop for a moment. “But then I think about Aislin.” I bring my gaze back to her. “When she was first taken, no one believed me; they all thought she ran away.” “I’m so sorry, Niko,” she says mournfully. “I knew in here”— I tap my chest—“that she wouldn’t have left me and was determined to prove them wrong. I just prayed I’d find her before it was too late.” My chest feels tight, and my eyes itch. I force away the tears wanting to form. It still hurts just as badly as it did the day we found her body. “Do me a favor, please?” she asks quietly. “What?”

“Don’t ever stop what you do.” She blinks away her own tears. “You’ve helped me so much. You care, and that means so much.” We’re quiet after that. When the sun starts to set and the bugs become too much to tolerate, we go inside. I ask Doe if she wants to watch a movie, and she chooses a romantic comedy. I pop us some popcorn, grab two bottles of water, and bring them back to the living room. Doe, sitting on the center cushion, looks up at me with a question in her eyes. “What is it?” I set the popcorn and water down on the end table and sit beside her. She bites her lip as her eyes avoid mine. I lean forward so she’s forced to look at me. “Will you… uh…” She trails off. I grab her hand gently. “Whatever it is, you can say it, Doe. It’s okay.” What pops out of her mouth next is something I didn’t expect, but it still sends a thrill through me. “W-will you… will you h-hold me?” My hand unconsciously tightens over hers. Her question surprises me so much I’m left speechless for several seconds. I never would have thought I would hear her ask such a thing, but now that she has, an ache forms in my chest with how much I want it. And if I’m honest, how long I’ve wanted to do it. This woman makes me feel things I haven’t

felt in a long time, if ever. Things I’m not really sure I want to feel but still feel regardless. I have to clear my throat before talking for fear of it coming out hoarse and revealing my strong need. “Are you sure?” She looks nervous and her hand becomes sweaty in mine, but her shoulders push back and she nods. “Yes.” She looks down at our linked hands. “You make me feel safe, and this is my last night here. I-if it’s okay with you, I’d really like for you to hold me. I want to know what it feels like.” She lifts her head and gives me her gorgeous bright eyes. In them, I see something that has my body warming. She’s scared, but she wants me to hold her just as much as I want to. It’s not a carnal or desirous look, but one of wanting comfort, reassurance, and the need to just be close to someone who makes you feel cared for. “Okay.” I release her hand and sit back against the cushions. I rest my arm along the back of the couch, giving her room to move in beside me, letting her choose how close she wants to be. She holds still for a moment, looking at the space I’ve left for her, before inhaling deeply and slowly sliding closer. As soon as her warmth hits me, I close my eyes at how good it feels. Her scent hits

me next, and before I realize what I’m doing, I pull in a deep breath to bring in more. Her body is stiff at first, and I hold my breath, praying she doesn’t change her mind. She’s never been this close to me. Even when she fell asleep on me at the hospital, she wasn’t this close, and she was unconscious, so it’s not like she was there on purpose. I find it feels incredibly fucking good and right to have her in my arms. Once she’s settled back and seems to be staying that way, I lift my arm off the back of the couch and gently lay it over her shoulders. Her body stiffens again for a split second before relaxing. She releases a small sigh and lays her head on my upper chest. I’m sure she hears my erratic heartbeat, but she doesn’t say anything. I bet her heartbeat is beating just as crazily as mine is. “You ready to watch the movie?” I ask quietly. “Yes, please.” I can’t help but smile at the content tone of her voice. Reaching over, I grab the remote from the table and press play. I set the bowl of popcorn in my lap, and we both eat it as the movie starts playing. After about thirty minutes, she curls her legs up on the couch and leans them against my thighs. Her hands rest in her lap. Once we’re done with the popcorn, I move the bowl back to the table. She sips from her water, seemingly engrossed in the

movie. I try to pay attention to the television, but I’m having a really hard time concentrating. It’s been a long time since I’ve held a woman, and the woman there now is much different than any other woman I’ve been with. She’s more. So much more. Every few minutes, I look down. I can’t see much of her face, but she looks peaceful. Much different from how she did when I first came home. Her eyes looked haunted then with some of the fear coming back that hadn’t been there the past week. The look is gone now, but I know it’ll be back tomorrow. I hate that she’s afraid, but I know she’s strong and will overcome it. She’s overcome so much already. When the credits start to roll on the screen, I glance down to find her eyes closed. A smile touches my lips at the knowledge she felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in my arms. It makes me feel like the king of the universe. I sit for a long time, not ready to give up the feeling of having her here with me like this. My arm starts to fall asleep with the awkward lifted position, but I don’t care. I’d chop my arm off if it meant I could hold her longer. I’m not sure how much time passes, but I know I need to get her in bed. She may appear comfortable, but I know she can’t be as comfortable as she needs to get a good night’s sleep.

I gently lift my arm, making sure to hold her body until I can wedge out from behind her. Once I’m sitting on the edge of the couch, I slip one arm under her knees, one under her shoulders, and carefully lift her small body. She weights next to nothing. She sighs in her sleep and lays her face in my neck. Her soft breath whispers against the skin there, and it sends goose bumps over my body. She hasn’t slept in this house since that first night, but I really don’t want to wake her up. I keep my eyes pinned on her face as I navigate the hallway to my bedroom. Once at the bed, I gently lay her down. Not wanting to take the chance of waking her by pulling the covers from beneath her, I grab one from the closet in the hallway and go back to the room. She’s on her side with her hands tucked beneath her cheek. She looks innocent and carefree in her sleep, and it sends a pang to my chest. Something shiny from the moonlight catches my attention, and my eyes move to the bracelet on Doe’s wrist. I never asked for it back because, for some reason, I feel like it should now belong to her. It was lost for so long and holds so much meaning, so it should go to someone who will appreciate it. I lean down and place a soft kiss on her forehead. The bed shifts as Betsy jumps up and settles down at the end with a tired grunt. “Watch over her tonight, girl,” I tell her with a

gentle pat on her head. I leave the room, only pulling the door halfway closed. After depositing our popcorn bowl and water bottles in the kitchen, I turn off the light and settle back on the couch. I don’t worry about getting a blanket or pillow as I won’t be sleeping tonight. I haven’t had a nightmare in days, but I won’t take the chance of waking Doe with one. Her terrified expression the one time I did have a nightmare with her in the house will always stay with me, and the last thing I want is a repeat. In the dark, I lean my head back and stare up at the ceiling. An image of Aislin pops in my head. She didn’t smile often, but when she did, she lit up whatever room we were in. That’s what I see now, as if she’s looking down at me smiling. For so long, I’ve felt as if I’ve needed her, but I know someone needs her more now. “Please watch over her for me, Aislin,” I whisper my plea.

DOE CLUTCHES MY HAND TIGHTLY AS WE SIT AT ONE of the conference tables in the station. Her legs move restlessly, and I’m surprised her lip isn’t bleeding from all the biting she’s doing. Mr. Stewart is due to arrive any minute.

To say Doe is nervous and scared is an understatement, and if I’m honest, I’m just as worried. What if this is the wrong choice? What if sending her back to her uncle’s causes her to decline? Or worse, what if she starts harming herself again? I shake my head. The decision isn’t mine to make. She’s seeing a counselor now to help her, and besides, she’s stronger than she was before. I may not have known her then, but I know she wouldn’t resort to hurting herself again. “Niko.” Tavers peeks his head inside the room. “Mr. Stewart is here.” I feel Doe stiffen beside me, and I squeeze her hand. Giving Tavers a chin lift, I turn toward her. “Doe.” I call her name. Her eyes are pointed at the door, but when I call her name, she looks at me. “It’s okay. You can do this.” Her eyes turn red as if she’s going to start crying, but then she pulls in a wobbly breath and the look fades. She gives me a nod and pulls her hand from mine as she stands. Her hands nervously smooth down her skirt. “You ready?” “Yes,” she says in a small voice. I walk in front of her—maybe in a protective move, I’m not sure, but I want to see Mr. Stewart first before he sees her. He’s standing with Tavers and Captain, and when he sees me heading his way,

he turns to face me. His hands flitter together in front of him as if he’s nervous as well. As I walk toward him, Doe reaches forward and grabs my hand from behind. I clutch it to give us both comfort. “Mr. Stewart.” I can’t help the hard edge to my voice. I stop in front of him with Doe still behind me. He swallows. “Detective.” Clenching my other hand into a fist, I step to the side. Doe’s fingers dig into mine as she tightens her hand around mine at the first look at Mr. Stewart. Tears immediately fill his eyes as he looks her over. “Rebecca,” he breathes. “Oh, my dear.” Doe doesn’t say anything as she stands there stiff as a board. I look at Tavers to find him watching the exchange. When Mr. Stewart holds out his arms and takes a step closer, Doe sucks in a sharp breath and jerks back, hiding part of her body behind mine. My first reaction is to step forward and protect her from the threat she feels, but I push the feeling away. This man isn’t her enemy, and she has nothing to fear. “Give us a minute, Mr. Stewart,” I rumble then don’t wait for his answer before putting my back to him. Doe looks downright terrified as she looks up at

me. “Hey.” I lean down so we’re eye level, and I keep my voice quiet. “You’re safe. Nothing and no one is going to hurt you. There’s no need to be scared.” “I’m sorry,” she whispers. Moving slowly, so I don’t spook her, I reach up and wipe the few tears traveling down her cheeks. “Don’t apologize. Do you still have your phone?” She nods and fingers the purse she has clutched in her hand. “You can call me any time, day or night, no matter the reason.” She nods but doesn’t say anything. I turn back, look at Tavers, and jerk my head. When he walks over, I keep my voice low. “Stay with her for a minute.” Turning to Doe, I say, “I’ll be right back.” Waiting for her acknowledgment, I walk over to Mr. Stewart. My eyes are hard when I look at him. I hate the guy, but it’s for selfish reasons. Even though I know this is what’s best for Doe, he’s still taking her away. I’ve come to enjoy my time with her, and now I won’t have that anymore. “Captain Morgan is putting a patrol outside your house. He’ll drive by every hour.” His eyes widen and his mouth opens to speak, but I don’t allow him to. “We still don’t know what happened to her or where she was from the time she disappeared from your house to the time she was

picked up.” My jaw clenches. “Wherever she was, she was sexually abused. We’re still looking for answers, but with her memory being gone and no evidence, it’s been slow moving. Do you still have my number?” He nods. “Call me if she remembers anything, or if there’s any trouble.” His face is red and tears track down his cheeks. “My poor Rebecca,” he cries softly and looks over my shoulder at Doe. “Why would someone want to hurt her? She doesn’t even know anyone besides myself.” “I don’t know, but I intend to find out,” I grit between clenched teeth. “She doesn’t like to be touched or near anyone. You need to keep your distance and give her time.” “Yes, of course.” He swallows and breathes deeply. “I just want to take her home where she can hopefully begin to heal.” I give him a tight nod. “Take care of her, Mr. Stewart, and call me if anything happens.” I leave him and go back to Doe, who looks so damn lost. This is so fucking hard on me, but I can’t imagine how hard it is for her. She has no memory of who she is, and she’s having to leave the one person she’s become comfortable with—me. I stop in front of her and take her hand. Tavers leaves to give us a couple of minutes. “I’ve put Tavers’ number in your phone in case, for some reason, you can’t get a hold of me. You

have Mindy’s as well, in case you want … girl talk.” I smile, trying to lighten the mood a bit. Her smile is wobbly, but it’s still a smile, so I call that a win. “Thank you, Niko,” she says tearfully. “For being my friend and for helping me.” I’m surprised when she steps forward and puts her arms around my waist, resting her head on my chest. I slowly put my arms around her, keeping them loose, when all I want to do is crush her to me. I breathe in her sweet peach scent one more time, knowing this will be the last time I have the pleasure of doing so. Doe is special in so many ways, and I hope one day she realizes just how much. I release her and take a step back. Plastering a smile on my face, I grab her hand and turn us to face Mr. Stewart. “Doe…” I clear my throat. “I mean Rebecca.” That name seems weird coming off my lips. “I’d like you to meet your uncle, Clem Stewart.” Mr. Stewart steps forward, but heeding my warning, he doesn’t get too close. “Hello, Rebecca. I’m so glad to be taking you home.” It takes her a minute, but she replies shakily. “Hello.” “Are you ready?” She’s not, I can tell by the stiffness of her shoulders, but being the brave person she is, she

nods. “Yes.” Tavers hands Mr. Stewart her travel bag. Doe looks once more at me, and I give her an encouraging nod. She releases my hand and slowly walks toward him. I should walk them out and see them to their car, but I don’t think I have it in me to watch them drive away. Instead, I stand there with my heart pounding in my chest as Doe trails several feet behind him, leaving me to feel emptier than I did a few minutes ago.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Niko

SATURDAY

6:52 p.m. Me: Did you get settled in? 6:55 p.m. Doe: I did. 6:57 p.m. Me: How are you doing? 7:03 p.m. Doe: I don’t like it here. 7:04 p.m. Me: Why? Did something happen? 7:11 p.m. Doe: No. I just… miss you. 7:15 p.m. Me: I miss you too.

MONDAY 8:57 a.m. Me: Good morning. 9:05 a.m. Doe: Good morning. 9:07 a.m. Me: How did you sleep last night? 9:09 a.m. Doe: I had a dream about the shadow man again. 9:11 a.m. Me: You should have called me. 9:17 a.m. Doe: I didn’t want to bother you. It was really late. 9:27 a.m. Me: You can call me any time. I’ve told you that before. If you have another nightmare, please call me. 9:32 a.m. Doe: Okay. 9:33 a.m. Me: Promise me. 9:36 a.m. Doe: I promise.

WEDNESDAY 9:58 p.m. Doe: I miss Betsy. 10:02 p.m. She misses you too. She’s been sitting at the door like she’s waiting for you to walk through it. 10:05 p.m. Maybe I can come see her sometime. 10:07 p.m. We’d both like that. 10:32 p.m. Have a good night. Call me if you

have a nightmare. 10:35 p.m. I will. Thank you.

THURSDAY 8:03 p.m. Me: Is your uncle taking you to your appointment tomorrow? 8:15 p.m. Doe: Yes. 8:18 p.m. Me: If you need to talk afterward, call or message me. 8:20 p.m. Doe: I will.

FRIDAY 11:34 a.m. Me: How was your appointment? 3:12 p.m. Me: Hello? 6:05 p.m. Me: Doe. Is everything okay? 8:32 p.m. Me: Message me when you get this. I look down at my phone with a frown, rereading the few messages between Doe and me. My last message was sent three hours ago. I haven’t heard from her since last night, and I don’t like it. I’ve tried my best to leave her alone, to give her time to get used to her new home, but she looked so sad when she left with Mr. Stewart that I

wanted to make sure she was doing well. Doe’s never been a person of many words, even in person, so her texts have been short. Betsy, who’s lying on the couch beside me, lifts her head when I release a frustrated sigh. “S’alright, girl,” I murmur, running my hand along her back. I debate with myself on if I should just call her and hope she picks up. This is torture not being with her and seeing for myself how well she’s doing. She can say she’s fine all day long, but that doesn’t mean it’s true. Instead of giving in to my need to hear her voice, I get up from the couch and go to my bathroom. After turning on the shower, I strip down and step under the hot spray, letting it relax my tense muscles. An image of Doe comes to mind as I rest my hands against the shower wall and hang my head. She’s always on my mind, and I have no idea how to get her out. She’s become an obsession, almost as bad as Aislin. The need to find out more about her, where she was when she disappeared, what happened to her, and now, what made her believe she had no choice but to hurt herself, consumes me. I don’t like being this fixated, but my mind won’t let it rest. I growl and throw my fist against the tiled wall. My eyes pinpoint on the now cracked tile. Why

can’t I get her out of my fucking head? No matter how many times I ask myself this, no answer appears. To keep myself from going insane, I make plans to stop by Mr. Stewart’s house tomorrow if I don’t hear from Doe before then. I just need to check on her one more time, and then I’ll work at extracting her from my mind. I’m sure she’ll probably always have a place there, but I need to let her go and return my focus to Aislin’s case. I haven’t forgotten about her—there’s no way I ever could—but my concentration has been on Doe so much lately that I’ve lost track of what’s most important. Twisting the dial to turn off the shower, I get out, grab a towel, and roughly dry my body. I’m just pulling a shirt over my head when there’s a loud pounding on my door. I look down at my watch to check the time. 12:05. Who in the fuck is knocking on my door this late? Being the detective that I am, I grab my revolver from my nightstand and walk quietly down my hallway. My finger stays on the safety switch, ready to flip it if need be as I approach the door. It’s never a bad thing to be cautious; that’s been engraved in me since the police academy. I peek through the peephole in my door then release a sigh at who I find on the other side. Flipping the lock, I pull open the door. “What are you doing here this late?” I ask the

two men in front of me. Tavers pushes past me and a bout of irritation slides inside me. I’m already on edge from not hearing from Doe. “Where’s your phone?” Captain Morgan asks, stepping inside behind Tavers. My eyes move to the small device I left on the table in the living room. “I was in the shower,” I grunt. “Why? What’s going on?” Captain’s eyes move to Tavers then back to me. “There was a mistake in the DNA analysis we got back for Rebecca.” My body tenses. “What in the fuck do you mean?” “They were mixed up with another sample.” Captain’s eyes move back to Tavers. They share a look, and it has my blood freezing in my veins. “What are you saying exactly? Are you telling me we sent Doe off with a man who’s not her uncle, and he willingly took her knowing this?” A growl escapes my lips when Captain looks back at Tavers. Something is definitely not right here, and it pisses me right the fuck off that they aren’t telling me what it is. “Stop fucking looking at him,” I growl. “And tell me what in the hell is going on.” “Niko,” Captain warns.

I turn away from him and face my friend. The look in his eyes can be described as nothing other than regret. “Her DNA was swapped with the DNA we took from the body from the woods.” The body from the woods. Aislin’s body. He makes it sound so… impersonal, as if he never knew Aislin and what she meant to me, what she still means to me. “You mean Aislin’s body,” I tell him with narrowed eyes. He pulls in a deep breath and takes a step toward me. “It’s not her, Niko. Somehow, the results from the body from the woods and Doe’s were switched. The body from the woods is Rebecca.” A buzzing starts in my ears, and my stomach bottoms out. My vision becomes hazy, and I have to grab the back of the couch to steady myself. “No,” I say hoarsely. “That can’t be true.” “We don’t know how it happened, but the forensic team from the lab must have mislabeled the samples,” Captain says behind me. “So who is Doe?” I force the question out. “And why did her results come back as matching Rebecca’s?” “They must have run Rebecca’s DNA twice, thinking one was Doe’s. That’s the only explanation.”

“Which then brings up the question why he would say she was his niece when he knew she wasn’t, and why he took her. Who is she to him if Rebecca is the girl from the woods?” I don’t give them time to answer before I straighten. With determined steps, I walk around the couch, snap up my phone, and then go to the bar for my holster. Both men watch as I grab my gun and slip it inside the leather before clipping it to my side. “Fuck!” I shout. “I haven’t heard from her since last night. I’ve sent her several messages with no responses.” I stop and face Tavers. “He put those fucking marks on her. It was him the whole time.” He nods, already coming to the same conclusion. “A rookie found the fax buried underneath a stack of papers at the precinct,” Captain tells me as I grab my keys. “He phoned me as soon as he found it. We tried to call you, but you weren’t answering.” Rage and guilt simultaneously hit my chest, knowing time was wasted because I didn’t answer my phone. “I called Tavers, and we booked it over here to get you.” “Let’s go.” We walk out my door, and I don’t take the time to lock up as my need to get to Doe drives me. We’re back to square one with her. We have no

idea who she is, and what relation she is to Clem Stewart, but I know in my gut she’s in trouble, and he’s at the root of it. Heaven help him if he’s laid one finger on her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Rebecca

SUNDAY SUFFOCATING . My eyes pop wide as the air is cut off. My aching lungs burn with the desperation to breathe. Fingers claw at the tightness in my neck, getting tangled in the masses of my brown hair. I suffer, desperate to live even as I live only to suffer. Niko, save me. My thoughts turn bleak as a blackness coats my vision like an oily paint. The only sound I hear is the galloping drum of my own heart and the rustling

of the sheets as I thrash around in an ugly dance for survival. A monster is near, and he’s here to take and take and take. The shadow man. “Rebecca.” I wake with a start. Fingers curled along the wrought iron footboard, my uncle peers over me with a harsh look of worry coloring his face. “You were having a nightmare,” he croaks. As if I didn’t already know that by the turbulent way I was thrown from my dreams. “Why are you in here?” I whimper, still half in the clutches of my sleep. Reality tips and skews at this hour, and making sense of it becomes nearly impossible. “Your screaming woke me. I wanted to make sure you were okay. I-I...” He stops, rubbing the back of his neck and dropping his chin to his chest. “I know you don’t remember me, but you loved me. You used to love me,” he pleads. “I pray that you’ll remember because every moment you look at me with vacant eyes guts me.” “I-I’m sorry.” He shakes his head sadly. “Don’t be. I’m the one who’s sorry. I never protected you the way I should’ve. If it weren’t for me …” He looks away as if in pain and lets out a grunt. “Someday, we’ll get past this, and everything will go back to the way

it should be.” The lingering nightmare terrifies me, intensified by the darkness of the room. And even through that fear, and that of the unknown and newness of my situation, I can’t help but feel a nagging sympathy for my uncle. For what he went through missing me. Because he did miss me. It’s written all over his features and in the adoration of which he gazes down at me. I want him to leave me alone, so I give him what feels like a small piece of me in order to make him go. “I want that too.” With a small grin, he hikes up his pants at the waistband and turns from the bed. “Sleep well, Rebecca.”

THURSDAY I LOOK DOWN AT THE PHONE IN MY HAND AND Niko’s last text. If you need to talk afterward, call or message me. With fumbling fingers, I punch out the words, I will. My fingers tighten around the small phone and I hold it to my chest as if the move will bring me closer to Niko. Someday, I hope to be able to type as fast as he can, and we can have entire

conversations with only our fingertips. It’s strange to write words and somehow the phone magically sends those words to someone else. That this is how people communicate. I know I’m quiet and don’t have a lot to say most of the time, but I’d still rather talk. I’d rather pick up the phone and call Niko, if only for his voice to comfort me. This place is strange. My—uncle—is strange. He’s nice enough and cares for me, making sure I’m eating and not sleeping all the time, but I don’t feel a familial connection to him. Though, Niko said that could take time. That hopefully my memory will return now that I’m back home. I hope it happens soon. With every hour that ticks past, I begin to feel more and more alone. A knock sounds on my bedroom door. I jump, the phone falling from my fingertips to the carpet, and I gasp out loud. “Rebecca? Can I enter?” I appreciate him giving me the option to say no. And I have. The first night here, I told him no when he asked that same question. He told me not to be afraid, and that he was there if I needed him. When I didn’t respond, he whispered, “Sleep well,” and left me alone. Except he didn’t completely. That night, I dreamed of the shadow man, and when I awoke from the nightmare, my uncle was in my room. He said he heard me and came to check

on me. And while that’s nice, I wish he hadn’t. I don’t like knowing he was in here while I was asleep. Even if only for a few minutes and even if he was unsure of what to do and simply wanted to watch over me. It unsettles me. “Okay,” I reply, raising my voice slightly but hardly at a normal decibel. The door creaks open, causing the hairs on my arms to stand on end. Inch by inch, the barrier separating us moves out of the way until he’s suddenly there, smiling at me. “Dinner is ready. It’s late because I was waiting for you to come down. You didn’t, so I’m here asking you to come down.” “Oh, thank you, but I don’t think—” “For four days...” My uncle pauses and curls his hand into a fist. His shoulders visibly rise and fall with the force of his deep breath. “I’ve left you alone. You can’t hide in here forever. I know you don’t remember, but life used to be hard for you. I let you get away with so much when I should have been helping you heal. This time, I refuse. You will join me for dinner or else I’ll be calling your therapist for an emergency appointment because this isn’t healthy.” He didn’t raise his voice to me, but the effect is all the same. Fear slithers through my veins and stays there. I begin trembling so hard that he

notices. He takes a step forward. “No!” I shout. He stops advancing. “I-I’ll join you. I need a moment to get dressed.” His eyes drop to my pajama-clad body, and that fear intensifies. I don’t know why because he isn’t leering at me. I guess I’m just not comfortable with him yet. As soon as I agree, he visibly relaxes. “Thank you, Rebecca.” I respond with a jerky nod. He walks to the door, gives me one last, long look, and then he’s gone, pulling the knob to close it behind him. Scrambling from the bed, I fall to my knees. Pain radiates up my thighs. Ignoring it, I find my phone, open a text to Niko, and start to type. Can you come here? My fingers shake as I hover over the send button. Instead, I delete my desperate words. I can do this on my own. I have to do this. There’s no going back to Niko. No escaping my uncle. He’s the only family I have, so the least I can do is give him a chance. I quickly dress in a long-sleeved shirt and pair of jeans. Tucking the phone into my back pocket, I make my way to the kitchen. My uncle is already seated at the four-person table in the breakfast nook. I join him, sitting on the opposite side. A spread of pancakes, eggs, and bacon is laid out

along with a bowl of cut fruit. Breakfast for dinner? Seems like an odd choice. I start dishing my plate in silence. I feel his eyes watching me, so I add a second scoop of fruit to my plate, knowing he’s judging the amount of food I’m eating. His concern is in the right place. He’s also being way more watchful than Niko ever was. “Thank you for the food. This looks good.” As I say the words, my stomach lets out an almighty growl. “I’m glad you’re hungry and not sneaking to the refrigerator when I’m not around. There’s plenty.” He shovels his own forkful of food into his mouth, and we begin eating in silence. Halfway through, after spending the entire time coming up with a conversation topic, I settle on a question. “Do you… I mean, we, have a garden?” The slice of bacon headed for his greasy lips pauses in midair. He sets it down and wipes his mouth with a napkin then wads the used paper in his fist. “No. But I’m long overdue for some yard maintenance. After I clean up the overgrown weeds and mow, you could help me find a good spot to start one.” “I’d like that. The detective showed me his while I was there. It was nice to be out in the sun,” I share honestly. “I don’t remember that feeling. I

mean, I don’t really remember anything from my past as far as memories go.” He grunts. “You didn’t spend much time outside growing up. Even less the older you got. I’d be happy to start a garden for you. I’ll get some supplies after breakfast. Tomorrow, we can begin.” For the first time since I got here, I feel a twinge of happiness. “Really?” He smirks. “Really. It’ll be nice having you do some domesticated tasks.” Suddenly, I’m no longer hungry. His comment sits like a lead weight in my stomach, and all the food I consumed threatens to come up. Domesticated. As if I’ve been tamed. I desperately want to escape to my room, but I force myself to stay put. I need to make an effort. All thoughts point to getting out of here except I have no place to go. A thought strikes me so hard, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner. Immediately, I pull my phone from my pocket and start tapping out a message to Niko. “Are you talking to that detective again?” my uncle asks, an obvious dislike in his voice. The phone lands with a clatter on the table when it slips from my fingertips. “Y-yes.” His eyes drift to my phone before slicing to my face. “I’d rather you didn’t. Let’s move on from

this, Rebecca.” “But why? He helped me,” I mumble. My uncle sighs. “He did, yes. I didn’t like the way he went about it, though. If he had listened to me in the first place, I would have had you back weeks ago.” “What?” This was news to me. He picks up his plate and takes it to the sink, so I do the same as I wait for his response. He rinses his dish then sets it down on the clean countertop. “I told him who you were the first day you were picked up. He claimed I didn’t know what my own niece looked like, and that we had to wait for the DNA results. It didn’t help that you couldn’t remember anything.” He glances at me with almost a cold look in his eye as if that were somehow my fault. “I’m sorry,” I whisper and drop my gaze to the floor. Why would Niko do that? And keep that information from me? I look back at my uncle when he gently tugs my dirty plate from my hands. “It’s not your fault. And even though Detective James eventually brought you back to me, I can’t deny I’ve formed a slight dislike of the man for how he spoke to me. So I wish you’d stop speaking with him. At least give us time to figure out our relationship. If your memories never come back…” He looks away and swallows hard. “They will,” I force out. They have to.

Bypassing me, he walks to the table and stacks the dirty dishes. “What did you need to speak to Detective James about?” “Oh, I, um, I had an idea.” He stumbles slightly as the toe of his boot catches on the linoleum floor. “Oh? Share it with me.” “I thought I could get a job.” “No.” His answer is sharp and swift. I inhale harshly at the finality of it. “It’s too soon.” “Okay,” I mutter meekly. He sighs. “Let’s wait until you see your therapist some more. She can direct you on what’s best for your healing process.” “I just thought if I made some money, I could work toward getting my own place.” “Your own place? What’s wrong with my house?” He throws his arm wide in a gesture. I can’t say anything right by him. My words seem to offend him even when I’m trying to be helpful. “I-I thought it’s the r-right thing to do. I’m an adult, right? I can’t live with you forever.” His eyes widen, and his nostrils flare. “I just got you back. Did the detective feed you this line of crap?” “No.” I begin to tremble, so I take a step backward for some space. He’s frightening me. “I th-think I’m going to go to bed.” “Rebecca…”

“Night,” I bid him and scamper from the room. As quickly as I can, I shed my clothes and pull on a pair of pajama pants and a shirt. I’ll have to do laundry soon as all I have left are the nightgowns Niko brought me in the hospital. I dash beneath the covers and turn out the bedside lamp, bathing the room in total darkness. I wish I had a nightlight. Slinking out of the side of the bed, I walk to the window and fumble in the dark for the strings to the shade. Every second out of bed makes my scalp prickle. Squeezing my eyes shut against the blackness of the room, I almost cry in relief when I finally locate the string and pull. Moonlight glows through the now open window and adds minor visibility to the pitch dark. I dive back beneath the covers, pulling them up to my chin, and listen for the sounds of my uncle moving around. Floorboards creak in the hall, his footsteps moving closer and closer until they pause just outside my door. I feel my eyes widen, trying to take in every dark crevice, every dark shadow. The floorboards shift, and minutely I hear, “Sleep well,” before the sound of his footsteps move toward his bedroom. If only Betsy were here with her comforting bodyweight and her soft fur I could slide my fingers into. Instead, I lie awake for hours with my eyes trained on the black ceiling and my ears straining to

decipher every sound. Eventually, exhaustion and a full belly for the first time in days gives way to sleep and I’m pulled into fitful dreams.

FRIDAY I TRY TO DO BETTER TODAY. I comb my hair and get dressed as soon as I’m awake instead of lying in bed and sneak to the kitchen. Niko didn’t get to teach me too much, but I know how to cook a little, so I begin to fry bacon and chop veggies for omelets. The leftover fruit from last night is in a bowl in the fridge, so I grab that and set it on the table with plates and silverware. I’m just flipping the first omelet when my uncle walks in. “What do we have here?” He grins at me and walks to the coffeepot I forgot to start. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you liked coffee,” I begin, but he cuts me off. “It’s okay, Rebecca. I’m just glad to see you up this early. The breakfast is a bonus.” I go back to flipping the omelet. “Did you sleep well?” “Yes.” I move the first omelet to a plate and hand it off to him.

“Thank you. This looks delicious.” When his eyes linger on me a moment too long, I start putting together the second omelet. “Will you get garden supplies today?” I ask boldly, hoping that my quick exit last night didn’t ruin my opportunity for my new hobby. I loved gardening at Niko’s, and if I’m going to be living here now, I’d love to have something to do. He looks out the window across the table from his chair. “It looks like rain today. I might get the supplies, but we’ll have to wait until it stops to get started.” I plate my own food, grab a glass of milk, and walk to the chair I sat in last night. “You can sit closer, you know. I don’t bite.” A shudder runs down my spine. “I’m okay here.” We continue to eat our food in silence. As soon as my uncle finishes, he rinses his plate and grabs his keys. “If I go quick, we might be able to get started before the rain comes.” “Okay. I’ll clean up here.” He pauses in grabbing his keys from the counter. “Are you sure you’ll be okay alone?” Nervousness colors his tone. “Maybe you should come with.” “I’ll be fine. I woke up pretty early, so I might just take a nap.”

He gives me a nod, and then he’s gone. I go about finishing my food and then do the dishes. As I’m wiping the table clean, the exhaustion hits and I decide to take that nap. I drop the damp rag off at the sink and walk back into my bedroom. “Rebecca? Rebecca!” My uncle’s shouting wakes me from a dreamless sleep. It must not have been a very deep one because I wake feeling tired instead of refreshed. His rushed footsteps sound near my door before a panicked knock rings out. “Rebecca, are you in there?” “Yes. I’m waking up.” A pause. “I got some supplies if you want to come out back.” “I’ll be right there.” The sound of his footsteps retreating slow my heartbeat, and I climb out of bed. My uncle didn’t do a bad job of gathering supplies for my gardening. I can tell he tried to make me happy. He bought paving stones for the outline to delineate it from the rest of the yard. Bags of soil and various flowers lined the garage when I stepped outside. It was nice. It just wasn’t the same as going to the nursery with Niko. But I would make do with what I had. It took hours to prep the area, mostly because he had to mow the grass around it first so we weren’t working in the weeds. We dug out the

perimeter and set the stones. All that took hours before I could even begin the fun of gardening. By the time it starts to rain, it’s well past five o’clock in the evening. My uncle calls for me to head inside, and he’ll finish putting everything away, so that’s what I do. Once in the dry warmth of the house, I think about texting Niko and telling him about the garden. It’s because of him, after all, that I enjoy the hobby. I reach in my back pocket for my phone, but it’s not there. I pat the other one but also come up empty. What did I do with it? The bedside table is empty except for the lamp, the clock, and the crossword book Niko gave me. The bed is made, and the dresser only holds my toiletry items. Dropping to my knees, I check beneath the bed and table but come up empty. I rack my brain as I walk out into the living room and scan the surfaces there. Besides the television remote and a few magazines, the tables are empty. I remember having it last night and texting Niko before my uncle called me to dinner. And I took it with me to the table. But I don’t remember what I did with it after that. Absentmindedly, I walk into the kitchen and check all the surfaces there, coming up empty. As I’m looking on top of the microwave, my uncle returns from putting the gardening things away in

the garage. His shirt is soaking wet and slightly clinging to his paunchy frame. “Looking for something?” Remembering his slight outburst last night at the mention of Niko, I don’t want to bring it up. But at the same time, if I don’t, I may never find it. “Have you seen my cell phone?” His brows furrow, and his eyes drift as if he’s searching his memory. “No, I haven’t. You had it at dinner last night. Did you take it to bed with you?” He slides off his wet shoes and tosses his keys on the counter where they slide to the middle before coming to a halt. “Maybe. I’ll go check my room again.” As I turn to leave, he calls after me. “Do you want some dinner first?” I spin back around and find him regarding me gently with his hands on his hips. “I think I’m tired. I’m going to take a bath and get ready for bed.” “You should eat. You did a lot of work today.” His eyes scan my dirt-clad body. “I’m still full from breakfast,” I lie. I’m just desperate to be alone. And find my phone. He clears his throat and walks to the fridge. “If you change your mind, I’ll leave some leftovers for you.” “Thank you,” I mumble and slip off to my room. My hands shake as I close my door gently and

drop to my knees again in search of my phone. Why can’t I find it? What did I do with it? And then the painful thought of what will I do if I never find it? Will my uncle get me a new one? Even if he does, I don’t remember Niko’s phone number. I’ll have to see him, but in order to do that, I need to text him. Oh, no. Tears spill down my cheeks. I hastily wipe them with the back of my hand. I’m sure it’ll turn up, but the thought of not being connected to Niko, even for a night, is killing me. I need to keep moving forward, and maybe tomorrow I’ll find it. It’s with that thought that I gather my pajamas. A mint green nightgown is the only thing clean since I spent all day gardening and not asking for help doing laundry. I’m too used to Niko just knowing what I need and helping me, rather than having to ask for help. I add that to my list of things to work on and discuss with my therapist. My therapist! I forgot to see my therapist! With my pajamas in my arms, I throw open my door and deposit them in the bathroom before running to the kitchen. My uncle’s face pales as he sees me barreling toward him, but he doesn’t make a move away from the stove where he’s stirring something in a pot. “I forgot my appointment today!” At my words, he visibly relaxes on the spot. “Ah, shit, Rebecca, I’m sorry. I’ll call right now

and reschedule.” My shoulders slump. “Thank you.” “Don’t worry about it. It’s just one appointment. We’ll get you back on track.” I bid him good night for the second time and wander back down the hall for my muchanticipated bath. And after soaking for an extra-long time in the tub, I put on my nightgown and crawl into bed. I’m thrown awake by a noise. I lie still, nearly holding my breath, straining to hear it again. A creak. Something shifts. A scrape of metal on metal. A groan. Then a barely audible whisper. “Lelu.” Like a dam breaking, images flood my head. My pulse races so hard I swear he can hear it. I force myself to lie still as long suppressed memories come spilling back in. I’m tossed back in time to a little girl walking the streets alone. She missed the bus, or it never came to get her. Either way, she was forced to walk to school. A white car pulls up. A man she recognizes leans out and says, “Do you need a ride to school?” “No,” she replies, smiling back but continuing to move forward.

The man frowns and pulls ahead, only to stop the car and get out. Then darkness swallowed my vision. A forest takes the place of my dark room. The smell of pine and damp earth assaults my senses. My lungs scream in pain as I huffed shallow breaths in and out. The uneven forest floor tore up the soles of my feet as I moved swiftly through the unmarked path. I was running. Running without a sense of direction. Running for my life. I didn’t know if I was being chased, but I knew if I stopped moving, I’d wind up dead. Just like her. The image shapes and morphs again, this time into something less frightening. A boy. I’m a woman now, but at the time of the memory, he was around my age. With brown, messy hair and kind eyes that looked at me with fear and concern wrapped into one as he ran into my bedroom and dropped to his knees in front of me. “North,” he whispered before reaching up and taking my hand into his. “Please talk to me.” Another groan sounds, pulling me from the memories. Fear wraps around me like a weighted blanket, threatening to keep me here forever. But the face of the boy from my memories gives me the strength I desperately need. I refuse to go down without a fight. It’s time for me to take back what’s mine, once and for all.

Or die trying. Another, “Lelu,” slips from his lips on a disgusting moan, and it’s then I realize he must be touching himself over my bed. The thought sickens me at the same time it spurs me into action. Carefully, I slip my hand over my head and wrap my fingers around the lamp on the bedside table. I swallow the vomit as I wait until his grunts get a little louder. Taking a deep breath, I scream, jackknife up into a sitting position, and launch the lamp in the direction of his head. “Fuck!” He roars like the monster he is as I scramble from the bed and fly out into the hall. My socks slip on the hardwood as I round the corner into the living room. His heavy steps thunder behind me, sending terror flooding through my veins. I race to the front door and grip the handle but find it locked. I get the deadbolt flipped. My fingers shake so hard I can’t get a grip on the small metal piece inside the handle. My blood whooshes through my ears, and I can feel him getting closer. Just as I get the piece twisted and turn the handle, I’m yanked back by a crushing grip on my bicep. I cry out in pain as I’m jerked backward, my head twisting to see the murderous look on Mr. Stewart’s face. “Never again!” he bellows as he twists around and backhands me straight across the face. My lips

splits against my teeth and blood fills my mouth. I crash backward into the wall of the foyer and land in a heap on the floor. Mr. Stewart advances toward me with his pants still around his thighs, evidence of my earlier thought he was masturbating over me. I try to push away from the wall and stand, but he climbs on top and forces me back down so I’m bent at an odd angle against the wall. My neck screams in pain with the weight of him putting pressure on my neck. Without warning, he starts rutting against me as bile rushes up my throat. His hard, vile erection presses against my lower stomach. I twist and turn to get away from him, but the struggle seems to spur him on. “You’re mine,” he sneers as droplets of spittle land on my face. Abruptly, he stands, grabs my ankles, and drags me farther away from the wall. I thrash and kick, but it’s no use when he has both of my ankles in his grasp. He drags me a good twenty feet from the door before flipping me over onto my stomach. His abhorrent fingers begin yanking up the sides of my nightgown and all the blood in my body runs cold. “No,” I scream, horrified. “Yes,” he pants gleefully. He digs an elbow into the center of my spine, causing me to flatten, and his hot, disgusting breath fans across my neck. “I’m going to take my time with you, and I’m going to

fucking enjoy it, my Lelu.” He grinds against my backside, and this time, I can’t choke back the vomit. I cough and sputter, dragging welcome air into my lungs and then the unthinkable happens. The door to the house slams open against the wall, and a voice I not only recognize, but am desperate to hear, bellows, “Stewart!” Half a second later, Niko’s eyes zero in on the two of us wrestling on the floor and a look of pure, white-hot rage covers his face. He takes two giant steps before the audible crunch of his fist connecting with Mr. Stewart’s face resounds around the room. The weight of him topples off me, and my lungs expand with a much-needed breath. Then Niko is there, hauling me off the floor and into his arms. “Doe,” he chokes out. Taking one look at my vomit-covered pajamas, he yanks off his coat and wraps it around me as other people filter into the room. “I’m so fucking sorry, Doe.” My teeth chatter loudly as the shakes begin, and his eyes do a scan of my face. When he reaches my split lip and the blood on my chin, he lets out a howl of rage. “Goddammit!” “Niko.” I reach out and grab his face as he looks away, his face a mask of painful regret. I don’t want to go another minute like this, so I turn his attention back to me.

“I’m so sorry.” He tries again, but I put pressure on either side of his face to silence him. “I remember, Niko.” His much larger hand covers mine. “I know you do. I’m so sorry I left you with this monster,” he apologizes, misunderstanding what I’m trying to say. “No, Niko. I remember everything,” I emphasize, watching the confusion steal over his face. “I remember you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Niko “I’ M AISLIN .” I stand there frozen, in shock, and stare down at the girl in my arms clutching my shirt, desperately wanting to believe the words she just spoke but not daring to. It will destroy me if they aren’t true. It’ll shatter the little bit of sanity I have left and will leave me in pieces. Pieces I know with every part of me will never be put back together. After all these years of searching for her; all the sweat, blood, tears, and broken relationships; the time, effort, frustration, and hopelessness. For her to be standing in front of me right now… It can’t be true. It can’t, but I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. “No!” I snarl and watch her flinch. I want to

feel bad, and a part of me does, but what she’s saying is incomprehensible. How could she be so cruel? What gives her the right to think she can give me the one thing I want most in the world, only to snatch it away when the truth comes out? “I remember,” she rasps. “I remember you. The treehouse. The drawing you made me for my birthday. You saving me from the bullies.” She looks down at the bracelet then at the one on my wrist, before lifting her eyes back to me. “The bracelet I gave you that last Christmas.” Her eyes turn frightful, and her voice trembles when she continues. “I remember the bus not coming. I remember being taken.” Her eyes fill with tears. “Please, Niko. Please believe me.” My heart stops as her words hit me. My eyes take her in. Blood drips from the corner of her mouth and purple is starting to form above her eye. It sends my blood boiling. The scars on her forehead and cheeks have my vision going red, knowing the guy on the floor writhing in pain and is currently being handcuffed is the cause behind them. I force myself to look past her injuries. Green eyes stare up at me. Bright green, the same green I looked at so many times when I was a child. My chest tightens. High eyebrow arches. Even as a child, my mother used to say she had beautifully arched eyebrows. My breath gets stuck in my throat.

Brown hair. It’s different than it was before, darker, but looking closer, I see the same natural golden highlights. My vision blurs, and my hands grip the girl in my arms tighter. My eyes move to the hair hanging over her shoulder. I want to push it aside, but I’m scared. I’m terrified it’ll reveal the truth. A truth that will set me free and a truth that will break me. “Niko,” she whispers, the sound coming out hoarse and broken. I want to say her name. I want to breathe it and watch her eyes as I do so. I want to shout it to the sky and demand how God could be so cruel. Can it be true? Can everything I’ve done for the past fifteen years of my life all come down to this? To be centered around this one girl? A girl I’ve known for all of a few weeks? To have her in my clasp and not realize who she is? Tears gather in my eyes, and I don’t have the willpower to push them away. “A-Aislin?” I croak out. “I remember, Niko. I remember,” she says raggedly, her eyes wide as if she’s having a hard time believing it herself. My knees become too weak to hold me up, and I drag her down with me to the floor. Aislin… I drag Aislin down with me. My ass hits the ground, but I make sure she’s not jarred by the impact. I sit with my legs spread wide, knees bent, with Aislin

on her knees between them. She still looks uncertain. My hand shakes, and she watches me as I reach out slowly. My fingers touch her hair, and it feels so soft. My gaze locks on her left ear, and I swallow thickly when I push her hair back. Without asking, she tilts her head to the side, knowing what I’m looking for. It takes me a minute to gather the courage to lean forward. When I do, every single ounce of air in my lungs whoosh out in a painful rush at the birthmark I see. My finger gently rubs across the raised star. My eyes fly back to hers. “How is this possible?” More tears leak from her eyes, and she says. “I don’t know.” Not able to hold back any longer, and praying so fucking much she doesn’t pull away from me, I yank her into my arms. Her body stiffens slightly but then relaxes. I know she’s been through a lot, and even though she’s Aislin and she knows me better than anyone, her abhorrence to touch hasn’t changed, I’m sure. But I can’t not hold her right now. I need it more than I need my next breath. To have her here, my arms wrapped around her and feel her heart beat against my own, is more than I ever thought was possible. She was dead, gone from this world, my light forever extinguished and leaving me in pitch dark.

I bury my face in her hair and breathe in deeply. Tears fall freely from my eyes and soak her shirt as I cry every bit of tears I’ve forced back over the years. She’s here. She’s really fucking here. “You never forgot me,” she cries into my shoulder. “You never forgot me, Niko.” “Never,” I growl roughly. As lights flash around us and orders are barked from one person to another, we both sit on the floor in each other’s arms and let out all the pain we both felt for so long.

I T’ S STILL HARD TO BELIEVE AISLIN IS SITTING BESIDE me right now. My Aislin. The girl who’s consumed my mind for years. It’s surreal but feels so fucking good. Her chair is as close as it can be to mine, and we clutch our hands together tightly. I have no plans to release it anytime soon. Even if I did, I don’t think she would let me. She’s been glued to my side since we left Mr. Stewart’s house three hours ago. When we first got to the precinct, Captain wanted to talk with me privately, but the fearful look in Aislin’s—it still feels weird using that name for her—eyes told me that wasn’t happening. I refuse to put her through anything more at the

moment. I told him we would talk later. He took one look at Aislin himself and relented. Both Captain and Tavers’ faces still hold disbelief each time they look at Aislin, and I don’t blame them. Part of me is still in denial, but I know deep in my gut it’s true. I just don’t understand why I didn’t realize it before. She looks different than she did at thirteen, but parts of her are the same. I want to slit my own throat for not seeing it before. The many scars marking her face are what hid her from me at first, but now, when I look at her, past the scars, I see her. I see my North. “I really wish you would go to the hospital,” I murmur. She faces me, the small cut on her lip now clean. It angers me beyond measure every time I look at it. “I’m fine, Niko. He never…” She pulls in a breath. “He never touched me except for the one hit.” I don’t like it. I want her looked over, but I hold my tongue for the time being. My body tenses when Tavers and Captain walk into the conference room. The look on their faces tells me whatever they have to say won’t be good. Aislin stiffens beside me. She sees it as well. When Tavers eyes move to her, they soften with sympathy. “There a few questions I want to ask… Aislin.”

Captain says her name hesitantly as if it’s hard for him to get out. It’s hard for me to say her name too. Her hand tightens in mine, and I’m about to tell Captain that it can wait, but her hushed voice stops me. “What do you want to know?” Captain’s eyes move to mine, and I look at Aislin. “Are you sure?” Aislin hasn’t been questioned yet as to what she actually remembers. She’s told me she doesn’t remember everything, but she does remember the kidnapping and bits and pieces of her life before and during. I don’t want to add to her pain, but I need to know. I need to know every single detail she has to give of everything she went through. It’s going to kill me to hear it, but it’s nothing more than I deserve for not saving her in time, for not recognizing her from the moment she came back into my life. We still don’t know if Clem Stewart had Aislin this whole time, and it’s eating up my nerves not having those answers. Captain and Tavers have been in there the past couple of hours interrogating him. The last I heard, the crime scene investigators are still combing his house. “Just stay with me. Hold my hand and don’t let go,” she says softly. “The hounds of hell couldn’t pull me away.” I look back at Captain and nod. He sets a

notepad down on the table and takes a seat. Tavers remains standing at the end of the table. I glance at him and see hard eyes staring back at me. It ratchets up my own anger. “You need to stay calm, Niko,” Tavers says. “What you’re about to hear is going to be hard.” I give him a tight nod and strengthen my fingers around Aislin’s. “Do you know who took you?” Captain asks his first question, and I brace for the answer. “I-I think I remember.” Her eyes narrow in thought. “It was Mr. C, wasn’t it?” Captain frowns, looks at me, and then back at Aislin. “Mr. C? Who’s Mr. C, Aislin?” It only takes a split second to recognize the name. I haven’t heard it in years, but I know Aislin’s file by heart. Mr. C. AKA Clay Campbell, our fucking bus driver. One of the six initial suspects who was cleared when his alibi came through. “How in the fuck is that possible? That man in there is Clem Stewart.” I point toward the holding cell through the wall. “I ran his license myself,” I growl, my stiff body leaning into the table. It’s only Aislin’s hand that keeps me rooted in my spot and not going after the fucker. Captain’s eyes flicker to me. “He changed his name six months after he took Aislin. Two months after that, once the school year was over and the

name change was complete, he quit his job.” I swear smoke must be coming from my ears. That’s how much rage I feel at the moment. This whole fucking time, it was our childhood bus driver. I think back to my memories of him. He had blond hair back then and weighed about fifty pounds more than he does now. He looks different, but his eyes… His eyes are the same. “Do you remember what happened that day, Aislin?” Captain’s question pulls me back to the present. She shudders beside me. “I w-was walking to school because the bus never came. Mr. C stopped and started talking to me. I remember thinking it was strange to see him in a car instead of the bus. He asked if I wanted a ride to school, and I told him no. He got out of the car, smiling, and said he wanted to show me something. Before I knew what happened, there was a pain in my head, and then everything went black.” Captain’s lips are in a straight line as he writes down everything Aislin tells him. My own body vibrates with anger. I want nothing more than to storm into his cell and beat the man until he stops breathing. The one punch I got in back at his house wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy me. I want to destroy him, rip him apart piece by piece. “Do you remember what color the car was?” “I think it was white.”

“A white Honda Civic was found under a tarp behind his house.” Tavers’ quiet statement has me turning my head his direction. “Brown hair was found in the trunk. The samples have been sent to forensics, but I’m pretty confident they’ll come back as Aislin’s.” I give a sharp nod in acknowledgment. “Did he ever say anything to you? Tell you why he took you?” She frowns again, as if trying to think back to her time with him. I clench my teeth because I know this is hard on her. All her scars… they came from him and her time there. I wish I could wipe those memories away, but we still need them right now. She shakes her head. “No,” she answers with a tremble. “He never said why.” Captain nods, scribbles on the pad for a few more seconds, and then places the pen down. He looks at me. “There’s something you need to see, but I’m not sure if Aislin should. It may be too much for her.” “No,” she states vehemently. “I want to see too. As long as I have Niko with me, I’ll be okay.” I turn to her and tilt my head down so our faces are only a few inches apart. The old Aislin from my childhood shines through in the stubborn tilt of her chin. “Aislin,” I call her name gently. “I know this

can’t be easy on you. Tavers will stay in here with you while I go.” She shakes her head before I get the words out. “I need to know. Please. I need to know why this was done to me.” My eyes flicker back and forth between hers, looking for any signs this isn’t a good idea. I know it isn’t, but I recognize her need to understand why her life was torn away from her. She was tortured for years; she deserves to know the truth. “Okay, but if for one moment it gets to be too much, tell me and I’ll take you away. Promise me.” The breath she pulls in is shaky, but she nods, furthering my belief that she’s one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. Captain leads us out of the conference room with Tavers taking up our rear. Our hands stay locked together as we’re led to another smaller conference room. A small TV sits on a stand by the table with the remote on top. Several books are on the table as well. Captain gestures for us to sit in a position where we can see the TV, and then he grabs the remote. Captain’s concerned eyes move to Aislin. “Are you sure?” “Yes, Captain Morgan. Please just play it.” Giving a firm nod, he presses a button, and the screen turns on. It’s static at first, and then the interrogation room comes across the screen. My

anger meter goes from a simmer to boiling when I see Mr. Stewart on the screen with Captain sitting across from him. I note Tavers in the background leaning against the wall. “Why did you take Aislin, Mr. Stewart?” Captain asks on the screen. Mr. Stewart lifts his head. “Because she’s mine,” he states, his voice hard. “Why do you think she’s yours?” He shifts in his seat. “She just is. I made her, so she’s mine.” He snarls the word mine, and even on the screen I see the spit flying from his mouth. I frown, not understanding his statement. “What do you mean, you made her?” Mr. Stewart leans over the table like he’s telling a secret, his cufflinks clanging against the metal. His voice is low, but what he says echoes across the room and leaves my stomach turning over. “Me and Momma made her. She’s my baby. Her and Aaliyah are mine, so I took them. Momma made them go away, but I got them back. I got them back and loved them just like Momma always loved me.” He sits back in his chair, a frown pulling down his brows. “Aaliyah died. She got sick and died. My Lelu was the strong one and knew just how I wanted to love her.” His voice turns hard again. “She didn’t like it at first, but she learned real quick what happened if she was bad. Bad girls and boys get punished when they don’t do what

their parents say. I taught Lelu just how to please me. I taught her how to—” “Stop!” Aislin shouts beside me. “Oh God, please stop it.” The screen goes black, and I turn to face her. She has her eyes slammed shut with tears leaking out the corners. I scoot both of our chairs back and drop to my knees in front of her. Her whole body is shaking like a fucking leaf. “Aislin—” “There was another,” she interrupts me, opening her red-rimmed eyes. “T-there was another g-girl. In the room n-next to m-mine. I remember her. S-she would c-cry every d-day, and I could hear it through t-the wall.” She stops and grabs my hand in a painful grip. “I remember the day she stopped crying. I remember him yelling at her and hearing crunching sounds. That was the day I escaped.” “How?” I ask before Captain has a chance. “I-I started screaming at him th-through the wall to stop hurting her. I don’t k-know why. I nnever raised my v-voice. I never spoke t-to him unless I had to, b-but that day I did. H-he came into the r-room and s-started hitting me too. It hurt so bbad. I must have blacked out. W-when I came t-to, he was gone, and th-there was no more sscreaming. I got up to check on h-her, and she was gone. I n-noticed the door to my room was cracked

o-open. I guess he left it open, and I-I e-escaped.” Tears pour from her eyes, and her cries are hiccupping sobs. I pull her into my arms. “Shh… it’s okay, baby. Everything is okay now.” My eyes meet Tavers’ and Captain’s over Aislin’s shoulder. I let them know silently that she’s had enough. I pick up her trembling form, carry her from the room, and take her into the same room where I slept off my binge several weeks ago. She doesn’t say anything as I lay us both down on the small mattress. She’s exhausted—we both are—but I know we can’t go home yet. We need to get through more shit, but I refuse to have her go through more right now. She curls her body against mine, her sobs dying down, but her breath still coming in pants. The sound breaks my fucking heart. My hands rub up and down her back soothingly. When I think she’s asleep, I look down at her still form, only to find her beautiful green eyes staring up at me. “I tried so hard not to forget you,” she whispers croakily. “But the longer I was there, the more you went away. The things he did… no,” she interrupts my protest. “I need you to know. The things he did to me, they hurt, they hurt so much, but not as much as knowing I was forgetting something so very important.” “Oh, Aislin. I’m so sorry I didn’t find you.” Her finger touches my lips, silencing me.

“No, Niko.” She shakes her head, more tears sliding down her face. “I knew you were looking for me. I knew you would do anything to find me, but after a while, your memory started to fade. Maybe it was my body’s way of protecting me, taking away the one thing that would have made it more unbearable, knowing you were out there looking. Maybe it was God’s way of making me stronger, making me fight on my own so I wasn’t given false hope if there was a chance it would have ended… differently.” Her words tear me apart. Ending differently means ending with her dead. For months, that’s what I thought, that she was dead, and before that, I had no clue what had happened to her. There were endless possibilities, and I thought of them all, but it never crossed my mind that the sweet man from our bus was at the root of it all. The man we saw every day for years, the one who gave us candy in the morning, the one who smiled and wished us a good day, and the one who gave us cards on our birthdays. Even when his name showed up on the suspect list, I never, not once, believed it was him. I was a fucking idiot and should have known better. Over three-quarters of kidnappings are by family members or acquaintances of the family or child. I’m a detective; I fucking know the statistics. That’s what bothers me the most. We had the guy in our

clutches, and he got away. “You’re here now, and you’re safe,” I say through a thick throat. “And I swear to you, Aislin, no one will ever touch you again.” “I believe you.” Her words mean the world to me. She has no reason to trust me, no reason to believe a word I say, but she does. Her eyes tell me so. I watch her eyes as I run my hand along her cheek. I see vulnerability and fear from my touch linger in her eyes, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she closes her eyes and leans into my hand. I brush the hair away from her face, my gaze taking in her scars. I push away the ever-present anger caused by seeing them. The tips of my fingers meet the raised birthmark below her ear, and I close my eyes. I keep my fingers there, lightly rubbing my thumb over her damp cheek. “My North,” I whisper.

I’ M NOT SURE HOW MUCH TIME PASSES, BUT sometime later, I feel another presence in the room. I look down at Aislin and find her asleep. I lift my gaze to the doorway and see Tavers standing there. I kiss Aislin’s head before carefully lifting it and pulling my arm free. I don’t want to leave her, but I

need to talk to Tavers. I take one last look at her before leaving her sleeping on the bed. I stop just outside the door, pulling it closed halfway so Tavers and I don’t wake her. “We found journals,” he says, his jaw hard. “Years’ worth. There is some fucked-up shit in there, Niko. And it pretty much paints us a picture of everything that happened.” I shove my clenched fists into my pockets. “Tell me,” I demand. He takes a minute, his eyes moving to the partially closed door and then looking back at me. “The journals start twenty-six years ago.” He stops and eyes me closely. “Just fucking tell me, Tavers,” I growl. He nods stiffly. “They start with him telling a story about his mother molesting him. Every day for six months, there’s an entry. They’re graphic, giving minute-byminute details. There’s a three-month gap between the next entries. When they start again, it’s about his mother being pregnant. He was excited and couldn’t wait to be a father. The abuse continues, but seven months later, on July 22, 1989, the entries stop again for a month.” Fuck! That’s the day after Aislin’s birthday. A sick feeling churns in my stomach. He pulls in a breath and looks down at his shoes. When he looks up again, his eyes are colder

than I’ve ever seen them. “When they start back up again, he’s angry. Angry with the mother for taking away his babies. He goes into detail about what he wants to do to them. His sick perversions, the same things his mother did to him.” I push past the bile rising in my throat. From Tavers’ expression, it looks like he’s doing the same thing. “Wait. You said babies?” The look in his eyes tells me what I need to know. “Son of a bitch,” I mutter. “Fucking twins?” He nods and continues. “When he was searching for the birth certificate, that’s how he found out she had twins. The mother’s name was on the certificate, but no father was listed. He talks about looking for them. The details of the abuse from the mother are still there, but the focus of each entry is about his obsession in finding his babies.” “She couldn’t put the father’s name because it would implicate her as raping her child.” Tavers nods and continues. “He was enraged at his mother for keeping that secret from him, from keeping both of his babies from him. He searched for them for two years when he realized he couldn’t find them on his own. He took to torturing his mom for answers. His mother sold one of the twins for cash, and the sister, Natalie, stole the other and moved away. He talks about finding his sister and

how angry he was when she turned him away. Without Natalie’s knowledge, he visited the little girl often. Again, there were details on how he abused her and threatened the girl not to say anything. When she was ten, he took her. He had planned to wait until she was fourteen, the same age he was when his mother had the twins, he mentioned it being poetic, but moved up his plans when he found out his sister was leaving the country with the girl. It was the summer of ‘96 when he found Aislin.” I yank my hands from my pockets and turn away from Tavers. Propping my hands on the doorframe, I hang my head, my chest heaving up and down. A year after she moved in next door. I think back to that time and remember the following school year was when Mr. C started driving my bus. Fucking shit. I spin back around to Tavers. “If he was waiting for a specific age to take the sister, he would wait to take Aislin as well. Why grab her early?” “This is from his interview that you didn’t see, but it’s as simple as him coming upon her alone. His… sick needs got the better of him, and he acted. He did have an appointment that day that he made it to. He was on his way when he saw her walking to school. He knocked her out, put her in his trunk, and made it to his appointment in time.”

I clench my teeth. “He took a big chance of her not waking up and alerting people.” “I agree, but I think in his fucked-up mind, he was willing to take that chance or didn’t even think about that possibility. He had her in his sights for years and knew the day was approaching, so I think he just sort of snapped.” “What’s the sister’s name?” “Aaliyah.” “So Aislin was sold and had a twin,” I state. “Yes. Aislin was sold two days after she was born. Natalie stole Aaliyah two weeks after she came home from the hospital with the mother. She had a birthmark just like Aislin. That’s why we all thought the body from the woods, coupled with the matching DNA from being twins, was Aislin. In the journal, Mr. Stewart talks of him having the same birthmark on his shoulder blade. That’s how he confirmed Aaliyah was his, and once he saw Aislin, he knew she was the twin because they were identical. We’re running a DNA analysis to confirm.” He pauses for a moment then lowers his voice. “There’s more.” “What?” I bark. “Two bodies were found buried behind his house. They’ve been there years, but we’re guessing they are the sister and mother. Once he took both girls, he never mentions them again.”

I take a moment and pull in a deep breath. Barely contained rage runs through my system, and it takes everything in me not to find the twisted fucker and mutilate him. Once I’m reasonably in control, I look back at Tavers. “How in the fuck is all this possible? How in the hell did we miss so much when he was right under our noses all these years?” I ask heatedly. “You know the authorities never thought she was kidnapped, Niko. To them, there was no reason to search for her. Aaliyah was never reported missing. The rooms they were kept in weren’t on any blueprints. It took him years to modify the basement and build the rooms they were kept in; my guess is so people wouldn’t become suspicious if he was ever questioned or suspected. He was careful and had spent years planning. Don’t blame yourself for this. There’s no way you could have known. You were a kid when she was taken, and by the time you were able to look for clues yourself, too much time had passed.” I take in his words, but I don’t believe them. Not when the answers were right in front of our faces. I’ll always blame myself for not finding her. As a kid, there wasn’t much I could do, but once I became an adult and started working for the force, I was trained for cases such as these. It wasn’t enough, I wasn’t enough, and that will stay with me forever.

I turn my back to him and face the doorway. Through the dark room, I see Aislin lying on her side facing me. So much pain, so much lost time and heartache, all from a man with a sick sense of ownership and depraved thoughts of love. “One of the later journals states he knew who you were the whole time. When we took the case of his missing niece, he knew you were her childhood best friend and found it humorous that you were going to be the one who brought her back to him. He was also the one who shot up your yard that night. He knew Aislin was breaking in next door and went to grab her. She ran, and that’s when he took a shot.” “Jesus fucking Christ,” I snarl, my hand itching to hit something solid. “He was fucking playing us the whole damn time.” Tavers’ jaw clenches as he nods. “We also found a dog kennel in his garage and duct tape and rope in the trunk of his car.” “Fuck me. He was getting ready to move her.” The color drains from my face, knowing I was so close to losing her forever. Had he moved her, the chances of me finding her again, or finding her alive, were damn near nonexistent. “That’s what it looks like.” He steps beside me and peers into the room. “There’s something else you should know,” he says quietly. I don’t look at him, but instead keep my eyes on Aislin. How much

worse can it get? I tip my head up for him to continue. “He talks about her being pregnant. He only mentions it once, then nothing more, but he mentions being excited about her having his baby.” My fucking knees become weak, and I grab the doorframe to keep myself from falling. The groan that leaves my lips sounds like a wounded animal. I try so damn hard to pull in a breath, but it hurts too much. He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Take her home, Niko. There’s nothing more we can do tonight. I’ll let Capt know you’ll be back tomorrow. We’ll work at finding answers then.” My heart feels heavy, and my stomach is in knots as I walk into the room. I stand over Aislin for several moments, just looking at her, still having a hard time believing she’s lying here before me. Several minutes pass and she starts whimpering in her sleep. I drop to my knees at the side of the bed and lay my palm on her cheek. Her first reaction is a jerk, and her eyes snap open. Alarm blazes in her eyes before she realizes it’s me, and then they soften. It pleases me so fucking much that I give her comfort. Most women who’ve been through what she has would still be scared shitless of any man even if she had known him since her childhood. But I believe, since that first day in the hospital, she knew deep down she could trust me. That’s why she eventually let me in. That’s also

why I’ve felt a connection to her. I know that now. “Hey,” she says sleepily. “Do you want to go home?” I ask, stroking my thumb along her cheek. She yawns, and it’s so damn cute it makes my chest hurt. “Yes.” I stand and hold out my hand. She grabs it and together, hand in hand, we leave the room. I give a chin lift to Captain and Tavers across the room as we walk toward the exit. We’re just passing through the half door that separates the lobby from behind the counter when there’s a commotion across the room. “Lelu!” Aislin stiffens beside me, and I pull her closer to my side. I turn to face the handcuffed man who’s struggling between two officers. My eyes narrow. The fucking bastard has Aislin’s eyes although they look crazed right now. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. It takes every ounce of strength in my body to keep from going after him. The look in his eyes as he gazes at Aislin almost has me retching. “Lelu! Tell them you’re mine! Tell them, Lelu!” he shouts. My eyes move to Tavers, and he gives a short nod before stalking off across the room. He stands in front of Mr. Stewart, blocking his view of Aislin and me.

With my arm around her shoulders, I turn us around. “Let’s go,” I say, unable to keep the anger out of my voice. “Lelu,” he screams as I lead her out the door into the darkness of the night.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Niko I T’ S BEEN A WEEK SINCE THE TRUTH CAME OUT AND I got my Aislin back. Although it’s been the most painful and tense seven days of my life, it’s also been the best. Having Doe these past few weeks has been wonderful even if I’ve just recently admitted it to myself. Knowing Doe is Aislin, which means having both, is beyond anything I could have imagined. It’s been hard on us both. Watching her relive her memories over and over again and hearing her recount the parts she remembers and struggle with the parts she doesn’t is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. But my pain is nothing compared to hers. She was protected from those horrible years with Mr. Stewart by her memory

loss. Now that they are returning, it’s almost like she’s living them again. If I could take them away, even take them on myself, I would without hesitation. I would do anything to take away her pain. We’re in bed right now, and she’s fast asleep in my arms. I stare up at the ceiling as I think about the morning after everything went down. Aislin and I came back to my place. Not wanting her out of my sight, I was worried she would want to go next door, so it was a surprise when she asked to stay here… Betsy greets us the minute we walk in the door. Doe bends and throws her arms around the canine, burying her face in the hair on her neck. She murmurs quietly, so low I can’t make out what she says. When she lifts her head from the dog and looks up at me, tears are swimming in her eyes. A fierce pain pierces my chest. I hold my hand out to her. “Come on,” I grunt past the pain. “You need to get some sleep.” She grabs my hand, and I pull her to her feet. When I start leading her to the back door, she pulls me to a stop by my hand. “Do you think it would be okay if I stayed here tonight?” she asks timidly. My fingers tighten around hers with her uncertain question. The reason I moved her next door was because I didn’t want to scare her with

my nightmares. While I can’t know for sure, I have a feeling I won’t be having them anymore. Even so, I want to remind her of the risk. “And if I wake you having a nightmare?” She shakes her head. “I don’t care. I’m not ready to be away from you.” I nod because that’s all I can do. Her words leave my throat feeling tight. Having her in my arms while we sleep, knowing I’ll wake with her scent surrounding me, is something I didn’t realize I desperately wanted until just now. “Okay.” Her relieved smile has my own lips tipping up. I lead us away from the back door and down the hallway to my bedroom. I flip on the switch, and she stops just inside the doorway to look around. She hasn’t been in this room since that first night, and it was dark. I watch as she takes in the room. Her eyes dart from the massive king-size bed, to the small tables on either side, to the bay window that still carries the pillows Mom made years ago, to the chest of drawers and the small writing desk beside it. When her eyes land on the bed, I see her throat bob when she swallows. I move so I’m standing in front of her and take her hand in mine. “I can sleep in the spare room,” I inform her quietly.

She chews her bottom lip for a moment before she responds. “No. I want us both to sleep there.” She points her eyes to the bed. “If that’s what you want.” After she gives me a small nod, I release her hand and move to my chest of drawers. I pull out two pairs of sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt, and a V-neck for me. I hand one pair of sweats to her and the long sleeve. “Go get dressed. I’ll be here when you get done.” Once the bathroom door closes, I go to the hall bathroom and change, leaving the dirty clothes behind on the floor. I’m pulling back the covers on the bed when the door opens. I turn around to face her. She looks so small and uncertain standing there in my oversized clothes. I have to admit, though, I love seeing her in them. It warms something deep inside me. I hold out my hand. “Come here, North.” Her breath catches at the use of her nickname, but after a moment, she steps forward. She crawls into bed to the middle, and I follow. As soon as I’m settled, she scoots closer to me. My arm wraps around her middle, and her head rests on my chest with her hand tucked beneath her cheek. Her body isn’t tucked as close to mine as I would like, but she’s not really keeping much distance between us either. If it were up to me, there wouldn’t be a

spare inch of space between us, but I don’t want to do anything she’s not comfortable with. I let her settle as close as she wants. “Sleep, Aislin,” I murmur against the top of her head. “Good night, Niko,” she says back sleepily. Every night since then, she’s slept in my bed, and I’m not sure if I could have willingly had it any other way. To be honest, any time she’s not in the same room as I am, panic has my chest squeezing tight, afraid it was all a dream and she’s not really here. I told Capt that I was taking some time off, and he agreed without hesitation, but I know I’ll have to go back eventually. I’m already not looking forward to it, and I know it’ll be hard on us both. I called Tavers and had him ask Mindy if she wouldn’t mind coming by for the first few days to keep her company. She said she had plans to even before I asked. God, I love that woman. A couple of days after everything happened, Aislin asked about her mom. Even though I couldn’t stand the bitch for what she put Aislin through as a child, I still understand why Aislin wanted to find her. She’s her mother, and a child never forgets that. I had Tavers look into finding her, but apparently, the woman doesn’t want to be found because he’s had no luck. When I told Aislin the news, I expected her to be sad, but she wasn’t. There was no emotion in her at all.

I look down when Aislin whimpers and her legs move against mine restlessly. From the moonlight filtering through the window, I see the frown on her face. Her breaths come in pants, and her lips purse. This isn’t the first time she’s had a nightmare over the past week, and each one has my heart feeling like it’s being stabbed repeatedly with a dull knife. I put my hand on her cheek and tilt her face. “Aislin, baby, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” She whimpers again then her eyes snap open and immediately meet mine, just how I wanted them to. I wanted her to see me as soon as she woke, not the dark shadows that plague her dreams. Tears fill her eyes and slip down her cheeks, and I wonder how much pain a heart can take. “Tell me,” I say and wipe away the tears. Every night she has a nightmare, I ask her to tell me about them, hoping that when she does, it’ll help exorcise them from her mind. She buries her face in my chest, and her body heaves with her heavy crying. My own eye itched from wanting to cry, but I’m determined to be strong for her. I give her a moment, not wanting to push but desperately wanting to help her. Eventually, she lifts her head and gives me back her beautiful pain-filled eyes. “I had a b-baby,” she sobs. I close my eyes and pull in a breath before opening them again. Her eyes are on mine, but she’s not seeing me anymore.

“It w-was a boy. H-he died because he c-came too early. I h-had a baby, Niko.” Her eyes focus back on me, tears once again flooding down her cheeks. “And I never got to hold him. I never got to see him.” “Oh, Aislin, I’m so sorry.” I sit up in bed and take her with me. I put my back to the headboard, spread my legs, and pull her into my arms. Her arms go around my neck, and she almost squeezes the breath out of me. I don’t care. She can hold me as tight as she needs. I want her to take comfort from me. I need her to. I smoothly rub my hand up her back and let her cry out her sorrows for the baby she never got a chance to meet. The circumstances of his conception may have been horrifying, but it’s obvious that didn’t matter to her. She loved the child despite that, which makes her even more wonderful in my eyes because not all mothers would. “He took so much from me,” she says with a hiccup, her cries quieting down. “How can a person, a parent, do that to their own child?” “I don’t know. There’s no telling what goes through a person’s mind such as his. All I know is we’ll get through it together.” She lifts her head and peers up at me through watery eyes. “Thank you for finding me and for not giving up.”

I drop my forehead to hers, overcome with emotion, and I’m glad she doesn’t flinch or try to pull away. “Don’t thank me. Don’t ever thank me. I thought for a long time I failed you, that I didn’t find you when I always promised I would. You were my North Star, my beacon, and you still are. And I swear to you, Aislin, I’ll never lose you again.” The smile she gives me touches places inside me that I thought were long dead. They were just dormant, waiting on her return. I move us back down the bed, and we lie down again. She tucks herself back against me. The moonlight twinkles off the silver plastic bracelet on her wrist as her fingertips touch the one still around mine. Hers is in much better shape than mine is. “I took mine off that morning when I got in the shower and forgot to put it back on before I left for the bus,” she says softly, running her finger over the word Best. “When he took me, that was one of my biggest regrets; not having that bracelet with me.” My gut twists, and I have to clear my throat before I speak. “You have it now.” “I do.” Her head nods against my chest. “I can’t believe you kept yours this whole time,” she says with reverence. “I had to change the twine a couple of times because I outgrew it, but other than that, nothing

could make me take it off.” I lift my hand, and hers fall from the bracelet. Twisting my wrist, I twine our fingers together. “Will you take me to the treehouse tomorrow?” I smile in the darkness. “If you’d like.” “I would.” We turn quiet for a while, and then a question pops in my head. It’s something I’ve thought about a lot, as it’s the reason I went to visit her that first day in the hospital. I’ve asked her before, but I want to ask her again. “Do you remember why it was your house you came to when you first escaped?” Her fingers laced in mine tighten for a brief second before they loosen again. “I don’t know,” she answers with a low voice. “I was walking the streets, scared, with nowhere to go. Nothing around me looked familiar. When I made it to our street, I was going to keep going straight, but something made me turn down it. The longer I walked, the safer I felt. When I saw the house, the windows were dark and should have frightened me at the thought of going inside, but it did the opposite. It felt like my safe haven. When I broke into the basement and walked through the house, I felt more comfort than I had ever remembered having. It felt like I belonged there.” My fingers sift through the long strands of her hair. “That’s because you did.”

She looks up at me. “Do you think it was God leading me back to you? Back to where he knew I would be safe?” Before I can stop myself, I lean down and kiss her forehead. “I do.” “I’m glad,” she whispers. “Me too.” It turns quiet again after that, both of us in our own thoughts. After a while, her breaths even out as she drifts to sleep. I’m wide awake and know I will be for a while. I want to make sure she doesn’t wake with anymore nightmares. As I lie there, surrounded in the warmth and knowledge that she’s here with me, I send up a silent thank you to the heavens for bringing her back to me, and a vow to always keep it that way.

I HAVE AISLIN TUCKED INTO MY SIDE, RUBBING HER back gently. Sorrow for the tiny life she never got to meet has her sobbing quietly into my chest. I grind my teeth together to keep my own emotions in check. My eyes shift to the small headstone we’re standing in front of. Oliver Mathers Date of Birth Unknown

Date of Death Unknown There’s a small angel engraved beneath the words. Aislin was gone so long and had no way of keeping track of dates, so she didn’t know when her baby was born. She said it felt like many years, but there’s no way to know for sure. We decided to leave it blank instead of putting a guessed date. It’s just the two of us. She didn’t want a true funeral with others present and a priest. She said she just wanted to lay her baby to rest quietly; that she needed to let go of the past and try to move forward. The therapist she’s been seeing for the past three weeks thought it was a good idea as well. What makes it harder is that the doctors told her she probably can’t have any more children from all the scarring caused by the abuse she endured. The twisted fucker not only took away her childhood and innocence, but he also took away her only chance at having a baby. My eyes move to the headstone beside it. It’s her twin’s, Aaliyah. We had the headstone changed the same day we had Aislin’s baby’s put in. It seemed right to put them together as they were both born of the same suffering. It gives Aislin comfort that they are now together. I give her a few more minutes before tipping her face up to mine.

“You ready?” She sniffs and gives me a nod before turning back to the headstones. She leaves my arms and walks over to stand between them, resting her hand on both. “I love you both,” she murmurs tearfully. After another long minute, she wipes away her tears and comes back to me. She laces her fingers with mine. “Let’s go home.” Her words fill my aching heart. This woman was my beginning, and she’ll be my end. Through all the pain and heartache, the years of separation and years of searching, she’s back where she belongs and where she’ll stay. Both of our lives were dark for so long; it’s time to start living in the light.

EPILOGUE

Niko FOUR

MONTHS LATER

…

SOFT SAND SIFTS BETWEEN MY TOES AS I MAKE MY way onto the quiet beach. The waves lap gently against the shore. When I reach the edge, I keep going until the salty ocean reaches my feet and drenches the hem of my pants. The warm morning sun beats down on the shoulders of my white dress shirt, and I smile when I hear the seagulls overhead. Aislin is going to love them. Reece joins me at my side and smiles my way. “You ready, brother?” I grin at him. “Do you have to ask?” “Nah. That stupid grin on your face makes it

more than obvious.” “Shut up.” He reaches over and pulls me into a quick hug. “Happy for you. Hoped and prayed for this outcome, but as the years went by, that chance got slimmer. If any of us deserves this ending, it’s you.” “Yeah,” I reply as the minister comes to stand beside me. “You ready?” “More than ever,” I murmur, moving my eyes down the white cloth rolled out onto the sand. A guitarist starts softly playing “Canon in D” as my parents make their way down the aisle arm in arm. They both grin at me—Mom with obvious tears in her eyes—as they step up in front of me. “Proud of you, son,” Dad says as he pulls me into a hug. “Don’t know what I’d do if you couldn’t be here,” I mutter back before pulling away. Dad gives me a knowing look as Mom pulls me into her arms. That heart attack earlier this year scared him, and he’s been taking much better care of himself. Slowing down and enjoying retirement the way he should. “Oh, honey, I’m so happy for you,” Mom cries softly in my ear as she holds me tight. “I knew something was special about her the first time you two came down here. I love you both very much.” “Mom,” I reply hoarsely, trying to keep my

emotions in check. “I love you, too.” With one last squeeze of my bicep, Mom takes Dad’s hand, and they move to stand across from us on the left side of the aisle. Next walks Tori and Michael, who conveniently left their kids with a nanny at the hotel. They take their place on the other side of the cloth across from Mom and Dad, beginning to close in our circle. Mindy follows, holding a babbling Shelly, and stands beside my sister. The guitarist strums louder as my beautiful bride comes to the beginning of the aisle, linked arm in arm with my best friend and partner, Tavers. After all the time he put forth helping me search endlessly for her, it only seemed fitting to have him walk her down the aisle to me. Aislin is absolutely stunning, and I can’t hold back the emotions at seeing her for the first time. Her brown hair has grown even longer since I got her back, the natural gold highlights standing out more through the healthy shine. My sister styled her hair in big curls. Pulled to below the crown of her head, they cascade down her back and over her shoulders. A simple, white flower crown is woven into the tendrils. The style of her dress is as simple as the crown. A white, strapless bodice that fits to her curves and flares out at her hips in a flowy skirt that’s shorter

in the front and trails on the ground in the back. Her feet are bare—like mine—as she walks through the sand at the end of the aisle. A simple bouquet of calla lilies clenched in her fist. Her eyes fix on mine as she practically drags Tavers down the aisle to me, and I let out a chuckle as she nears the end. I step forward to meet her and pull Tavers into a quick hug before taking her hand in mine. “Thanks for everything, man.” “It was a rough road,” he says hoarsely. “Worth every damn second.” Before joining his wife, he leans in and kisses Aislin on the cheek. “Congratulations, sweetheart.” “Thank you, Tavers,” she responds shyly. Aislin has made huge strides in her recovery, but she still has a few things to work on. Shyness being one of the biggest. She’s even started to overcome her abhorrence of touch from anyone but me. She hugs my family, even if it’s quick, and has grown comfortable with shaking hands. I couldn’t be more proud of her especially knowing the demons she’s had to overcome. But today isn’t a day for letting that evilness seep in. Today is the day I make Aislin my wife. Two weeks ago, I asked her to marry me, and without hesitating, she said yes. With her hand in mine, I lead my bride forward until her feet step into the cool, gentle waves. The bottom of her dress floats out behind her, and it

almost makes it look like she’s walking on water. Her grin is infectious as she looks at me with such happiness it radiates from her. “Today is the day these two become husband and wife. Surrounded by only their closest family and friends, these two have asked you all to witness their union. If you are willing to love and support them in their bond, please respond with, ‘I do.’” The people we’ve chosen to join us today all respond, including my brother at my back. “Aislin Mathers, do you take Niko James to be your husband? To love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, from now until your final breath?” Her eyes glitter with unshed tears as she stares into my own and gives me the words that stitch me back together again from all the torment we’ve endured. “I do.” “And Niko James, do you take Aislin Mathers to be your wife? To love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, from now until your final breath?” I squeeze both her hands. “I do.” “It’s time for the rings.” Reece reaches into his pocket and holds out my and Aislin’s rings for us to take. “Aislin, you first,” the minister instructs. She holds my left hand and carefully slides the plain silver band onto my finger. “Niko, take this ring as a sign that I will always find my way back to you.” Her voice catches on the last word, causing

my own to catch as my heart jumps into my throat. “God, I love you.” I squeeze her fingers and kiss the back of her hand. Our spectators laugh. I grip her left hand and slide the silver band with a real rectangular chocolate diamond onto her left finger. She lets out an audible gasp and can no longer contain the tears welling in her eyes as they splash down her cheeks. “Aislin, take this ring as a sign that I will always find you.” “Family and friends, it is my pleasure to pronounce these two husband and wife. Mr. and Mrs. Niko James!” I don’t wait another second before pulling Aislin into my arms and giving her a long, sweet kiss. Our family and friends clap and cheer amidst the sounds of gulls and the waves at our feet. I reach down without losing Aislin’s lips, hook her around the knees, and lift my new wife into my arms. After dinner with our family and friends at an oceanside restaurant, Aislin and I retire to our room at a local hotel for some much-needed relaxation. Even though our wedding was lowkey and small, the festivities of the evening have tired Aislin out. Plus, I want to spend time with my new wife. I carry her over the threshold to the room and deposit her on her feet beside the bed. She grins up at me sleepily. Cradling her face in both my hands,

I take in her features, scars and all, before pulling her in for another sweet, deep kiss. “Can I undress you?” I ask gently, ready to stop if she says no. Instead, my beautiful wife gives me a trusting nod. Keeping my eyes steady on hers, I reach behind her and slowly tug the zipper down. Her dress pools at her feet, leaving her in nothing but a strapless bra and panties. “You’re so damn beautiful.” She bites her lip and looks at me shyly. Taking her hands, I place them on the front of my shirt and move her fingers to my buttons. She understands and begins undoing my shirt. I remove my belt, watching her for any sign I should stop, and let my slacks fall to the floor with her dress. Stepping out of them in only my briefs, I shrug the now open shirt to the floor. “Can I hold my beautiful wife in bed?” “I’d like that.” She nods and starts crawling in. I follow her down, and we settle in the middle, my arms around her and her head on my chest. Within minutes, our lips find one another, and we spend time simply kissing; exploring one another with our mouths. She lets me move my lips to her cheek, her neck, her collarbone and across her chest. Then she takes her turn, kissing across my pecs and my stomach before coming back to my mouth. Our

tongues slide together in a slow burn that has my body heating. When she pulls away breathless, I press an open-mouthed kiss to her neck before lying back to look her in the eyes. “Are we… are we going to have sex tonight?” Her question startles the fuck out of me, considering it hasn’t even been brought up. Hearing Aislin mention the word sex in reference to the two of us has blood rushing straight to my already throbbing dick. Suddenly, I’m a hormonal teenaged boy again. Before I can answer, she rushes on. “I’ve read books, and I’ve seen movies. And since getting my memory back, I remember… things. I know it’s customary for a new husband and wife to have sex on their wedding night.” The slight wobble in her voice is concerning. “We just haven’t talked about it yet.” Sliding a finger beneath her chin, I tilt her head back until I have her full attention. “No, Aislin, we aren’t going to have sex tonight. You’re not ready, and until you are, we aren’t going to cross that bridge. I’m in no rush to meet that milestone with you, baby. I’m perfectly content to hold you in my arms all night if that’s all you want to do.” “I’d do it for you. I-I know you probably want to—” I silence her with a chaste kiss on her plump

lips. “And I will wait for you to be one-hundred percent, no question about it, ready. Until then”—I kiss her beautiful mouth again—“this is all I want to do.” She doesn’t say it, but the relief on her face is evident. I knew she wasn’t ready. “Thank you, husband.” “No need to thank me, wife.”

NINE

MONTHS LATER ...

W HEN I WALK THROUGH THE DOOR , SOFT MUSIC IS playing from the stereo in the living room. I drop my keys on the small table in the entryway and set my holster beside it. My eyes immediately move throughout the room, not finding what I’m looking for. I always look for the most important thing in my life first when I come home from work. I stop at the kitchen door, peek in, and find it empty. I’m just about to head to the hallway leading to our bedroom, but Betsy’s bark has me turning toward the back door. I smile when I stop at the glass and look outside. Aislin’s on her knees by her flowerbed, but instead of gardening, she’s playing with Betsy.

She looks beautiful with her long hair swept up on top of her head. It took a while, but she finally started feeling more comfortable with her scars. At first she would only wear her hair away from her face around me, but then it was friends and family. Now, though, now she wears it up all the time, no matter where we are or who we’re around. I’m proud of her for her bravery. It’s not easy letting people see the scars of your past. I push open the door and step out onto the back porch. Betsy barks and dashes my way as I walk down the steps. I pat her head and murmur a few words to her, but my eyes stay trained on the woman getting up from the ground. She astounds me every single day with her strength. Her smile is stunning when I come to a stop in front of her. “Hey, you.” I wrap my arms around her then lean down and place my lips against hers. I tease my tongue against the seam of her lips, and she opens willingly. Her fingers dig into my biceps as our mouths play sensually. “I missed you,” she whispers after I reluctantly pull away. “Missed you too, North.” This woman is my everything. If I never have anything else in my life besides her, I would gladly die a happy man. She was ripped away from me for so long, and to have her back, to have her as my wife, makes me the happiest fucking man alive.

“I have dinner in the oven keeping warm.” I push a wisp of hair that’s fallen from her hair band and peck the tip of her nose. “Let’s go eat, Mrs. James.” Her giggle is sweet and makes my chest expand. I sweep her up in my arms and stride toward the house. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to hearing you say that,” she says, wrapping her arms around my neck and settling her head on my shoulder. “You may as well get used to it because I’ll never stop saying them.” “Mmmhmm…” She kisses the underside of my chin. “You promise?” “I swear it on my life.” She opens the door for me, and Betsy trots in first. Still holding Aislin in my arms, I carry her into the kitchen. I set her down on the counter with a sweet kiss on her lips. “Stay here. I’ll grab the food from the oven.” When I turn to do just that, she grabs the back of my shirt, pulling me backward. I turn and she reaches out with her legs, wrapping them around my waist and tugging me back to her. Although she still has moments of shyness, she’s definitely not the timid girl she was when she first came back into my life. More and more of the outgoing girl I knew before is coming out. I settle between her legs and feel the very

familiar stirring in my jeans. I ignore the feeling and put my hands at her waist. Looking down into her eyes, I see uncertainty. I frown when she drops her gaze from me and her forehead hits the center of my chest. Worry seeps in, and I put a knuckle under her chin to lift her head. “What’s wrong?” She doesn’t answer right away as she bites her lip and looks at me with slanted eyebrows. I’m about to crawl out of my skin when she finally opens her mouth. “I’m ready, Niko,” she says softly. It takes me a minute to understand her meaning, and as soon as I do, my shaft jerks in my jeans. We’ve been married for nine months, and we still haven’t made love. Although I knew she would have willingly given herself to me on our wedding night and any other night, I knew deep down she wasn’t ready. As she looked up at me with her beautiful green eyes and asked if we were going to make love, she couldn’t quite hide the fear still lurking in there. It nearly tore me to shreds to see that look. Not because I wouldn’t get to feel her in the most intimate way, but because that fear was still so much ingrained in her from all the shit she went through at the hands of Mr. Stewart. When I told her no, the relief was instant, and I knew I made the right choice. Since then, there have been several times we’ve

petted and touched each other, but each time my hand drifted close to her most private area, I’d feel her body stiffen slightly, and I’d pull back instantly, refusing to have that fear in our bed. I’ll be patient forever if that’s what it takes. If we never get the chance to make love, I’ll still love her and want her just as fiercely in my life. “Aislin, I don’t—” “No, Niko. I love you for being so patient with me. I know it couldn’t have been easy on you, but I’m ready. I want to feel you against me everywhere. I want you to make love to me.” A cute blush creeps up her cheeks with her words, and it has my body heating. I want this woman so much that it hurts, but I’ll take this pain a million times over hurting her. I lace my fingers in her hair and settle my thumbs against her cheeks. “Are you sure?” She smiles, and I swear it lights up the room brighter than ten suns. “Yes.” I look at her for a moment, gazing in her eyes, and see none of the fear I’ve seen so many times before. The only thing I see now is pure love and devotion, and it makes my heart leap in my chest. “Hold on, baby.” She wraps her arms and legs tight around me, causing us to be flush together. I grit my teeth to bite back my moan. I pick her up from the counter, and with determined steps, I carry her through the

house and straight for our bed, where I place her gently down on the mattress. I hover over her, leaving only a couple of inches between us. “I love you, North,” I murmur and watch her eyes soften. “I love you, too, Niko.” “You have to tell me if you get scared or need to stop,” I tell her, holding her gaze. “Promise me.” She leans up and kisses me then lays her head back down. “I promise, but I know I won’t want to stop or get scared. It’s you, Niko. You make me fearless. You make me strong. I’m ready to feel all of you.” Her words are too much; they give me too much credit when it was all her. She’s the one who makes me strong. Even when I thought I lost her, it was her memory that kept me going. Now that I have her back, nothing on this earth can rip us apart again. Putting my elbows on either side of her head, I slowly drop my body to hers. When my lips touch hers, a fierce need takes over. A need I’ve held back for fear of frightening her. I still take my time, and I still slowly worship her body as if she’s the most precious thing in the world. To me, she is, and she always will be. Her hands latch onto my shoulders, the tips digging into the muscles. I pull back and lightly trail

my lips across her cheek to her ear. Her head turns to the side, and my eyes land on the star birthmark. I kiss it softly before moving down her neck to her collarbone. Her moans reach my ears, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. I sit up and sit back on my heels. She grabs the hand I hold out for her. When she’s sitting up in front of me, I watch her eyes for any uncertainty when I grip the bottom of her shirt and start lifting it. But I find nothing but anticipation in their depths. Once the shirt is gone, I take a minute to look at her. I’ve seen her without her shirt before, but this time it’s different. It’s different because I know I’ll finally get to feel every piece of her, every beautiful inch. I hesitate because it scares the shit out of me that this is a mistake. Sensing my hesitation, she reaches back and unsnaps her bra, letting the straps fall down her arms. When her stunning breasts come into view, my mouth waters for a taste. Moving slowly in case she calls a halt, I put my arms around her waist and lift her on top of my thighs. This puts her breasts at the perfect angle, and I dip down and flick my tongue against her nipple. She gasps and throws her head back. The taste of her against my tongue is so much more than I imagined. “Oh, Niko,” she moans, digging her fingers in

my hair. I release her nipple and settle her back against the bed. Her gorgeous brown hair fans out around her. She looks like an innocent angel. She is an innocent angel, and I thank God every day that he sent her to me. I whip off my shirt, and her eyes light up on my chest. She licks her lips as if she enjoys what she sees. I hope like hell she does. “Are you sure?” I ask her one more time, needing that reassurance that this is okay. She nods immediately. “Yes.” I grip the waistband of her skirt and start pulling it off. She helps by lifting her legs when it reaches her knees. Her pretty pink panties come on display, and my need for her grows. I slip them down her legs next, leaving her completely bare to me. I’ve never in my life seen a more beautiful sight. I swallow, suddenly nervous. So much rides on this first time. Although she’s technically no longer a virgin, all the other times didn’t count. In my eyes and in my heart, she still is. I pray to God this will be good for her, and I don’t scare her. I scoot back and stand at the end of the bed. She gets up on her elbows and watches as I unbutton and pull down my zipper. My hands shake as I tug down my slacks, taking my briefs with them. Her eyes land on my shaft. My body tenses as if I need to squirm under her scrutiny. It’s

fucking stupid. I’m a grown ass man and certainly not a virgin, but having Aislin’s approval means everything to me. She looks for several long seconds, her eyes wide, before lifting them. The look she gives me says she’s nervous, but the way her breaths come out in pants shows her excitement. My own excitement builds. I crawl back on the bed and lay over her, not allowing my body to touch hers yet. Tentatively, she reaches out and places her palms on my chest. Her eyes flicker back and forth between her hands and my face. I see the want there in her eyes as she slowly glides them down to the upper abs, giving me shivers in the process, and back up over my shoulders. I can’t help the groan that slips free. Her eyes jerk to mine, and I smirk. “That feels good, baby,” I murmur. “Make love to me,” she whispers. Although I sense a quiver in her voice, her tone has a surety in it as well. I dip down and place a kiss against her lips before snaking my arm around her waist and gently hoisting her farther up the bed. “I need to get a condom,” I tell her then reach out for the nightstand. “No.” She stops me by grabbing my wrist. “I don’t want anything between us.” With the sexual abuse she endured over the

years, she’s been tested multiple times. Luckily, the bastard didn’t leave her with any diseases. And the chances of her getting pregnant are slim to none. Even so, if she did get pregnant, I’d scream it to the skies. I would love to see her swollen with my baby. After a moment, I nod. Making love to her without any type of barrier will be heaven and hell. I just hope I last longer than five seconds. I slowly lower my body to hers. The instant her warm skin touches mine, a deep groan leaves me. She feels so damn good. So damn perfect. I slide my hand down her side to her thigh and lift it so it wraps around my waist. She gazes up at me with love in her eyes. It’s hard to believe after everything she’s been through that she’s trusting me with her body right now. I’d never hurt her, but it’s a blessing to know she knows that too. My shaft meets the warm flesh of her center, and I have to close my eyes and take a deep breath. Not a thing in this world would make me rush this, but having her against me sure makes it hard to stay in control. On her own accord, she lifts her other leg and wraps it around my waist, bringing her body even closer to mine. I feel the tip nudge against her, and I rock slowly at the same time I lean down and take her lips in a sweet kiss. She whimpers prettily, and her legs jerk against my hips.

I pull back and look deeply in her eyes, silently asking her one more time for her permission. Instead of answering me verbally, she lifts her hips, letting me know she wants this as much as I do. Reaching down, I grip the base and put it at her opening. I make sure to keep my eyes on hers as I push inside her slowly. I stop when I’m halfway in. “Are you okay?” Her face flushes, but she smiles and nods. “Yes.” I release a breath, pull out, and then push forward again, letting more of me go inside her. I do this several times until I have my full length in her warm channel. I’ve never felt anything as good as finally being inside the woman I love. My movements are slow but steady as neither of us takes our eyes off the other. We make love for minutes, hours, days; time seems to stand still around us. All I know is I want to stay here forever, with her, and from the way she’s gazing at me, she wants the same. Never in a million years did I think my life would come to this, but now that it has, I can’t imagine life any different. I make love to my beautiful and incredibly strong wife, and once we’ve both reached the peak to heaven and slowly drift back down to earth, I cradle her in my arms. I murmur sweet words in her ear, telling her I love her and how many ways I will make her as happy as she makes me. The sun starts

to drift behind the horizon, leaving us in a purplish haze. We drift off to sleep wrapped in each other’s arms, both knowing that our nightmares are over and only sweet dreams are left behind.

SIX

MONTHS LATER …

I WALK IN FROM A HECTIC DAY AT WORK AND DROP my keys on the table beside the door. The house is quiet when I enter. Knowing Aislin could be taking a nap, I move carefully through the house and to our bedroom. She has some vitamin deficiencies from being in captivity for so long, so she tires easily. That doesn’t usually stop her from doing what she loves, like playing with Betsy or working in the garden. It just means that once or twice a week, I come home to her sleeping in our bed. Today, however, when I enter our bedroom, I find it empty. I place my holster in the drawer of my nightstand. After that, I move in search of my wife. Just as I exit the bedroom, the bathroom door down the hall swings open and Aislin steps out. I smile. She’s so beautiful. As I move toward her, she covers her mouth, and it’s then I realize how pale

she is. “Aislin, beautiful, what’s wrong?” I demand, closing the distance between us in two strides and dragging her into my arms. Up close, I see the dark rings beneath her eyes. She looks like she feels terrible. “I-I’ve been s-sick,” she mutters and covers her mouth again. “Let’s go to the hospital.” I start to pull her down the hall, but she doesn’t budge. “No, Niko. I don’t need to go.” “Baby, you look like hell. I think you should get checked out.” “You aren’t listening, Niko. I’ve been sick. And I already went to the doctor.” My brows furrow in confusion. “You—what?” “Niko…” Tears flood her eyes and cascade down her cheeks as she wiggles in my grip. Putting her hand between us, she holds a picture in front of my face and whispers, “I’m pregnant.” Holy fuck. “Are you serious?” I ask in surprise, glancing at the black and white photo of baby A and baby B before turning to Aislin with an ecstatic grin. “You’re pregnant? With twins?” She nods, a smile spreading across her face at my reaction. “I’m going to be a dad to two beautiful babies?” She nods again. “But I thought you couldn’t…?” I drop my gaze

to her still flat belly. “I did too. I guess the doctors were wrong.” “We’re going to be parents. Holy fuck, we did it, baby!” “I know!” she squeals then abruptly covers her mouth again. “Aw, hell, you’ve got morning sickness.” “More like afternoon sickness,” she groans. “It’s been happening every day around four o’clock.” Gripping her shoulders, I turn her back toward the bathroom. “Go on. I’m going to get you a cool rag. Then I’m going to run to the store for some ginger ale and crackers.” “Thank you,” she groans, and I close the door to give her some privacy. I run to the store and make some phone calls to my family, sharing the good news with them. The entire time, I can’t stop smiling and picturing what Aislin’s going to look like with her belly rounded with my babies inside. Finding her again was a miracle. Marrying her was destiny. But her giving me babies is a goddamned dream come true.

E IGHT MONTHS

LATER …

“B ABY, WHY DON ’ T YOU GET SOMETHING FOR THE pain?” I beg for the sixth time as another contraction hits. They’re coming every two minutes now, and the doctor is dressing in a gown and gloves. “No,” she pants once it’s over, beads of sweat dotting her forehead. “I can do this. I’m strong.” I clench her hand tighter. “Strongest woman I know, Aislin. I just can’t stand seeing you in this much pain.” “It’ll be worth it,” she says before groaning through another contraction. The doctor pulls over a wheeled stool and sits near the end of the bed. “Hang in there, Daddy,” she says. “I have a feeling this one will go fast.” I scrub a hand over my head as I watch the determination steel over my wife’s eyes. Fuck, but she inspires me. If she can keep it together, then surely, I can, too. “I’m right here, Aislin. Squeeze my hand as hard as you can if it helps.” The next contraction hits, and I swear she’s going to break the damn thing. I don’t care, though, as long as it gets her through the pain. “Okay, Aislin, hold on. I’m going to check you.” The doctor checks her cervix, and I can tell it’s uncomfortable. Aislin slams her eyes closed so I tuck her head beneath my chin. “Almost over. You’ve got this. I can’t wait to

meet our babies. You’ve done so well, Momma.” “Looks like you’re at a ten! Next contraction, I need you to push. Let’s see if these babies are ready to come out.” I continue to murmur my encouragement in her ear while another contraction takes hold. Aislin pushes with all she has, and I wrap my arm around her back for support. I can feel the tension pulled tight there, and the amount of effort she releases when the contraction is over. I can’t help but be in awe of her strength. By the third contraction, the doctor informs us she can see the head, so I lean over for a peek. “I see dark hair, Aislin!” She only has time for a hasty grin before another contraction hits. “Push, push, push! You can do it! Keep going… Yes!” the doctor coaches. “Congratulations, you have a boy!” “Daddy, would you like to cut the cord?” She hands me a pair of surgical scissors, and without hesitation, I snip the lifeline that kept my boy healthy inside his momma. A nurse hastily wraps him in a towel before handing him over to me. He feels like nothing in my arms, so tiny and light. I wrap him protectively, as if my arms are the only thing keeping him safe in this big, new world, and bring him closer to Aislin. “Say hi to Momma, baby.”

The second she lays eyes on her son, tears trickle down her cheeks. “He’s so beautiful,” she breathes, reaching out to touch his tiny hand. “What should your name be, little man?” she asks him but glances at me. “I was thinking Christopher … after my dad. Christopher Aaron.” “Christopher Aaron James.” She repeats his full name in a tone full of pride. “Welcome to the world, baby boy.” The moment passes as another contraction hits, and a nurse takes over my post holding Aislin’s hand. As I hold our firstborn son, I continue to coach and praise her. “You’re doing great, sweetheart. Almost there.” After ten more minutes of contractions, our second child is born. “It’s a girl!” the doctor exclaims, allowing me to once again cut the cord before she’s swaddled and this time handed to her mother. We ooh and ahh over her, the same way we did for her brother before we begin to discuss a name. This time, I ask Aislin. “How about Maggie. Maggie Aaliyah James.” “Christopher and Maggie. I love it. I love them. Thank you for giving them to me.”

THE JUDGE IS SEATED , AND EVERYONE IN THE ROOM resumes their seats. As the people quiet, the man in the black robe with salt and pepper hair speaks to the table in front of him on the right. “State recognizes the presence of the jury?” “We do, your honor.” And to the table on his left. “And does the defense?” “Yes, we do.” “Thank you.” He addresses both before turning to the two rows of men and women along the right side of the room. “The jury, have you reached a verdict?” A chorus of twelve voices echo, “Yes, your honor.” He nods. “Please hand the verdict form to the court deputy.” As they set about doing that, he addresses the one man I wish never to lay eyes on again. “Would the defendant along with counsel please rise.” The judge filters through a stack of papers handed to him by the court deputy, presumably reading each one before holding the stack in front of him and saying, “Madam clerk, please publish the verdict in the court record.” A tall woman in front stands and retrieves the papers from the judge’s hand and begins to read aloud the information relative to the case. Niko

adjusts his grip on my hand and squeezes my fingers tighter. I feel like if I tighten mine anymore, I’ll hurt him. I also feel like if I don’t hold on, I might pass out. My heart pounds violently in my chest as I await the verdict. “In the case of the State of Ohio versus Mr. Clem Dixon Stewart, as to the count of first degree kidnapping, we, the jury, find the defendant guilty. “To the count of first degree sexual assault, we, the jury, find the defendant guilty. “As to the charge of providing false information to a law enforcement officer, we, the jury, find the defendant guilty.” The woman shuffles her papers back into a neat stack and takes a seat. On May 3, 2019, Clem Stewart received a sentence of 326 years.

ALEX GRAYSON’S ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

There are so many thank you’s I can give for the creation of Pitch Dark, my family being the number one. Without them and their encouragement and patience, this book would not have been written. To the readers, bloggers, our editor, beta readers, the cover designer, and everyone else that’s taken part in Pitch Dark, there are not enough words to thank you all for the important roles you played. All I can say is, thank you from the bottom of my heart. We couldn’t have done it without you. A special thank you to Veronica at L Woods PR. Thank you over and over again for all the hard work you did for Allison and me. Last, but certainly not least, A.M. Wilson, or to me, Allison, one of my very best book besties. When we first started talking about writing a book

together, we both knew we wanted it to be dark, but damn woman, we really had to of been dropped on our heads to be able to devise such a wicked and twisted story. It may have taken us a year to complete it, but it has been an absolute pleasure working with you.

A.M. WILSON’S ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’d like to thank the academy…Oh wait. To my family, thank you for your patience and understanding. It’s hard to miss precious time for work, but it’s necessary to keep my dream going. There’s nothing better than snuggle time with my kids after a day of busting out 5,000 words. I love you guys. To my two top girls, Toni and Clayr, thank you for your excitement for our words, your honest feedback, and your constant stream of GIFs to keep me going and laughing when I felt like I couldn’t write another word. I don’t know what I’d do without the two of you. Thank you to our betas, who helped us keep our story in line. Our editor, Jenny — you are fantastic and helped make our book nice and shiny. Thank you to our cover designer for our kickass cover. To

the blogs and PR companies that helped us spread the word of our new release, thank you so much. Our book wouldn’t have reached so many readers without your hard work. Many times over the past year I wondered if we’d make it. I’m sure I drove Alex crazy with my writing pace and style. Even though we have different things going on in our lives, which gives us different working styles, I truly believe there’s nobody else better to have co-written this book with. This is one of those books that has been a crazy ride since its inception. From day one Alex and I knew we wanted this book to be different and dark, and I’m damn proud to say we delivered. I hope you, our readers, agree. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading.

ABOUT ALEX GRAYSON

Alex Grayson is the bestselling author of heart pounding, emotionally gripping contemporary romance including the Jaded Series, the Consumed Series, and two standalone novels. Her passion for books was reignited by a gift from her sister-in-law. After spending several years as a devoted reader and blogger, Alex decided to write and independently publish her first novel in 2014 (an endeavor that took a little longer than expected). The rest, as they say, is history. Originally a southern girl, Alex now lives in Ohio with her husband, two children, two cats and dog. She loves the color blue, homemade lasagna, casually browsing real estate, and interacting with her readers. Visit her website, or find her on social media! Facebook Amazon Goodreads Twitter Bookbub To stay up to date for news on Alex’s Grayson’s release sign up for her newsletter.

ABOUT A. M. WILSON

A. M. Wilson loves infusing her stories with real life—the good, the bad, and the steamy parts. She thinks there’s something special about romance; that pivotal moment when two characters realize their love for each other, but she likes wading through a little angst to get there. When she isn’t furiously typing on her computer, she can be found searching for her next all-consuming read. A. M. lives in Minnesota with her husband, two children, and black lab. Connect with her at amwilson.net. Facebook Amazon Goodreads Twitter Bookbub To stay up-to-date on new releases, sales, excerpts, or advanced copies, sign up for her newsletter.

OTHER BOOKS BY ALEX GRAYSON

The Jaded Series Shatter Me Reclaim Me Unveil Me Awaken Me

Consumed Series Always Wanting Bare Yourself

Standalones Endless Obsession Whispered Prayers of a Girl

OTHER BOOKS BY A.M. WILSON

The Revive Series Redesigning Fate Resurrecting Her His Deliverance: A Revive Series Spin-Off Revive: The Series Boxset

Standalones Indisputable At the Risk of Forgetting