I reach for her, but I stop myself and let her leave the room.

I cannot fucking believe things have escalated like this.

My guts are on fire. My eyes hurt. My skull feels like it's about to splinter like an egg, like there's some hot, angry demon of confusion inside, clawing its way out.

I want to believe her, but Sloan wouldn’t lie to me.

I still see that tormented look on his face, hear his words, after I pulled him aside at the damn party.

“You saved my life. You saved my son. You've saved my company more times than I'll know. You're family, Sloan, but let me be clear – that does not give you the right to be a complete fucking idiot in front of my girl and half the company.”

He looks at me, a darkness in his eyes. Something like shame on his face.

Or is it more?

“Shit. You got me. Look, man, I know I've been a royal ass tonight. Totally out of line. Guess I was just trying to figure out how to tell you the bad news...”

“What news, Sloan?” I'm so done playing games. I have half a mind to frog-march him to the parking lot and send him on his merry way.

“About Wendy. Her family, I should say. Look, Bud, I know it's gonna be a bitter fucking horse pill to swallow, but...they're not on the up and up. The bakery's about to go tits up. Insolvent. I already have the documents together, and I was planning to drop them off at your house tomorrow. Didn't realize she'd be here in the flesh, making this so awkward. I acted out, Hunt, and I'm sorry.”

So many things rear up at once. Horror, disbelief, the raging urge to shut him the fuck up right now with my fists.

Snarling, I grab him by the shirt, slam him against the wall. But he doesn't fight back. He just looks at the ground sheepishly, giving me a nod.

“Do whatever you're gonna do. Bust me up. I'd be just as pissed off too if it were you telling me some broad was about to play me like a fucking fiddle...”

I don't say shit. I just turn, stomp back to the edge of the hallway, and look into the room.

My speech is in less than five minutes. I don't even have time to process anything he's said.

Then I see Sugar and Spice, my own personal torment, catching a glimpse of me. She lifts her little hand and gives me a smile that should be all too fuckable.

Right now, it isn't. I don't get who the hell she is.

I don't understand any of this.

It all seems so innocent, on the inside. From the outside, it’s jagged like barbed wire.

Her. Being here. Ben with her parents. Me giving her cousin a job.

It’s all too cohesive and far too fucked. And there I was, too busy lusting after her to see it the whole time. Thinking with my dick.

“Hunter! Hunter, come here right now!”

The angst in her voice isn't anger.

I rush out of the room and down the hall. She’s standing in the foyer, looking into the formal living room.

I skid to a halt beside her when I see the mess in front of me. “What the...”

The whole room is trashed. Christmas tree toppled, decorations torn down, ornaments blown on the ground, the Christmas pillows ripped open and white stuffing strewn everywhere. It's times like this I wish I still carried, but I keep my personal guns locked up neat in my vault downstairs with a code only I know by memory.

“Who?” she asks, her whole body going slack. “Why?”

I cross the foyer and rip open the front door to see if the security system is still engaged.

It sure is. The bell dings. And then Jingles rushes in through the door that's hanging open.

“Fuck!” The cat was outside again.

This doesn't compute on so many levels. I checked the security system after the last time. Nothing’s amiss.

Wendy steps into the living room, nervously cradling her hands together.

“Stop,” I tell her, heading back toward the kitchen. “Don’t touch anything. This is a crime scene.”

In the kitchen, I dig my phone out of my coat pocket and dial the police. I don't bother with 9-11, just go straight to that deputy sheriff who called me before.

Then I call Sloan, tell him to get his ass over here.

I set the phone down and turn around. She’s still in the doorway. Jingles is in her arms, trying to warm up, and she looks so damn hot in that dress, it hurts.

I knew she would.

I chomp down on my back teeth. Pissed because I can't keep my head straight for even a single second. Maybe that's why my whole world is being demolished in slow motion tonight.

“The cops are on their way,” I tell her, stepping forward.

“Yeah. I heard.”

Which means she also heard my second call. Fuck.

I didn’t say his name, but she knows it was Sloan. The worst messenger I've ever met in my life.

That’s why this has all been so fucking easy, isn't it? It’s like she’s my soul mate and it's infuriatingly hard to stay mad. Even when I should.

She crosses the room. “Think I'm going to shut Jingles in the laundry room with some food and litter so he doesn’t get out again while the police are here.”

I pick up my phone and go in the other direction, back to the hall, and then to the living room.

It’s a fucking disaster zone, but as far as I can tell, nothing's missing.

I also send a text to Landon, out in California, asking if there are any known defects in the security system. He owns a whole security company, Enguard, and helped me build the system in the house last year between protecting pop stars and royals. Flew up for a quick trip with his wife, famous romance author Kenna Strauss, and helped me throw it together over a weekend.

While I wait for his reply, I do a quick sweep of the house, upstairs and down. I never liked this shit, but it stinks worse by the minute.

Nothing else is disturbed. Not a single thing. Nothing that should've caught a thief's interest.

Not even the cash sitting on a table by the front door in a half-closed envelope, which Ben forgot to hide underneath my grandpa's old Bible. It’s only fifty bucks or so of ones and fives to tip delivery people.

Lights pull in the driveway minutes later and I open the front door.

It’s the police. Two officers. While I’m giving them the rundown of what time Wendy and I left, when we arrived home, where we’d been, and where Ben is, Sloan arrives, stomping the snow off his shoes in the mudroom.

He stays back while the cops give the room a once-over, taking pictures on their cell phones and jotting down notes.

“Can you get fingerprints or something?” Wendy asks.

The officer shakes his head. “There’s nothing here to pull a print off of. We already checked.” He shrugs. “And it’s below zero. Most everyone’s wearing gloves during the breaking and entering part.”

The other officer looks at me. “From what you’ve said about the house still being locked, the security system engaged, and the way it looks...I'm gonna say it’s juveniles. Maybe your son made some enemies at school?”

My jaw tightens. I think of the kids who’d conned Ben into stealing the game disc. I swear, if this is their response after I let them off the fucking hook...

“Maybe they stole his house key out of his locker,” the cop continues, trying to solve the puzzle. “We see this a lot lately. Vicious little perps who decide to trash the place and know the victim's schedule.”

I don’t buy it, but I don’t have any other thoughts, or leads.

“Can I start cleaning up now?” Wendy's voice makes me look up.

My heart thuds behind my ribs. I wonder how I ever got so lucky...and why I ever treated her like shit.

Whatever else her parents intended, or didn't, she'd never stab me in the back. Sugar and Spice is too good for this world, and for me.

“Yes, ma’am,” the first officer tells her. “We'll be out of your hair real soon.”

The second one, still looking at me, shakes his head. “We’ll file a report, but in all honesty, Mr. Forsythe, there’s nothing else we can do without hard evidence. I suggest you talk to your son, find out if he has any suspicions. Or if he might've lost a key.”

I don’t want to accept it, but know there’s nothing more they can do. “Okay. Thanks for coming so quickly.”

“Call if you do notice something missing, or if your son has a clue. We'll bring them right in for questioning if he gives you any names.”

I nod and walk them to the door.

Once they’ve left, I tell Sloan, “I’ll meet you in my office. Wait down there for me.”

Then I go into the front room where Wendy is picking things up off the floor. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll take care of it tomorrow. I have cleaners.”

She shakes her head. “It wasn’t one of Ben’s friends. Or frenemies, I should say. And I don’t want him to see this tomorrow morning. He shouldn't have to worry about feeling safe in his own home.”

I stare, dumbfounded, feeling like a royal asshole.

Worse, unshed tears are making her eyes glisten. I can't take this.

I step forward to hug her, tell her it’ll be all right, but she holds both hands up and steps backward.

“Don't!” Shaking her head, she closes her eyes for a moment. Then she opens her eyes again and levels a cold look on me. “Just go. Get out of the room. Talk to Sloan.”

I don’t fucking want to, but I do give her space. My throat feels like a desert and my head is pounding and it’s not because of some goddamned trashed room.

By the time I enter my office, I want to hit something.

I kick the door shut behind me. “Okay. Time to tell me what the hell's going on.”

Sloan jumps out of the leather chair so fast it spins, walking over. “Whoa, dude. Don’t take this shit out on me. I know you've had a bad night, but –”

Bad night? Is he joking? Still?

His cockiness has gotten to me more than once over the years, and I'm not having it.

“What about the other shit you told me tonight? About the bankruptcy?”

“That’s what my sources tell me, yeah.” He walks behind the chair and leans on it with both hands. “Look, Hunter, I’m just your humble messenger. I didn't –”

“Bullshit!” It comes out like a gunshot.

My eyes drift down. See my hands shaking. No, fists.

Sighing, I cross the room and slam a hand against the fireplace mantle. “I don't know what's going on, but I'm sure of one thing: you got your lines crossed. Wrong message. Wendy’s parents are not filing bankruptcy. She wouldn't lie to me.”

“She tell you that herself? Shit, of course she did. What else is she going to say?”

He stares me down. I stare harder. Then he throws his hands in the air and turns, his voice quieter the next time he speaks.

“The truth is, Hunter, it doesn’t matter whether they're trying to screw you over or not.” He huffs out a breath and slaps the top of the chair, an anger I've never seen spilling into his eyes. “What the fuck are you doing, dude? Hooking up with a girl that’s closer to Ben’s age than she is yours? Forgetting to sign checks for weeks at a time? Thinking – really fucking thinking – about spilling your guts to Ben, telling him about the fire? This is insane.”

Our age difference crossed my mind, yeah, but it's never been an issue.

Sloan's eyes are huge. Angry. Dark. Scared. In almost two decades of knowing him, seeing him every day, I've never seen him look like this and it drains the blood from my face.

What is going on here? Really?

“Look at what she’s done, Hunt. Got you tied up in knots. Wants you to tell Ben the truth. Why? Use your noggin, the same one that's given you all this.” He waves his arms, looking around the room. “I ain't no genius like you, but even I can see it. It's so she and her folks can swoop in like vultures, be the family Ben's never had. Make everything okay. Hell, she even made you give her cousin a job. And how long have you known her? A month? You need to get away from her for a while. Just grab Ben and split town. Let me do a full investigation and –”

“Will you quit telling me to take a damn vacation?” I spit the words at him. Then I rub at the tension building in my temples. “You’ve already said it, and it’s not happening. I don’t want to hear that shit out of you again.”

I don’t want to talk about Wendy again, either. Not with him.

“Something’s going on, Sloan. Something real ugly. The cat’s been outside three times lately and he never gets out. Someone trashed my living room for no apparent reason, wrecked my tree and everything. What the fuck? If there's something you know, something you're not saying –”

“Dude. It was kids. Some angry little bastards with nothing better to do, just like the cops said. You want me to hunt them down too? I'll find 'em, drag 'em back here, tell Ben he can kick their asses.”

“No. No, Sloan. It wasn’t kids. There’s fifty bucks on the table near the front door Ben forgot to put away. Kids would've snatched that in a heartbeat, I don't care how rich they are. Hell, they could've made a mint by just running upstairs and stealing the games in Ben’s room. This is way more than kids.”

“Bud...I hate to tell you this, but now you sound like your brother. God rest his soul.” He makes quotation marks with his fingers. “Espionage. Do I got it right? Is that seriously what you're thinking?”

I'm livid.

Obviously, there was no love lost between Cory and Sloan. I used to think they were jealous of each other because their personalities just didn't click. Maybe they had been, but Sloan took Cory’s death hard.

Not nearly as hard as me. Not like how I’d lost half of myself. Still do some days.

An ice-cold shiver up my back hits the fire in my blood. I snap.

“Fuck you. What if there is espionage? What if Cory was right? Andre, the guy that worked in IT at the time, he said the system looked like it'd been breached. Even if he didn't know by who. God, if I'd just listened!”

Sloan rubs his chin and looks around the room before he says, “I checked it out myself, Hunt. Checked it then, just like I'm doing now. If we had Russians or North Koreans or whoever the fuck crawling up our asses, I'd know.”

My blood turns cold. “Now? What are you talking about?”

He shakes his head and kicks at the chair leg. The angry red color drains from his cheeks, and he flips his hair back over his shoulders.

“Damn. Well...I wasn’t gonna say anything till I knew exactly what was going on. That’s why I don’t need the extra headache of you having yourself in knots thanks to your little partner right now, one who wants to tell Ben the truth, and light our shit on fire even more. That's why I wanted you and Ben to go on vacation so bad.” He heaves out a sigh. “So I could focus on investigating it and have all the right answers when you came home. That's the truth, Bud. I swear.” He holds up a hand.

He's shaking.

I turn away in disgust, walking to my desk. “What do you know?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Dammit, Hunter, I never wanted to tell you this.”

“Tell me what? Out with it. Now.”

“Cory was right. There was espionage happening back then.”

Anger tears through me like a tsunami.

“And you never told me, asshole?!” I shoot around the desk, cornering him.

He takes a step back. “I...I couldn’t, dude. He was your brother. Your twin. And he knew it the whole time, and I knew you'd be pissed.”

“What're you talking about?” I’m seeing red. My hand clenches into a fist. “You better come clean, Sloan. Right fucking now or I’m going to kill you.”

“All right!” He holds out a hand, gesturing toward my desk. “Sit down and listen to me. At least give me that.” His voice is shaking. “Hunter, please. Sit down.”

“I don’t need to sit down,” I bite off.

“Okay. Whatever. Shit. You...you remember how much money it was costing to set up this office out here. The headquarters Cory wanted?”

“Yeah.” At the time, it had seemed like a small fortune, but it was what Cory wanted, so I agreed.

A necessary upgrade for growth. His plan was for him and Juno to move out here, too, and he’d run our main office here. Eventually, I'd join him, running the production and testing aspect.

“The expenses weren’t all to set up the office. Cory was gambling. Hitting the casinos hard and heavy.”

My gut churns. I knew Cory visited the casinos, and it was no big deal. I’d thought. “What’s that got to do with espionage?”

“It was a lot more than you ever knew about, Hunter. A fuck of a lot more. Cory needed money, and knew he couldn’t ask you for it. He had a problem. An addiction. So...he wracked up more personal debt than he could ever pay back. He sold a few secrets, thinking you’d never find out. Remember the radar blocking system we patented? The system the Russians got to market six weeks before we did?”

“Fuck.” I have to grab the desk behind me because I'm about to hit the floor.

Being shot and bleeding out on Afghan soil didn't feel this bad. It's like I’ve just been kicked in the stomach. I shake my head. “No. No.”

“Yeah. It's true.” Sloan shakes his head sadly. “I never wanted you to know, Bud. Never, ever. Never wanted Ben to know the kind of man his real father was. And I knew if you found out the truth...you wouldn’t either. That’s why I keep insisting you not tell Ben you aren’t his father. He doesn’t need to know about Cory. Not ever.”

I’m trying to wrap my head around it all. It's like a damn thread around a bowling ball, trying to hold it up without a prayer.

The worst part? It’s making me sick because it makes too much fucking sense.

“Cory hid his tracks well. Took me over a year to find out how they’d gotten into our system and accessed the entire project from start to finish, but I did. Once Cory died, they no longer had an in...and our firewalls caught them.” Sloan steps up to the chair and leans against it. “Now, they're coming back for more. New hackers, fresh off their A-team, cracking up power grids and breaking into international banks.”

The slow clearing mind fog lets me think of the new projects underway. “The drones. Christ. They’re after the goddamn drone system.”

He snaps his head up, and though he hides it quickly, I’d seen the flash in his eyes.

Sloan steps away from the chair. “Don’t worry about what it is. This new company I hired, the one you signed the check for the other day, they’re on it, and they’re damn good.”

I lean back against my desk and heave out a sigh. “You should've told me about this.”

Sloan throws his hands in the air. “He was your brother, man. Your twin brother. You loved him. We loved him and Juno both. I couldn’t.”

I can’t think about Cory right now. Can’t even go there.

“You should've told me about this latest hack, Sloan. A whole lot sooner.”

“I couldn’t. They’re tied together, dude.” He rubs his chin, deep in thought. “Hey, remember that tall, bald dude at the funeral years ago? The guy we didn’t know who it was?”

I don’t have a clue what he's talking about at first, but then an image forms.

“Yeah. I think.” My stomach sinks.

“You remember his name?” Sloan stares at me, knowing perfectly well I don't. “Lavrov.”

Fuck. The man had signed the guest book. He’s Russian.

Sloan’s brows rise and he frowns. “Look, dude, you have a lot to think about right now. I get it. I shat the bed real bad with how I handled this. And if you wanna know the truth, I feel like a real ass for sticking my nose in your girlie issues...they're not the real problem. Not really. So let’s meet on Monday, at my office? We can go over everything I know about this latest hack attempt. Everything this new company found.”

I don’t want to wait, but know I should.

I’m probably not thinking straight right now.

“All right.” I nod. “Fine. Monday.”

Sloan shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Hunt. I never wanted you to know. Never wanted to have to tell you. You’re the closest thing to a brother I'll ever have.” He holds out a hand. “I love you, man.”

I step forward and clasp his hand. We give each other a one arm hug while shaking hands.

“You’ve always been there for me like nobody else. No denying it.”

“Always will be, Bud. Now and forever. Just you and me.” He slaps my shoulder as we separate. “Have yourself a stiff drink and then get some sleep. I'll find my way out.”

I nod, even though I know a drink and sleep isn’t going to help anything.

After he leaves, I slump back against my desk. “Fucking-A, Cory, why didn’t you just come to me? Tell me you needed money? I would've helped. You know that!”

Shaking my fist at the ceiling for a solid second, I let it fall, feeling like a total fool.

I don’t expect Cory to answer, of course. I pinch the bridge of my nose to combat the raging burn in my eyes.

Then a dull thud sounds somewhere in the house and I push off the desk.

I have to go talk to Wendy. Make amends. I need her, and I hope like hell she’ll understand why I acted the way I did tonight.

I'm upstairs when I nearly run smack into Sloan in my office doorway.

He has a tense smirk on his face.

I frown. “Now what?”

“Dude,” he says with almost a chuckle. “Your Yukon’s missing.”

“What?!” I shove him aside.

Wendy’s purse is no longer on the counter, and the garage is empty.