In her room, knees tucked to her chest, Lily couldn’t stop thinking about Calvin. Ruminating on the fact that he was a killer.

Yet treated her so gently.

She thought about how he felt no remorse about what he did.

But looked so chagrinned when he’d broken one of her kitchen chairs; he’d taken it upon himself to fix it and the other three.

Violence was a daily part of his life.

And yet he’d promised to keep her safe.

Now that he was gone, because she’d chosen to walk away from him and everything being with him entailed, she found herself scared again. She spent that Saturday night huddled in her bed for a while, sobbing before emerging to perch on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, fearing every car that drove by. Flinching at every creak.

She stayed that way until the wee hours of the morning, tense and jerking when a flash of lights briefly lit her window. She knew what that meant, but she popped from the couch to peek and saw Calvin’s car pull into his driveway. Hidden behind her curtain, she spied and thus saw him get out of his car. He didn’t immediately go inside. He paused and stared at her house. For a moment, she wondered—hoped—he’d cross that slim expanse and force her to face him.

Disappointment brought tears to her eyes as he, instead, pivoted and entered his home. Still, knowing he was close eased some of her tension. Only then did she relax enough to fall asleep. A restless slumber that saw her running through dark alleys, looking for her baby, hearing Brock’s taunting laughter as he chased her.

Breath whooshed from her in hard pants. The alley seemed never-ending, shrouded in fog and shadow. She couldn’t see far and ran into something hard. Something that didn’t move. Bouncing back, she raised her head and saw Calvin’s face.

Relief made her blurt, “Help me.”

His lips moved. “You told me to stay out of your life.”

“I didn’t really mean it,” she sobbed. “Please. Please don’t leave me.” But he turned his back on her. Left her to face her demons alone, and that demon, wearing Brock’s face, laughed and laughed as he—

Lily jolted awake violently enough that she rolled off the couch onto the floor.

Damned floor proved hard and unsympathetic. Her body protested the abuse. It wasn’t the only part of her that didn’t welcome the harsh wakeup. Her eyes felt gritty, her mouth pasty and dry as if she’d not drunk in days. A glance at her phone on the coffee table—a basic wooden table that Calvin had built using recycled palettes he’d grabbed from the side of the road, then sanded and stained into something beautiful—showed it was late afternoon. She’d slept longer than expected. If only she felt rested.

She doubted she’d sleep well ever again. She’d finally done the unthinkable. She’d snitched.

And snitches get stitches.

She shook her head and regretted it. How sluggish she felt. She needed a caffeine jolt in the form of a cup of coffee, more coffee than water. It served to wake her up a bit. She had to wake up, given Brock would bring Zoe home in less than an hour.

I can’t let him or Zoe see me like this. Broken. Hurting. And all because of the truth, not fists.

Who knew the truth could hurt so badly?

She forced herself to move, showering, dressing, and managing a light snack.

Five o’clock came.

No sign of Brock. The minute hand kept ticking. Minute after minute passed. At quarter after, with anxiety making a pit in her stomach, she texted.

No reply.

At five-thirty, hands clammy, she called his cell phone.

No answer.

Panic threatened, and she fought to control her breath as she called and texted, again and again, until, finally, Brock did reply with a text. One word.

Gone.

No. No, he couldn’t do this. No. No!

She screamed the word as she threw her phone. How dare he. He had no right. She wouldn’t let Brock keep Zoe.

I will get my daughter. But how? How to get her baby from a bastard who didn’t fight fair, who had the law on his side?

Only one person could help her. She only trusted one man.

She banged on Calvin’s door. Banged so damned hard. When he answered, he caught her in his arms, and she couldn’t breathe. Her chest was too tight.

“What’s wrong?”

“He’s got her. He’s not bringing her back. Oh God, he’s keeping my baby.” Calvin caught her when she would have fallen.

“No, he’s not. That little girl belongs with you.”

“But he has her.” She raised a tear-streaked face. “He says she’s gone. What if—What if—” The thought was too terrifying to say out loud.

“Zoe is fine. I promise.” Calvin gripped her tight by the forearms. “I will get her back for you, Lily. Do you trust me to do what has to be done?”

She looked into his face. A face she’d grown to care so damned much about. A man who’d shown her such kindness, such consideration such…love.

She thought of Brock. Thought of the hell he’d put her through and still kept putting her through. The danger he put their daughter in with his sick games. No more.

“Do it. Don’t let him take my baby from me, Cal. Please. I’ll do anything.”

“I don’t want you to do anything. I’ll bring her back to you. I promise.” He lifted her chin. “I will fix this.”

She hugged him, and he crushed her back, his solid presence just the thing she needed, his words the balm to her fear and rage.

He set her from him. “I’ve got to get ready.” By get ready, he meant go into the attic, a space that looked benign from below, but once her head popped above the ceiling height, the illusion disappeared, and her mouth rounded in surprise.

“This is your lair,” she exclaimed.

“Lair?” He chuckled as he tossed her a look over his shoulder. “I guess you could say that, except I don’t have a bat suit or a cape.”

“But you do have lots of guns.” She couldn’t help but notice them on the wall, held in racks, gleaming metal, hard-looking plastic, the smell of oil heavy in the air.

“Guns. Knives. A man in my line of work never knows what he’ll need.” He knelt down to throw open a chest. A gleaming array shone from its depths.

“Does it bother you?” she asked. “The killing?”

“If you’re waiting to hear me say I break down and cry, then you’ll be disappointed.” His gaze remained steady. “I kill people, Lily. Mostly bad people, which helps justify it to some, but sometimes, it’s just a job.”

“Have you ever killed a child?”

At that, his face tightened. “No. Never. There are some lines even I won’t cross. Just like I don’t kill women.”

She couldn’t help but ask, “What if they try to kill you first?”

“Then I’d probably do what had to be done. But if you’re wondering if I’d ever hurt you, then the answer is no. You could take this knife and plunge it into me.” He turned it so that the blade rested over his heart. “I would let you. If I ever did anything that made you so desperate, then I probably deserve to die because the last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

The rawness of his words, the blazing sincerity in his gaze wrapped tightly around her. It was almost too much.

Tears blurring her vision, she turned from him and glanced around the rest of the attic space, a cowardly way of not answering. She couldn’t respond, not while Zoe was missing. “What’s this for?” She swept a hand to encompass all the monitors, most of them flipping to show various camera views. Some she recognized, like her street. And… “Is that my living room?”

“I told you I was keeping an eye on you.”

She wanted to feel angrier, and yet, oddly enough, the fact that he did watch over her strangely comforted. “What will you do when you find them?”

“What’s necessary.” He didn’t elaborate.

“I don’t want Zoe to see any violence.”

“She won’t.”

Lily bit her tongue lest she ask what he planned to do to Brock. She didn’t care. The man had brought this on himself.

She watched as Calvin armed himself. Ankle holster with a gun. A matching one on the other side with a knife. She noted a rack of ties, only they weren’t ties, she realized as he pulled one off the rack and snapped it. Even his sense of fashion was practical.

Last of all, the cowboy boots, and she wondered if they hid any surprises. She followed him downstairs as he gave her final instructions. “Don’t leave the house. I’ve got it armed to keep people out.”

As Calvin put his hand on the doorknob and prepared to leave, a sudden fear that he wouldn’t come back had her throwing herself at him. “Be careful.”

“Never. Careful won’t get the job done. But I will promise one thing,” he said as he hugged her. “I’ll bring her home to you.”

At that, it occurred to her that, “Maybe I should go with you. Zoe might need me.”

“This will be easier if I’m not worrying about you. If Brock has gone off the deep end, then there’s no telling how he’ll react if he sees you.”

Good point, but it didn’t ease her anxiety. “Call me the instant you find her.”

“I will. Remember. Stay inside.”

“Am I in danger?”

“Just call it a gut instinct. I don’t know what I would do if someone hurt you.”

Implying he’d go on a murderous rampage of vengeance should have made her recoil. Instead, she threw herself at him once more and plastered her mouth to his. The kiss was a short, fervent thing that left them both flushed.

“I’ll be back.”

When Arnold said it in Terminator, people giggled. When Calvin said it, she shivered.

The door shut, and the light on the alarm pad turned from red to green. She peeked out the window and saw his car pull out. She had to have faith that Calvin would find Zoe and bring her back safely.

He’d said he would call—

Call me how? I left my phone in the house.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

She could kick herself now. Especially since the alarm was set.

No matter. She could wait. How long would it take for him to drive to Brock’s and find Zoe and then make it back? She knew the route.

But what if something happened? What if Zoe needed her or got hurt? What if she’s already hurt?

Being a mom meant thinking of the million things that could go wrong. Add to that Calvin had said to stay inside. But she wasn’t the one in danger.

No one had bothered them in weeks. Surely, she could take a minute to pop out and grab her phone.

What of the alarm system?

Once she had her phone, she could call Calvin and let him know it was a false alarm. He had an app for it. He’d probably give her hell, but she could handle that. It was better than the not knowing.

Still, she hesitated. Paced.

Waiting was awful. Especially since she wondered if a message waited. What if Calvin had tried to call and she didn’t answer? He’d worry.

So many reasons for her to pop out. Screw it. She was going. She couldn’t stand the not knowing.

Exiting the house, she kept the door propped open so it wouldn’t lock behind her and ran over to her place. She’d left in such a rush, she’d forgotten to lock the door. The phone remained where she’d tossed it in the kitchen. She stooped to grab it and noticed not a single missed call or text.

A sigh of disappointment left her. She straightened and caught a flash of motion from the corner of her eye. A blow to the back of her head sent her into darkness.