“Why are you here?” I ask Sterling when I enter the house.

“Mom called a few hours ago saying, ‘your brother needs you,’” He explains, shrugging. “I found myself a private jet, a pilot, and came to check on you.”

He pretends to check his watch and says, “I arrived a couple of hours ago. The door was open, and Abby has been taking a shower since then—or before I arrived. What happened?”

“Nothing.” I walk into the kitchen where I find the scattered police reports. “What are these doing here?”

“Since there was nothing else to do, I decided to entertain myself.” He taps the papers. “Interesting shit. I assume the old wound is open and gushing.”

I nod, flinching at the gory way he said it.

He shakes his head.

That’s all we exchange for several minutes as we both stare at the gruesome pictures and read the testimony of the neighbors.

Nice family, quiet girls.

They kept to themselves.

The Dad’s charming. Poor man. Since he lost his wife he’s been a total mess, still a great father.

There’s no mention of Shaun in any of the papers. Did she make him up?

Fuck, I sound like every other person who has doubted her. No wonder she’s afraid of that.

“I have no idea what happened, but I know of a few places where she can go.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I arch an eyebrow.

“Her best bet is going to a trauma and PTSD rehabilitation center,” he says in a dry tone of voice. “This is out of your hands. Even the great Weston Ahern can’t do much. You need therapy too. Your girl, the woman you love, lived through a hell on earth, and she relives it daily. That is hard to deal with.”

I scrub my face with both hands. Is he right?

“I told you, you can love her, but you can’t save her,” he reminds me of what he said only yesterday.

“Let me check on her.”

He checks his watch and shakes his head. “Nah, give her space. She’s annoyed with me. I’ve been checking on her every fifteen.”

“Why are you here?” Abby is at the bottom of the stairs. She wears her running outfit and is shooting daggers at Sterling with her eyes.

“You told him?” She points an accusatory finger at me.

“We had an issue earlier and the janitor is at his apartment—fixing the mess. I had to find another place for Terry and me,” Sterling says casually as he tilts his head toward the sleeping dog.

“These?” she gathers the reports.

“Found them in your room and read them while I waited for you two.”

My brother is amazing at impromptu answers. There’s no fucking way I could’ve come up with that as fast as he did.

“That’s a crazy crime scene,” Sterling continues. “You should go to rehab.”

She huffs. “Rehab won’t do shit for someone like me. Thank you for the advice, though.”

Abby grabs a granola bar and walks toward the entrance. “I’m going for a run.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” I offer, as my legs protest.

There’s no fucking way I can move another inch for the next couple of hours.

“Nah, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share more with him,” she says, emphasizing the last four words.

“I won’t.”

“Uh-huh.” She nods her head. “He’s a good liar, but I know his tells. And yours.”

Abby rushes out of the house without saying another word.

“What did Mom tell you?”

“Nothing, I swear. She said that you needed me. Since Abby wasn’t herself while I was here, I figured she was telling the truth.” He shrugs. “It’s not often that my big bother needs me. I had to come to your rescue.”

I don’t need rescuing, but I could use some guidance. I’m way over my head with Abby. She needs my understanding, but all I can think about is killing the men who hurt her.

My phone rings, I answer immediately worried about Abby. Did something happen to her?

“Hey,” I greet her.

“This is Johnson. The private investigator.”

I check the number and realize that it’s not Abby’s. My shoulders sag with relief. “What do you have for me?”

“I emailed you some basic information about Corbin Stanley. From what I can tell, Shaun Stanley doesn’t exist. Are you sure about the name?”

“He’s his child.”

“The man doesn’t have any children.”

“Ava Stanley?”

“The deceased?” he asks. “I would have to dig for more information on her. That’s going to take more man-hours. You haven’t approved the quote yet.”

“I don’t care how much it costs. I need to find out whatever I can about this man and make sure he stays away from my girlfriend.”

“For protection, you’ll need a bodyguard. I have a good contact. If you want, I can send you some information. They’re pricey, but worth it.” He goes silent. “They might be able to help you more than I can on this particular case.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Stanley’s records are sketchy. I don’t have all the resources that this security company has. They can provide you with more intel and even protection.” He chuckles. “You can say that this is above my paygrade.”

I rub my chin staring at the police report. These people he mentioned might give me exactly what I need to protect Abby, and to keep this from ever happening again.

“Send me the bill and the contact for the security company,” I say hanging up the phone.

The moment I receive the details for HIB, I dial their number, but the voicemail picks up.

“Our hours of operation are Monday through Friday from eight to five Pacific Standard Time. If you reached us outside those hours, please leave a message. If you need immediate assistance, send an email to our hotline.”

I send an email, and their automatic response arrives with a generic message that they’ll look at my case and get back to me within twenty-four to forty-eight hours. The time frame works for me. I still don’t know what I’ll do with the information that they might be able to provide for me.

Maybe once I know who I’m dealing with, I’ll be able to figure out a solution. In the meantime, we’re sticking to my original plan. Abby and I will remain in Tahoe for the next month. Knowing what I know now, there’s no fucking way I’d take her back to Denver. Fuck, she should hate me for forcing her to come back with me.

“I’m going to take a quick shower,” I announce.

“Hey whatever you're thinking, you should stop,” My brother says.

“Why?” I finally pay attention to him.

“You’ve been lost inside your mind since you received that call. What are you trying to do?”

“Nothing,” I disregard the question and leave.

“Weston,” he calls my name a couple of times, but I ignore him.

Once I prepare breakfast, I set my computer on the counter and start reading the reports Johnson sent me. As he mentioned, the info is pretty basic. Corbin Stanley is fifty-two. He lives in Thornton. It disturbs me that the house he lives in belongs to Abby.

“Fucking hell.” I run a hand through my hair.

“Why are you doing this?” Sterling is reading along with me.

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Stop.”

“He shouldn’t be in her house,” I exhale harshly. “I can have him kicked out of there within the next couple of days.”

“Is that what Abby wants?” Since when is Sterling the logical sibling?

I rub my temple and ignore him. Anger rises when I read that he lives off of his investments. Well, he’s about to lose his savings and everything he owns. If I talk to the right people, I can fuck him seven ways to Sunday. He’ll pay for what he did to Abby. We’re going to bury that asshole.

Would she be willing to talk to the police?

My heart stops. I can’t put her through that again. If I do this—catch the fucker—I’ve got to do it without Abby.

HIB security could be the answer. I just need to research more about them. They might be able to help me in more ways than I can imagine. The price doesn’t matter.