Morning sun broke through the wooden blinds on the French door in Micki’s bedroom and she groaned at the intrusion.

Still on Vegas time, her body had no interest in greeting the day. No matter what time it was. She rolled over and blinked until the red neon numbers on the clock came into focus: 7:30.

She buried her head under the pillow. “We need drapes on these windows.”

We. Not Mom, but we. Did she have the right, after all these years, to assume she had a say in what went on the windows in her mother’s house?

Could be she was tired and overthinking it. Another hour of sleep. That’s all she needed. But today was the day. Tomas thought she’d be flying home with him and by now, Phil would be out of Mexico.

If she intended on getting away, on leaving her godforsaken, dirt-digging life behind, she needed to make her move now. Early.

Get it done.

Don’t think too long or hard and just do it. Her motto for the past ten years. When it came to other people’s lives, it was easier.

She tossed the pillow aside, stared up at the ceiling fan, slowly swirling above her.

What if she didn’t go?

What if she stayed here and confessed everything to Jonah. Let him, for once, be involved in the process. They weren’t scared teenagers anymore. And Jonah was loaded. So filthy, stinking rich that writing a check to hire attorneys—good attorneys—would end all of this.

These few days alone, out from under his control, had given her a taste of life as it should be. Freedom to move around and leave behind work she knew was wrong.

Maybe she could even strike a deal with Phil. She'd keep his secrets if he let her go.

But if it were that simple, she’d have done it years ago. Phil knew that. His plying her with gifts and a pseudo family proved it.

Too late now. With what she knew, he'd never let it happen. She needed to run. Draw Tomas away from Steele Ridge and her family. The plan wasn’t great, but Phil’s focus had always been her. Where she went, what she did, who she communicated with. Hopefully, that trend would continue when she left.

Whipping off the covers, she listened for any sign of movement in the house. Nothing. Not even Mom. Not wanting to wake anyone, she padded to the closet and grabbed her Canyon Ridge High School gym bag. She’d have to leave it. Too identifiable. She swapped it out for the backpack she’d picked up at the airport.

Even then she’d known she’d need to blend in at some point.

She shoved twenty dollars in the outside zipper pocket and stowed the remaining $800 inside, all she’d have until she landed somewhere and could find a job. A job she’d get using her Stephanie Gimble creds.

Micki ripped the zipper on the backpack closed and gritted her teeth against a wave of grief. Goddamned Phil. Always cornering her. Always making her decide whether she’d spend her entire adult life being controlled by him or running from him.

“Has to be done,” she muttered.

Not wanting to wake the rest of the house with the loud pipes of the old Victorian, she opted out of a shower and gave herself a quick cleanup with the washrag. It would have to do until she got to a hotel somewhere. She dressed in her only other set of clothing. Jeans, a long-sleeved Henley, and her favorite Chuck Taylors. A vision of her mother in her own Chuck Taylors flashed.

Don’t.

Thinking about her mother now, when she was about to disappear forever, wouldn’t make this any easier.

Sorry, Mom.

Maybe someday she could come back. Or find a way to sneak her mother to her. That would be years, though. Phil wouldn’t give up. He’d told her so hundreds, if not thousands, of times.

Bastard.

Time to go.

First though, she had a message to send. To Phil. She set her laptop on the antique desk and logged in to the website housing the folders she shared with Phil. She created a new folder, uploaded an mp4 file, and stopped.

If she shared it, even without a note, he'd understand. He'd get the message.

She dropped her hands, drummed her fingers against her thighs, and stared at the screen.

Now or never. This was the moment. Her chance to, for once, control the situation. To leave and build a life somewhere. A normal life with no shame or secrets.

She tapped the mousepad and a message popped up. Your folder has been shared. Soon he'd get the e-mail alerting him to the video. The one of him bribing a Vegas PD cop in their office. She'd managed to overhear part of that conversation when she'd returned from lunch one day four years earlier. On a whim, she'd snagged a copy of the video from the server before Phil could wipe it clean. She'd added it to the stash of other evidence she'd collected over the years, but the video had been the first documentation that wouldn't implicate her as well as Phil. As much as she liked to convince herself she didn’t get into the truly nasty stuff, she knew the tasks she completed could land her in jail. When it came down to it, even if she found the nerve to squeal on Phil, she’d have just as much to lose.

The video, though, gave her an insurance policy that would convict him alone.

This was what she'd become? An extortionist. Just like her boss. Her mother would be so proud. All of her family, really.

But like every other time, she simply wouldn't tell them. She'd keep this shame all to herself.

Time to go.

She shoved her wool pageboy cap on and opened the bedroom door. Nothing. All quiet. Halfway down the steps, she heard the swish of water from the kitchen and froze. Her mother was up already. No shock there.

It didn’t have to ruin her plan. The front door was just ahead. She’d sneak out, head to the barn, and borrow Jonah’s mountain bike to get her into town. There, she’d lock the bike up and send him a text before she ditched her burner phone.

Problem solved.

At the bottom step, she glanced back at the kitchen where the faucet noise came to a sudden stop. She should say good-bye.

Or…go in there and confess everything. Finally be free of it.

But how to admit it? To her mother. A woman built on honesty and hard work, someone who taught her children, absolutely, the difference between right and wrong. Knowing her child did the things Micki had done would devastate her.

The door. Right there. If she walked out she wouldn’t have to face it. The shame. Wouldn’t have to see the heartbreak she’d caused.

Again.

Worse. If she went in there, she’d probably chicken out and decide to stay anyway. She knew it.

And Phil wouldn’t allow it. He’d ruin them.

Her leaving would make things better for everyone. Especially Jonah and now Evie, who'd given Tomas her phone number. A detail Micki had already dealt with the night before by e-mailing him a virus. As soon as he refreshed his e-mail, bye-bye phone and bye-bye Evie’s number.

The joke of it was, he’d just get the number again. That’s how things went with Phil and Tomas; try, try again.

The front door seemed to grow wider. A big, giant opening that she should march right through. In the kitchen, her mother hummed to herself and Micki paused to close her eyes and file the lyrical sound away. Compartmentalized emotion kicked and clawed free, paralyzing her throat. All that nonsense was just stuck, buried inside where she couldn’t rid herself of it.

I love you, Mama.

As always, she refocused her thoughts on the task ahead and moved quickly, silently unlocking the door and slipping out. As she walked, she gripped the backpack straps, squeezing until her knuckles popped.

She made her way to the barn, pushed the door open, and hopped on Jonah’s bike. A dirt path led to the main driveway and she pedaled hard, wind slapping at her cheeks as she sucked cold air. It stung her throat and her eyes, but she kept her gaze on the end of the driveway.

Almost there. The underutilized muscles in her thighs groaned and she still had miles to go. Wherever she landed, she needed to start exercising. Get in shape and get healthy. Mind and body.

The end of the driveway grew closer and she pedaled harder, focusing on it, pushing herself to get there before she changed her mind and looked back.

Just go.

A black SUV pulled into the driveway. Dammit. Who the hell could this be, so early on a Saturday morning?

Not one of her brothers. None of them drove black SUVs. Especially not Grif with that tricked-out minivan. Lord, what had he been thinking?

The vehicle slowed as it approached, but she kept peddling, intending to cruise right on by and be gone before the person could alert anyone in the house.

The SUV drew closer.

Mr. All-American. Purr-fect. Could she not get a break this morning?

Clearly realizing she intended to blow him off, he stuck his hand out the window and swung the SUV across the driveway, giving her enough room to stop. Of course he did. That’s what heroes did. They timed everything.

She should just swoop right around him. That’d teach him.

Good thought, but he’d parked and now stood, hands on his lean hips, his jacket open and revealing a white T-shirt that fit loosely, but tightly enough for her to know there was probably something mostly spectacular underneath.

Just…crap.

She skidded to a stop, fully intending to employ the adage about the best offense being a good defense. “Are you nuts? You could have killed me!”

His response? To smile. The man was too darned good.

“Relax,” he said. “You know you’re not mad and you know I gave you enough room to stop. Besides, where the hell are you going in such a rush? Uh, and on Jonah’s ten-thousand-dollar bike?”

Ten thousand? She gawked. First at Gage, then the bike. She’d borrowed a bike worth more than her car. Her old car, anyway.

Forget that. She straightened up. “I’m going for a ride. It’s a nice morning.”

“A little cold, I’d say.”

“This from the Iowa farm boy?”

He grinned. “Guess I’ve gone soft.”

Any other time, she’d appreciate his use of her line from the night before when complaining about the temperature. She angled the bike and adjusted her backpack. “I’m off for my ride. See you…later.”

Not having any of her bullshit, he grabbed the handlebars. “Where are you going?”

She smacked at his hands. “Hey, hands off. I told you—”

“I know what you told me. Unfortunately for you, our government has trained me to recognize deception. And you, babe, are a liar.”

She poked a finger at him, ready to argue, but she needed to not waste time and get out of there.

“First of all, I’m not your babe. Second of all, if we’re stealing lines from each other, as you said to me yesterday, you don’t know me at all. So screw you, Captain America. Suds. And what a stupid nickname that is.” She swung her leg off the bike, started walking it around the SUV. “Why the hell would anyone call you Suds? Never mind. I don’t have time for that. Later, Suds.”

Micki Steele was a handful.

No doubt.

Luckily, he'd always enjoyed a woman with gumption. Despite all of that, underneath the sassy attitude, this girl was racked with some kind of terror he’d yet to figure out. She wasn’t going anywhere until he did. He stepped in front of the bike, planted his feet and crossed his arms.

“Talk to me.”

“No.”

She made a move to go around him. These Steeles. So fucking stubborn. Again, he grabbed the handlebars of Jonah’s beloved bike only to receive another smack.

“Stop,” he said. “Please.”

“I’m going for a ride. Just let me go.”

“No.”

She pushed away from the bike, shook her fists at him and stomped down the driveway. “Damn you! Mind your own business!”

Now she wanted him to stay out of it? Way too late for that. Nine hours ago she was thanking him for his assistance. He swung to the side of the bike and gently set it on the ground. “When are you going to stop?”

“Stop what? Going for a bike ride?”

Smart-ass.

“No. With the secrets and lies? You’re not going for a bike ride this early. It’s forty frickin’ degrees and last night you were complaining about the cold. You’d freeze your ass off.”

She stopped walking. Damn near skidded to a stop right in Miss Joan’s driveway. At least he didn’t have to tackle her. Which, as much as he’d never put hands on a woman, he would have no problem doing. He wouldn't be the one to let her run off. Chances were, at barely eight in the morning and with her barreling down that driveway, she hadn’t told anyone she was leaving. And she was most definitely leaving.

He sensed it. The backpack, the nervous tension. The short temper.

He took a few steps toward her and she backed away. Wow, this girl. Issues. Big ones.

“I’ll stay right here,” he said. “But please, let me help you. Whatever it is you’re running from, I’ll help. Your family will help. You need to come clean, though.”

Come clean? Oh, he didn’t want her to come clean. If she did, that’d be it. The shame of it, the utter disgust, would send him running. He’d let her go then, wouldn’t he? Captain America needed to be careful what he asked for, because he just might get it.

“Micki,” he said, “whatever it is, let me help you.”

He wanted to help. Of course he did. He wanted to fix her. Not happening.

She spun back, reached for the bike again. “You can’t help me. Now get the fuck out of my way.”

Vulgarity. Perfect. Captain America would definitely be repulsed by that.

Except, he pursed his lips and…snorted. “No.”

Ohmigod. Was he kidding? Total hero complex, this one.

And stubborn.

And pushy.

And, and…She couldn’t deal with it. She started down the driveway again, stomping so hard she might shatter a knee because she needed to go, just leave and be done with him and the rest of the people in her life. Her chest locked up, but she kept moving. The only way. For ten years she’d been pushing ahead, waiting for her break. This was it. As piss-poor as it was, this. Was. It.

He grabbed hold of her arm, and all the rolling anger inside of her, the years of isolation and loneliness and being separated from her family, came gushing up. What was she doing? She didn’t know anymore. Just didn’t know. I’m going crazy. The pressure inside her skull exploded and she pressed her free hand to the side of her head.

Gage held on and she whipped her arm free. “Don’t touch me.” She’d had enough of men controlling her. “I don’t like men touching me. For God’s sake! What don’t you get about this? I’m leaving. I have to go!”

But dammit all to hell, why did her voice have to crack on that last part?

Still, he didn’t move, just stood there, rock-solid Gage Barber. He held one palm up. “Why? Tell me why you’re leaving.”

Unbelievable. She let out a huff of frustration. He wanted to know? Fine. If it would get her out of here, she’d do it. She shook her fists at him. “The shit I've done would horrify you, Captain America.”

The horror she expected, the shocked disapproval, never materialized. He just stood there, looking at her with kind, soft eyes that hacked away at her anger. How could she be mad at him when he looked at her like that?

He pointed at the house behind them. “Whatever you’re running from, whatever you did, you have a family that loves you.”

“Oh please!” She flapped her arms. “If they knew, they’d toss me out in a second.”

The events of the past few days hit her. Phil in jail, her going AWOL, Tomas and Evie. The virus.

The video.

What have I done?

She bent over, braced her hands against her thighs and breathed in. “Please, Gage. I know you’re Reid’s friend, but you can’t help me. I’ve made a mess.”

A hand touched her back. Stroking. From Gage. Up and down, up and down in a lovely, soothing motion that she hardly deserved.

“Micki,” he said, “don’t do this. Your family is here. Give them a chance to help.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

“Maybe if you talk to me, I will.”

It sounded so easy. She straightened up, adjusted her backpack, and flattened her hands over her face for a second. Just one little second to get her act together. “Gage, you can’t help me.” She slid her hands down. “And I won’t drag you into this.”

“You’re not dragging me. I’m diving headfirst.” He stepped forward. “So shut up and tell me what you need.”