Micki had left her backpack in Gage’s office and since her entire life—currently anyway—was in that bag, she didn’t want to leave it lying around.

He ushered her into his office, holding the door open for her, a gesture she found wildly unnecessary but kinda cute.

For years, the men in her life had consisted of Tomas and Phil, and the day one of them would hold a door open for her would be the day she’d check her sanity. Or theirs.

Even so, that door-holding thing made her feel…feminine. Not like the nerdy cyber whiz who opted for ripped jeans and skull T-shirts.

Gage dropped into his chair and rested his head back. Something was off with him. Something in his eyes and the way they’d just glazed over.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look great.”

Still with his eyes closed, he waved her off. “I’m good. Thanks.”

She picked up her backpack and hooked it over her shoulder. “I’m heading up to the house. Reid said something about maybe calling everyone together. Big family meeting.”

Gage opened his eyes, but kept his head back against his chair. “Are you comfortable with that?”

Did she have a choice? After years on her own, she’d have to readjust to having her family poking at her business. At her secrets. Right now, she wasn’t sure what her options were. If she intended on staying in Steele Ridge, her family might be at risk, and they didn’t deserve Mikayla-related hassles.

But leaving meant going off the grid. Possibly never seeing them again. Could she do that? To her mother? Whom she spoke with at least once a month. Connecting with her brothers hadn’t happened much, but she counted on Mom to keep her updated. Those monthly calls were her oxygen. Her lifeline to an existence, a connection, she’d left behind.

She shrugged. “I guess I have to be.”

Gage continued to rest his head back, but his eyes zoomed to hers. “Reid asked me to sit in.”

Great. Mr. All-American—the extremely attractive Mr. All-American—having a front-row seat to her fucked-up life.

When Micki didn’t respond, Gage sat forward. “It’s your call. I’m an outsider. If you don’t want me involved, I’ll tell Reid I’m not coming.”

An easy out. This guy truly was a superhero. A superhero who’d spent a lot of time around Reid, and more recently, her other brothers. In Gage, due to his lack of blood ties, she might have an ally. He hadn’t experienced the disappointments and emotional carnage she’d caused.

If anything, Gage was neutral ground. He'd understand the level of stress created when going against such a determined bunch.

“No,” she said, “I want you there.” His eyebrows lifted slightly. She’d surprised him. Good. “You know how to control Reid. And”—how to say this? —“as weird as it sounds, I think you get me. I don’t know why, but I don’t feel like you judge me.”

“I don’t know you well enough to judge you. What I see is someone who made certain choices and the people around her don’t know why. I have to assume you had reasons. Hopefully, damn good ones. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have stayed away so long.”

Just then, his cell phone rattled against the desk and he checked the screen. “Speaking of family. This is my dad.”

“Should I leave?”

“Nah.” He picked up the call before it went to voicemail. “Hey, Pop…What's up?”

She hadn’t missed his giving her an opportunity to share her dirty little secrets. Not that she’d be taking him up on it, but she’d give him credit for being a master at the easy out. While he listened to his father, he smiled up at her, but slowly shifted his head back and forth. “I know,” he said to his father, “but she's worried about you. You understand that, right?…Yup. I know. Where is she now?…Well, I'm in a meeting now. When she comes back, call me and the three of us are gonna talk this out…Pop, I get it. Don't worry.”

After another minute, he said his good-byes and clicked off.

“Family problems everywhere,” Micki said.

“Eh. No big deal. My parents are having communication issues.” He laughed a little. “Meaning, she's talking and he doesn't want to hear it. We'll work it out.”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Not running screaming from me when you've got your own family to worry about.”

“I try to make a habit of not running from beautiful women.”

Beautiful. Please. “Listen, pal, back off on that charm or you might be in trouble. I may even start baking cookies again.”

From the time she was seven, she’d stood by Mom’s side in the kitchen, learning to crack eggs one-handed, stirring batter, getting just the right amount of dough on the cookie sheet, all of it supervised by her ever-patient mother.

Micki hadn’t baked in ten years. Somehow, she didn’t seem worthy of it.

“What kind of cookies?”

She brought her attention back to Gage. “Does it matter?”

“Bet your ass it does. I hate nuts in my cookies. I like them, but there’s something about the texture of the nuts mixed with the cookie. Give me a gooey brownie, though, and there’s no telling how far I’d go to say thank you.”

She twisted her lips, fought the urge to take this conversation—this little flirtation—any further, but, hello, how many single women could resist Captain America with his muscles and protective instincts?

Oh, she could see it all right. He’d be the light in her darkness. The opposites that somehow, she hoped, made it work. Could she have that?

Not with Gage.

He knew too much for it to be organic. She wanted to start fresh with someone. Starting fresh with a stranger meant honesty and not being held hostage by her life in Vegas. Or feeling like a disappointment.

More than anything, that’s what she wanted.

He popped out of his chair, took one step, and stopped. His body swayed and he grabbed hold of the edge of his desk just as she latched on to his arm, squeezing the corded muscles. “Are you dizzy again?”

“Need a second. That’s all.”

Interesting that he chose not to spew denials or convince her that he was fine.

“Do you want to sit?”

He leaned against the desk and clapped his hand over hers. His warm skin sent slow-moving tingles up her arm and…other places. Here she was asking what was wrong with him when she should ask what the hell was wrong with herself.

This was Reid’s apple-cheeked, wholesome friend. With the life she'd lived, she had no business thinking about any sort of comfort from him.

“I’m okay.” He patted her hand, then held on for a second. Not long enough to cross into let’s-bang-each-other mode, but long enough for her to know he didn’t mind her hands on him.

“Gage?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do I feel like I’m not the only one around here with secrets?”

Gage’s phone buzzed. Thank you. Keeping his gaze on Micki, he pulled out of her grip and checked the text that had just saved his ass. Reid. Once again, his savior. He’d have to buy his buddy a beer.

“It’s Reid,” he said. “Your mother has breakfast going.”

“That’s better than a family meeting so early.”

“I’m sure. At some point, if you want their help, you need to be honest.”

“I know. I just feel…” She turned away, grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re Team Reid. I'm not throwing my ugliness into your friendship.”

Team Reid? What the fuck did that mean? He leaned back on the desk, folded his arms. For a second there, he’d thought he’d actually gotten through to her. Cracked the stubborn barrier enough for her to confide in him.

You’re dreaming, pal. “This has nothing to do with Reid. Two separate issues. Now, I ask again, you feel what?”

She gripped the strap of her backpack, squeezing her fingers around it, then loosening her hold. Squeeze, flex, squeeze, flex. When she spotted him watching her, she dropped her hands, let them dangle at her sides. Finally, she looked at him and held his gaze.

He waited.

And waited.

And waited, until…

“I’m the disappointment.”

Ah. Now they were carving into the meat. “Have they ever said that to you?”

“No. But—”

“Nuh-uh. I call bullshit.”

She gawked and the look, that wide-eyed, mouth-agape astonishment forced him to absolutely not laugh.

“Excuse me,” she said. “You call bullshit? On what?”

“If you haven’t been honest with them, you can’t know what they think.”

Listen to him. Maybe he should take his own goddamn advice and talk to his family about his issues. About the fact that he didn’t want to come home because of his TBI and his fear that his family couldn’t handle him not being the dependable go-to one. No matter what. 1-800-Gage. That was the inside joke. Need a lift? Call Gage. Sibling drama? Call Gage. Someone’s ass kicked? Call Gage.

Jesus, just thinking about it exhausted him.

But they weren’t talking about him now. This was about Micki and her cluster.

His phone buzzed again, rattling against the desktop and Micki flapped her arms. “Is that him again?”

“He’s probably watching. He’s a pain in the ass that way.”

At that, Micki smirked. “You do know him.”

Slowly, he levered off the desk, got to his feet, and was rewarded with the lack of a dizzy spell. For now, he’d leave Micki be. She wasn’t ready to talk and if she was anything like Reid, there’d be no convincing her. Damned bullheaded people.

Later. One step at a time. “Let’s head up to the house,” he said. “We can talk later.”

After breakfast, Gage followed Reid into his office at the training center and waited while the big man situated himself by propping his feet on his desk. Had to give the guy credit for letting Brynne do some decorating in the place. His once white-walled empty office now housed a giant cherry desk, a shiny credenza, and some of the nicest leather guest chairs Gage had ever seen. Heck, sometimes he came in here just to sit in those damned chairs.

“Plant yourself,” Reid said.

Gage gently lowered himself into one of the chairs. Moving too fast resulted in looking like a pansy and that would require explanations he wasn’t willing to give.

His friend watched him, his dark blue gaze unrelenting, and a hiss of panic dogged Gage.

“Can I ask you something?” Reid asked.

Here it comes. If Reid asked him straight away about a possible TBI, he’d…he’d…Hell, he didn’t know what he’d do. For months they’d been circling the weirdness, avoiding a direct conversation about his occasional balance issues and lack of focus.

Reid had never asked and Gage hadn’t offered it up. Their own version of don’t ask, don’t tell.

“Reid, we’ve been friends a long time. Ask me anything you want.”

“How do you feel about this Micki situation? I want your opinion. All of a sudden, she’s running from this guy in Vegas. I don’t know why.”

“She’s like a puzzle, your sister.”

“That she is. She used to be…” He paused, squinted a little. “…I don’t know, mischievous. When I was away at college, something changed. Then the day after she graduated from high school, she ran off to Vegas.”

“Jesus, that fast?”

“Yep. She’d gotten a job with Flynn. At the time, we didn’t know who the hell he was. Jonah looked into him and we realized he was”—Reid stared at the ceiling, choosing his words again—“a fixer.”

“A fixer? As in, he cleans up the messes rich people create?”

“Pretty much. From what we can tell, he’s the master. Gets the job done.” Reid finally made eye contact. “Always.”

“All these years you've all been wondering what she does for him.”

“My mother doesn’t know the half of it. She thinks he’s a PR guy. Inside though, I have to believe my sister is telling the truth about her role as his”—he made air quotes—“researcher. She likes to break balls, but she doesn’t have that killer instinct. Well, at least she didn’t. Now? I don't know what I know.”

The chime from the entrance sounded and Reid sat up, put his feet on the floor. “Hello?”

“It’s me. Uh, Micki,” came the reply.

Talk about timing.

“My office,” Reid said.

A second later, Micki appeared in the doorway. She still wore the same jeans, black T-shirt and jacket from earlier, but she’d ditched the hat and her hair looked different—fuller at the top, but straight at chin level—and the whole look, edgy but feminine, gave Gage a yearning to touch it. To put it his hands in it.

While on top of her.

And, shit, that was wrong on so many levels. The first being he shouldn’t be thinking disrespectful thoughts about the sister of a guy who’d given him an opportunity when he needed it. The second being she was vulnerable right now and if he was any kind of a decent guy, he wouldn't be contemplating getting into a physical relationship with her.

“Hi,” he said.

She glanced at him, then to Reid. “Hi.”

Reid propped his elbows on the desk. “What’s up, Mick?”

“Are you going into town today?”

“Not until tonight. You need something?”

“Clothes.”

“Clothes?”

After the morning they'd had, she wanted to go shopping? That one, he didn't see coming.

She nodded. “When I left Vegas, I only brought two days’ worth. I thought I could go into town and see if I found anything. If not, I checked the bus schedule and there’s one that goes into Asheville.”

Asheville. By herself? After they’d just gotten done talking about what a prick her boss was? And what about this Tomas guy? He was probably still around.

“Uh,” Gage said, “are you dealing with Tomas?”

She nodded. “I am. I sent him an e-mail and told him I’m not going back. He hasn’t responded. Yet.”

“Well, after you blew up his phone, it’s probably taking him a minute to deal with getting a new one. Do you think it’s smart to be wandering around by yourself?”

Reid eyed him for a second, clearly amused at Gage questioning his sister.

She gave him the stink eye. “Tomas wouldn’t do anything.”

“You sure?”

She spun to the door. “You know what, forget it. I’ll ask Jonah.”

“Hang on,” Reid said, but Micki kept walking.

“Mikayla.” Reid's voice stayed level, but with enough heat for his sister to know he wasn't screwing around. “Hold up a second.”

Micki halted in the doorway and Reid rolled his eyes. “Suds asked you a legitimate question. This guy followed you here from Vegas. It’s not unreasonable to ask if he’s dangerous.”

Micki turned back, the look on her face more fuck-off than you’re-absolutely-right. “I need clothes. Can you help me?”

After a brutal stare down, Reid poked the speaker button on his desk phone, dialed, and waited while the line rang through. “Swear to God,” he muttered, “the females in my life make me batshit crazy.”

“Hey, babe,” a female voice said.

Brynne. Perfect solution, considering she owned a boutique.

“Hey,” Reid said. “I have you on speaker. With Suds and Micki.”

“Thanks for the warning. I will refrain from dirty talk.”

That brought a flashing smile to his buddy’s pissed-off face. “You’re too cute, Brynnie. I know you’re about to open so I’ll be quick. I’m gonna bring Micki down there. She needs some clothes.”

“Oh, fun. I ordered some great T-shirts from that new designer I met. I’ll have Evie pick a few things out.”

“Thanks. I'll see you in a bit.” Reid disconnected and sat back. “Check out Brynne’s stuff first. If you have to go into Asheville, we’ll figure it out. You are not taking the bus.”

“That’s just ridiculous. I can take the bus.”

Reid’s face turned stony again. Here we go. Knowing his friend, Gage held up a hand. “Before you lose your shit, I’ll drive her into town after we check the weapons I wanted you to look at. I’m heading that way anyway.” He looked back at Micki. “And, sorry, but I agree with him on the bus. Too risky right now. At least until we figure out what’s happening with Flynn and this Tomas.”

“Guys, I’m not an infant. I’ve been on my own for ten years.”

“And look where that got you.”

Micki turned a hard glare on her brother and—yow—this girl didn’t play. Before he had to bust up a sibling brawl—not uncommon between the males in this family—Gage put up two hands. “Both of you, take a second here and breathe. It’s been a wild day. Everyone is on edge.”

“No shit?” Reid snarked.

Gage faced Micki. “Let me take you into town. See what Brynne has. If that doesn’t work, we’ll tackle the bus situation. Let’s deal with one thing at a time. Can we do that?”

Micki slid her gaze to her brother, but locked her jaw. Oh, boy. If he let them, they'd tear the place up.

“Great.” She slapped a phony smile on. “Call me when you’re ready to go. Reid has my number.”

If being in Steele Ridge meant dealing with her pushy brothers, Micki wouldn’t survive it.

She plopped on her bed, stared up at the ceiling fan and spewed a stream of swear words that would get her in trouble with her mother. What was it with the men in her life? Everyone wanted to control her.

Well, she was done with that. All around. She rolled sideways, grabbed her backpack from the floor, and pulled her laptop out. In need of something positive in her life, she’d been playing around with new software and now, given her holding pattern while waiting on Gage, she had time to get back to it. Besides, with her billionaire brother in residence, if she could get the last few bugs out, she might be able to sell it.

An appealing thought, considering her lack of current employment. If she intended to stay in Steele Ridge, sponging off of her family wouldn’t do.

Nope. She needed a job. An honest one she didn’t have to hide or feel shame over. For the first time in years, she had options. Freedom. An opportunity to decide what exactly she wanted to be when she grew up. All she’d ever been was a black hat.

The ding of her e-mail filled the quiet room and she watched the messages fire in like tiny missiles. Maybe Tomas had gotten back to her.

He’d be steaming mad, about a lot of things, but down deep, he’d understand her desire to move on. For years they'd talked about where they'd go, the places they wanted to experience, the people they'd like to meet. Underneath, they both yearned for something more than life with Phil. What that something was, they'd never quite hit on.

At least she hadn't.

Tomas had done a lot of listening and less talking during those revealing conversations, but she’d chalked it up to his DNA. Men weren’t talkers. About anything.

She scanned the loading e-mails and—dang it—Phil’s name popped up. An e-mail from his personal account. Out of jail. Had to be if he had access to his computer or phone. In which case, he'd probably already received her message.

But was he back in the States?

Panic bubbled inside. “No. Please. Not yet.”

Her finger hovered over the mouse pad, ready to click on the e-mail. Wait. After she’d blown up Tomas's phone and, oh, right, sent the video, he could be retaliating by sending her a virus. Unlikely, given that this particular e-mail was from Phil’s personal account. The one he communicated with friends and family from. He kept his business and personal accounts separate, but utilized software that allowed him to easily click from one to another and occasionally, he’d forget to click out of his personal account.

Something that might explain why she’d received a message from said personal account.

Still, anything from Phil, at this point, was suspect.

She clicked over to her online backup service. Last backup completed three hours earlier. If she opened Phil’s e-mail and it fried her laptop, she’d still have access to her files.

Why open it, though? Did it matter? If he were home, even if Tomas hadn’t told him about her going AWOL, her absence meant she’d left Vegas.

Shoving the laptop away, she hopped off the bed, tugging on her fingers as she paced the room.

Just an e-mail with an attachment. That’s all. Could be a simple note inquiring about her plans to return to Vegas. Phil was slick that way. She'd seen it hundreds, if not thousands, of times when he dealt with people.

Like any predator, he groomed his targets. At first he'd be unaggressive. Downright friendly. Supportive even. And then, then, when he’d cultivated the stirrings of a relationship and earned trust, he went for the kill. He'd manipulate and threaten, burying fear so deep inside his victim, they’d never be free.

She went back to her laptop and flexed her fingers. The attachment could be a problem. Dammit. One way to find out. She dropped to her knees beside the bed and clicked. A two-word message popped up.

See attached.

Her eyes snapped to the little paper clip where an mp4 file waited for her to fire it up. A video. Just as she'd sent him. This one titled “Jonah.”

Tit for tat with the master of the kill.

Disregarding thoughts of viruses and logic bombs, she clicked the file. The little spinning wheel did its thing and a second later there was her brother. Ten years younger, coming out of a room and rushing down a hallway.

Instinctively, she knew what this was and she sucked in a hard breath. “Oh no.”

All this time, she’d wondered about this video. If it actually existed or if Phil, in typical Phil fashion, had simply played her, giving her the ultimate mind screw, to keep control.

Four seconds of video from a security system. That’s all Phil had sent.

He had more. At least that’s what he’d told her. Twenty long minutes’ worth. He’d never shown it to her, but now she didn’t doubt it. If he needed evidence, he found it. If he couldn’t find it, he created it.

This evidence, though? This was the real deal. No funky editing or splicing because on her screen Jonah wore his favorite Doctor Strange T-shirt. Back then, he'd lived in that shirt, and on this night she’d teased him about it. About maybe making more of an effort with his clothing choices, considering they’d be around the cool kids.

Her phone beeped, launching her from her mind travel. She whipped it from her back pocket and scanned the number on the text. Area code 563. Where the heck was that? This could be Phil or Tomas messing with her after sending the video. She tapped the screen and read the message.

Gage.

Letting her know he was ready to go.

Run. She dropped the phone on the bed and drove her fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp as the urge to escape, to just walk out the door, pounded her. If she went back to Vegas, maybe she could deal with Phil and everyone would be safe.

Jonah would be safe.

Vegas meant no Steele Ridge, though. And no more visits home. After this stunt, Phil—and Tomas—would never trust her again. In one swoop, she’d managed to deprive herself of her biological family and obliterate the twisted version of her makeshift Vegas one. Total isolation.

She glanced around the room, studied the warm beige of the walls, the bamboo ceiling fan, all of it meant to give comfort to whoever slept here.

Comfort.

Something she hadn't had since leaving for Vegas. God, she’d left home so long ago. All this time she’d dealt with loneliness and shame and the tangled emotions that came with needing her mother’s hugs that she couldn’t have.

These thoughts. What good did they do? Other than to drag her down, make her wallow in unalterable circumstances.

On the other side of the bed, the French doors opened to property her mother had loved for years and now owned. All thanks to Jonah. Who’d made something of himself. For that she was grateful, but Micki had missed it all.

Now, on her screen, the paused video of Jonah sent its unspoken message.

Come back or the video gets released.

Her phone beeped again. Perfect distraction. She scooped it up and scanned the second text from Gage.

You’re not plotting to overthrow a government, are you? Let’s go.

Gage Barber. A man hotter than a Louisiana summer and more at home with her family than she was. Somehow, she’d found an ally in him. A bridge to her family.

To coming home.

And that's what she wanted. A safe place to land. A family, who, if she got really lucky, would hold her tight. Going back to Vegas wouldn't get that for her.

“No running,” she said, loving the sound of it and the feeling, the absolute control, strengthening her spine.

If Phil wanted a war, she'd collected enough information to give him one. She wouldn't stop, either. The skills she'd learned in his employ not only worked for him, they could work against him. Her hacking skills, if she could get into his server, might uncover all sorts of additional dirt. How incredibly ironic.

But, Lord, using Phil's own tactics on him brought her to a new low. After this, there'd be no more denials, no more justifying how she stayed away from the ugliness of what they did.

After this, she wasn't a researcher anymore. Her family would be disgusted, but if it meant protecting them and reclaiming her life, she'd crawl into that nasty gutter and do it.

They just wouldn't need to know.

She tapped out of the e-mail from Phil, shut the lid on the laptop, and stowed it in her backpack. She’d deal with that later.

Right now, though, she had a ride into town with a hunky guy so she could buy new clothes.