Alex woke with a start.

His eyes flew open, his heart stuttering out of rhythm as the familiar panic set in.

Where was he? What was he doing in…in a bedroom? And dammit, why did his chest hurt so fucking much?

He cast his gaze frantically around the room, trying to assess the threat level.

And then he remembered.

The deal gone wrong.

The horrible aftermath, when everything fell apart.

And Camila.

His beautiful, sweet, strong Camila, just the way he remembered her.

He sensed her presence before he saw her.

The room was still dark, the early morning sunshine blocked by tightly pulled shades. Even still, tempered sunlight filtered through the crack at the bottom, where the shade didn’t quite reach the window ledge.

He was on a bed and he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there. Had Cam helped him off the floor and into the room? Had he walked on his own?

Alex threw a cautious glance toward his leg. He couldn’t see it—he was tucked underneath a sheet and a thin floral quilt—but there were no obvious protrusions.

“I pulled it out,” Cam said.

He turned to his left. Cam was perched in a chair by his bed, watching his every move. She must have noticed where his gaze had drifted.

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be. Your jeans took the brunt of the blow.”

She brushed a strand of long dark hair away from her cheek. Alex remembered how soft and smooth her hair had always felt in his hands. She’d always used Suave shampoo, the coconut-scented kind. He wondered if it still felt the same as he remembered. Smelled the same.

“I cleaned it and wrapped it with a bandage,” she continued, “but you’re going to need stitches.”

Alex offered a slight nod, his way of acknowledging he’d heard her. There was no way in hell he was going in for stitches.

He noticed something else just then, the feel of soft fabric against his legs. Which meant Cam had undressed him. His gaze traveled around the room, finally landing on his discarded jeans.

Cam cleared her throat. “I had to take them off after I got the knife out. To clean the wound,” she said defensively. Her cheeks were red.

Under different circumstances, Alex would have teased her about this. Given her a hard time. And if not that, he would have at least chuckled. But now? All he could muster was a grin that tried to be cheeky.

He flexed the foot of his injured leg, feeling his quadriceps tighten in response. A sharp pain shot through the muscle, and he gripped the sheets and clenched his lips tight, trying to stifle his grunt.

“You’re in pain,” Cam said flatly. She leaned toward the nightstand and grabbed a bottle. Popping the top off, she shook something into her hand.

“You should take these,” she told him, reaching for a glass of water with her free hand.

He cleared his throat, wincing at the pain that radiated through his chest. He was beginning to wonder if his ribs were broken. “What is it?” he managed to rasp.

“Ibuprofen.” Her brow furrowed. “I don’t have anything stronger.”

He let go of the sheet and extended his hand. She dropped the pills, four of them, into his outstretched palm, and an inexplicable sadness washed over him. He wished she’d placed the pills in his hand, wished he’d had the opportunity to feel her skin against his, even if it was just the fleeting touch of her fingers.

He swallowed the pills, ignoring the water she offered. The less he had to move, the better—and that included drinking.

He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the pills as they worked their way down his throat. He resisted the urge to cough because he knew that pain would be a hundred times worse than trying to down a mouthful of water.

“So,” Cam said, folding her arms across her chest.

She didn’t continue, even though Alex waited for her to say something more.

He closed his eyes. He knew exactly what she wanted.

Answers.

She was a cop, after all. It was her job to interrogate, to cajole answers out of people and, when that didn’t work, to switch gears and demand them. He knew she wouldn’t be afraid to ask him anything. If there was one thing from her past that could have signaled her future career choice, it would have been her ability to ask the tough questions. He knew this from firsthand experience.

But he knew something else, too.

He knew once she had those answers, she would turn him in. To whom, he couldn’t be so sure. But it didn’t really matter if she called an ambulance or the police; the final outcome would be the same.

He’d end up dead.

“What happened?” she asked.

He kept his eyes shut. It wasn’t that hard, all things considered. He was in excruciating pain, his mind felt a little fuzzy, and he was pretty sure he was suffering from slight dehydration. It would be easy, so easy, to drift off to sleep again.

“Alex,” she said sharply.

Her voice was like a new knife slicing through him, but this time it felt as though it had just pierced his heart. The single word—his name—felt loaded, brimming with anger and disappointment and…and disgust. All were emotions she was entitled to, especially after what he’d done all those years ago.

He sucked in short, shallow breaths, trying to keep his ribs from moving any more than necessary. Maybe he could feign sleep, hold her off for a little while longer.

It wasn’t the best plan, but it was the only one he had. At least at the moment, and in the condition he was in.

He silently berated himself. He was on a run after the bad decisions, the terrible plans. First with the deal in the alley, and then coming to Cam’s house when all hell had broken loose. And now this: pretending to be asleep so his high school girlfriend who was now a detective wouldn’t be able to pepper him with questions.

He would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so completely fucked up and if doing so wouldn’t have racked his body with pain.

If he could change one of those things, one of those piss-poor decisions he’d made in the last twenty-four hours, he knew which one he’d turn the clock back on.

Coming to Cam’s.

As much as he reveled in seeing her again, in knowing that she was as beautiful and bold as the day he last saw her, he knew it had been an asshole move.

He’d barged right back into her life, uninvited and unannounced, for purely selfish reasons.

Because he knew his days were numbered.

And he didn’t want to die without seeing her one last time.

The only problem was, being in her home created a new problem.

His presence there was so dangerous for her, it just might mean her days were numbered, too.

All because of him.

Cam’s exasperated sigh drew his attention back to her.

Her dark eyes flashed. “If you won’t talk to me, maybe you’ll talk to someone else.” She half-stood, fishing something out of her jeans pocket.

Her phone.

Alex reacted. With considerable effort, he lifted himself off the bed, his ribs screaming in protest. His hand touched her arm, her bare skin, and the jolt of electricity that rocketed through him at contact nearly stopped his heart.

Damn.

He hadn’t expected that single touch to feel like a cattle prod.

Judging from Cam’s expression, she hadn’t expected it, either.