“Who wrote these directions?” Remy mumbled grumpily. She glanced around at the badly labeled pieces for the computer desk she was trying to assemble and growled. “I shoulda gone with my original plan of a sheet of plywood and some sawhorses ‘cause this is bullshit.”

Her cousin Jace—in his current role as the gleeful protagonist for anything and everything that put a knot in her knickers—sidled by on his way to the sofa. She reacted too slowly and missed her chance to stick out her foot and trip his sorry ass. Probably a good thing, considering he was balancing a plate of nachos and the TV remote as he walked by. Wanting to kick him in the butt and cleaning melted cheese off the floor weren’t the same thing.

“Gurl,” Jace drawled. “What is it with you and the making shit harder than it needs to be, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“Oooh, burn.” He chuckled.

The TV powered on, and within seconds, Martha Stewart’s face filled the screen. She groaned and rolled her eyes. Of all the lame ass …

The program’s voiceover drowned out the rest of her response. “Today on Martha Bakes, we’ll be making a Mississippi Mud Tart.”

“Check it out,” Jace crooned through a mouthful of nachos. He was nodding at Martha’s image and waggling his brows. “A guy could get serious about a woman who bakes.”

“What is wrong with you?” Remy mumbled. She waved her hands around at the piles of laminate particle board and hardware strewn across the floor. “I’ve got an assembly crisis, and you’re stuffing your face with half the food in my kitchen.”

He laughed and chewed while watching her with clear amusement.

“And what the hell is with the sudden Martha thing? I swear to god, Jace. If you stencil paint shit on the driveway, I will disown you.”

The brusque snort and dismissive shrug almost sent her across the room. What he needed was a good ass whuppin’. Cowboy style.

Kicking stuff out of the way, she worked on shoving the headache disguised as a project to one side while considering the changes in her cousin—and she wasn’t referring to his irreverent attitude.

When Jean-Claude Delacroix arrived in Arizona to help her run the stable operation portion of her Justice duties, he was rocking an anemic, almost swishy image that seemed brutally out of place in the testosterone-fueled boy’s camp she’d lured him to.

How long had the skinny pants wearing, über European phase lasted? One day—tops. And that was months and months ago. Now, instead of being pasty-faced newbs, both were cruising up the home stretch to a one-year anniversary and looked at home under the blazing Arizona sun.

In fact, she thought with snarky censure, once his Jean Claude façade crumbled and Jace came shining through, he’d morphed into quite a stud. Complete with questionable man-whore habits. She certainly was not keeping score, but just since Halloween, she’d caught him during a dawn slut stroll after a night of twins and at least one hookup with a female visitor.

Female visitor, she scoffed to herself. What a crock. She was a shit kicking contractor from a private security firm. Apparently, Jace held his own in such illustrious company. The very thought made her emotions swing between knee-slapping amusement and shuddering disgust.

Thick, black shadows edged her mind. She pushed back against the swirling whirlpool always waiting to catch her unawares. It was still too easy to be pulled into the abyss.

She took a deep breath—held it a second—and then let it out.

Then she acknowledged the source of her tension.

Another deep breath and then she addressed the trigger. Private soldiers. Mercenaries. The ones who lived outside the rules. The ones who were so powerful they skirted the norms—told the military what to do.

Hot bile rose in her throat.

No.

Stop.

She breathed again. And again.

Ah, yes. The tension began to dissipate. She put a hand on her stomach. When she found her center, it was easier to push the blackness away.

Jace muted the TV. She glanced at it. A commercial. Nobody watched commercials.

“Why don’t you get your muscle-bound boyfriend to help you with that? If you don’t, it’ll never get assembled.”

He slid the near empty nacho plate onto the coffee table and gave her his full attention.

Nervous energy started her engine, and she sharked aimlessly around the periphery of the small living and dining room. He watched her as she paced.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Is that so?” he murmured. “Then why did your mom tell my mom you were seeing someone?”

“Shit.”

Jace’s gentle murmur became a harsh snicker. “Didn’t think that through, huh? Don’t run from this, Remy.”

They stared at each other for a long time. She knew why he was taunting her and loved him for it until old bitterness and a walloping good dose of needful denial made her unbendable. This was a closed subject—and for a good reason. Going there would never change what happened. The past was a bigger bitch than the bleach-blond mean girls who made her childhood a nightmare.

But silence wouldn’t deter her cousin, so she stubbornly persisted with a shutdown speech.

“I am not a runner, and fuck you for putting it that way.”

“Nobody knows you like I do, Remy. This thing won’t be over until you take those motherfuckers down once and for all.”

Her nerves snapped. “Shut up!” She picked up the first thing her hand connected with and hurled a paperback book at his head. He ducked, and it sailed past his shoulder. “Do not say another word, Jace. I mean it.”

She wanted to strangle him when he kept going.

“You need to tell Finn.”

“No.”

“Remington Bissett,” he growled. “Stop this shit. Don’t bother to pretend with me. You may not like the snarky Irishman, but for whatever fucking reason, he’s earned your trust. Tell him, babe. Or I will.”

That was it. She went across the room at him, knowing full well she was acting like a crazy person. With a tremendous shove, she tried pushing him to the door, but he didn’t budge.

“Nobody will blame you, Remy.”

His words ripped a hole in her soul. Who the fuck was he kidding? Of course, she got the blame. The woman always did.

“Nobody listened,” she screamed. “Same thing.”

“This isn’t the US Military. These people are for real. They care about you as a human being. Tell someone, Remy. And soon. You’re gonna wither and die out here in the desert unless you do.”

He might as well have slapped her. “That was always gonna happen.”

“Not on my watch. And besides, you’re way too strong to give up. The phoenix, remember?”

She couldn’t look at him. He was right, but she was too conflicted and fucked up in the head—still. The only thing keeping her from crumpling was Jace’s faith in her, and yeah—Finn O’Brien. For some unknown reason, he made her feel kind of normal.

“Come here,” he said with his arms wide.

She allowed the hug and even gave back a little. When he released her, he put his hands on her shoulders for a little shake.

“Don’t let this thing destroy you.”

Remy offered the only words she could. “I’m afraid.”

Shocked by her admission, she thought tears might have glistened in Jace’s eyes before he looked away.

“You are the baddest motherfucker I’ve ever known. Your father named you well, kid. It doesn’t make you weak to admit fear.”

His amused snickers made her do a double take.

“In fact,” he continued, “admitting fear makes you dangerous.”

An involuntary smile spread across her face.

He noticed and smirked. “I’d say that’s as good a sign as any that you’re ready to start kicking ass and taking names.”

“I hate you,” she teased.

“I know.” Jace’s lazy shoulder roll was so typical. “But let me add one more thing—and this applies to us both.”

“Um, okay.”

“Do you ever think there’s a reason we’re here? I mean,” he muttered. “You know—it’s like weird that Arizona of all goddamn places is home. And I say home because we love it here.”

She sighed and nodded her agreement. “When I visited the parents for Christmas? All I could think about was getting back here.”

“Right, right. Me too. I think I’m supposed to be here. Don’t know why but it sure seems like my future is tied to this place and these people.”

“I like these guys.”

“Just the guys?” he asked in his usual pain-in-the-ass way.

Remy didn’t have BFFs or close gal pals. Her world had consisted of predominantly males for most of her life. Until that world came close to eating her alive.

Cut loose from the constraints of the military, she’d wandered, lost, until Cameron Justice scooped her up and put her in charge of a whole department. She liked the familiarity of the environment. And she excelled at what she did.

But Jace was referring to the Justice Ladies. There was a whole squad. Young, really young, and older. Related and unrelated. She marveled at the strength of their sisterhood because it gave the band of brothers thing a serious run for their money.

And they’d accepted her with open arms. It was tough, but she was taking a stab at being a chick.

With a laugh, she told him, “Did you know Angie sent Alex a bag of dicks?”

“What?” he asked, exploding with laughter.

“Yeah, yeah,” she excitedly answered. “Apparently, there’s a website that will send a bunch of gummy penises. I believe the ‘eat a bag of’ was implied. It was supposed to be anonymous, but she ran around and told everyone.”

“She’s fucking hilarious, that one. The stable guys tell a fabulous story about her tossing some guy to the curb. Literally. Something about kicking him out of a car at the airport. Classic.”

“Have you seen her sister around? I think she’s living in town with Alex’s parents. Oh no, wait. I doubt she’d be hanging around at the stable being that she’s pregnant and all.”

“Sister? Nope. But being pregnant hasn’t stopped Stephanie.” He chuckled. “She spends more time with the horses than I do. It’s making me look bad.”

“I saw you with Bella and Danny. They’re awfully cute.”

“Oh, my god, are you kidding? Bella is my new queen and Little D? Did you know he could whip a ball at a target and hit the center every time? The kid’s only a year old.”

The tension from their emotional skirmish vanished. She felt—happy.

“Thanks,” she drawled.

“For what?”

“For never giving me a pass.”

They nodded in unison.

“Hey, do you mind cleaning up my mess? Sorry, but I want to stop by the kennel and talk to Brody. I almost forgot. Duke wants guard dogs at the gate. It was a spitball comment, but he asked me to check into it before bringing the idea to Alex.”

“The Major has a lot on his plate at the moment. Can’t someone else make that decision?”

“Pfft, right? Justice needs a general manager. Someone running the day-to-day crap.”

She couldn’t agree more. “I hear there’s talk of restructuring the command chain.”

“Seriously? Wow.”

“It’s not a bad idea. When he was on another continent for his honeymoon, people griped about how long it took to make decisions. The others have as much authority, but well, Alex—ya know?”

“Word. That guy is like Zeus or something.”

She snickered. “Did you just compare your boss to his dog?”

Jace laughed. “Not that Zeus, you twit. The big kahuna. King of the gods. Him. Alex Marquez is a lot like that. His presence makes the lesser gods genuflect.”

“Well said.”

He scooped one last mouthful of nachos and wiped his hands on his jeans. Remy had to laugh. Jean-Claude would never have done anything so déclassé.

“I’m out.” He pointed at the pile of parts for the computer desk that was probably toast. “Oh, and about that. I read in Cosmo that giving us manly men a reason to strut our tool belts is in the top ten of female wiles.”

“Female wiles? I don’t know what that means.”

Jace made a face and hooted. “Shit, Remy. What the fuck? Time to get your flirt on, guuurlfriend.”

She snicker-laughed and opened the apartment door. “I hate the way you say that.”

“Guuurl, I know!” The playful taunt earned him an arched brow as she pointed her finger at the door.

He kissed her cheek as he passed by. “Call Finn. Tell him you broke a nail and need his help.”

She shrieked with outrage while he laughed and took off.

“Call Finn about a broken nail. Harumph.” She grunted. As if!

Turning the TV off, she dropped the remote and picked up the nacho plate. It only took a couple of minutes to tidy up, but every so often, her eyes drifted to the unassembled desk.

Was it time to get her flirt on? It couldn’t hurt. Finn was easy. Plus, he knew where the line was and had never, not once, stepped over it.

Butterflies swooped and circled in her gut. If she invited familiarity and couldn’t handle it, then what?

Finn was an arrogant, stuck-up, smug shithead. But he’d been a friend—as much as she’d let him. Using him as target practice, knowing shit could go south pretty quickly was a twunty thing to do.

She chewed her lip. The pile of desk pieces didn’t move.

Stomping into the tiny kitchen, she ripped her phone off the charger and let out a deep sigh.

She pulled up her contacts, found Finn’s name, but then hesitated.

Text or call?

Texting was a pussy move, and she wasn’t a pussy.

She tapped the call button and put the phone to her ear.

Panic seized her, and she very nearly ended the call before it went through, but when her gaze drifted across the picture of the fiery phoenix she had under a magnet on the refrigerator, her spine stiffened.

When the dark times came, the fire hadn’t consumed her—it had only made her stronger.

She could do this.

A voice came across the phone making a husky growl. “Ah, Remington. I was just thinking about you.”

Asshat, her mind screamed. She smiled and shook her head.

“Hello, Finn. Got a minute?”