The next morning, Rogan wasn't home, and I gave TV a try. The news struck a raw nerve in me, so I stopped on a reality show where the woman had her choice of twenty-five handsome bachelors to find a husband. The girl had all the power, and the men fought over her instead of vice versa. I was laughing when Rogan burst through the door in a blast of energy.

"Hey." He dropped his gym bag by the door, and I stared at his backside as he set the alarm. His skin glistened with sweat, and his workout clothes clung to his sinewy muscles. His butt under his tight shorts was firm and round like cantaloupes. Yum.

He glanced at the TV then looked back at me. "You watch TV on the compound?"

"No, but... I've watched TV before."

"How's that?"

"When I babysat, I watched TV there."

"Your parents know this?"

"No. They wouldn't have allowed it if they knew. They believed TV was sinful."

"Huh. It might be, but it's not hurting anyone." He turned and headed for the kitchen. "Hungry?"

Um, yes. I'm suddenly craving ripe melons. "Yes."

He tilted his head for me to follow him. I leaned a shoulder against the doorframe as he hunched over the fridge to look for ingredients. His T-shirt rode up over the top of his shorts, and the band of his briefs peeked out. I could almost make out the lettering...

"Eggs alright?"

"Uh. Sure." I shifted my gaze to the wall. "I can cook. I worked in the kitchen on the compound."

"Don't need you to cook for me, Tess. Need you to eat, gain your strength."

My new name sounded even cuter shortened to Tess.

"How are your injuries?" The eggs he'd cracked sizzled in the skillet.

I rubbed the sores at my wrists. "Getting better. Not as red. I feel stronger today."

"Glad to hear it." He placed two plates of steaming eggs on the counter, pushing one toward me. I stood next to him and burned my tongue on the first bite. "They're good. Thank—"

He stopped me with a raised eyebrow.

"They're yummy." I smiled with my mouth full.

"Got a friend coming over this morning to see you." He shoveled a forkful into his mouth.

"To see me?"

He nodded as he chewed. "He'll get you set up."

"Okay..." Whatever that meant.

Rogan poured us each a glass of orange juice. "He's aware of your history. You can trust him."

"I thought you said trust no one."

"Exceptions. You can trust me, the five other men on that plane, and Dallas and Brock Monroe. That's it."

"Including Blaze?"

"Yes, why?"

"Seems like you don't like him."

"Blaze operates at a level of intelligence beyond what most of us can comprehend. He stirs the pot to entertain himself and throw people off, but he wouldn't betray you."

"And I'll meet Dallas and Brock today?"

"Brock today. Dallas next week."

As Rogan cleared the breakfast dishes, a rat-a-tat-tat sounded from the front room.

Rogan opened the door to a tall figure looming in the corridor. He wore all black and held a bulky manila folder in his left hand. The threat I sensed from him forced me to take a step back as he entered.

Rogan greeted him with a head tilt. "Tessa, this is Brock Monroe."

My worry dissipated when he smiled. An alluring dimple appeared in the scruff on his chin, and he spoke with a mellow voice. "Hello, Tessa."

My hand felt small in his as he wrapped it around mine and gave me a palm-to-palm handshake. "Uh, nice to meet you."

There must be something in the water in Boston because this man had flawless bone structure, long legs, and an athlete's build. Women everywhere must stammer and drop their jaws in adoration like I'd just done.

Rogan coughed to bring our attention to the card table in his nook. He shifted his laptop to the kitchen counter and motioned for us to sit.

We all took seats, and Brock pulled out a compact leather clutch purse from the manila folder. He withdrew a card and held it up for me to read.

Tessa May Harlow

"Your ID."

The Massachusetts driver's license had a recent picture of me smiling at the camera. I didn't remember anyone taking my picture.

"For me? I'm Tessa May Harlow?"

"You are now. Your new birthday is July tenth. You'll be twenty-three this July."

"Again? I turned twenty-three when I was in Afghanistan."

His russet eyes flashed in the morning light coming through the window. "Let's hope the second time around is better."

His tone held compassion like he knew I'd spent my last birthday tied up and frightened.

"You were raised in Wilmington, North Carolina. Your cousin Seth Hendrix lives there, goes by the name Falcon. I suggest you get yourself up to speed on Wilmington and North Carolina so you can be convincing if it comes up in conversation."

The name Falcon sounded familiar, but Brock talked too fast for me to process any of this.

"You came to Massachusetts to go to UMass Boston, my alma mater. You'll get a quality education there."

"What do you mean?"

"You're registered as an undeclared major. Summer session starts end of June."

I'd be going to school in a month? I was nobody. Invisible. "I- I never graduated high school."

"Tessa Harlow earned her GED three months ago."

"What's a GED?"

"It's equivalent to a high school diploma."

My hands shook, and my heart hammered in my chest. A high school diploma? This couldn't be happening.

Brock continued matter-of-factly like this was indeed happening. "Your parents are Dale and Sandrine Harlow from Wilmington. They're a typical working-class couple, devoted to their only daughter. They don't exist, so no inviting friends home for Christmas."

"Of course, no. Uh..."

He held up a large key and fob on a simple ring. "The key to your new truck. Automatic transmission, security alarm." Brock slid his gaze to Rogan. "Fully armored, run-flat tires."

Rogan responded with a slight nod.

I had no idea what armoring and run-flat tires were or why I would need them.

"If you find trouble, stay in your truck and call Rogan or me. Can you drive a truck?" Brock shifted his gaze from Rogan to me.

"I drove the old Chevy around the farm and into town for work sometimes."

"This is a top of the line special edition Sierra Denali. A lot more fun than an old Chevy."

"Oh." I clapped my hands together and held them over my mouth.

Brock watched my reaction with assessing eyes as he handed me the fob. "If you want, we can take your truck out for a break-in run. Leave the city, head up to the mountains? I can give you a four-wheel drive lesson."

"I- I'm not sure." I looked to Rogan, but he'd frozen solid, his face blank. "I haven't thought about leaving Rogan's place."

"When you've been confined in a cage for a long time, it's daunting to venture out, no matter how eager you were to escape. Your shackles have been removed. You're free to fly away."

Why hadn't I considered the possibility before? "You're right. I am." With a phone, a car, and this identity, I could go anywhere I wanted with no one to stop me except myself.

"Then yes!" Brock and Rogan sat motionless as I stood and bounced on my toes. "I'd love a driving lesson. Thank you, Brock." I couldn't hold in the tiny squeak from the back of my throat.

"You come alive like this over a truck, I got a new bike to show you."

"Ooh, I like bikes too." I placed my hands flat on the table and smiled at him. "We had a Schwinn on the compound, but we all had to share it."

He chuckled and wiped his hand along the table top. "Not Schwinn, sugar. I'm talkin' Harley. Even better, take you for a ride on the back of my Ducati. You like to go fast?"

Motorcycles? I'd never even ridden on a moped. "I don't even know. But yes. I'd love to find out!"

The prospect of riding a motorcycle with Brock had me so enthralled, I'd forgotten Rogan was even in the room. When Brock cast his gaze over to Rogan, I looked too and saw he'd turned to stone. He shot a dark look at Brock.

Brock cleared his throat and gathered his hair in his fingers as he ran his hand over his head. Wow, he had long fingers and silky brown hair. He pulled a blue document from the purse and placed it on the table. "Passport." He pointed at two cards in the folds of the purse. "Social security card and a debit card connected to a bank account. You have five thousand dollars in there to get you started."

"What? I mean... Why? You're giving all this to me?"

Brock grinned. "Courtesy of Dallas Monroe. Help you get your feet off the ground."

"Is he your father?"

"My little brother. You'll meet him next Monday. Be at Siege in Somerville at noon. You now have a job at the hottest nightclub in the city."

"I can't..."

"You're a Siege employee now. Dallas takes care of the people who work for him."

I blinked away pending tears. "Please tell him I'm so grateful. I can't wait to meet him. I'll pay him back for all of this."

"No worries." He stood and strode toward the door. "I have to get going, but good luck to you, and I'll see you at Siege."

I waved goodbye to him as Rogan walked him out.

"Thank you," Rogan said to Brock as he shook his hand. "And I'll teach her how to drive the truck," Rogan said more quietly.

Brock ducked his chin to his shoulder and lowered his voice. "Sorry, man. I didn't know. I'll hold off on the bike ride too."

Rogan grunted.

Brock left, and Rogan set the alarm behind him. We stared at each other as I processed the deluge of information swimming in my head. A guilty smile twitched on his lips.

"Did you do all this for me?"

"Nah. Dallas Monroe is a generous guy."

"He doesn't even know me."

"He knows you're a friend of mine. That's enough." He looked around like he was missing something. He swiped his keys from his gym bag by the door. "I'm going to the store. You need anything?"

"Ooh, could you pick up some cornmeal?"

"Cornmeal?"

"Mmm-hmm, with flour and salt, some butter. I wanna make cornbread."

He stared at me like I'd spoken in French.

"And I'd like those Ensure drinks in chocolate, if they have it. Maybe some ice."

His eyes crinkled, and the corner of his mouth turned up. "Why don't you come with me? We'll take your new truck."

I smiled and ran to grab my shoes and my new purse. "That'd be so much fun."

He chuckled under his breath as he opened the door and pushed the buttons of the alarm. "Yes. Fun."

***

I had to clean out the cobwebs and dust from Rogan's oven before I could use it, but the cornbread came out with a crunchy brown crust, and the dome didn't flatten when I set it on top of the stove.

As it cooled, I moved to the bathroom to shave my legs. I spread the shaving cream over my shin and carefully drew the razor up to my knee. Removing ten weeks of hair from my legs was like shedding a second skin.

The front door clicking open and the alarm beeping let me know Rogan was home.

"What's that smell?" his voice called from near the front door.

"Cornbread. Spoonbread, really." Standing on one leg with my foot up on the counter, I had to arch my neck and twist my torso to see him in the living room. I gasped as I took in his new haircut. His square buzzed cut highlighted the thick cords of his neck and made him look more like a soldier.

"Where do you get your hair cut?"

"Why?" He cocked one knee as he looked at me.

"Next time, let me do it for you. I just need scissors and a comb. Do you have an electric razor?"

"You are not cutting my hair."

"Why not? I did it all the time back home. I'm good at it."

He shook his head and walked to the kitchen.

"Let me cut your hair next time," I called to his back. "You don't need to pay a barber when I can do it for free."

The silence of his reply was a firm no to that idea.

As I finished up my right leg and switched to my left, Rogan returned and stood in the bathroom doorway. His eyes darkened as he stared at my bare leg angled above the counter.

"That doesn't taste like any cornbread I've ever had."

"It's spoonbread. It has cheese, sour cream, and all kinds of mushy goodness. You can eat it with a spoon. Did you like it?"

"Fuckin' loved it."

I smiled, and his gaze focused on my mouth. "If you eat all that, I have enough ingredients to make more."

He grunted and nodded as he turned to walk to his computer. Over his shoulder he said, "And close the bathroom door, Sunshine."