Dakota woke to Adam’s strong arm wrapped around her. The morning light was pouring through an open window and she could hear the soft sounds of birds chirping and children playing somewhere far away. She settled deeper into his embrace and felt his arm hold her tighter. His room was simple, but not in a bad way. It was clean and neat. There were framed photos of Adam and his friends on the wall with a copy of the approval for his club, mounted and framed. Dakota smiled at having a loan approval letter framed and hung on the wall. She realized she had never met anyone like Adam – someone who had truly come from nothing, worked for everything he had, and now was getting to enjoy his success. It was her dream. All of her charity work focused on poor and impoverished people, on giving them the chance at something better. But she still understood how hard it was for them, how much harder they had to work than she ever would.

 

Dakota turned over and looked at Adam’s sleeping face. There was light stubble on his cheeks and Dakota took her hand and stroked his cheek and he sighed.

 

“What time is it?” he mumbled, his eyes still closed.

 

“Early, only about eight thirty,” Dakota answered, kissing him on his forehead. “Go back to sleep.” His breath became deep and even almost instantly. Dakota smiled at how easily he could fall back asleep. But she was too awake for sleep to claim her.

 

Her mind was already racing. She hadn’t told anyone what had happened yet, not the police or her father. Part of her didn’t want to. She didn’t want to reopen the investigation. Everything had become easier since they had closed it. Dakota could drive herself around and, even more importantly, her father had stopped worrying. He was still recovering and she didn’t want this to cause him any stress. He still looked so weak and feeble when she visited him in the hospital.

 

Carefully she pulled herself away from Adam and out of the bed. Their clothes were still in piles on the bathroom floor as Dakota took a moment to look at herself in the mirror. Falling asleep with her hair wet had resulted in the nest of hair currently on top of her head, and she used some water and Adam’s brush to try to contain it. When she was out of the bathroom, Adam was still asleep, and Dakota didn’t want to wake him. He needed his rest; he was still recovering from the injuries he got from protecting her. So on her own she went back downstairs. As she walked, Dakota appreciated his house. It was on a small side street and his least-facing living room was filled with sunlight. The windows were open, making his entire house bright and airy. Dakota couldn’t really open her windows in her apartment. She was too far up and she didn’t realize how much she missed the fresh air until that moment.

 

She walked into the kitchen and, like the rest of the house, it was surprisingly clean, only a few cups and a bowl in the sink. There was a coffee pot next to the sink and Dakota quickly made herself some, filling the kitchen with coffee’s heavenly scent. Taking a purple cup from a cabinet, she stepped out in Adam’s backyard. Like most of the houses in this neighborhood, his backyard was just a cement slab, but it was larger than most. Adam had constructed a sort of work shed in the back yard. It was made up of unfinished two by fours of wood expertly crafted into a large working desk with several drawers and shelves and roof over it, with plastic sheeting that could be pulled down when it rained. There was what Dakota assumed were an engine and a carburetor on the bench both in various states of either being put together, or taken apart.

 

“Hey,” she heard a soft voice say from the doorway.

 

She turned and there was Adam, shirtless, wearing only a loose pair of sweatpants. He was leaning against the doorjamb, the rays of light playing along the muscles of his chest. Dakota smiled, knowing he was showing off for her, but she didn’t mind. She could have looked at him all day. “Did you build this?” she asked, gesturing to the shed.

 

“That? Yeah, it way easy,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. Dakota looked at the open air-tool shed he had built. She didn’t know anyone who could make something like this, certainly no one who would call it easy. Every man she knew would have hired a contractor and still found some way to take the credit for it.

 

“Now this,” he said, stepping outside, barefoot just like she was. “This is hard,” he said, holding up the smaller piece.

 

“Carburetor?” she guessed.

 

“How did you know?”

 

“That’s always what people are working on. Carburetors and engines, and even I know that’s too small to be an engine.”

 

“Correct, this is from a 1960 Ford Custom State Patrol Car. I found an old one at the dump and pulled some parts out. Collectors pay big money for pieces like this, but they have to work, so I took it apart, cleaned it, fixed it, and put it back together. But it was rusted together, hell of a job.” He gingerly placed the carburetor back down on his tool bench.

 

“Don’t you worry about leaving it out like this? Aren’t you worried someone will steal it?” Dakota asked.

 

“People know me in this neighborhood, and no one steals from me.” The confidence in his voice sent shivers down Dakota’s spine. Adam needed no bodyguard or security company; he didn’t need to make vague threats about people “he knew;” he was the person that people knew not to mess with. His persona alone kept thieves at bay.

 

Adam walked towards her and took her chin in his hand, tilting her face up and gently pressing his lips to hers. Dakota smiled and sighed as the kiss broke. She put her coffee down on the table and allowed herself to fall into him. She rested her head against his chest and felt his hands come up and wrap around her, pulling her in close. She could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat in his chest and she closed her eyes and let herself by hypnotized by it.

 

His body pressed against hers was nothing but muscle. Toned abs and strong arms, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. He was like a tank made flesh and blood, something strong and resilient that could withstand anything. Dakota knew so few people like that. The wealthy of the city were constantly in some sort of crisis. They needed therapy and medication and weeks away from their pampered lives. None of them would ever live like this, in a perfect little house with a tool shed outback. They would surround themselves with expensive things and then worry about them constantly.

 

Dakota knew she was different. She could live perfectly happy in this house. Maybe she could start a little garden where she could prune plants while Adam took things apart and fixed them. She could be a normal woman who got up and went to work every day. She could do it if she knew Adam would be there at night when she got home.

 

“We said we would go to the police first thing in the morning,” he reminded her.

 

“I wanted you to get some sleep. Last night was a late night,” Dakota answered. She was so comfortable and happy. She was fantasizing about a different life she knew she could never have. She wanted the fantasy to last just a little longer. She wanted to be free of a world that had assassins and required bodyguards.

 

“For you, too,”

 

“Yes, but I don’t have to run a successful night club, so I can afford to lose some sleep.” He smiled at that. “I would also like to go to my apartment and put on some pants,” Dakota said, looking down at her bare legs.

 

“Fair enough,” Adam said.

 

Two hours later they were both fully dressed and sitting in an ill-lit, cement block room, one usually reserved for interrogating suspects. In the large mirror set back against the wall Dakota looked at her own reflection next to Adam and then felt his hand gently squeeze her leg. They had told Detective Evans everything that had happened in the garage and now the woman was sitting across from them, her hands folded in front of her, thinking.

 

“So, you heard about this through Twitter?” she asked.

 

“Yeah, but the account’s been deleted. It was obviously someone pretending to be a friend,” Dakota said.

 

“And this Andre person. You think he’s trustworthy?” She asked Adam.

 

“I don’t know, honestly. I don’t think we can really trust anyone at the moment. But someone is still after Dakota, that much we know.”

 

“Do we, though?” the detective asked. “We know you were lured to a location under false pretenses and someone there had a gun and a single shot was fired. It is possible that the person there thought you were someone else, or felt they were in danger.”

 

“But we were led there,” Dakota answered.

 

“Could have been a prank, could have a member of the paparazzi trying to get a one on one. Look, I’m not trying to discredit you. But I have a man in custody, a man who has confessed to everything, to trying to kill two members of the Kane family. I need more than this to officially reopen the investigation. This stays between us, but busting Martin was good publicity for the police department, and I am aware that Mr. Mendel did most of the work there. If we reopen this case, the media is going to be all over it, it’s going to make my boss look bad, and he is not in the business of looking bad. I’m not saying no, but I need some detail beyond a stranger in a parking who may have tried to attack you, and the word of a known drug dealer.”

 

For a moment, no one spoke. The detective was clear in what she needed, but Dakota didn’t have anything to give her. All she had was the fear from last night, the memory of hiding behind a cement partition and praying that the stranger didn’t see her. She could still taste the fear in her mouth; her jaw still ached from holding back tears. She had heard that man’s footsteps. He hand been hunting them; she was sure of it, but how could she prove it?

 

“I will officially advise you to continue to seek protection through Mr. Mendel and Scarred Angels. This all might just be residual shockwaves working their way through the community. The Kanes are a well-known family, this has been a huge media event, and people want to capitalize on that. You might just be on a few more radars than you previously were. My advice is to keep your head down and hope this all blows over. I will bring this to my boss and talk about reopening the case. And, if we’re being honest, Miss Kane, one phone call from you to the mayor or the chief and you can probably get whatever you wanted.”

 

Dakota looked at the detective, unsure of what to say. She didn’t want to have to ask for favors or push her monetary weight around. But she could no longer pretend that nothing was happening, that she was safe, and that the danger was all in her head. She needed to do something. She needed to figure out what was going on. If the police cared more about looking good than actually helping, Dakota would have to take matters into her own hands.