She looked like death.

That was Lucas’s first thought when Alaina answered the door.

Her call had been hard to decipher. She was crying, he knew that, and just kept saying over and over, “The phone. Another text. I need you.”

He’d been stewing over the conversation he’d had with Blaine that morning when she called. Every time he thought the anger was abating, a fresh wave washed over him. He’d spent the better part of the last hour bouncing a tennis ball against one of the basement walls, slamming it as hard as he could to work out his frustration.

All that had dissipated after Alaina’s phone call. She’d sounded distressed, and his anger turned almost immediately to worry. He’d grabbed his keys, shoved his feet into his boots and was in front of her door less than ten minutes after hanging up the phone. And he was happy as hell there hadn’t been an AFPD cruiser on the route he’d taken to her house, because he absolutely would’ve been pulled over for speeding.

The phone was in her hand. Noah’s phone. He glanced at it, his pulse quickening when he saw the text in all caps. He placed his hand on Alaina’s arm and guided her to the couch. She dropped onto one of the cushions and he followed suit.

“This isn’t coming from Noah,” he said, his voice soft but firm.

She nodded, but he could tell she didn’t believe him.

“You understand that, right?” he said, his eyes locked on hers.

She looked so small, so vulnerable. Her eyes were huge, her mouth pinched tight, her complexion wan. This sudden urge to protect her overwhelmed him. He wanted to throw his arms around her, to hug her and whisper in her ear that everything was going to be alright. He would protect her, keep her safe.

But he kept his heroic sentiments in check, figuring calm logic and a gentle hand on her shoulder were probably a better move.

“Someone is messing with you,” he continued, trying to keep his own emotions under control. “I don’t know who, but I’m going to find out.”

He knew the fastest way to get the messages to stop was to discontinue Noah’s cell service. It was obvious why no one had done it yet—it was one of those menial tasks that always fell to the back burner, especially in cases involving a sudden, unexpected death. And because there were precious few accounts that Noah had as a teenager, he was sure it was just something no one had thought about. If the phone service was a family plan, Alaina’s parents might not act for weeks. For months. Neither Lucas nor Alaina would have the ability to shut down that phone line—only the account owner, in this case probably Alan Dans, could do that—but he could gently suggest it to Barbara, or have Alaina mention it the next time she was there.

But even that seemed like a bad idea at the moment, especially with how fragile she was right now. She literally thought her dead brother was communicating with her from beyond. In any other circumstances, Lucas would’ve rolled his eyes and tried to talk some firm sense into whomever was swallowing that garbage.

But this was different.

This was Alaina.

“Do you want me to keep the phone?” he asked. “I can take it with me, if you want.” He would just power the damn thing off and be done with it.

Alaina’s hands were folded in her lap, her fingers rubbing her knuckles over and over. Her teeth bit into her lip, and he could tell she was struggling with something.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice registering a little sharp. “What are you not telling me?”

She blinked.

“Nothing,” she said. “I just… Yes, maybe you should take it.”

Lucas frowned. “Just what?”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“Alaina.” She wouldn’t look at him. He put his thumb under her chin and lifted it, forcing her eyes to his. “Tell me.”

“I’ve been obsessed with that phone,” she finally said.

He nodded. This was understandable, the constant worry of what might come through next. All the more reason to turn it off, he thought.

“I’ll take it. You won’t have to see another one of those texts.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Lucas leaned forward a little. “I’m not following.”

She took a deep breath. “Do you know how hard it is to not open everything on that phone and scour it for information?”

He was a little taken aback.

“You haven’t done that yet?” He thought it would’ve been the first thing she’d do.

She shook her head vehemently.

“Why not?” As a private investigator, he would’ve searched every single thing available on that device.

“Because it’s Noah’s,” she said softly. “Because I don’t deserve to know.”

Lucas couldn’t hide his look of disbelief. “Isn’t that why you hired me? To look into the circumstances surrounding his death?”

“Yes.” She gave him a hard look. “And you’ve decided there is no case.”

He said nothing, but the guilt rose inside of him.

She glanced at the phone. “Besides, this isn’t looking into his death. It’s looking into his life.”

“Which is what we sort of need to do since that’s all we have to go on,” he reminded her.

“Are you saying you were wrong?” she asked.

“I’m just saying that his phone represents the opportunity to find out whether or not there is something to go on.”

“It feels like an invasion of privacy,” she said.

Lucas didn’t disagree, but he also knew that investigative work often involved things that might be unpalatable under regular circumstances.

“And I don’t deserve to know,” she added softly.

He almost didn’t hear her. “What?”

Alaina’s voice was louder this time. “I don’t deserve to know.” She sighed. “I was a shitty sister when he was alive. I don’t deserve any part of his life.”

“You keep saying that,” Lucas said, shaking his head. “You’re being way too hard on yourself.”

“No, I’m not.”

His thumb found her chin again. This time he kept it there, mostly to keep her eyes locked on his. But the feel of her skin, the warmth and smoothness of it, made it impossible to even consider breaking contact again.

“You are a good person, Alaina.” His voice was firm. “It’s okay to have regrets, to wish you had done things differently. But you can’t let one season of your life—one very short season—define the entirety of the relationship you had with your brother. It’s not fair to him, and it’s not fair to you.”

Tears spilled from her eyes. “But I wasn’t there for him,” she whispered, her face crumpling. “And it kills me. That he was so, so alone.”

His heart hiccupped. He used his thumb to wipe away a tear streaking down her chin. How he wished he could fix things for her. Fix everything.

“You are a good person,” he repeated. “Don’t let your regrets steer your path going forward. You deserve better.” He used his free arm to wrap around her and she sagged against him, her chest heaving with silent sobs.

He stroked her shoulder, breathed in the scent of her. He wanted to hold her forever, to wrap her in his embrace and never let her go.

But there was something else he was thinking about.

Something that sat a little uncomfortably in his gut.

He’d given her advice that he needed to take himself. His own wounds, his own regrets, often rubbed him raw. There were moments when he wanted to kick himself for walking away from his job on the force, for not sticking around and taking that damn desk job Kellen had offered him. Maybe with enough therapy, with another surgery, with strength training and conditioning, he would’ve been able to pass the physical requirements. Maybe he would’ve found a position in the administration that could be just as satisfying as working the streets.

But he’d made a rash decision. He’d let his anger and his frustration get the best of him and he’d walked. His business was doing fine, but there was always a part of him—and some days it spoke louder than others—that berated his quick decision. What if he’d stayed? How would his life have been different?

The woman in his arms sighed, and his arm instinctively tightened around her.

He knew one way his life would’ve been different.

He wouldn’t be sitting in this tiny, warm bungalow, holding this fragile slip of a woman, offering her not only physical comfort, but words of reassurance, too.

Slowly, Alaina lifted her head. She offered a watery smile, her face streaked with tears, her eyes and nose rosy red from crying.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her cheeks were flushed red, too, and he wondered if that was from her crying jag or because she was embarrassed at her display of emotion. She certainly sounded that way.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he told her. “Not a single thing.” He glanced at the phone still sitting on the coffee table. “Do you want me to take it?”

She hesitated, then nodded.

His gaze returned to her. “And do you want me to poke around?” Before she could respond, he added, “It might have some clues. I’m not saying it will, but if it does and we don’t look, well…”

They sat in silence for a moment. Harry ambled in from the hallway, yawning, his ears droopy from sleep. He seemed completely oblivious to what had been going on in the house.

Alaina pulled in a shaky breath. “I don’t want to know what you find,” she murmured. When she saw his confused expression, she added, “Not unless it…it has to do with—”

He cut her off. “Understood.”

She breathed a visible sigh of relief.

He shifted his arm so he could lean over and grab the phone. “It’s unlocked, right? You took the facial recognition off?”

She nodded.

He powered off the phone and slid it into his jeans pocket. One problem solved. And potentially dozens of clues to find.

He would do that later, in the privacy of his own home or office. That way, he could take his time poring over everything, and Alaina wouldn’t have to sit through the process. Because it was more than clear that she didn’t want to.

“Thank you for coming over,” she said. She looked and sounded more composed.

“Don’t thank me,” he said. He didn’t want her to feel indebted to him.

“I don’t think comforting and counseling clients is part of your job description.”

She wasn’t wrong.

He gave her a sheepish grin. “It’s not. But I didn’t come running because you were my client. And I didn’t comfort you because you were my client, either.”

“No?”

Alaina had shifted a fraction of an inch away from him on the couch, but their thighs were still touching, their shoulders just inches apart.

“No.”

“Then why did you come?”

He hesitated. He could spill right then. Tell her all the reasons why he was sitting with her on her couch, his arm wrapped around her, emotions buzzing through him like bees swarming a hive.

He chose his words carefully. “Because I was worried about you.” He made sure she was looking at him. And then he added, “And because I care about you.”

Her swallow was visible, but to her credit, she didn’t look away.

She said nothing, but the air between them was charged. Heated.

He wanted to kiss her. God, how he wanted to cover her lips with his and make her forget all that was happening.

“Can I ask you a question?” Lucas asked suddenly. “Feel free to say no.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Okay…”

His thigh pressed into hers and he leaned close, so close he could feel her warm breath on his skin. Her eyes were so blue, the deep blue of ten thousand lakes, and he felt a little dizzy, as if he were about to drown in those liquid depths.

He cupped his hand around her neck and touched his nose to hers, poised to ask instead of simply take.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered.

He’d never asked that question before, not once in his life. He’d kissed plenty of women, but circumstances always dictated to him where and how far to take a relationship or hook-up. He could read people’s desires as easily as he could read their intentions, and he’d always known when to take things to the next level.

But this wasn’t a date. And this wasn’t just any woman. He wanted to be damn sure that he was offering something Alaina wanted.

She didn’t respond with words.

But her lips still answered his question.