Trigger woke before the crack of dawn, tearing free of another nightmare that followed him through his day with incessant bursts of adrenaline, anxiety, and frustration. He wanted to forget, but his mind replayed the shooting over and over again.

Paula, the woman he manipulated to get information on her boyfriend, Marco, had jumped in front of Marco during the drug bust in a naïve attempt to save the man she loved from the inevitable. Trigger’s bullet, meant to take down Marco before he killed Trigger, slammed into her back. Horror filled her eyes as blood poured out of her. Marco’s bullets slammed into Trigger’s chest and side, leaving an agonizing pain that raced through him like lightning moments before the meth lab exploded. A searing wave of heat and flames hit Trigger, catching his leg on fire, shooting agony along its length.

The pain echoed through him now even after the burns had healed. He still walked with a slight limp, but the stretching exercises worked. The flexibility in his ankle got better by the day. He wished he could say the same about his mind.

He’d retreated to his secluded property, taking a leave of absence to heal from his wounds and figure out what the hell he wanted to do next. He wasn’t sure he could go back to undercover work. Not when he’d become too comfortable living the lie rather than facing his real life. When you felt more comfortable surrounded by drug dealers and thugs than you did around your family, maybe it was time to get the hell out before you got sucked in so deep you became the thing you’d spent your life fighting to take down.

With the walls closing in and a storm about to dump a shitload of snow on his place, he headed out the door to settle the horses and secure the barn.

He’d asked his brother and sister to give him some space. It didn’t stop them from dropping by—often. The storm and snow would give him the space he needed and the solitude he craved—most of the time.

Seeing his brother Caden with his girlfriend, Mia, happy and so damn in love, made Trigger think about the things missing in his life. A woman unlike the ones he usually met undercover: cynical, looking for an angle, out for themselves, and desperate for the drugs and money that ruled that scene. It had been a long time since he had a kind, sweet woman in his life. Someone with a genuine smile and a warm, open heart.

Trigger grabbed his jacket off the peg by the front door, pulled it on, and walked out into the frigid breeze, cursing himself for fantasizing about a woman he’d never find out here. He pulled the door closed against the biting wind and headed down the porch steps and across the yard to the barn. The open door stopped him in his tracks. He must not have closed it hard enough to catch. The wind blew the door open six inches, then pushed it back, bouncing the door in and out of its frame.

Caution and suspicion were his go-to modes, so he scanned the yard, every shadow and crevice around the barn, the surrounding pastures and trees. Nothing but the wind made a sound. He dialed down the shot of adrenaline, drew his gun from behind his back, and approached the barn with extreme caution, all his senses on alert for any threat.

No telling if one of the drug dealers he’d taken down had come for their revenge.

He threw open the barn door, stepped in, gun held out in front of him, and gave his eyes a second to adjust to the darker interior. Nothing but the horses stirred. His truck and Camaro sat to his left. The vehicles were exactly as he left them. He needed to finish taping and papering off the Camaro and finish getting it ready to paint. He loved the black, but the car was too recognizable. A few minor changes and maybe he could keep it and not alert every drug dealer in the state that he was the same guy taking everyone down.

He scrubbed his free hand over his full beard and shook his shoulder-length hair back and thought maybe he needed a shave and haircut before anyone believed he wasn’t a drug dealer himself.

The horses swished their tails and nickered at him, giving him the sense that if they were okay and not nervous or spooked, then he should relax and stop looking for trouble where there was none.

He lowered the gun and slid the wide door separating the garage area from the stables all the way open. He walked down the aisle giving the three horses a pat and checked to be sure they had enough water. He’d clean their stalls, feed them, and make sure everything was shut up tight before the storm hit and they got too cold. Heading back to the tack room to grab the horse blankets, he stopped in his tracks, staring down at the two apple cores, the empty bottle of water, and the box of crackers he’d left behind the other day, now spilled across the floor. One of the horse blankets was missing, too.

The outer door slammed and this time it wasn’t the wind. Trigger pulled his gun again and ran after whoever made it onto his property, past his security system, and sneaked into his barn. He bolted out the door, searching the yard for any sign of the intruder. Another half-eaten apple in the dirt gave him a direction. He ran toward the trees, ignoring the pain in his calf and ankle from the burns, slowing to a halt when he spotted the horse blanket draped on the ground as a small child tried to hide behind a tree with his entire backside sticking out. If the dark blue blanket hadn’t given him away, the red coat made him a perfect target.

How the hell did such a small child get here?

Trigger tucked the gun away at his back. He didn’t want to scare the kid.

He scanned the sparse forest, checking for anyone else trying to hide among the thin trees. He didn’t see anything. Nothing moved, including the child.

“Come out,” he ordered.

The child jolted, then took off at a dead run, halting only momentarily when the blanket caught on an exposed root, held, and the boy lost his grip. He turned momentarily, with a look of regret and desperation that surprised Trigger and told him how much the child needed that blanket. The boy must be freezing out here.

And where the hell were his parents?

“Hey, come back,” Trigger called when the boy ran off again.

Unable to let the kid go without making sure he was okay and found his parents again, though how they got way the hell out here boggled the mind, he ran after the kid again. His burned leg protested the exertion, but Trigger ignored it and tried to keep track of the boy as he dodged trees, winding his way down a path only the kid knew. Trigger couldn’t think of a single place out here that the boy and his family could squat and endure the cold.

Trigger rounded yet another pine and skidded to a stop, struck by the oddest scene he’d ever encountered. As an undercover DEA agent, he’d seen some weird shit and bizarre situations.

The woman lay facedown, sprawled in the dirt and weeds wearing an ice-blue evening gown and one sparkling crystal high heel. The other lay stuck between the ground and a thick root four feet behind her. Judging by the disturbances in the dirt and brush, either she skidded on her belly, or the boy had tried to drag her. He sat on the dress between her wide legs with a thick stick in his hands to protect her, the layers of fabric from her skirt bunched around him in a puffy cloud.

Trigger might have smiled at the heroic attempt to defend the defenseless woman, but the kid couldn’t be more than three or four and about as tall as his thigh. Not much thicker than it, even in his heavy coat. No wonder the kid scarfed down the apples and crackers. He must be starving. Judging by how skinny his mother looked, he’d think they’d been living on the streets if not for her gown and the boy’s clean clothes.

Something didn’t add up. Lots of things—like the way she was dressed—set off all the alarms in Trigger’s mind, but none sounded louder than her pale, gray skin. He couldn’t see her face beneath the fall of thick, dark, greasy hair. Judging by her coloring, she was either freezing or dead. The tight top of the dress made it impossible for him to tell if she was still breathing. Hell, he didn’t know how she breathed in that thing at all.

“Hey now, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you. Is she okay? Is this why you needed the blanket?”

The boy’s bottom lip trembled, but he held it together and raised the stick higher to ward off Trigger.

“Let me check her out, see if she needs help.” Or a coroner.

The wind kicked up and the dark clouds overhead dumped the first flutters of snow. By tonight, they’d be wrapped in a whiteout and enough snow to reach his knees, or worse. He needed to get these two squared away and out of the weather.

Trigger stepped forward, not stopping even when the boy shot out in front of the woman to keep him away. He swung the branch, but Trigger simply grabbed it and pulled it out of the kid’s grasp. The kid wasn’t done yet; he kicked Trigger right in the shin. Trigger bit back the pain flaring in his injured leg. He took the kid by the shoulders and held him up in front of him. A little intimidation to get the kid under control.

“I won’t hurt you or her. She needs help. You wanted to get her warm.”

Tears shined in the boy’s eyes. He nodded.

“Okay, then let me see if I can move her and get her up to the house.”

The boy eyed him, the woman, then him again. So much showed in the depths of his eyes, but one thing stood out—he didn’t want anyone to hurt his mother.

Trigger set the boy back on his feet and held out his hand. “I swear to you, I will not hurt her.”

The boy hesitated but took his hand and shook.

Trigger knelt beside the woman’s head and gently touched her cheek, pulling her long hair back from her face. “Holy shit!” This scene took on a whole new level of strange. Not only should these two not be out here in the middle of nowhere, but the woman lying on the ground hadn’t been seen by anyone in a year. Ashley Swan’s face was all over the news and tabloids, and her name was mentioned on the radio every five seconds as the anniversary of her disappearance approached.

And he’d found her. On his property. Lying at his feet.

“Shit.” His quiet solitude was about to blow up with cops, press, and way too much attention for an undercover agent.

The boy stepped close and stared down at Ashley, reminding him he shouldn’t swear in front of the kid. It hit him all at once. From everything he’d heard about Ashley over the last week and from past publicity of her movies, she didn’t have a child. The silent boy was yet another mystery.

“Where did you come from?”

The boy pointed past Ashley at the trees and open land. Nothing out there but wide-open spaces.

Trigger bit the bullet and slid his hand over her freezing skin to her neck. The flutter of her pulse against his fingertips barely registered. If she stayed out here any longer, she’d be dead in hours. If she even had that much time.

“Did she hurt herself? Break a bone?”

The boy shook his head, held up his hand, his fingers pointed up, then let his hand fall forward flat.

“She fell.”

He nodded, rolled his eyes back in his head, and pretended to faint, falling to his knees.

“She passed out?”

He held out his hand to her and frowned.

“Okay. How long ago?”

He held his hands out wide.

“A long time ago?”

The boy nodded, making Trigger’s stomach tighten with dread.

“An hour?” Trigger kept going, watching the boy for any sign he hit the mark. “Two hours? Lunchtime? Morning? Was it still dark?”

Finally the boy nodded.

Shit. A hell of a long time to pass out and lay unconscious.

“You know this would go a lot faster and help me out if you talked to me.”

He rushed over to Ashley and hid in her skirt again at Trigger’s sharp tone. Those things not adding up started turning into dark thoughts and places in his mind Trigger didn’t want to go.

“I’m going to make you a deal, little man. We made a deal that I wouldn’t hurt her, right?” He got another of those repetitive nods. “I’ll make you another deal. I will never hurt you. Ever.” Trigger held out his hand.

The boy took it and shook again.

“Now, you have my promise. Want to tell me your name?”

“Adam,” he whispered.

“Nice to meet you, Adam. I’m Trigger.”

The narrowed, confused gaze wasn’t hard to read.

“Strange name, I know. Let’s take care of Ashley, okay?”

Another confused look.

“She’s famous. I saw her picture on TV.”

That seemed to frighten Adam even more.

“Don’t worry. No one knows she’s here.”

Who the hell could find them out here anyway? Where the hell did they come from? The closest property to his had to be about ten miles away as the crow flies.

He needed to get her out of here. Fast. The snow fell in a light flutter, but in another hour he’d have a hard time finding his way back home.

“Move out of the way, little man. Let me roll her over.” Trigger gave Adam a second to move to his side, then he took Ashley gently by the shoulders and slowly rolled her over. She didn’t so much as blink, let alone make a sound. The dress constricted her chest so tightly her breasts nearly spilled right out of the top. Any other time he’d have appreciated such lovely things, right now he worried about her shallow breath. He hated to keep moving her without knowing exactly what ailed her, aside from the fact she was absurdly thin, but he had no choice. The woman could use another fifteen pounds to fill out her bird-like frame.

He rolled her to her side and tried to unzip the dress a couple inches to give her some room to breathe, but the dress was too tight to move the zipper. He grabbed hold of the edge with one hand and muscled the zipper down with the other. The small gap revealed deep purple bruises. He swore and slid the zipper all the way down revealing a disturbing array of purple splotches across her entire back. The second he freed her torso of the constricting garment, she moaned and sucked in a ragged and shallow breath. The stupid dress had made it impossible for her to breathe. If her back looked this bad, he didn’t want to see the rest of her. Someone had taken out their rage on her in a calculated way that hid their dirty work on parts of her you couldn’t see when she was dressed. It turned his stomach.

The sick bastard deserved the worst pit in hell and an eternity of pain.

Adam went to Ashley’s legs and pulled up the thick skirt revealing the bruises he hadn’t seen on her thighs.

How the hell did she make it this far in her condition?

Determination.

She wanted to get away.

Trigger practically tore off his jacket. He draped it over her, gently putting her arm down one sleeve, then maneuvering her so he could do the same with the other. He found the strength to go slow, but every one of her pain-filled moans made his chest constrict. He settled her on her back and zipped up the jacket, dreading the moment he got her home and had to undo this process. She needed a hospital. Now. But the falling snow thickened. The temperature had dropped another few degrees. And Trigger felt like hell when he picked her up and she yelped, holding her elbow to her side. He guessed cracked or broken ribs. He’d like to take the time to check all of her out, but he needed to get her out of the elements.

“S-stop. P-please stop.”

Trigger didn’t know what came over him, but he held her close to his chest, leaned down, and pressed his forehead to the side of her face and whispered into her ear, “You’re safe. I won’t hurt you. No one will ever hurt you again.” He meant that promise with every fiber of his being. He’d taken the leave of absence from the DEA because he couldn’t watch one more person get hurt or die. It was his job to protect the innocent, but so many times they got caught in the cross fire. Literally in Paula’s case when he accidentally shot her during a raid. Accident or not, he killed her and that was another black mark on his soul.

The biting cold and snow pushed against his back as he walked to his house. Adam easily kept up with Trigger’s uneven gate. Carrying Ashley put a strain on his healing leg and shoulder where he’d been shot, but he bit back the pain that didn’t compare to what Ashley went through as he held her close, trying not to jostle her too much over the uneven terrain. He cursed every root and rut in his path. If he could fly her home, he would, but he had no choice but to prolong the agony by taking the least treacherous route.

He loved his place, but he’d never been this happy to see it any other time. The roof already had a thick coat of snow. His shoulders and head felt like he’d collected a couple inches himself. Freezing without his jacket or a hat, he needed to get inside, start a fire, get something hot to drink and eat, but he still had a hell of a lot to do before he took care of himself.

Adam huffed up the stairs to the covered porch. It took Trigger concerted effort to get up the stairs. His arms ached from carrying Ashley, mostly due to the bullet wounds to his chest and side. He needed to step up his exercises. His thighs ached when he reached the porch. They’d walked a hell of a long way.

“Open the door, little man.”

Adam bit his lip, stared past Trigger and up at Ashley, uncertain what to do. Go inside with a stranger, make a run for it, or get Ashley the help she needed.

“Remember my promise. I have something to show you inside. Trust me, you’re safe here.”

Adam opened the door and stepped into the house, holding the door wide so Trigger could carry Ashley in. He had to go sideways. Even then, he barely fit through the door with Ashley in his arms and the damn ridiculous dress with its thick skirt taking up the entire doorway.

He carried her through the wide-open living room to his bedroom. Adam trailed behind him, not letting Ashley out of his sight.

“Pull the bedcovers down. Let’s get her warm.”

Adam pulled back the rumpled blanket and sheet. Trigger laid Ashley down gently on her back, her head on the pillow, her arms falling to her sides like lead weights. He needed to get some water and food into her, but she was barely conscious.

First, he needed to get Adam settled in the other room so Trigger could get that damn dress off her and see just how badly she’d been beaten.

Frustrated and furious with no outlet for his anger, he scooped up Adam and carried him out of the room. The boy stiffened, then jerked back, ready to fight his way free. He took Adam’s hand and held it against his own chest. “You’re okay.” He hated that such a small child didn’t want to be carried and touched. Maybe he should take the kid’s jacket and shirt off to see if he needed attention, too.

That sick feeling in his gut flared.

Trigger set Adam on the kitchen island counter and reached behind him. He handed the boy the leather case. “Go ahead. Open it.”

Adam opened it and stared at his badge and DEA credentials. His eyes glassed over and his gaze shot up to Trigger’s.

“That’s right, little man, I’m a cop. You are safe here.” He should have told the kid when he caught up to him in the trees.

“Good guy,” he whispered.

Trigger may not look like it—maybe he really wasn’t—but if it made the kid feel better, yeah, he’d do his damndest to be the good guy for him. And Ashley.

“Yes. I put bad guys in jail. Can you tell me about the bad guy who hurt Ashley?”

Adam pulled his feet up on the counter, wrapped his arms around his legs, and hid his face in his knees. His whole body trembled with fear.

“Okay, little man. You don’t have to say anything.” Trigger brushed his hand over the boy’s head, pulling his icy blue cap off and ruffling his bright blond hair. “Let’s take these soaking wet shoes off.” The snow had saturated the thin material. He pulled off one shoe and the other before taking off Adam’s soaking wet socks. He took the boy’s feet in his warm hands and tried to rub some warmth and blood back into his pink feet. “Better?”

Adam nodded.

“Let’s take off your jacket.” Trigger unzipped it and pulled the sleeves off both his arms. “We’ll put this and your shoes and cap out by the fire to dry.”

Adam stared past him at the cold fireplace.

“Don’t worry. I’ll have a big fire going in just a minute. Your pants are all wet. We need to get you out of these clothes.” And Trigger wanted a look at the boy to be sure he wasn’t hurting like Ashley, too. “Wait here. I’ll get you a shirt of mine to wear.”

Trigger went back to his room, frowned at the sight of Ashley in his bed, uncomfortable in that dress, his coat, and with her injuries. He’d take care of her soon. Every minute he tended to Adam and not her wore on him.

Shirt from his drawer in hand, he headed back to Adam. He picked the boy up and set him on the tile kitchen floor. “Is it okay if I help you?”

Adam pulled the T-shirt over his head. Though not nearly as bad as Ashley, every new and fading bruise on Adam, such a small and innocent child, ate a hole in Trigger’s already-battered heart. He could count every rib and bone in Adam’s shoulders and arms.

“Do you hurt anywhere the most?” Trigger didn’t think Adam’s wounds needed anything more than time to heal, but he needed to be sure. The kid sure hadn’t gotten some of those deep welts from playing in the yard.

Adam shook his head.

The T-shirt draped all the way to the floor and pooled at his bare feet. “Let’s get those wet pants off. I’ll get you something to eat and you can sit by a warm fire.”

Adam’s eyes lit up with the possibility of food. He hadn’t been treated as poorly as Ashley, but he hadn’t been treated well either.

Adam had to sit on the floor to maneuver the wet denim off his legs, but he managed.

Trigger gathered up the clothes and shoes and handed them to Adam. “Take those over to the fireplace and set them out on the side of the opening. I’ll get you some food. Do you like peanut butter and raspberry jelly?”

Starving, Adam nodded vigorously.

“You got it. How about some chips and a glass of milk?”

The smile nearly undid Trigger. Choked up that such a simple thing as a sandwich and chips made the kid that anxious and happy, he stood and went to the kitchen, getting everything ready for Adam and Ashley. It didn’t take long for him to put the meal together and carry the plate and glass to Adam, who sat on the floor in front of the fireplace. He’d done a decent job of spreading out his wet things.

Trigger handed Adam the plate and set the milk on the coffee table. Adam picked up one of the sandwich squares and stuffed nearly all of it in his mouth.

“Slow down, little man. You’ll choke.”

Adam chewed and washed the peanut butter down with half the glass of milk. Trigger turned his back on the ravenous boy, trying to contain the wash of fury sweeping through him. He used the poker to stir the coals in the fireplace, then tossed on a few pieces of kindling and a couple of logs. Some wadded-up pieces of newspaper got the fire burning hot. Trigger closed the screen and turned back to Adam, who had a mouth overflowing with potato chips. Several crumbs landed on the carpet between his knees.

“You’re making a mess, little man.” Trigger reached out to pick up the bits of food, but halted when Adam recoiled like Trigger meant to hit him. Apparently, he’d been trained to fear making any little mistake and anticipate a smack or worse for the slightest misstep. “Let’s pick up the crumbs and set them on the plate.” Trigger showed him that’s all he meant to do and Adam joined in, cleaning up quickly, his gaze darting to Trigger every few seconds to be sure Trigger didn’t ambush him with an attack. “There we go. Full?”

Adam swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, taking away the milk mustache that made him look adorable. He yawned so big Trigger could count all his tiny teeth.

“I’ll get you a blanket. You can hang out here by the fire while I take care of Ashley.”

Adam yawned again.

Trigger went to the linen cupboard and pulled out a thick comforter. He laid it in front of the fire and opened one fold so Adam could climb inside. Trigger took one of the pillows off the couch and put it under Adam’s head, then tucked him in. Adam’s eyes fluttered closed almost immediately.

Trigger sighed. One down. One to go before he could stop and think what to do next. He should call the cops. Ashley was a missing person. He had no idea about Adam. Something told him to wait, talk to Ashley, then blow the whistle on her whereabouts.

Besides, no one could get out here tonight with the snow coming down thick and hard outside.

Trigger steeled himself for what he had to do next. He went to the kitchen, grabbed his ID, the mug of warm water mixed with the dissolved pain pill from his gunshot wounds, and a bottle of water, and headed back to his bedroom.

He never thought the next time he had a woman in his bed he’d have to hurt her to make her feel good.

He set everything on the bedside table and carefully sat next to her on the bed. He took a deep breath and did what needed to be done. He unzipped his jacket, but left it closed over her bare chest. He had to stand to take hold of both sides of the dress and work it down her body all the while trying not to jostle her too much. He tossed the thing to the floor and pulled off the one shoe she still had on. He tossed it atop the puddled dress. One of her ankles was swollen. He went into the bathroom and found an old bandage and came back and wrapped her foot. He should ice it, but he wanted to give her time to rest and recover. Without the dress constricting her torso, she breathed steady and easy.

He leaned over and shook her shoulder. “Ashley. Hey, can you hear me?”

She raised her hand to his chest and tried to push him away, but her hand simply slid off him and fell back to her belly. “Stop. Go away.” Her voice sounded stronger than the last time. She finally got some oxygen into her blood. Even her skin color had improved.

Who the hell would torture her with that damn dress? Someone had to have put it on her, because there’s no way she got it on alone, not when he’d barely been able to get it unzipped.

“I’m going to take the coat off and check your ribs. I won’t hurt you. You’re safe,” he assured her, though he didn’t think anything he said or did would convince her after what she’d obviously been through.

He braced himself for what he’d see again and opened the coat, revealing her bare body. The dark bruises held his attention, but seeing her hip bones and ribs sticking out like she hadn’t eaten in a decade soured his stomach.

Poor thing.

He gently removed the wet coat. Goose bumps broke out on her bare skin. He walked his fingertips along her ribs, checking for obvious breaks that might poke into her lungs. Aside from a couple of bad areas that made her moan and try to turn away from his touch, nothing appeared to be serious. Cracked ribs hurt like a bitch—he knew from experience. She’d be fine in a few weeks. Malnourished, battered and bruised, in need of a hot shower and several good meals, she’d heal, but he wondered about the injuries he couldn’t see, the even more disturbing torture done to her mind.

He covered her with the sheet and blankets up to her chin, lifted her head and shoulders, and held the mug to her lips. “Take a drink. It’ll taste bad, but it’ll make you feel better.”

The second the water and pill liquid hit her lips, she drank deeply, thirsty for more.

“Hold on, let me fill it back up.” He set the mug on the table, managed to get the cap off the bottle of water one-handed without laying her back down and moving her more than necessary. He filled the mug halfway, not wanting to overtax her system and make her sick. He held the mug to her mouth again. She drank more. He caught a glimpse of her green eyes intent on him. “You’re safe.” Her eyes fluttered shut.

“He can’t find me,” she whispered the moment he took the mug away and settled her back on the bed.

He wanted to reassure her he’d keep her safe, but she’d already fallen back to sleep. She needed it.

Trigger rolled her onto her more injured side so her free side could expand with every breath and the other side could take a rest. He adjusted the pillow to make her as comfortable as he could without knowing the true extent of her injuries and pain. He gently tucked the blankets around her to keep her warm. He glanced out the window again and cursed the snowstorm that trapped them here and prevented help from reaching them. The fact that she didn’t seem in distress helped ease his anxiety. Some. But he still worried about internal injuries.

“The pain meds will kick in soon. You’ll feel better.” His need for her to feel better struck him hard in the chest. He hated seeing her suffering like this. Anyone, but especially her for some reason. Maybe because of the way he’d found her, lost in the middle of nowhere, and at the end of her endurance.

He pulled another shirt and a pair of sweats from his drawers and set them on the end of the bed. Neither would fit her, but if she woke up, he wanted her to have something to put on and feel comfortable. He opened his ID on the table beside the bed facing her. He stood there staring down at her face, looking for what, he didn’t know. He couldn’t take his eyes off her or convince himself that she was okay here for the time being. He felt the threat of danger infused in her plea that “he” couldn’t find her and the unsettled way she slept, her body tense and ready to fight or flee, though she was in no condition to do either.

Nothing spooked him, but he’d had to be hypercautious working undercover and trust his gut. Something told him to keep her close and hidden, despite the fact he should call the cops and let them handle things and bust whoever hurt her.

Until she gave him some answers and he knew she’d be safe, he’d protect her here. The storm helped. If whoever held her all this time came looking for her tonight, he’d have a hell of a time surviving the dropping temps and increasing snow on the ground.

He tore his gaze away from her and went to the fireplace. He stoked the coals and rebuilt the fire to keep her warm. He didn’t want her to wake up in the dark, if she even woke up before tomorrow morning.

Despite telling himself no one could get here tonight, he checked all the windows and doors. With his place locked up tight, he checked on Ashley one more time to ease the tightness in his chest, but seeing her so still and small in his bed renewed his anxiety. He reluctantly left her to add another log to the fire Adam slept peacefully in front of, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, settled into his recliner, and picked up the phone to call for the only help he could count on, no questions asked.