I wish like hell this hadn’t been a dead end.

Sky looks ready to drop through the earth, and I keep a hold of her hand while I dial the number on that business card and wait for someone, anyone, to pick the fuck up.

I’d wanted to end this for her, give her some kind of relief.

If I’m honest, I’m a little selfish, too. I wanted this for me.

Because I want to meet the Sunbeam who isn’t all torn and war ravaged by her grief, her single-minded focus, fear, and desperation. The Skylar I know now, the one who’s obsessed with finding Joannie and saving her family, is someone I admire, someone I respect, someone I’d do anything to help.

But I want to know the Sky who smiles, too.

The Sky who’s happy, with her family safe.

And I'll do anything to make that happen, if only they’ll all be okay.

I'll sacrifice my soul to give Sky hers back.

On the sixth ring, a harried-sounding voice picks up, snapping at me that it’s after hours and to call back tomorrow.

I cut off, explain quickly that I’m calling to verify an alibi. I don’t say I’m the police, exactly, but those words are enough to make the implications needed for a little bit more cooperation.

The guy, Phil Powell, confirms that Harmon Ketchum worked for him up till a couple of weeks ago, when he was fired for showing up drunk.

No, he was a shit employee, and old Powell wants nothing to do with him.

Yeah, Harmon was still employed the day Joannie was taken, and working during those hours. Clocked in, clocked out for evening shift, on-site the entire time. Powell even remembers that day real specific because one of the college kids picking up work on-site over the summer got hurt.

Harmon was clumsy with a cement mixer, and he’d made the idiot stay late to clean up some of the catastrophe while someone else took the kid to the hospital.

But he was there.

At work. Not stalking an innocent child somewhere around the Bay.

Goddammit.

Either Harmon checks out, or Skylar’s right and he had someone else kidnap the kid to cover his tracks. Either way, we’ve got no leads now.

I don’t want to disappoint Sky, but I’ve gotta be honest. Ending the call, I look down at her, pressing my lips together and considering before just saying bluntly, “It checks out. He was at work.”

Her face shutters over. She looks away, but she doesn’t let go of my hand; if anything, her fingers clutch tighter, desperately. “There’s got to be something we missed.”

“Then let’s find out what.” I squeeze her hand back, stroking my thumb over her knuckles. “Let’s spend the weekend going through your files. We’ll go over every detail, verify it all. What about Landon?”

“What about him?”

“Think we can call on him? There’s gotta be a reason Harmon was so interested in escaping to Redding. Maybe Landon’s got some connections up there. People who can check out places where Harmon might’ve hung out or might’ve stashed Joannie.”

A brief flicker of hope lights her eyes, then dims.

“Maybe,” she answers neutrally.

Fuck my life, I can’t stand seeing her like this.

It’s like all hope has been broken out of her, stolen at the last second, and that fire I admire so much is barely a last ember. Flickering, waving, ready to go out.

It’s twisting a knife in my gut, that blank mackerel look in her eyes, that heaviness, the way she holds on to my hand like I’m an anchor.

Not that guy she always wants to punch in the face for getting too friendly and teasing her sweet hide raw.

“Hey,” I murmur, catching her attention enough for that blank gaze to shift from the horizon to me. I curl my knuckles against her cheek. “We’re going to find her. I promise.”

Whether she’s dead or alive, we’ll find her.

But I can’t say that out loud. I just continue, “You got anything else you wanna say to asshole in there?”

She shakes her head. “What's left to say? He’s no good.”

“Then we should turn him in.”

She blanches, wrinkling her nose. “What if he reports us to the police for kidnapping? He’s seen your face. He knows me.”

I can’t help a smirk. “Who’s going to believe him? ‘Sides, anyone comes after us, we’ll just claim citizen’s arrest. He outright confessed that he’s got drugs, and we know where they’re buried.”

“Oh,” she says faintly, then nods, biting her lip and lowering her eyes. “Sure. Okay. Whatever. I...yeah. Gabe, just get rid of him.”

I almost wish I could.

Forget the cops, and just get rid of Harmon Ketchum for the sheer crime of being a piece of scum villain who broke Skylar’s last hope.

But I can’t be that person, that shadow who makes people disappear. Not again.

I gotta do this the right way. The honorable way. The way that makes me someone Skylar can depend on.

So I only press my hand to the small of her back and gently usher her toward the truck, before going back for the man who doesn’t know how close he came to dying tonight.

Finding a payphone on a street corner never used to be this difficult.

But I don’t want to leave my name or number on caller ID when I call the SFPD anonymous tip line about the trussed-up man we left in the alley behind the closest police station.

We dumped our dead weight – Harmon – and got the hell out of there fast. Then spent twenty minutes cruising till we finally found ourselves a payphone.

One call later, and the police are officially on their way to take Harmon into custody for drug possession and a number of other crimes, even if we can’t pin him for kidnapping or murder.

Now, we’re on our way back to Sky’s place, where I’ll have to drop her off when everything in me screams not to leave her alone.

Not when she looks so miserable.

Not when that asshole stole her hope.

Not when she needs me.

She’s huddled in the corner of my truck’s cab, listlessly staring out the window, a blank sort of nothing on her pretty face, hair drifting across her face in wispy strands. Her body's tucked up into a small bundle like she’s trying to cover all her vulnerable parts.

She's tired. Defeated. Drained.

Sky's the prettiest woman I ever met, but that's an ugly fucking look on her, and I'd give both balls right now to take it away.

I want to just pull her into my lap and hold her, give her my heat and presence and fuck...something.

Whatever lets her know she’s not alone, and it's not just her problem anymore. That she's got somebody right here who cares about her, maybe way more than I really should.

No lying, I’ve always had an impulse control problem. Right now, my impulses are driving me toward Skylar no matter how she tries to push me away.

And she’s already doing it again, as I take the off-ramp toward her place. She lifts her head, glancing at me wearily, then looks fixedly away again. “You don’t have to patrol tonight,” she says bitterly. “I think your stint as guard dog is over. You’re off your leash.”

I almost slam down too hard on the gas. My gut twists so hard it’s like a spear to the heart. “What?”

Her laugh sounds cracked, dry, humorless. “You were supposed to be guarding me against Harmon, and we just put him in jail. What do I need you for?”

Fuck.

What do I need you for?

It still ain't obvious?

Apparently not. Only thing that's clear is one nagging why.

Why the fuck do I want to be needed by this woman so damn much?

I harden my voice before I look at her. “We still don’t know who took Joannie. They could still come after you again anytime.”

“They won’t be that stupid twice. Especially if Harmon’s really innocent. Word gets around. They’ll know they’re next, whoever it is.”

“Right.”

Only it isn't. It’s all wrong.

I pull in to park on her driveway, just staring through the windshield at her little blue house. I can’t.

I can’t do this. I can’t leave. It’s not just Skylar.

I’ve never met Joannie, and that little girl is no one to me. But she’s still missing, and I can’t just walk away and do nothing when I could be helping bring her home. Joannie deserves people who'll fight for her.

So does Sky.

She reaches for the door handle, but stops when I say, “I’ll stay.”

It comes out in a tumble, before I make myself slow down, taking a deep breath. “Just in case. I’ll stay out here in the truck and keep watch while you rest easy.”

“Rest? You think I’ll rest?” Her voice cracks. “Gabe, I’ve got to start all over again. I...I have to start researching, investigating my contacts, retracing my steps to see where I went in the wrong direction. I can’t rest. Can't waste another minute. I –”

That break in her voice again chokes her off.

She buries her face in her hands, and I can’t help myself.

Reaching across the cab of the truck, I pull her against my side. She comes without protest, burying her face in my side, and I hold her while she trembles. I can feel the struggle to get herself under control, tense in every line of her body.

God, she’s so small, and I just want to be the glue that holds her tiny frame together.

“Do you really want to stay?” she asks in a strained whisper, muffled against my shirt.

“Absolutely, darlin’.” I rest my chin on the top of her head. “You think I can leave you alone right now?”

“I don’t know.” It’s not hard to tell she’s fighting herself, tense, and I can barely hear her when she says, “Whatever. Come inside.”

“Pardon?”

“I mean...if you’re going to stay, you might as well come inside. Neither of us are going to sleep, right? Makes no sense to leave you out here cramped up in your truck. You might as well come in and make yourself at home. We can at least be comfortable while we're still tense, upset assholes.”

I can’t help a laugh, even if it’s hard and jagged as a rusty razor.

I wanted Skylar to let me in, but never at the cost of her own pain.

“Sure, darlin’,” I say. “Sure.”

I give her a gentle nudge toward the door of the cab. “Let’s go on, then.”

She nods, then slides slowly away from me, unfolding herself and climbing out.

I follow, setting the truck’s alarm and then trailing her inside.

The little shack is homey inside, driftwood furniture and linen upholstery and cool colors, little odds and ends that look too old to belong to Sky. Like the bits of fishing tackle and memorabilia hung up on the walls.

It’s got that whole 'sea shanty with a touch of sophistication' look. Minimalist but not spare. Spartan but not heartless. It feels like a home.

It suits her, in its own weird way. I can see the touch of a man’s hand in it all, in the older things, but also little newer things that speak of a soft, hidden womanly side. Lace-edged curtains framing the blinds. A fresh sprig of little pink posies in a tiny vase on one windowsill. The pretty chenille throw draped over the back of the couch. All these things are Sky, taking a place that’s a home and making it hers.

We’re tense and quiet as we settle. She puts on coffee, then stares numbly at her desk before drifting into her bedroom. I hear the shower minutes later.

Half an hour after she comes straggling to the door. I’m on my second cup of coffee and slouched on the couch, writing in my book. I'm taking down all the little details of the living room, the photo on the wall of a man with a weather-seamed brow and Skylar’s blue eyes.

I'd know that outlaw style anywhere. Eighties bombardier leather jacket, patches on it that say a normal life was never in the cards, a Harley parked behind him.

I'm still staring when she comes straggling out. Then I couldn't give anything else attention to save my life.

Sky's wearing a shirt that’s much too large for her, falling down past her knees, a men’s button-down that makes my jealous side ask whose it might be before I shove it down. I just take her in.

Fuck, she's beautiful.

My dick jerks, thinking about her in that button-down and nothing else, slender little legs hitched around me. Then pushing between them, taking that sweet, sweet pussy with every inch of my soul. Then kissing and fucking and pumping so hard I think I might break us both.

She’s rubbing at her arm, staring down at her feet. “Well...I’m going to try to sleep,” she mumbles shyly. “And by ‘try to sleep’ I mean ‘stare at the ceiling while my brain runs in circles.’”

“If it's rest, it counts, darlin',” I say. “I’ll keep it quiet out here. Yell if you need anything, okay?”

“Sure,” she says, then casts me a haunted, haggard look – before turning and disappearing into the bedroom.

Dammit, Sky.

I try to settle, moving on to my next cup of coffee, exchanging a couple of texts with Landon, and taking down a few more notes in my book. Trying to sort out my shit, mostly.

The way that look on her face just tore me up leaves something crazy in its wake. Think my damn heart's just bits of red scraps clinging to my ribs.

Been a long time coming, every day with this chick.

The way she pulls me every which way. She’s so goddamn invulnerable, this fortress of a woman, and that just makes me want to protect her even more. I know she’s strong. I know she can take the hits.

That doesn’t mean she should have to.

I pause, just staring at the last line on my page.

I want to be her shield.

That’s when I hear the sound from the bedroom.

Sobbing.

Muffled, heavy, like she’s trying to hide it, probably crying into a pillow, but it’s there. Everything spilling out of her like somebody just lanced a long, festering wound.

I can’t take it. I fucking won't.

My entire body vibrates with this need to be close to her, to give her just a little safety, a little hope, a little peace.

I tuck my book away and slip into her bedroom. It’s a soft, dark place that makes me think of the night sky and deep oceans, with its dark blue walls and gauzy drapes. The lights are out, but by the moonlight filtering through the window, I can make out her small form huddled in the bed, curled in a ball around a pillow with her face pushed into the case and her shoulders jerking violently with every muted sob.

I drift to the edge of the bed and look down at her back, reaching down to touch her shoulder. “Sky,” I murmur, and she flinches.

“Don’t,” she gasps into the pillow, barely a mumble. “Don’t look at me...”

“Can’t ignore you, darlin’. If you want to hate me for this in the morning, fine. For now, just let me be here with you. For you.”

I ease onto the bed, the mattress dipping gently underneath me. Carefully, I stretch out on my side, then loop my arm around her waist and pull her back against my chest.

She’s stiff. Doesn’t fight me as I curl around her, pressing into her back and forming this protective cocoon around her. Her sobs have quieted, but she’s sniffling.

I press my lips into her hair. Not quite a kiss, just close enough to breathe in her scent.

I can’t quite place it, but she smells like something from home. An old, distant memory from my childhood, weirdly transplanted all the way from Louisiana to here.

“Go ahead, darlin’,” I whisper. “Let it out. I’m here. You let it the hell out. Then you sleep, get yourself good and rested, because tomorrow we’re going on the hunt. I swear on my life, Sky, we'll make this right. We’re gonna find her. I’ll help you. But tonight, you just sleep.”

She says nothing.

Then after a few long minutes, those quiet, half-hidden sobs start again: wretched, wracking, shaking her entire body against me.

No. No, darlin', not on my fucking watch.

I hold her tighter, lock my arms around her, and then I'm all stone. I hold her tiny, warm body till they quiet, and then longer.

I hold on till there’s nothing but the whisper of the sea, and the sigh of her soft breath as she slips away.