Savannah swipes her hand across her wet cheeks as I shadow her down the dimly lit corridor of her apartment building. With her dropping her bombshell just as we arrived, I haven’t had a chance to respond. It is probably for the best. I truly don’t know what to say.

Savannah has a daughter.

The girl I'd go to the end of the earth to protect has a daughter.

Fuck. I never saw this coming.

If that isn’t daunting enough, the last part of her confession won’t stop ringing in my ears. “I’m just trying to protect my daughter from a monster as violent as your father.”

Does that mean what I think it does? Are Savannah and her daughter being abused? Is that why she is hiding? Because she’s afraid?

After jabbing a freshly cut key into a door I’ve entered many times before, Savannah drifts her watering eyes to mine. I lean into the shadows, praying it will hide my clenched jaw and balled fists from her view. It does, but nothing can wipe the torment from my eyes.

“Shh,” Savannah pleads, pressing her index finger to her lips.

She waits for me to nod before swinging open the door. I’m sucker punched for the second time in five minutes when we enter Brax’s old living room. Regina’s disappearing act the past few weeks now makes sense. She is sleeping on an outdated sofa in the middle of the confined space, nestling a little girl with honey-colored hair into her chest. She has a pair of reading glasses sitting askew on her freckle-covered nose, and a black pistol hidden under a scatter cushion.

Although grateful she is on the ball with keeping Savannah’s daughter safe, seeing her gun tightens the knot in my stomach. This is even worse than witnessing Axel backhand Savannah because this isn’t just about Savannah anymore. This is about a child—an innocent in any domestic violence situation.

After carefully removing the book dangling precariously on the little girl's chest, Savannah cradles her in her arms. Even if Savannah hadn't confessed she had a daughter, there would be no doubting their connection. The little girl I'd guess to be three or four is the spitting image of her mother. All I can see when I peer at her dimpled cheeks and pale skin is her mother racing down our street on her hot pink bike. She is adorable—just like her mom.

Savannah barely moves an inch from the couch before Regina's naturally ingrained protective instincts kick in. She snatches Savannah's wrist with one hand as her other creeps across the tacky material in hunt for her gun.

“It’s just me,” Savannah whispers, her voice low enough she doesn’t startle her daughter resting on her shoulder, but loud enough to settle Regina’s panic. . .until she spots me standing in the entranceway.

“I’ll be right back,” Savannah advises. Her eyes are locked on mine, but her words are for Regina. “Be civil. I made her promise.” This time, her plea is for me.

I postpone my interrogation until Savannah disappears down the hall. “How long have you known she has a daughter?” I ask, glaring at Regina. “Has she been hiding all this time because she is in fear for her life? And why didn’t you tell me about any of this the instant you uncovered it?!”

My nostrils flare when Regina replies, “She made me promise,” deciding to start with my least challenging question. She unsteadily rises to a half-seated position before removing her gun from underneath the pillow to place it on the coffee table.

“I don’t give a fuck if she promised you lifetime box seats to the Knicks, you should have told me.”

Because my voice is barely a whisper, my anger isn't relayed as strongly as I’m hoping. I am beyond ropeable Regina hid this from me. She knew the hell I walked through ten years ago, as she was walking right beside me.

The first person I called when I discovered Savannah's return to Ravenshoe was Regina. How could she not give me the same courtesy? Do our years together on the force mean nothing to her? I thought we were family, or at the very least friends. She should not have kept this from me.

Although I want to continue reprimanding Regina, there are questions I need answered, and I need them answered now.

“Savannah said she’s protecting her daughter from a man as violent as my father. Does that mean she is being abused, Regina? Is that why she is hiding? Because she’s scared?” My tone relays I don’t want to hear her reply, but I need to hear it.

Regina swallows several times in a row before murmuring, “If I were to believe Savannah, no.” Her dour tone does nothing to ease my anxiety.

“What is your gut telling you?” I ask, my voice as low as my heart rate.

She doesn't need to answer me; I can see the truth in her eyes. The girl of my dreams is a victim of abuse.

Fuck!

I thought handing my badge and gun to Alex tonight was bad. This is ten times worse. How can I keep the girl I promised to protect since I was six safe without a weapon? It isn’t impossible, but it isn’t easy either.

I stop calculating the many ways I can kill a man with my bare hands when Regina stops to stand in front of me. “If you could pick, what would you prefer, Ryan? Her keeping her secret? Or her still running from her past?” She nudges her head in the direction Savannah just went. “If I had raised suspicion to my claims, she would have left, you would have never reacquainted, and that little girl still wouldn’t know the meaning of family. I hated keeping this from you, but I used what I could to convince Savannah she could trust me. I kept her secret to keep her safe.”

I take a step back, internally wounded by her confession. When Savannah issues you her trust, you have it for life. She has every reason not to trust me, but why does that apply to Regina? She once saw her as a mother, not an enemy.

Regina stands from the sofa to join me in the foyer. After trailing her tired eyes over my balled hands and ticking jaw, she locks them on my face.

"You think you're the only one mad? Tobias didn't just hide Savannah's relocation from me, he lied about it. I asked him on numerous occasions if he had anything to do with her disappearance. He guaranteed me he didn't. If I hadn't occupied my retirement with his old files, I would have never found Savannah." The pain in her voice sends ice sliding down my spine. "I gave Tobias the best years of my life, and what did I get in return? Endless lies."

Our heads rocket to the side in sync when a singsong voice says, “That wasn’t because he didn’t love you, Regina. He lied because I asked him to.”

Savannah glides across the floor, the weightlessness of her steps not matching the slump of her shoulders. “He wanted to tell you, but I begged him not to. The information Axel and I shared nearly got us killed. I didn’t want anyone caught in the crossfire. Especially the people I cared about the most.” Her eyes dance between Regina and me—she means both of us.

“I’m sorry I tainted your memories of Tobias, Regina, but don’t ever believe he deceived you on purpose. You were the first person on his mind every morning and the last every night. He loved you. More than you will ever realize. He was the sun, and you were his moon.” Her voice cracks at the end.

Regina’s hand sweep her dry cheeks like a madwoman as her eyes drop to her shoes. She’s never been good at showing her emotions, but even I know the moon and sun reference is of high significance to her.

“Well. . .I. . . uh. . . better head off. I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about.” Regina coughs to clear the nerves from her throat before lifting her watering eyes to Savannah. “Same time tomorrow?”

She nearly loses her battle to hold in her tears when Savannah shakes her head. “We’re not safe here anymore, Regina. It’s time for us to move on.”

“What?”

I want to say more, but a set of suitcases at the end of the hall steals my words. There are too many for Savannah to have just packed them. She must have prepared them earlier. I’m just curious if it was before or after we slept together?

My question-seeking steps stop when Regina’s hand darts out to snatch my wrist. “The more information you obtain, the greater persuasion you will pertain.”

I stare at her, unsure how a quote she said to me on my first day at Ravenshoe PD will help me now.

“Until she learns she can bear the unbearable, she will continue running.” Her voice is so low, if I couldn’t read lips, I wouldn’t hear a word she is speaking. “You are a brilliant detective, Ryan, and an even better man. Show Savannah that.”

After saying goodbye to Savannah with a quick wave, Regina’s plump lips brush my cheek. I’m stunned by her sociable sendoff. She’s not usually a feely-touchy type of woman.

The reasoning behind her impulsiveness becomes apparent when she whispers, “She will listen to you, Ryan, but only after you’ve listened first. Use what I taught you. Emotions are the best persuasive techniques we have, only second to compassion.”

I stand in silence for the next thirty seconds, watching Regina’s retreating frame glide down the dimly lit corridor. I understand what she is suggesting, I just don’t know if I can do it. This isn’t the standard interrogation I’ve done numerous times the past decade. This is a woman I’ve admired for years. She isn’t a victim or a criminal. She’s my girl.

Any hang-ups I'm having vanish when my gaze collides with Savannah's across the room. Just like Regina's gut has never steered her wrong, neither has my intuition. Savannah isn't just my girl; she's also a victim of domestic violence. The distrust in her eyes relays this without a doubt. How do I know this? Because they are identical to my mother’s in every way.

“So you’re leaving?” I ask, my tone neutral as Regina suggested.

Savannah's lips crimp before she faintly nods her head. "I don't want to, but this isn't just about me anymore. Rylee's safety is all that matters. It comes before anything."

Her eyes relay the words she will never say: “Even you, Ryan.”

Her unspoken pledge doesn't bother me in the slightest. Savannah's daughter should come first. I would have given anything for my mother to put me and Damon above anything just once in our lives. Who knows how differently our lives could have panned out if she had the same dedication Savannah gives her daughter?

I cough to eradicate the lump in my throat before asking, “Your daughter’s name is Rylee?”

Although my questions aren’t directly associated with Savannah’s case, they are just as important. If a victim is unaware they are under investigation, they are more likely to talk. Asking simple questions like “Do you have animals?” or “What did you eat for lunch today?” can open doors that were previously closed. Making victims feel comfortable in your presence is of utmost importance.

And, if I’m being honest, I’m also eager to discover if the similarities in Savannah’s daughter’s name and mine are a coincidence or not. The extra thump my heart got when she revealed her little girl’s name answers my question on her behalf, but I want Savannah to admit it.

Savannah smiles a traffic-stopping grin before gesturing to her tiny kitchen. "Yes. I think it has a nice ring to it.” She lifts her eyes to mine; the pain they held mere seconds ago now cut in half. “Sometimes I call her Ry. But that's only when she's being mischievous. Which is more times than not lately."

I wait for her to spin away from me before fist punching the air.

She named her daughter after me.

If that doesn’t prove I’ve been on her mind as much as she’s been on mine the past decade, I don’t know what will.

After taking in numerous deep breaths to settle my manic heart rate, I ask, “How old is Rylee?”

Savannah gathers two mugs from a cupboard above the stove top. “She’ll be four next month.” The happy glint in her eyes switches to sadness as she murmurs, “I can’t believe it has only been four years. When you’re hiding, every year feels like ten.”

Most detectives would see this as an in to drill her for information, but I’m not most detectives. I’m the best Ravenshoe has ever seen. If I bombard her with questions now, she won’t leave tomorrow morning. She’ll flee now.

“Rylee looks like you. Did she get any of her dad’s features?”

I gather a picture of Savannah and Rylee off the fridge to inspect it more diligently. I've asked that question many times when interacting with victims of domestic violence, but this time it is genuine. Rylee's similarities to her mother are uncanny.

"No. Thank god," Savannah murmurs under her breath. She places a dash of milk in the coffee mugs she's preparing. "Other than the leaf-shaped birthmark on her neck, Rylee doesn't have any of her father's traits."

I nearly lose my train of thought when I place their picture back on the fridge. There is a faded Polaroid sitting next to the photo of Rylee and Savannah. It is so old the faces are no longer recognizable, but I don’t need identifiable marks to unearth its origin. The dimples expose who the fair-haired newborn baby is. It is Savannah. She is being cradled by a woman I’d guess to be mid-forties wearing a nurse’s uniform. Since she has angled Savannah toward the person snapping the picture, her name badge dangles over Savannah’s knitted blanket. Her name is Ruth.

Even the tenseness of our situation can’t stop me from smiling. That is why Thorn called Savannah “Ruth.” His brain got a little muddled, but his memories of his newborn daughter remained strong.

After returning their photo to its rightful spot, I sit in the chair Savannah nudged her head at. Although excited about my discovery, there are much more pressing matters I need to face first.

“Rylee has a birthmark?” I ask, getting back to business.

If I weren’t staring into a pair of eyes that have graced my dreams every night for the past twenty years, I’d pull out my notepad and jot down all the little tidbits of information Savannah is unknowingly giving me. Mercifully, I have no issues retaining important information. And this is as important to me as it comes.

Smiling, Savannah nods her head. "Yeah. It’s shaped like a maple leaf. Hers is just one-tenth the size of Keifer's."

Savannah’s eyes rocket to mine, curious if I picked up on her slip of name. I act unaffected, even though my brain is working overtime. Not only do I have an identifiable mark to work with, but I also have a name. I’m tempted to fist pump the air for the second time. I just hit the detective jackpot.

“Has Regina been watching Rylee long?” I ask, operating like the cool cat I am.

Savannah doesn't buy my nonchalant approach. She has always been as beautiful as she is smart.

"I didn't invite you into my home to investigate my case, Ryan. I just didn't want to leave with you still being disappointed in me."

“I’m not disappointed in you, Savannah.”

Savannah raises her mug to her mouth, hoping it will hide the roll of her eyes.

It doesn’t.

Leaning over, I lower the steamy beverage from her mouth before sealing my hand over her one balled up on the dining table. "I'm not disappointed in you. I'm disappointed in myself."

When her cute little nose screws up in confusion, I clarify, “I should have known what you were doing wasn’t about you. It’s not even about me. It was for Rylee.”

Savannah’s teeth graze her bottom lip as she nods her head. “It’s always been about her, Ryan. Even before she was here.”

“Then why aren’t you doing everything in your power to keep her safe?”

Anger slips down Savannah’s face even faster than the tear descending her cheek. “I am keeping her safe. I’m doing everything I can to make sure she is safe.”

Even hating the pain in her words can't stop me from saying, "No, you're not. You're running instead of tackling the issue head-on. Do what you encouraged me to do for years. Don't keep quiet. Speak up. Seek assistance. Stop the cycle. If not for you, do it for your little girl. She doesn't deserve this life, Savannah."

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. There is no cycle to stop.” She stands from her chair so quickly, it sails back and smacks into the drywall. “I think you should leave,” she suggests, moving to the sink to dump her barely touched beverage.

I hate what I am about to do, but I don’t have a choice. Usually, I play good cop while Regina plays bad cop, but since I’m the only person standing in the kitchen, I must play both.

“Did Rylee’s dad hit you?” My voice is as rough as my heart thrashing against my ribs.

Keeping her back to me, Savannah shakes her head.

I cautiously step closer to her, fearful of what her reaction is going to be. I’m not scared she is going to lash out; I’m fucking petrified of seeing the truth in her eyes.

“Did he yell at you? Tell you you’re not good enough?”

Savannah continues shaking her head, preferring to lie without words.

"Did he threaten to take Rylee away from you if you ever told anyone what he was like?"

She stops shaking her head to gasp in a sharp breath.

"That's abuse, Savannah. He's manipulating you. Sometimes that's more violent than fists. Press charges against him. Throw the book at him. Show him you aren't scared of him—"

“But I am scared of him!” Savannah shouts, her voice loud enough I’m afraid she has awoken Rylee.

Savannah must have the same fear, as her eyes dart to the hallway, only returning to me once she is confident the coast is clear. “He’ll take her away from me, Ryan. He’ll take my little girl.”

I cautiously step toward her with my hands held out in front of my body to show her I mean her no harm. “No, Savannah. I’d never let that happen. That promise I gave you years ago now extends to Rylee. I’ll never let anything happen to either of you.”

When she fails to object to my closeness, I tug her into my chest. The white undershirt I wear under my riot gear captures her tears.

"I promise you I'll never let him near Rylee; you just need to trust me, Savannah. Let me in. Let me help you and Rylee. Give me a chance to show you I am the man you remember. I won’t let you down, Savannah. I’ll never let you drown either.”

Savannah hiccups as she struggles to stifle her giggle. Even with tension depriving the air of oxygen, her laughter lassoes a rope around us, tethering me not just to her for eternity, but her daughter as well.

I've never met the little girl I am promising to keep safe, but I don't need a formal introduction to know I’ll keep my word. If Rylee is even one-tenth of the girl her mother used to be, I'll protect her for eternity, because I’ll love her just as long as well.

After tightening my arms around Savannah’s torso, I drop my lips to her temple. “I’ll keep you both safe, Savannah. I just need you to trust me.”

It feels like all of my Christmases come at once when I feel the faintest nod of her head not even two seconds later.

“Yes?” I double-check, mindful my smashing heart might be the cause for her bobbing movements.

“Yes,” Savannah murmurs into my chest, freeing me from the torment swallowing me whole while also adding to it.

I let Savannah down ten years ago; I refuse to do it a second time.

Failure is not an option.