Squealing, I launch my naked ass off the counter and hide behind Jason while I tug the sweatshirt back down around my thighs. I don’t know why I bother; it’s not like I have much modesty left at this point.

Jason isn’t helping matters by standing there laughing his fool head off. “Ella, this is Daryl Foster, my workout buddy and best friend.” He turns his head to look at me over his shoulder. “Daryl and I were roommates at U of T.”

“Nice to meet you, Daryl.” My words are addressed to Jason’s back, since I’m too mortified to even think about looking at Jason's friend. I don’t know how much he saw when he walked into the kitchen and I don’t care. Even a millisecond was too much.

“Coffee, Daryl?” Jason asks.

“Sounds good.”

My jaw drops as Jason, the rat fink bastard, moves to the coffee pot next to the stove, leaving me all by my lonesome, standing beside the kitchen counter where he and I… Heat coats my face. I’m surprised my hair doesn’t burst into flames.

Daryl ducks his head shyly at me. “I’m very sorry, ma’am.” His voice still carries a hint of the South where I’m guessing he grew up. “I have a key to Jason’s place and stop by whenever I want to use his gym, usually in the mornings ‘cause that’s when he likes to spar. I didn’t think to knock because, well, he’s never had a lady here before. Forgive me?”

I might not ever get over my embarrassment but… “Yeah, you’re forgiven. It’s not like you were doing anything you haven’t done about a million times.”

I angle a glare at Jason’s spine as he fills a cup with dark coffee. They had a regular meeting in the morning. Why didn’t he think of that before things got out of hand? He’ll pay, I decide, already dreaming up a few creative things I can do that will have him begging for mercy.

Jason passes a mug full of tea to me and I smile shyly at him. I sip the hot drink and slide a sly look at Daryl. He’s a good-looking guy with smooth skin, a hairless scalp, gorgeous eyes, and high cheekbones. He flashes another smile at me and I can’t help smiling back. If his personality is half as contagious as his smile, he must be very popular.

Daryl accepts the cup of coffee and moves towards the sink and props a hip against it before focusing his attention back on me. “So, how long have you and Jason been…friends?”

Jason and I glance at one another and my brow furrows. It’s a simple, generic question that’s always used to break the ice. Most of the time it generates a simple, straightforward response, but in Jason’s and my case nothing is simple.

“We’ve been friends for…” I flounder for a length of time to put on our relationship. “It’s complicated,” I finally say, quickly rushing to add, “but there was an instant connection.”

Jason snorts and Daryl’s grin widens. “I’ll say,” he murmurs, the humor in his tone softening the words.

There’s something, I can’t put my finger on what, about Daryl that feels very familiar. Almost like he’s someone I recently passed in the street.

I sip my coffee and pull up a mental list of my activities during the last few weeks. It’s not difficult; all I do is work and stay in the apartment. I don’t have the money to do anything else. Then, I slowly sift through the faces and names of the people I encounter. I don’t come up with anything.

So why does he seem so familiar?

I take another sip and reexamine Daryl’s face. He shifts his weight from one leg to another, the movement causing light to glint off of something near his hip. My gaze slides lower, settling on a lethal looking gun.

Unease swirls in my gut. I’m not knowledgeable enough about guns to be able to identify what kind or type it is, but I’ve never been comfortable around people who carry them, and I’ve become even less comfortable with firearms since Abe and his father became a part of my life. Ever since borrowing the money that I used to save Kelsey’s life, I’ve been hyper aware of how deadly people who carry guns really are. It’s scary.

When my gaze slides over a few inches and sees the other thing attached to his belt, my worry about the gun vanishes like puff of smoke in a strong wind.

Resting there is a flat gold disc. Unlike the gun, I know exactly what it is.

An FBI badge.

The bottom drops out of my stomach and my heart kicks into overdrive, beating so fast my vision blurs even as the blood drains from my face. Beads of sweat bubble up on my upper lip and dribble down my spine. I grab onto the edge of the counter top.

“Ella?” Jason’s voice sounds like he’s standing a long way away and talking into a cardboard tube. His hand settles on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Fighting to take smooth, even breaths while mentally commanding my heart to slow down, I nod. My mind spins, searching for thoughts on the best way to handle the situation.

“Yeah.” I push myself away from the counter and say a silent prayer of thanks when my knees stay locked in place. “Just a little light headed is all.” I don’t dare lie with a federal agent standing within earshot. “Do you mind if I go back to the bedroom for a little while?”

Jason rubs my back. “Go lay down.”

I manage to shoot him a small smile before I start shuffling away. Halfway across the room, a lightning bolt of realization strikes me and I stumble to a halt.

I turn and find both Jason and Daryl watching me. Each wears the same concerned expression on their face. “Jason. Where are my clothes?” I make a sweeping gesture with my hands, indicating his worn U of T sweatshirt. “I can’t keep wearing this all day.”

Despite his obvious concern for me, Jason flashes a grin. “I don’t have a problem with it. Though I prefer you in even less.”

We both ignore Daryl’s snort.

“Jason, I’d really like to know where my clothes are.”

“Second door on the right. They’re still in the dryer.” Last night he had transferred them from the washing machine to the dryer when he’d fetched my cell phone so I could call Adele and let her know that I was safe but wouldn’t be coming home.

Once in the laundry room, I strip off the U of T sweatshirt, replacing it with my own clothes, not caring that the cheap blouse is wrinkled. I have other things to worry about.

I can’t believe that Jason’s best friend isn’t just a cop, but a federal agent. I’m about ninety percent positive that the FBI is the organization responsible for handling crimes connected to the mafia.

Crimes exactly like the one I’d willingly committed two years after Kelsey’s birth. The one that has weighed heavily on my shoulders ever since and fueled my determination to stay on top of my payments without having to resort to asking Abe or his father to come up with ways for me to work off the loan.

Cold sweat trickles down the length of my spine as I shimmy into my jeans. My fingers are cold and stiff, making it difficult to force the button through the buttonhole.

If I wasn’t terrified, I’d probably laugh. How ironic is it, that after years of keeping my head down and doing everything in my power to avoid any and all connection to any member of law enforcement, I end up sleeping with a guy whose best friend is a fed?

And here I was, worried about Abe finding out who Jason is and how much his net worth happens to be, and figuring out a way to use the information to squeeze money out of him. Turns out that’s the least of my concerns. Abe isn’t the most stable of guys. Once he learns about Daryl’s connection to Jason and now me, he’s likely to lose his shit completely and decide that the best way to handle the situation is to kill all of us.

As far as I can tell, my best chance for making sure that doesn’t happen is putting as much distance between myself and the two men in the kitchen as possible.

I jerk my thin sky-blue sweater over my head and shove my arms into my jacket, which Jason was also sweet enough to launder, before finding my cheap sneakers and cramming my feet into them. I angle the strap of my laptop bag so it’s crossways across my body.

Forty-five seconds later I find a door that opens into Jason’s side yard and let myself out it. I beeline for the street, careful to make sure I angle my trajectory away from the kitchen windows.

I reach the sidewalk and automatically swing in the direction that won’t bring me past Jason’s house, and suddenly realize that I was so lost in my thoughts while Jason drove here yesterday, I didn’t pay any attention to where we were going. I know I’m still in Chicago and I know I’m on Lake Michigan’s shoreline, but past that, I haven’t a clue as to where I am or how I’m going to get home.

Chewing on my lip, I consider my surroundings and how little money I have. I know I’m too far away from my apartment to even consider hiring a cab to take me the entire way, but perhaps I can have one take me just a few miles, to somewhere more familiar.

I glance at the huge brick house I’m walking past with its perfectly landscaped front yard and elegant entrance. I bet I’d have to work five years and not spend a single penny of my income just to cover a year’s worth of property taxes on a place like that. Which means that the odds of me finding a cab are slim to none. This isn’t exactly the kind of neighborhood they typically patrol when looking for fares. I suppose I could call, but where would I tell them to pick me up?

The synapses in my brain fire and I dig into the front pocket of my laptop bag to pull out my phone. It’s four years old and lacks many of the bells and whistles the newer models have, but one app it does have is GPS, which will tell me exactly where I am.

Just as I open up the app, a familiar three-sided glass-encased structure catches my eye. A bus stop, not more than two hundred yards ahead of me. And about four hundred yards past that, a giant bus slows.

I break into a run and return my phone to my bag, shoving my hand deeper into the narrow depths and groping for the pile of bus tokens I always keep on hand.

Finally, for the first time today, something is going my way.