If the last twenty-four hours hadn’t been the scariest of her life, they had come damn close. As Charlie had told Jake, she wasn’t an excitable person. When you’d been through as much as she had, you didn’t get shaken easily.

But Charlie was shaken now.

When she took her shower, it was almost midnight. Stacia had left around noon and Jake had slept most of the day, but Charlie had been too keyed up to nap herself, especially since her bed was currently occupied. Martin—the medic from last night she was fairly sure was not named Martin—had showed up an hour ago to administer more goodies from his bag of tricks. He’d just left and she was finally beginning to crash from the twenty-four-hour blast of adrenaline.

Thank god Jake chose a Friday night to break in, she thought with a touch of exhausted amusement. She habitually stayed up late on weekend nights, but on Monday morning she’d need to be up bright and early, heading back downtown to Gundersen & Associates, the accounting company where she had worked for the last eight years. It was going to be surreal, crunching numbers with all this waiting at home.

Martin had told her in no uncertain terms that Jake Harris would be staying at least two weeks. Maybe three. Jake needed to be decently mobile before they moved him. In case things went, as the stone-faced medic put it, balls up.

She’d gotten the feeling “Martin” wouldn’t appreciate an argument, especially after the night they’d put in. So she’d let his announcement go. But two weeks? Three weeks? That was almost a month.

Christ.

She still wasn’t quite sure where Martin had come from. He had appeared inside her apartment less than twenty minutes from when she’d picked up Jake’s phone. She hadn’t gotten up to unlock the door either. One second she’d been alone, putting pressure on Jake’s wound, feeling his warm blood soaking her fingers with Stacia’s voice on speaker phone the only thing keeping her from passing out.

The next minute, Martin had been kneeling at her side. A spare, organized man, the medic had stabilized Jake right on the floor where’d he found them. He’d been ruthlessly efficient, his orders to Charlie urgent, but calm. He’d quickly created a makeshift OR from the black duffel he’d brought along, complete with IV bags, antibiotics, sutures, bandages and more.

Only after it was all over did Charlie notice the holster under his jacket.

Martin had given her a phone number to call in case Jake got worse, or, as he put it, something came up. They both knew what he was referring to. But when she’d hesitantly asked about the cops who weren’t cops, the medic’s brown eyes had gone hard and still. She hadn’t asked again.

With a shiver, she turned on the water, stripping as the bathroom filled with steam. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been naked with a man in the house, even an incapacitated one. She wasn’t scared he would hurt her, though. If Jake had given her that vibe, even once, she would have called the cops and damn the fucking consequences.

But Jake Harris didn’t make her scared. She frowned. Nervous, yes. Goose bumps feathered her skin. She scrubbed them away with quick, impatient motions. She kind of liked him already, which was weird. She didn’t make a habit of liking people.

Would that change once he was no longer flat on his back? She’d never cared for intimidating men, no matter how charming they were, and she had a feeling once Jake Harris was on his feet, he’d be a very intimidating man indeed.

Maybe it was the whole saving his life thing. She had saved him. She closed her eyes, savoring that small miracle. Maybe she wasn’t completely useless and stupid after all.

Stupid girl.

She shivered as the heat of the shower faded away . . .

---

“It isn’t true, Charlotte. You know it isn’t, you nasty little liar.”

Naomi was thin lipped and pale, her eyes glinting. For the first time since coming to live here, Charlie could see her aunt’s resemblance to her mother, the hardness under the softer curves, the gentler features.

Her aunt put a hand on Brad’s shoulder. Smiling sadly, he covered it with his own.

“It is true,” Charlie insisted, her cheeks burning. “Your husband tried to get me to have sex with him.”

They stared at her and in the silence, the old fear rose up and cackled.

Charlie couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She tried to think. But her brain was stuck. Frozen.

In the eight years she’d spent in her aunt and uncle’s home, Brad had never laid a hand on her. She’d trusted him.

And she’d been happy. Not at first, of course. Not after what happened to Em. Not for a long, long time.

But slowly, it had happened.

At some point she’d stopped going through the motions and started to live again. You didn’t really have a choice at nine years old. She made friends. She started to draw, embarrassed at first because that had always been Emily’s thing, but then she’d gotten more confident and discovered she had a real talent. Just last month, she’d gotten that amazing scholarship.

That was the night she’d let Tyler go all the way. It hadn’t been a hardship on her part. They’d been on the verge for ages, and god knew she loved the way he made her feel. She’d met him at the University of Minnesota. He was in his second year and she was a high school junior taking CITS classes. He’d seemed taken aback at first, but seventeen wasn’t so far from twenty, not really.

It had been uncomfortable at first, but the next time was better. And the time after that better yet. She was pretty sure sex was going to be one of her new favorite things, which was a nice surprise. Those nights in her mom’s house, listening to the sounds coming from the den, had made her wonder. Though she made Tyler wear a condom. Every time.

She wasn’t stupid, after all.

Or maybe she was.

Brad had changed after that night, looking at her differently, his eyes lingering in places they shouldn’t. Almost as if he could sense something. She’d asked her aunt to take her in for the pill after her and Tyler . . .

Looking at the two of them there on the couch, Charlie wondered. Had Naomi told him?

“It isn’t true,” her aunt repeated before getting to her feet. In three quick strides she crossed the living room. Then Naomi slapped her hard across the face. The sound shocked Charlie more than the quick flare of pain. She stumbled back, hand on the wall, staring not at her aunt’s face, twisted with rage, but the flash of cool triumph on her uncle’s. “You’re just like your mother, you little slut.”

Her vision blurred with tears, Charlie ran for the stairs.

She kicked her door closed, swiping at her hot eyes, the quiet haven she’d made in her aunt’s home suddenly looking more like a prison. The drawings on the walls, the art posters, the desk littered with pencils and sketch pads, the unmade bed in layers of rich purple and mint green. She’d felt safe here. But no more.

Holding back the sobs that wanted to come, Charlie started throwing things into her backpack. She’d go to Tyler’s dorm. He could at least put her up for the night, he’d done it before. And after that?

Well, she’d figure out something.

Steps on the stairway. Too heavy to be her aunt’s.

Charlie reached for the lock on the door just as it opened.

She shrank back.

Brad filled the doorway. She’d never thought of her uncle as a big man, and he really wasn’t. Maybe five nine or so, medium build. But Brad seemed huge as he stepped across the threshold and shut the door. He leaned against it, watching her as he pulled off his tie.

“I told Naomi I was going back to work.” He shook his head, smiling as Charlie took a step back, her heart pounding. Not with anger this time, but fear. “She’s so predictable, I watched her take off a couple minutes after I left. Straight for the bar and it’s barely noon.” His smile was thin and sharp. “You really upset her. I expect she’ll be out all night.”

He glanced at her half-packed bag on the bed, then tsked. “I suppose that is best. You should go. But first . . .”

So quickly Charlie didn’t have time to react, he grabbed her by the arm and threw her up against the door hard enough to knock the air from her lungs.

“I’m taking myself a little going-away present.” His body trapped her, hot and suffocating, as he moved against her with sickening deliberation, watching her face. Unable to bear it, Charlie turned her head and closed her eyes. “You owe me that, don’t you think?”

She started to retreat, the way she always did. The way she had when Em was taken away. This wasn’t happening. Because something so awful just couldn’t be real.

“Did you really think she’d believe you over me?” Brad’s breath plumed over her face, his tone ripe with dark amusement as he worked himself against her stomach. “Stupid little girl.”

Yes, she was stupid. She’d trusted him. Gotten comfortable.

Hadn’t she learned how dangerous that was, after Emily?

Monsters were everywhere.

He eased her zipper down, slipped his hand inside her hoodie. Charlie didn’t move, even as her skin began to crawl and pull away from her uncle’s touch. Brad tugged her tank up and her bra down. He sighed heavily before cupping her breast in his hand. “Such a shame you couldn’t be smarter about the whole thing. I would have treated you good. But now . . .”

He pinched her nipple hard, twisting and pulling until the pain sank deep into her stomach and started to burn.

“Such a stupid girl,” he whispered, lowering his other hand to tug at his own zipper. “This is going to hurt. I’ll make sure of that.”

The burn inside her grew and grew. When she felt him press his half-hard sex against her hip, it exploded.

She slammed her head forward into his face, hearing a loud crunch. Then Charlie kneed him as hard as she could.

He made a choking noise, falling backward and sliding slowly to his knees.

His dick flopped around half out of his zipper as Brad cupped himself and cursed her, blood dripping from his rapidly swelling nose.

She grabbed her unzipped backpack off the floor and fled.

Charlie blinked, the hot water clinging to her lashes as she pulled her head from under the pounding stream. Turns out Brad had done her a backhanded favor that day. When she’d run to Tyler, she’d found him in bed with his roommate.

That had been a bad day.

Not as bad as the worst day, maybe. But like today—close enough.

She’d gotten through the next year by narrowing her focus to the essentials. She found a job. Rented a room. And stayed in school. After graduation, she took the scholarship she’d already won but switched her major to accounting, keeping art as a minor only to satisfy the terms of the financial aid. If she was going to survive, it was important to be practical. To stay in the background.

Yes, plain, practical and grounded. She swore never to forget about the monsters again.

To that end, she kept her personal relationships to a minimum. No close friends. No serious boyfriends. She hadn’t really “dated” since Tyler, only a few casual flings that sputtered out within weeks. That was fine by her. Alone was better.

It kept her wary. It kept her sane. She knew she wouldn’t survive another loss, or another betrayal. Best not to risk it at all.

Now this. She shut the water off and stood in the steam, thinking. There was no way in hell she could allow herself to trust Jake or his sister. Charlie never trusted anyone, ever, another one of her rules. It kept the monsters from getting in. Her lips trembled, then firmed. Though it seemed like the twins were dealing with their own monsters.

She could relate. And maybe . . . she could help.

Just for a little longer.

After all, she’d saved him. A tiny smile curved her lips, then fell away as she opened the shower door.

What the hell were Jake and his sister tangled up in? True to her word, she hadn’t pressed Stacia for details, but the shaken woman had dropped some breadcrumbs during their impromptu brunch. Such as the fact that this Lucjan—who was apparently her ex-husband, Martin’s boss and someone not to be trifled with—was now having Charlie’s townhouse watched round the clock. Even so, both Martin and Stacia were taking pains not to be seen entering or leaving. It was surreal. And scary. But Stacia had assured Charlie the bad men would not come back.

Charlie wasn’t sure she believed that. The bad men always came back. In one form or another.

She stepped out of the shower and reached for one of her favorite towels.

She was well aware that people who looked at her probably thought she didn’t care much about appearances. She got her hair cut at Great Clips and she ate whatever she damn well felt like. She never wore makeup or nice clothes.

Dull and boring was safer.

What people didn’t understand, didn’t bother to understand, was that the plainness and the extra weight were part of her armor.

The fact was, Charlie adored beauty, not only as an artist but as a deeply passionate person. Here in her own domain, she was free to revel in comfort and nice things. Restoration Hardware’s 802-Gram Turkish towels in sand were very nice indeed. She ran the plush softness over her damp skin, letting the familiar indulgence soothe her frayed nerves.

Then she heard it, a low moan. Not her own one of pleasure, but a deeper one. Of pain.

Or fear.