It’s almost midnight by the time I drive my motorcycle out of Ravenwood Hospital’s sprawling parking lot. It’s a foggy night, turning the road into a tunnel and the surrounding forest into something ghostly and surreal. It’s the perfect weather for Halloween.

I love Halloween—I’ve been a horror movie buff since I was ten. I grew up on a ranch twenty miles from town in Wyoming, so the thirty-first of October meant a special dinner, pumpkin lanterns, and a lengthy horror movie marathon instead of trick or treating. I loved those nights.

I’m dead tired and I don’t much mind that I won’t be home in time for any Halloween parties. Behind my visor, my eyes are bleary from checking and rechecking dozens of forms. It was back-paperwork night in the cardiology wing, and as the youngest director in Ravenwood’s hundred-year history, I didn’t have any excuse to leave early.

I had two assistants helping me out—Becky, a veteran of the department, and Kate, who is less experienced but a harder worker. I needed both to help me plow through this month’s paperwork, which included the annual financial report and an assortment of federal grant applications. Now, each and every last scrap of paper has been filed, recycled, or followed up on, and I’m fleeing back to my mansion before more comes in.

My head stings, my back aches, and I’m dehydrated. I know that enough fluids, a good meal, and a visit to my home gym and jacuzzi will fix everything. Meanwhile, though, I have to get home down a winding coastal road, with wet streets and swirling wind to deal with. Good thing I’m steady under pressure.

At least the rain has let up. The wet branches drip on me as I drive out onto the main road, humming Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” under my breath.

Ravenwood sits in the wooded hills just outside Marin County, in one of the most beautiful regions in California. The air is clean here, there’s plenty of rain and open land, and the sea goes on forever outside the Golden Gate. The area is at its best in high summer, with warm, slightly misty nights full of stars.

In fall, however, it’s ... well, I find it perfect, but some of my coworkers find it creepy as hell. Especially since we have to cross a gorge on our way off hospital grounds, and the spooky looking bridge we have to use is always dark, falling under the shadow of towering trees with no lights to guide the way. At night, you have to use your high beams and pray there are no surprises waiting for you.

I’m trying to sort out what movies to watch as I approach the stretch of road that leads to the bridge. The road is just wide enough that I can see the moon through the break in the trees, sailing ahead of me high and silver, with a pattern that always reminds me of watermarks.

“John Carpenter?” I muse aloud. Classic horror is always good. Problem is I already did a John Carpenter marathon a few months ago. Though I love his creepy stuff, I need a palate cleanser.

“Huh,” I mutter. I have a bad habit of talking to myself when alone.

“Tales from the Crypt? Something from the MST3K collection?” Nah, too campy. I frown as I go around a turn. I can see the faint shape of the bridge looming half a mile up the road.

“J-horror?” The Japanese have their own very distinct style of horror, and some of the best people in the business these days come from there. I’ve been working my way through the Ring series which, except for the crack-fest of the second movie, has managed to be both poignant and terrifying. I haven’t seen the prequel about Sadako, Ringu 0, and decide to put it on first when I get home.

There’s nothing like a Japanese ghost story. Figures in white, with streaming black hair, transformed from demure wives, mothers, and daughters to betrayed, rage-filled entities whose power seems bottomless. The fact that these horrible monsters are often played by fetchingly pretty actresses only adds another layer of creepiness to it all.

I nod to myself, satisfied. That’s one movie down to watch while I have my steak and beer. The household staff will be gone for the night except for my security team, but I’m sure I can sort out reheating my dinner.

Too bad I have no date to share movie night with. Being a department head in my mid-thirties tends to eat up all my free time. And a relationship requires a lot more than a quick date or fuck during my few spare hours on weekends.

At least now, with the backlog of paperwork, phone calls, and meetings eliminated, I can think about going out to a bar or something this coming weekend. It’s been a while since I even danced with a woman, let alone took one to my bed. I miss it, in that bone-deep way that leads to dirty dreams and the occasional reckless decision.

I’m almost at the bridge. My Harley’s headlights splash across the weathered wood and I peer ahead, catching sight of something emerging out of the fog. “What the hell is that?” I mutter.

There is something white standing in a misty patch of moonlight about halfway across the bridge. It’s human-sized, if smaller than me—though almost everyone is. It has either black hair or a black shawl hanging over its shoulders, and it’s dressed in flowing white—either a robe or a coat.

For a moment, my tired brain goes oh shit oh shit oh shit and I’m certain that either this is a nightmare or reality just took a hard left. But a split second later I get hold of myself and let out a laugh as I slow down.

“Oh, man, no way.” I’m not looking at a Japanese ghost. I’m looking at a young, living woman who just really looks the part.

I slow down enough to have a better look and to give her a compliment on her costume. Not a catcall. That’s not my style. But she did just scare the crap out of me—mission accomplished as far as dressing like Sadako.

As I slow the bike down she squints up at me, holding up one slim, pale hand to shade her eyes. She’s not Japanese, though her petite build and straight, silky black hair make me think she could be mixed. Her wide, deep brown eyes catch my attention then, and I find myself falling into them before I can stop myself.

“Uh ...” I manage as I stop and turn the headlight away from her, just enough to keep the glare out of her face. “Hi! Nice costume.”

“Costume?” She looks down at herself, and I get a better look at her as I wonder if she’s a bit high. She’s actually wrapped in a lab coat that is about five sizes too big for her, making it float around her dramatically in the wind. Beneath it, I catch sight of an overlarge pale sweater and the silvery drape of a velvet skirt. It’s all too big for her, but she’s so waiflike that it almost looks like a deliberate fashion choice. If not, as I thought before, a costume.

“I’m sorry, are you okay?” I ask suddenly. I’ve seen people with this shocked, sad look on their faces before—usually when I’m talking to the family of someone we lost on the table. It doesn’t happen too often, but that haunted expression sticks with you. So I notice it right away.

She stares at me as if she has no idea what to say. The wind picks up, hissing through the pine branches and sending her hair and clothes drifting around her. We watch each other mutely. After a pregnant pause she lifts her head and gives me the saddest smile I have ever seen in my life.

“No,” she replies simply, and my heart sinks.

Chapter 2

Madelyne

The sky is so enormous, now that I am free. I have been indoors for so long that I feel dizzy as I stare up at the slowly disintegrating clouds, as if I will be overwhelmed if I don’t look away. And it’s not just the sky; the whole world outside the asylum is vast.

I managed to avoid swallowing some of my meds before bed check, spitting them out and flushing them instead. It’s been a good two hours since then—just enough time to slip out and steal clothes from the nurses’ lockers and to hike this far down the road. Problem is, the pills still partially dissolved in my mouth before I could get rid of them, so I’m lightheaded as I turn to the man on the motorcycle.

I didn’t expect anyone to be out driving this late in the middle of nowhere. The fact that he came from the direction of the hospital makes me a little nervous. But Ravenwood is huge—the campus has three separate complexes on it, including the mental hospital.

It’s possible that he doesn’t even work in the same building. I try to remind myself of that fact as he dismounts from the bike and pulls off his helmet. When I see his face, everything else leaves my mind for a few moments.

I don’t know anything about men or attraction. I haven’t had the opportunity to do anything but admire boys from afar. But suddenly my stomach flutters, I feel a warm flush in my cheeks, and the dark thoughts that have been swirling through my head part like clouds before the moon.

His hair is a sort of tawny brown color, like a lion’s mane—shot with gold threads that reflect the glow from the motorcycle headlights in sparks. It stands up from a high forehead, mussed by his helmet. The lean, tanned face beneath is prickled with blond stubble along his jawline. His mouth is generous and well-shaped, and his narrow green eyes stare into mine like he’s looking right through me.

He’s also huge, I realize as he dismounts his motorcycle and stands up straight. He looms over me, and only his gentle expression keeps me from freaking out and putting more space between us.

“What’s your name?” he asks me softly.

I blink at him, reluctant to tell him. He could hear, later, about a missing patient named Madelyne at this very hospital. But then I just shake my head slightly, amused with myself. Unless he’s a regular visitor to the hospital, he’s not likely to hear anything. I doubt they’d let my name get out to the public. “Madelyne.”

“That’s a pretty name. I’m Aaron. Do you need some kind of help?” He tilts his head slightly, and I shrink a little under his piercing gaze. He’s intimidating without even meaning to be, even when he’s being kind.

“I ... no. There’s ... not much that can be done, really. I’m just going to ... spend a little time around here, that’s all.” I struggle to sound casual and wonder why it’s so hard for me to keep the shaking out of my voice suddenly. “You can ... you can go on. I’ll be okay. Really.”

The gorge is deep and shadowy, with rocks like jutting fangs. I can hear rushing water down there. The whole idea of throwing myself over the railing terrifies me.

But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that they will catch me if I stay on the run. I have no family, no friends, no money, nowhere to go. It doesn’t matter that I don’t have any of the illnesses that I was hospitalized for, except, of course, for the depression. The doctor will not let me be free as long as I am alive.

Aaron gives a deep, resigned sigh, and before I know what he’s doing he leans against the weathered railing, not so inconspicuously placing himself between me and the brink. He folds his powerful arms and the leather of his jacket creaks against his biceps.

“I don’t think you’re going to be okay if I leave you, sweetheart,” he says in a calm tone that leaves me with tears brimming in my eyes. “As a matter of fact, I think that if I leave you here, they’ll be pulling you out of the gorge tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, that’s nonsense. I—” I start, then realize that I have started fidgeting. “I’m ... I just ...”

“Look,” Aaron says softly, catching my eye. “I don’t know what’s brought you out here like this. I don’t know what you’re going through, and I’m not gonna judge. But I am gonna ask you something.”

I stop fidgeting and lick my lips, gathering my wits. How did he know what I was planning? I wipe my eyes impatiently. “What?”

“If you don’t care whether you live or die anyway, then how about you come take a ride with me instead?” His smile is charming, his tone reasonable. But his eyes bore into mine, seeking my answer.

This wasn’t in my plan. Confusion swamps me again and I stand still, blinking back at him. “Why would you do that?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I can’t just leave you. But I can’t tell you what to do with your life either. If you don’t mind my saying so, you look a little ambivalent about the whole ... situation here. I figure maybe a nice ride will help you clear your head.”

I hesitate. It’s true that I have nothing left to lose. It’s true that if anything, taking this man up on his offer gives me a chance at a running start before the doctor finds out I’m missing.

Escaping with my life might be possible after all. Or if it isn’t, maybe I can just have a little fun before I go back to my first option.

I walk over to the motorcycle, which gleams black and silver in the moonlight. It’s huge and powerful-looking, like its owner. Maybe he’s a biker that was discharged from the emergency wing. Maybe he’s not the type to turn me in.

Nothing to lose but my life, and I was an inch from giving that up anyway.

I look back at him and nod. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 3

Aaron

“I’ve never ridden a motorcycle,” she confesses, and I smile and pull my spare helmet from my saddlebag.

I’m so relieved that she agreed to my plan to keep her from killing herself that it feels like a weight has lifted off my chest. I came up with it by the seat of my pants.

But I became a doctor for a reason: to save lives. I wasn’t about to just leave her there.

“Here. I’ll get on, and you climb on after me. I’ll show you where to put your feet.” I look her over. “Do you have anything to put your hair up with?”

She didn’t, so I take a strip of gauze from my saddlebag’s emergency kit and tie her hair in a low ponytail. “Here you go.”

Mom and Dad have never understood why I would leave their land in Wyoming, which expands every year and is full of every possible luxury or bit of wilderness that a man could possibly need. But I wanted to make my own mark. It wasn’t enough for me to simply inherit Father’s pharmaceutical company—or the ranch built by its wealth—and coast on his achievements.

So med school it was. And then my specialty, and then my residency. I started climbing the ladder at Ravenwood in my late twenties, when most people my age were still finishing grad school. I was far too focused on my goal to let myself waste time.

My attention is brought back to Madelyn as she adjusts her ponytail. She’s skittish, shifting nervously when I touch her. I don’t feel too bad about that. I don’t know what hell she has been through, but as long as she isn’t jumping off a fucking bridge I figure she’s better off for my intervention. I just know I can’t expect her to treat me like a hero because of it.

I help her get the helmet on, wrap her in my leather jacket, and get on the bike. After a few moments of hesitation, she gets on behind me. I feel her arms slip around my chest under my arms, and feel an unexpected jolt of pleasure.

Shit. This woman is distraught enough to be contemplating suicide. I can’t even think about my attraction to her until she’s stable. I absolutely have to make certain that she’s okay first.

First, do no harm, I think as I rev the engine. “Okay. Hold onto me firmly, and if you get scared, let me know.”

She buries the front of her helmet in my back as we take off down the road. Her arms squeeze me tight—she’s already scared. But she doesn’t stiffen up and she doesn’t tell me to stop, so I keep going.

There’s a possibility that she’s playing me and will jump off the damn bike as soon as we get up to speed. I don’t know what I’ll do if she does that, besides get an ambulance here as fast as I can.

In a way, we’re both forced to have faith in each other. As we leave the bridge behind and drive off into the dark, I can feel her relax just a little, and continue to do so bit by bit as we get closer to the coastal highway. We can’t talk, and besides monitoring her and the road, I’m pretty much left to my thoughts.

I was made head of Ravenwood Hospital’s Cardiology Department early last year after the old head, Dr. Emil Blanchley, retired abruptly after breaking the nose of the head of the psychiatric wing. I can’t say that I blame him one bit for landing that punch—Dr. Westridge is a prick. But rules are rules, and while some members of the board chuckled about it, Blanchley was told to retire immediately if he wished to keep his pension.

I’ve been scrambling to clean up after him ever since, going through years of neglected paperwork that has demanded many late nights. Blanchley might’ve been an incredible doctor, but a pencil pusher he was not. I’ve been forced to plow through it in chunks while struggling to keep up on current papers. All this administrative crap frustrates me most because it does nothing to directly serve patients.

I know it’s pretty unusual for a department head to have a hero complex, but I have helped save lives since taking the position. It’s just been indirect, not hands-on. But I do everything that I possibly can.

Everything from getting a kid from a poor family a transplant to keeping the department on the cutting edge of modern cardiology medicine; I go after it all with everything I have. I’m not an ex-army tough guy like my Dad, but I still fight—for my patients and for my department. Even if I have to fund the battles with my own money.

This mess with Madelyne is just another day at the office in that respect. I’m trying to save a life. But the question is, how best to do so?

If she’s suicidal, by law, I’m supposed to turn around and hand her right over to the psychiatric wing for a 48-hour hold. If I don’t and she kills herself, I’m liable. But if I do ... she’ll end up in the hands of the worst department head on the entire Ravenwood staff.

Dr. Westridge isn’t just a bad doctor, he’s a bad administrator. All kinds of rumors fly around this place about the psychiatric wing. Unacceptably high suicide levels. Unexplained deaths. Complaints of abuse.

He and I have clashed on a variety of subjects, including his insistence on keeping certain mentally ill cardiac patients in restraints, even when it endangers them. He loves drugs, often keeping his patients on levels of sedatives that sometimes endanger them as well. And he loves petty power plays— even among his equals—making him nearly impossible to work with.

The rest of us on staff keep hearing reports of complaints and lawsuits filed against Westridge and wonder when he will finally run out of money for settlements. As far as I am concerned, he doesn’t belong anywhere near a patient—ever. But so far luck, money, and a talented lawyer have protected him from any serious consequences.

I can’t send Madelyne to him. I know too well what will happen if I do. The man will make everything worse. He seems to have a talent for it.

If I take her across state lines, though, and into a major city like Portland, I can get her into a hospital with someone who has to be more competent and ethical than Westridge. Now that she’s starting to calm down, maybe I can get her to agree to that as a plan if she needs to be hospitalized.

We emerge from the access road onto the coastal highway and sweep northward along its cliff-hugging curves, the sea shimmering under the moon to one side of us. I can see the gleam of lights from little hamlets dotting the hills above us, and the sheets of cloud from the dying storm have all lowered into a hilltop crown of fog.

It’s a view worth living to see. I hope my passenger notices.

I check in with her, reaching back carefully to pat her hand with my gloved one. She squeezes my fingers briefly and I go back to driving, temporarily satisfied. Well, she didn’t bail back on the road, and I doubt she’s going to jump now that we’re out here.

On we drive, past several cliffside houses and a rest stop, until finally I slow down to take a break at a turn-off that leads up the hill to my home. It has a couple of benches and an old phone booth. I pull up by one of the benches and get off to stretch my legs and talk to her.

“How was that?” I ask as she awkwardly pulls off her helmet.

“It was ... a little overwhelming, but I ... I’m glad you took me for a ride. Where are we going?” Her voice sounds so hesitant and tentative that I wonder if she thinks I’m leaving her here.

I open my mouth to offer her a ride back to my place, and then I have to stop and wonder at my motives. Behave. “Well,” I say slowly, “where do you want to go?”

She looks out over the ocean silently, wrapping her arms around herself. “As far from here as we can,” she finally murmurs. “That’s where I want to go.”

I think about the two days off work I have coming, and mentally count the cash left in my wallet. I live more modestly than I have to, so I usually have a decent amount of liquid assets. I might have to visit a bank at some point, but ...

“Any specifics?” But of course, she shakes her head. She really wasn’t thinking past tonight. I’m glad I was smart enough to pick up on that.

“All right, up the coastline it is, then. I’ll just get us some clothes to change into in the nearest large town.” I give her a smile, and see a gleam of something like hope in her eyes.

Chapter 4

Madelyne

I freeze up when he asks me where I want to go. Up until half an hour ago, I didn’t want to be anywhere. But now, staring out over the silver sea and the wild night stretching above it, I start to think once again about an escape that doesn’t involve dying.

If I can get across state lines, I can ditch this hot but potentially overcurious guy and take off. By the time that Aaron gets back home and discovers that the police are searching for me, I’ll be nothing but a memory to him. I don’t know much about the outside world after ten years locked away in the hospital, but I’m certain I can figure out some way to survive.

At least I’ll finally be free, even if I don’t last long.

Half an hour after I tell him “north,” we make our first stop. It’s a little too close to the hospital for comfort, and the lights are too bright for me. But it’s a public place, it’s dry and warm, and best of all, nobody here is paying attention to much of anything besides their meals.

We’re sitting in a chrome, white, and red fifties-style café that’s half full of tourists and truckers. It’s done up for Halloween, with clusters of carved pumpkins and those jointed cardboard monsters that they always put up in the nursing station back at the hospital. Over half the people there, including a sleepy gaggle of kids, are in costume, making my weird “borrowed” outfit look normal.

Good. I absolutely cannot afford to stand out in any way.

Aaron is in no rush, and I can’t afford to let on that I am. Just act normal, I tell myself firmly as I ball up in a chair and glance nervously around.

“I just really need coffee if we’re going for a long ride, and this is the best local place.” He gives me that smile again. It’s like a flash of light cutting through the gray clouds around me, and I can’t help but try on a small smile in return. It feels strange on my face.

“I understand.” I take a sip of my own. It’s bitter, and I wince and dump sugar and cream into the mug as I realize that I’ve never actually had coffee before.

He smiles a little. “They make the coffee strong here. Sorry, I should have warned you.”

“That’s okay, I just ...” I have to stifle a cough. Yikes. Do they use this stuff to clean floors?

He presses his lips together and looks away like he’s trying not to laugh. “I’ve gotten so used to it that I don’t notice. Hospital staff go through strong coffee like water.”

I feel my blood turn cold for a moment before forcing my smile to stay on. Crap. I knew he might work at the hospital. He’s not from the psych staff ... who is he? “Oh, you work at Ravenwood?”

“Yeah, I’m the head of the cardiology department.” He flashes a boyish grin that says the opposite of “respected senior hospital staff” and I just stare at him. “We went through paperwork hell today, so I was working late. Pretty glad of it now.”

“Yeah,” I reply, a little breathlessly. He’s talking calmly, openly. Not patronizingly or demandingly, or in broken bits of sentences or stream of consciousness. Not like a doctor or attendant, not like a patient either. Like a man—an ordinary man.

It is such a new experience for me after so many years seeing only the same few people day after day that it refreshes and fascinates me. Everything about him fascinates me, especially his clear, honest concern for a total stranger. Suddenly, even if I still don’t care if I live or die any more, I realize that I’m curious about some part of life again. “I’m ... glad that you did too.”

The look of relief on his face surprises me. Why does he care so much about what happens to me? Nobody else ever has. The gesture is so alien, in fact, that something in me starts whispering about how he must have some ulterior motive.

Maybe he wants sex. If that’s true, he’s going a long way to get it. I have mixed feelings about the idea. On the one hand, I know nothing about sex and know I can’t handle being hurt again so soon. On the other, he’s both hot and kind—a combination that I have never seen before.

I really hope it isn’t all an act.

“I’m pretty glad to hear you say that. Truth is, I was worried when you were pretty obviously thinking of jumping into the damn gorge.” He takes a bite of his muffin while I blink at him, at a loss for what to say. He chews, swallows, and goes on, never breaking eye contact. “You want to tell me why?”

My stomach does a flip. I can’t tell him about escaping the hospital if he works there, or he’ll be obliged to bring me back. So I decide to piece together the bits of truth that I can tell him. I’m careful not to lie—he deserves better than that, and he’s smart enough that he would probably be able to tell.

“Well, I ... have been on my own since the age of ten, and I ended up in the custody of someone really ... terrible.” I swallow more coffee and let it warm me. The cream has helped that bitter taste, but it still reminds me of soap.

“And ...?” his eyes narrow slightly, and I freeze for a moment, wondering if I’m being foolish by giving him any truth at all. But what’s my best option? I can’t just tell him nothing, not any more than I can lie to him.

“He had control over me. I mean, I was technically a ward of the state, but, um ... he was the one with custody. And it was ... nasty. And I’d rather not get into the details.” I manage a bite of my blueberry muffin. It’s fruity and subtler than I’m used to; everything at the hospital was blandly sweet, and I barely ever tasted so much as an apple.

He looks troubled but nods. “That’s understandable. So what happened? Did you become depressed?”

“No,” I say sadly. “I finally escaped from him. But ... I was with him for ten years. Since I was a kid. No schooling, no socializing, no access to the outside world.”

I spread my hands, wishing I was a lot more eloquent. Maybe if I had more practice at normal conversation I would be better at this.

He’s staring at me in horror. “So ...” he says finally in a low, shocked tone, “you were someone’s ... captive?”

“He always said it was for my own good. That I was too sick to go outside. But the truth is ... it was a game to him. A power trip.”

My head is already clearing. This is the longest I have gone without a full dose of tranquilizers in ten years.

“He sounds insane,” he mumbles in amazement, setting down his cup.

“Yes, he is all of that and more,” I agree distractedly. “He doesn’t legally have the right to keep me anywhere anymore, since I’m twenty now. I should have been able to get away when I turned eighteen, but he simply ... didn’t let me go.”

It was worse than that—a lot worse. The drugs, the mind games—the doctor constantly trying to tell me that I was sicker than I was, and that I could not trust my own mind. It makes me sick to think about, and I quickly distract myself with nibbling on my muffin.

“How did you escape?” He takes a swallow of his coffee, still staring at me wide-eyed.

“I managed to keep from swallowing some of my tranquilizers and slipped out. I’ve never given th—him any trouble, so I was never watched too closely after lights out.” It’s all true, and comes out smoothly. Let him think I’m talking about a private home and not a ward in his own hospital.

“Jesus. Do you know what this guy had you on, and where he was getting it?” He sounds outraged—for me. That’s something completely new.

I stare at him, really not sure what to say. I, of course, know the meds that have been forced on me: three amber ovals of Seroquel totaling maybe 1200 milligrams daily, and four two-milligram bars of Xanax totaling eight milligrams. They were given to me at precise times, day and night, so that I was always being interrupted to swallow more pills. I couldn’t even sleep through the night.

“I don’t actually know. He didn’t put me on them because I’m depressed; they were all tranquilizers.” That’s as specific as I’ll get, I decide. If I show too much knowledge of my meds he’ll likely start asking questions about who explained them to me. It wasn’t that control freak, after all—it was one of the nurses. I’ll plead ignorance and hope it doesn’t matter all that much.

“This guy sounds crazy. I wonder if he was supposed to be taking them himself and just pushed them off onto you.” He drains his mug and gestures to the waitress, a chubby redhead wandering around in a pair of black cat ears. “Do you think he’ll come after you?”

“I’m absolutely sure of it. He’s ... possessive. He will want to get me back. And I would rather die than go back.”

It’s the truth, and it’s all the truth I can manage.

“So you’re not suicidally depressed—” he starts, and I cut him off more sharply than I intend.

“No. He always told me I was crazy so I wouldn’t have any confidence in myself, but it’s crap. I’m depressed because of my circumstances, and I wanted to kill myself because I thought it was the only way out. You came by and offered me an alternative. I took it.” I stare him firmly in the eyes, clinging tight to my one scrap of pride.

He rakes a hand back through his spiky bronze hair and sighs. “That’s both a relief and a problem, because if even half of what you are saying is true, then you have bigger issues than just recovering from depression.”

“I know,” I reply softly, picking at my muffin, then look up at him again. “That’s why I need you to get me as far away from here as possible. If you really want to help me, that is what I need.”

Those intense green eyes hold me captive. I have no idea what he thinks of me right now. I only pray that he believes me, and sympathizes.

Then, slowly, he nods. “Well, for what it’s worth, I believe you. I’ll make arrangements for some accommodations in southern Oregon. That way we’ll have a place to shoot for by the time we both wear out.”

I manage another tiny smile. Something like hope is creeping into my heart, and I nod. “That sounds fine. I know I won’t be able to sleep for a long time as is.”