Wayne stood in front of Gracie in the kitchen of his house. She gawked at him. What he asked of her was impossible.

"I'm not going to stay here if Rich is going back to my house," she whispered, keeping the conversation private from everyone in the living room. "You said it was safe now and nobody was out to hurt him."

"Gracie..."

She straightened her spine. "I want to go home with him."

The men had returned an hour ago after dealing with the threat against Rich and locked themselves in the garage. Rich had avoided her completely, and she'd been shocked at the way he'd looked. His solemn expression and blank eyes reminded her of when he'd moved into her house. There was no life coming from his gaze as if he couldn't even see her.

It was now after two o'clock in the morning. All she wanted to do was go home and sleep in her own bed, and hope in the morning Rich woke up acting like he had earlier today—or yesterday.

The aroma of alcohol came from Wayne. Gracie swallowed her anger. He knew better than to drink around Rich. They all acted like they'd come off a missing person case with their secrets and their need to drink to ease their stress.

"Asked too much of you." Wayne scratched his beard. "Stay here, and tomorrow, I'll take you back to your house. Besides, it's dark out."

Her stomach fluttered. She never went out alone after dark.

"I can follow Rich. I won't be alone." She slipped her hand into her purse and felt around for her keys. "Go to bed. I'll be all right."

"Damnit, Gracie," muttered Wayne.

She patted his chest. "I'll be fine."

Wayne had no idea that she'd shared what happened to her when she was abducted and gave the details to Rich about how Roy Jenkins was linked to Thalia. It was her responsibility to make sure he processed everything okay and be there if he had any questions after he had time to think about everything. She'd given him answers he'd spent twenty-five years searching for. Nobody could expect him to handle knowing the truth. There were some pains that time couldn't soften.

He had to bleed, cry, scream, and in a lot of ways, disconnect from other people. She knew that. She'd lived it.

Walking around Wayne, she stopped when he called her name. "Yes?"

"Text when you get home." Wayne's eyes softened even more. "Text if you need your sister or me. Text for any damn reason, sweetheart."

She couldn't have picked a better man for her sister. Gracie nodded and left the kitchen. In the living room, she looked around in the crowd of people for Rich. Had he already left?

Slipping her arm around Clara, she leaned close to her sister. "Where's Rich?"

"He left a second ago." Clara frowned when Gracie sagged against her twin. "What's wrong?"

"I want to go home."

"I thought you were staying here tonight."

She shook her head and stepped away from her sister. "I’m going to see if I can catch up to him. I'll text when I get home."

"Sis?" Clara stepped toward her. "You never—"

She waved her sister away. "I'll be fine."

Wanting to get to Rich, she stepped outside into the darkness. Her heart raced, and the muscles in her whole body seized as she faced the night, the cooler temperature, the silence. Staying close to the house, she stepped to the railing of the porch and squinted into the driveway. A dark shadow moved in the middle of the motorcycles parked in front.

She gathered all her bravery and ran down the driveway. Overestimating her confidence, she slammed into Rich, holding on to his arms as he cushioned her from falling head first into him.

"I'm going home." She panted, letting go of him. "I thought you'd left."

He looked through her. Nerves about to jump out of her skin, she backed away and clutched her keys tighter. Rich gazed over at her car, and because he never spoke up and told her she couldn't go to her own house, she walked toward the vehicle and locked herself in the driver's seat.

Rich pulled onto the street riding his motorcycle. She made a U-turn and followed him home, barely aware of her surroundings or other traffic. On the rare occasion when she had to travel home after dark, one of the bikers accompanied her, all the way to the front door so she'd have company the whole way.

Her worry over Rich outweighed her fear that any harm would come to her.

She pulled her garage door opener out of her purse, having learned her lesson not to leave it in the car while parked out in the open, and pushed the button. A cold sweat chilled her, and she shivered. She looked out the side window of her car and found Rich parking near the strip of grass by the sidewalk.

She could see him.

She could yell for him, and he'd hear her.

But, she wasn't close enough for him to reach out and physically save her if someone rushed her.

The light from the inside of the garage filled the car as the door clicked to a stop. She pressed the accelerator and the car shot forward too fast. She braked hard in her panic of crashing into the wall.

Half in, half out of her garage, she couldn't breathe. Her head pounded in pain, and she prayed she hadn't hit anything with the car.

The driver's door opened. She jolted and her car rolled forward again.

"Gracie," shouted Rich. "Stop."

She slammed her foot on the pedal again at the same time Rich stuck his arm through the opened door and shoved her gearshift into Park.

His hand dropped to the latch on her seatbelt. She sucked in air as his upper body pressed against her, and then he freed her from the car, and she held on to him, and finally, she was close enough to him.

She was safe.

He cupped the back of her head, pressing her to his chest. The adrenaline spike in her body left her trembling. She knew she wasn't back at the intersection with Clara. A car hadn't crashed into them. Rich was not Roy Jenson trying to steal her away from everyone.

But, she couldn't convince her body to relax as she relived that day wanting to fight harder to stop what comes next. She hated how a certain smell or movement set her back, especially around others.

Rich cupped her head and said, "Okay?"

She inhaled through a tight chest. "Embarrassed."

He motioned with his chin. "Go in the house. I'll move the car, grab my duffle, and lock up."

She grabbed on to her purse strap and stepped away from him. "Don't forget to put the rebar in th-the door track."

Looking over her shoulder, he had already slipped into the driver's seat of her car. She walked into the house and straight up to her room. After she changed into more comfortable clothes and Rich went to bed, she'd go out in the garage and double check to make sure he'd put the bar in the track in case he hadn't heard her.

Upstairs in her room, she set her purse on the bed, changed into a pair of shorts that she'd cut out of a pair of old sweatpants. On a whim, she'd sewn Candy Skulls on the ass of the shorts last summer when she was making the aprons for the waitresses at Vavoom's. She flung her bra off, slipped into a tank, wound her hair up on top of her head, and collapsed on the bed.

Once she had her breathing under control, and the dizziness left her, she'd secure the house. Maybe tomorrow, she wouldn't lose it in front of Rich, and they could have a calm, rational discussion.