Gracie rushed into the guest bedroom, climbed over the supplies and tools, and opened the top dresser drawer. Panic filled her with each drawer she opened.

With her sister's voice in her ear, she looked around the room holding the cell phone to her head. "I don't understand. He left nothing behind."

She jumped over the toolbox and left the room, hurrying downstairs to the kitchen.

"Wayne said he'd come over and talk to you," said Clara. "You need to calm down until he gets there."

Feeling on top of the refrigerator, her fingers came away empty. "But, Rich is okay?"

"I haven't seen him, but Wayne said they're taking care of him."

The relief that should've come failed to convince her. Clara had called late last night and said the search for the missing person had ended. The police found the missing girl with a sexual predator heading out of town and reunited her with her family, safe and sound, and Rich was with the bikers in the garage de-stressing. She'd finally fallen asleep, knowing the Notus members would make sure Rich wouldn't drink, and they needed the time to bond again.

Except, she'd woken up that morning alone.

"Taking care of him?" She groaned in frustration. "That means something is wrong."

"No, it doesn't."

"Yes, it does. If he were fine, Wayne would say Rich is fine. If he was okay. Wayne would say Rich is okay. If something were wrong, Wayne would say that he's taking care of it." She inhaled quickly. "Don't you pay attention to how they all talk. You have to listen to what they haven't said."

"God, sis. Stop creating problems where there is none. At least wait until Wayne talks to you before you freak out."

"Why won't Rich come back here with Wayne?" She opened the junk drawer, scattering the contents and making a mess.

"Wayne didn't say, but Rich is talking. At least that's what I've been told. Okay, that's what I heard when I had my ear to the door. I don't know what they're saying, but I heard Rich's voice which means he is talking to the others." Clara paused. "Gracie!"

She jolted halfway to the garage. "What?"

"Stop running around. All I can hear is your breathing over the phone. Just stand still and calm down."

"I can't."

"Tell me what's going through your head."

She put her hand on the empty purse at her side. "Rich has my pistol."

"O-kay." Clara slowed her speech. "And, that means...?"

"It means he has my pistol. Both pistols." She held the side of her head. "I don't have anything to protect myself."

"Oh, Gracie," said Clara softly. "You'll be okay. Do you want one of the guys to come over for a while and be with you? Chuck is here. I could talk to him for you."

"No." She only wanted Rich. "I'm going to let you go."

"Wait."

"What?"

"What are you going to do?"

She headed for the steps. "I don't know, but I'll be fine. I'll call if I need you."

"Immediately."

"Immediately." She walked upstairs. "Love you."

"Love you, too."

She disconnected the call and slid the phone into her pocket. Fanning her overheated face, she sat on the bed. On the verge of a panic attack, she needed to think rationally.

Rich was alive. He was in St. John's. It was daytime. Her house was locked. At the moment, she was safe.

She was safe.

She was safe.

Pressing her hand against her stomach, she straightened her back, and inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Her head throbbed, and she repeated the exercise the doctor had recommended after her abduction to stop her fears from taking hold.

She exhaled harshly. Her doctor was full of shit.

Not wanting to take a Xanax and inhibit her ability to think about what was going on with Rich, she put on her sneakers, gathered her hair at the back of her neck, and slipped a band around the strands to hold them out of her way.

Whatever was going on, she wouldn't be able to find out any info sitting at home, and she wasn't going to wait an hour for Wayne to come over and give her a couple little truths and coddle her from the facts. She checked to make sure she had her keys, driver's license, and garage remote in her purse, and then slipped her phone into the bag and went to the garage.

She'd worked her way up to going to Vavoom's Bar several times a week by herself—armed with her pistol and concealed weapons permit. All she had to do was drive to her sister and Wayne's house. She slid into the driver's seat of her car and set her purse—minus a gun—on the seat beside her. Taking a few deep breaths, she pushed the button on the remote and watched the garage door rise in the rearview mirror.

Double checking the locks on the car, she reversed out of the garage, waited until the door closed, and drove the five blocks between her house and Wayne's house. By the time she pulled up to her destination and parked on the street, her overheated body had chills.

She counted the number of motorcycles, and a new wave of nervousness filled her, propelling her to the front door. Looking over her shoulder while she waited for someone to answer the door, she recounted the bikes.

There were only four Harleys. Rich wasn't at the house.

The door opened.

She turned around and found Wayne. "Where is he?"

He motioned her inside. All the members of Notus occupied the living room. She connected with her sister. Clara gave her raised brows and a small shake of her head. Her sister still hadn't found out any more information.

"Where is he?" She walked into the room and stood beside Clara, facing the others. "He's supposed to be with you guys."

"He's over at my parents' house." Thad sat on the arm of the couch.

She scanned all their faces. The stoic and serious mood worried her. She'd seen them many times after coming off a missing person case. They never celebrated. They reflected while dealing with the emotional impact in different ways.

"I..." She gathered her calm. "Is he okay?"

"He's okay." Wayne patted Clara's ass, sat down in the chair in front of them, and rubbed his hands over his face. When he lowered his arms, he said, "He wanted to talk to Mr. and Mrs. B. Thad's dad said he'd call when Thad left the house."

Rich. Thalia. Twenty-five missing years. Forty-six years of love.

She held on to the back of the chair. The men weren't telling her the whole story. She wanted to know what happened to make Rich want to talk to Thad's parents and what happened when they were out last night. Selfishly, she wanted to know why one of them hadn't let Rich borrow their phone and why he hadn't called her to let her know he was okay.

They'd lived with each other for three months. They'd spent every second together. She was sleeping with him. Didn't she have a right to know what was going on with him?

"Is he drinking?" she asked.

Glen shook his head. "He was sober when we escorted him to the Bowers' house."

She'd often seen Mr. B drink beer when everyone got together. He'd have alcohol in his house. Rich stole whiskey from Vavoom's. How could they trust him not to drink while at the Bowers?

Rich was an alcoholic. He had an addiction, and his sobriety was new to him.

"Dad's not going to let him drink," said Thad.

She swallowed, looking at Clara. Her sister grabbed her hand and excused them, taking her into the kitchen.

The moment she was alone with her sister, Gracie whispered, "What were they thinking letting him out of their sight?"

"Sis...you can't shelter Rich. He's a grown-ass man who owes them all a reason for his absence." Clara pulled her into the attached dining room, farther away from the living room. "I get how you feel responsible for him, but he can't continue living with you. Wayne and the others never thought it would take this long to find out what was going on with him. Regardless what happened in the garage and what they talked about, he really can't continue living with you. It's not good for you."

Her head swirled. "It's not like that."

Clara held Gracie's hands in between them. "The guys found him in jail, and then there was another motorcycle club after him. He brought danger to your house. You have to let Notus deal with him now. You need to put whatever feelings you have for him on the shelf."

Impossible.

She could give him space and time with Notus, but to stop loving him until someone else gave her permission was unfair. They might've known Rich longer, but she knew him deeper and more personal now.

"Can you do that? Can you step away from Rich?" Clara squeezed Gracie's hands.

He'd almost been shot protecting her during her panic. He'd allowed her to show him her past. He'd accepted her. She'd stepped out of her house with no protection for him. She could do more. For him.

It would be hard and miserable worrying about him, but she also knew he had to heal. There was something that kept him away from his MC family beyond the loss of Thalia, behind his decision to join a different motorcycle club and his addiction.

She nodded. "I can."

Rich needed to get the upper hand on his battles, or he couldn't truly be in a relationship. If he continued down the path he was living, she would need to accept what they had together was only sex. That she'd imagined the unspoken connection between them.

She didn't want to believe that.

Clara raised their clutched hands and brought Gracie's gaze up. "I'm worried—"

"Don't be. I'm—"

"A survivor. I know." Clara smiled sadly. "You have no idea how much—"

"I love you, too." Gracie smiled sadly back.

They'd always had a special bond, being twins. One shared look conveyed a whole conversation without words. When they talked, they could finish each other's sentences. Clara understood the amount of pain she went through, but Gracie protected her from the truth behind that pain. What Roy Jenkins had done to her family ended with her.

It was a sacrifice she took on willingly because she loved Clara.

She could sacrifice her time with Rich to allow him to heal because she loved him.