So how about going to lunch with me and Lita when she comes?” Napoleon moved his white queen around the chessboard. “Then, you could show her around Willowick County. She hasn’t been here since she was a kid.”

With his elbow propped on the table, Scott studied the chessboard, yet Rachel occupied his mind.

“Scottie?” Napoleon sipped from his cup of pineapple punch. “Would you like to show Lita around?”

“Hm?” He moved his black king a few squares.

“Earth to Scottie?” Napoleon shook the table, getting Scott’s attention. “What’s up?”

“Huh? Sorry.” Scott sat back, rubbing his thighs. “I got something on my mind.”

Napoleon moved his queen. “Something or someone?”

“It’s this girl.” He got his king and moved it. “I don’t even know her, but I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Napoleon’s wrinkled lips rose in the corner. “Rachel?”

“What do you know about Rachel?”

“I was there when Bobby called you earlier, remember?” Napoleon laid his hands in his lap.

“Rachel Howard.” Scott rubbed his hands, focusing on the hand-woven wool rug beside Napoleon’s walnut, café table.

“She must be something.”

“She’s in trouble.” Scott told Napoleon what happened in the park and Rachel’s behavior afterwards. “What do you think?”

“Odd.” He wiggled his foot. “Why wouldn’t she want to go to the police?”

“My guess is she’s been warned not to.” Scott rubbed the faint, blond hairs on his chin. “I think the man who attacked her works for someone she owes money to or something. I tracked her down but she won’t give nothing up.”

Napoleon moved his queen, getting closer to Scott’s king. “I almost got you.”

Scott shifted his king in the other direction. “Not so fast.”

“Shoot.” Napoleon sighed. “Leave this Rachel girl alone. I have a weird feeling about this. If she wants help she’ll ask.”

“She can’t ask, Napoleon. That’s why she needs help.”

“It’s not your business.”

“You sound like Bobby.”

“Bobby’s right.” Napoleon sat erect. “I understand you’re obligated, but this girl could be in real danger. You might risk your own life. Is that worth it for someone you just met?”

Scott sipped orange soda from the chilled can.

“Anyway, will you show Lita around town or not?”

The strong soda burned Scott’s throat. “I don’t know if I’ll have time.”

“She wants to meet you.”

“Napoleon.” Scott stroked his forehead. “I don’t wanna date anyone right now. I got too much going on.”

“Like what?” He scoffed. “You work, go home, and visit me. I don’t see where you can’t squeeze Lita in for a few hours.”

“All right.” Scott straightened his butt in the chair. “Let me know when she’s here and we’ll work something out.”

“I appreciate that.” Napoleon smiled, moving his queen toward Scott’s piece. “You’ll like her. Trust me—”

“I’m sorry.” Scott jumped up, pushing his chair against the table. “I gotta go.”

“What?” Napoleon made a fist on the table. “We’re in the middle of a game here, and I’m almost winning.”

“We’ll continue when I come back.” Scott went to the front door that led straight into the living room.

“Hold on.” Napoleon stood. “Are you going to see Rachel?”

“I can’t leave it alone.” He yanked his keys out his pockets. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to her.”

Napoleon approached and grabbed Scott’s wrist. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

Scott dropped his head, separating his keys.

“Scott, I promised Robert on his deathbed I would always look after you boys. I love you and Bobby like you’re my own sons.”

Scott patted Napoleon’s hand. “We love you too.”

“You know how your father was.” Napoleon waved his hand left and right. “He’d have told you to let Bobby handle this.”

“Course he would because he didn’t think I could do anything right.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is true.” Scott ran off the porch, hit by the stuffy, August breeze. “I’ll see you okay?” He got in his car.

“I’m serious!” Napoleon stood on the edge of the porch. “I got a bad feeling about this girl.”

“Aren’t you the one always telling me to follow my heart?” Scott yelled out the window as he backed out the driveway. “That’s what I’m doing.”

* * *

“I don’t believe this.” Rachel stood in her front doorway looking adorable in a pink and white pajama set and fuzzy socks. “Didn’t I tell you to leave me alone?”

“Yeah.” Scott stroked the top of his head. “Guess I didn’t listen.”

“Does a brick have to fall on your head for you to get the point?” She crossed her arms, her lovely eyes throwing darts his way. “You have five seconds to leave or I’m calling the police.”

“What is with you, huh?” He gripped the doorframe. “A little gratitude would be nice since I saved your life.”

She got on her tiptoes, but her head still didn’t reach past his chest. “How many times must I say I don’t want or need your help?”

“This is the last time.” Scott punched his palm, causing her to jump. “Take care of yourself, Rachel. Hope you last the week.”

Her expression switched from annoyance to surprise as if she expected him to challenge her.

As Scott turned to leave, his foot caught the rug on the porch and he fell face first onto the pavement. “Ow, shit.”

“Oh, my god.” Rachel knelt beside him, pulling his arm. “Scott?”

“Ah.” He lifted his head as a sharp pain traveled through his temples.

“Let me help you.” She got him up. “You’re bleeding a little.” She touched the burning cut on his forehead.

“Is it bad?”

“No, just a little scratch. Are you okay?”

He grinned; happy she had concern for him. “I’ll be all right.”

“Come on in.” She widened the door as he stood there staring. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.”

“You need to get that cut cleaned.” She took his hand and the softness of her skin made him forget he’d fallen. “Let me put something on it for you and then you can leave.”

“Isn’t this a switch?” He followed her inside, smirking. “You telling me to stay.”

She made eye contact, a smidge of redness showing through her brown cheeks.

“You blushing, Rachel?” He caressed her hand. “What’s that about?”

She let go of his hand, fidgeting. “You can go into the den.” She pointed to the doorway on the right. “I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.”

Scott entered the classic-styled den with walls the color of pink salmon and a coral-red sofa and chairs. The air held a soft aroma of peach and maple, from the candles on the table by the TV stand.

The living room reminded Scott of something he’d see from a home decorating magazine, furnished with bursts of vibrant color.

His stare landed on the treasure in the back, an item that stole glory from everything else in the room.

“Jesus.” Scott rushed to the elaborate bookshelf, his excitement making him stumble.