Despite my depressing thought that nothing I was doing was making a difference, I still kept doing it. I let myself fall into a routine, waking up each morning, forcing down coffee for a caffeine fix and then getting straight to work. I worked through lunch, maybe grabbing something to eat at some point, and then stopped in the evening so I could get some real food. Another hour or so at work and then down to the gym to work out. Exhausting myself physically seemed to work fairly well in keeping me from dreaming. Well, for the most part. Instead of several dreams a night, I was down to just one or two...but even wearing myself out didn't do anything for the flashbacks.

The ones for the past couple days had been the worst. I was working on a case where the child being exploited hadn't been kidnapped or anything like that. This was a little girl being sold to the highest online bidder who would direct whatever it was they wanted to be done to her. At least, she'd been a little girl about ten years ago. I had ten years of photos to go through, each one worse than the last, but all necessary.

I didn't know if it was because she was dark-haired like me or if it was the content of the pictures, but I'd spent too much time experiencing flashbacks of some of the worst memories of my life.

“Come here, baby.”

He held out his hand and I went to him. I had to go to him. I knew what would happen if I didn't, and it would be worse than what was coming. It was always worse to resist.

“You've been a naughty little girl and Daddy needs to punish you.”

The baby-doll dress I was wearing was so thin that everything underneath was visible and I shivered as the man pulled me onto his lap. He bent me over his knees and pulled up the bottom of the dress.

I shivered as the memory washed over me. It wasn't as bad as the flashback, but it was bad enough. The flashback had kept going through him spanking me and then his hand had moved lower...

I shook my head to clear it. That hadn't been the first flashback, or the worst, but it still wasn't pleasant. Other ones had come through too, harsher, worse pieces of my past. Ones that had left me shaking and gasping for air. Some that I hadn't even thought of in years.

I stood up and ran my hands through my hair. I needed a break. I'd been working nearly non-stop for ten days. And when I hadn't been working, I'd been at the gym. Maybe what I needed right now was some fresh air. It was the first week of March and an absolutely beautiful day. The sun was out, no clouds in the blue sky. The wind was gentle, but cool. It wasn't a warm day, but as soon as I stepped outside, I could smell spring coming.

I didn't want to go for a run. I wanted to walk, to feel the sun on my face and breathe the fresh air. I headed for the campus, walking along the familiar path, over the bridge and across. Years ago, there'd been a flood here, or so I'd heard. The entire campus had been trashed, the glass front of the Lory Student Center shattered. One of my professors had lived in the city when it happened and told my class about it.

I tried to imagine it as I walked, seeing the campus under several feet of water, too deep to walk. It was strange to think about, to imagine the city after such a disaster. It had been the first place I'd really considered home, more or less. That was what was holding me back, I had to admit. Denver and DC were both great cities and a solid job with the FBI should've been exactly what I wanted. But no matter what had happened here, Fort Collins was home.

Then again, I thought, Denver and Washington could both offer me a new start. Maybe that's what I needed, a new beginning, somewhere fresh. Denver would be too close, too much like Fort Collins. DC would be a better bet. Further away. There, no one would know me except Agent Matthews, and even he would stay in Denver.

That had appeal. Being unknown, being a nameless, faceless member of a crowd. An agent who worked in the tech department wasn't someone who got a lot of attention. Maybe it'd be nice not to get attention for once. I'd tried to protect myself by building up a shield, tough exterior. Tattoos, piercings and hair. Maybe instead of that, I should try to disappear. Keep the dark hair, lose all of the piercings. Put on a black suit and become just another agent.

I was so caught up in my thoughts that I almost didn't see the newspaper sitting on the bench, edges fluttering in the wind. Almost.

“Billionaire CEO Rylan Archer With Runner-Up for Miss Colorado.”

I stopped and stared at the headline, reading it again. Then I saw the picture underneath it. Rylan in a tux, smiling, and a tall, beautiful blonde standing next to him, her arm looped through his.

I picked up the paper and continued my walk back to my apartment. I was barely aware of where I was going, my eyes fixed on the picture. There was an article underneath, but I wasn't going to read it yet. I didn't want to read it at all, but my curiosity couldn’t let it go.

I didn't remember getting back home, but I was suddenly there and sitting on the couch, the paper in front of me.

I read the caption under the picture first. “CEO of Archer Enterprises, Rylan Archer, attends the American Cancer Society charity ball with Miss Colorado runner-up Juliet Markus.”

Juliet Markus. A nice name for a pretty face.

An unscarred face. Unmarked body. Whole and healthy.

Everything that I wasn't. And everything Rylan deserved.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes and I fought them back. I wasn't going to cry. Not over this.

I turned my attention to the article, but it didn't really contain any additional information. The headline and picture seemed to be only to coerce people into reading the accompanying article. It mentioned Rylan and his date, but only because they were among the most well-known and wealthiest of the guests. He hadn't been interviewed and nothing was said about his relationship with Juliet.

That hadn't taken him long at all, I thought as I carefully folded the paper and set it on the coffee table. He'd gone from Emmaline to Juliet in just two weeks. I supposed I should've been grateful for it. At least he wasn't dating Emmaline.

It was small comfort, but at least it was something. Rylan was moving on and it wasn't all stupid choices. Juliet seemed like she would be a good choice. I looked at my laptop. This was a bad idea, but I needed to know.

I pulled up my internet browser and typed in her name. Since she'd just been made runner-up this past year, there was plenty online about her. She was about my age, born and raised in Colorado. Went to CSU, majoring in sociology and minoring in political science. Wholesome family with parents who'd been high school sweethearts and an older brother who was a doctor. She volunteered for Habitat for Humanity as well as at the local hospital. She'd helped do fund-raising for natural disasters and worked with underprivileged youth in Denver.

She was fucking perfect.

I closed my laptop and pulled my feet up onto the couch. I pulled my knees up to my chest and closed my eyes. I'd once been forced to watch some sci-fi slash horror flick where a thing burst out of some guy's chest. I felt like that was what was about to happen to me. Or that it had already happened. My heart ripped from my chest, lungs too. All that was left was a gaping hole.

This was what I'd wanted, I reminded myself. Rylan to be happy and for him to find a woman who could give him what he wanted. I was sure Juliet would be a great mother. And if he didn't get serious with her, someone else would come along. His family would make sure he chose better this next time. Suzette would, if no one else did. And Zeke. I didn't know exactly what his problem was with me, not entirely. I knew he didn't like me, but I didn't know if it was personal for only me or if anyone who dated Rylan would be subject to the same treatment, but I was going to hope for the best and choose to believe that Zeke would finally support one of Rylan's choices.

I didn't want to think about Rylan with someone else, but I forced myself to. I had to get used to it, especially since I was still in Fort Collins. We hadn't been apart that long and I'd already seen him with two women. If I fell apart every time it happened, I was going to have a problem.

He was with someone else. A better choice. I kept telling myself that over and over again, like pressing on a bruise until the pain was just another part of me. It didn't go away or even lessen, but I accepted it, pulled it into myself. I was strong enough to handle it. I'd handled other things worse than this. I could take it. I had to, because the alternative wasn't anything good.