"Running again?"

Riley shut the door. A moment later the click of the lock filled the room. Riley's body was still on alert, his hazel eyes molten with anger.

One shoulder jerked in a shrug, and he said, "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. This is what you do, right? You run when things get hard."

"That's not fair," I shot back. It was so very unfair I gritted my teeth at the need to yell, to scream out my frustration.

"I'm just calling it how I see it," he said, his voice level and dangerously restrained.

My fist tightened around the T-shirt I held, and I looked down at the suitcase sprawled open on the bed, the haphazard way I’d jammed clothes inside, forgetting completely about my toiletries and my camera equipment.

What was I doing? Was I really going to take off? Again? If I ran this time, I'd never stop.

My fingers relaxed, and I dropped the T-shirt into the suitcase, my shoulders slumping, my head hanging down.

"You don't understand," I said, my throat growing tight. "Why doesn't anybody understand?"

His warm hand flattened between my shoulder blades, and I leaned into him, needing his heat and his strength. Pulling me into his arms, he pressed his lips to my ear and said, "Explain it to me."

"I don't know how I can when I don't understand myself." His hand rubbed up and down my spine and I let out a breath. "I don't want to lose anyone else. I'm not afraid for me. Why doesn't anyone see that? He never hurts me."

"You need to let the rest of us take care of ourselves," Riley said, gently.

I shook my head, rolling my forehead against his chest, losing myself a little in the woodsy scent of his skin. "He almost killed you last time. Twice. I can't live with that."

"It's not going to happen again. I promise, Annalise, it's not going to happen again. We're going to get him this time and then it will all be over."

"You don't know that," I said. "You can't promise me that. And what if he doesn't go after you? What if he goes after my family? I can't be responsible for that."

"You're not responsible for that," he said. "That's crazy. Your stalker is responsible. That's who put me in the hospital. That’s who almost killed me. Not you. It's not your fault."

"It's not my fault," I agreed, pulling from his arms and stepping back, "but it is my responsibility. I'm the reason. I have no clue why, or what I did to set this guy off, but I'm at the center of it. As long as I'm here, no one is safe."

"Do you think anyone cares about that?" Riley asked, throwing his arms out to his sides in exasperation. "This is your family. They don't want you to live like this anymore. If they're willing to take the risk because they love you, what gives you the right to take that choice away from them?"

"And what about you?" I folded my arms over my chest and took another step back. "Is this just another day for you? One more job where you throw yourself in front of a crazy stalker to protect the client? Do you understand what those flowers meant? If I don't make you leave, he'll get rid of you. Permanently."

Riley crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring my stubborn stance. "This is unfinished business."

I had no idea what the hell he meant by unfinished business. I opened my mouth to ask, then snapped it shut. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to hear him tell me I was just a loose end he was wrapping up.

I looked at my open suitcase and shook my head. I wanted to zip it closed and take off. I'd rather be lonely than risk losing another person I loved.

I understood what Riley was saying. I did. But if this went wrong, he wasn't the one who had to live with it. He'd be dead. And I'd have to wake up every morning knowing I’d gotten him killed.

"I'm going to be really fucking pissed at you if he kills you." I flipped the suitcase upside down, dumping my tangled clothes across the comforter. Riley stepped behind me, his hands closing over my shoulders.

"You guys need to stop making assumptions," he muttered, under his breath.

I turned to stare up at him. "What does that mean?"

His eyes met mine, and he shook his head. "It means that it's been half your life and none of you have any idea who your stalker is. You refer to the stalker as ‘he,’ but you don't know that it's a man. You assume it's a stranger when the evidence suggests it's not."

"Cooper said—" I began, but Riley interrupted.

"Cooper too. All of you, the Sinclairs, your family—making assumptions is dangerous. Especially in a case like this. The only two people I am absolutely positive are not the stalker are me and you. Everyone else is a suspect."

I burst out laughing. I couldn't help it. Riley's eyes narrowed as I shook my head and grinned up at him. "What about Aiden? Or Cooper? Or maybe their brother Axel is stalking me all the way from Las Vegas because I used to steal his comic books."

Riley was not amused.

"You're the one who keeps telling me how dangerous this is. Act like it. You’re all so used to the situation that even when you think you're being careful, you're not."

I stopped laughing. I didn't want to admit it, but Riley was right. I refused to believe it could be anyone in my family or the Sinclairs, but I'd always shied away from thinking it might be someone I knew.

"Okay. You're right. But what am I supposed to do? Suspect everyone?”

"Yes," Riley said, his eyes serious. "Everyone."

"Everyone? Sophie? Mrs. W? Aunt Amelia?" I couldn't keep the incredulity out of my voice on that last one.

Riley didn't think it was a joke. "Everyone. Don't forget Abel, Mr. Henried, your uncle William, Vance's gallery manager. Everyone."

I sighed. Riley was making sense, and I was too smart not to listen, but just the thought of it was exhausting. How was I supposed to suspect every single person I knew? It was easier to assume the stalker was a stranger. How could someone I knew hide this level of crazy? Wouldn't I sense it? Wouldn't they give themselves away?

"Lise, I'm not going to let anything happen to you. You have to know that," Riley said, closing the distance between us and cupping my chin in his hand.

I stared into his eyes, studying the flecks of green and gold, his concerned expression. "I'm not afraid of something happening to me," I said.

Riley gave an impatient jerk of his head and tightened his fingers on my chin. "You should be, dammit. Stalkers like this always escalate. He's threatening me now but—”

"He almost killed you twice," I said, quietly. "I was there. I'll never forget a single second. Don't tell me I should worry about myself when he's threatening to hurt you again."

"It was my fault he got to me back then," Riley said, not making sense. "It's not going to happen this time. You have to trust me."

I tried to take a step back, but he wrapped an arm around me and pulled me tight to his body. Under my breath, I said, "It's not you I don't trust, Riley. It's the psycho who's threatening to kill you."

A laugh huffed out of his chest, and he said, "Fair enough," just before he kissed me.

Every time I kissed Riley, it was like coming home. Forget this house, and my family, and sleeping in my childhood bed. Riley's mouth on mine, his arms around me, were all the home I'd ever needed.

Reason went out the window at the first touch of his mouth to mine, and I never stopped to think. I had a thousand reasons why kissing Riley was a terrible idea, and none of them mattered.

My lips parted beneath his, and my tongue slipped out, tracing his mouth and sliding against his tongue. The hum of pleasure resonated in his chest, so strong I felt it against my breasts down to my core. He moved away just long enough to murmur, "You taste like caramel," before taking my mouth with his again, looking at me, tasting me, until I was drowning in him.

I could've kissed Riley all day. His arms tightened around my back, and he lifted me, moving us to the side of the bed that wasn't covered with my clothes and tipping me back, coming down on top of me.

I spread my legs, my knees rising to clamp to his hips. It was muscle memory and history and me just wanting to be back like this with Riley, no matter how stupid it was.

I sank my fingers into his thick, soft hair and kissed him harder. I didn't want this to be a mistake. I didn't want to regret it later. I just wanted more of Riley.

When his hand left my face to slide down my body and find the hem of my shirt, I didn't stop him. I arched my back to take my weight off the fabric so he could slide his hand beneath and cup my breast. He found my nipple through my bra and swirled his thumb over the hard peak in the same light, feathery motion that had always sent sharp spikes of pleasure straight to my clit.

He did it again, and I groaned, pressing my breast harder into his hand and rocking my hips up into him. I could feel his cock against me, through the layers of fabric between us. I was wet and ready, just from kissing him and those light, sweet touches on my breast.

It had been years, but Riley hadn't forgotten a thing he’d learned about turning me on. All it took was his mouth on mine and his hands on my body, and I was melting.

I couldn't think. I didn't want to think. I just wanted to touch him. I slid my hands under his T-shirt, taking my time, absorbing the heat of his skin through my fingertips, the steel of the muscles in his back, the flex of his shoulders as he rose over me.

He took my nipple between two fingers and pinched.

I let out a gasp of shocked pleasure.

After the feather-light, teasing graze of his thumb, the firm pinch sent a bolt of heat through my body. I sank my fingers into his shoulders and cried out when he did it again. His mouth drank up the sounds.

I was losing myself in him, tugging at his shirt, pulling it up, wanting to strip off my own and be skin to skin, to finally feel him against me when he murmured, "Fuck, baby. You haven't changed. So fucking hot for it."

I went still under him, his words a bucket of ice water. I was hot for it with Riley. I always had been. I'd loved that about us. The way he could turn me on so easily, the way I always came with Riley.

But now, with the words unfinished business still rattling in my head, it didn't feel like a compliment when he said I was hot for it. It felt like I was disposable. Easy.

With any other man, that might have been okay. I was under plenty of stress. A recreational orgasm might be nice. Not with Riley. Nothing about Riley was simple. Sex least of all.

It only took a second for him to realize I wasn't into it anymore. Lifting up to meet my eyes, he said, “Baby, what's wrong? Just let yourself go. It's okay. I'll take care of you."

I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the tears that pricked behind my eyelids, and rolled away. Riley let me go, sitting up and letting out a huff of breath that could've meant anything. Frustration. Annoyance.

"This isn't a good idea,” I mumbled, escaping to the privacy of the bathroom. I tugged down the hem of my T-shirt and sat on the closed lid of the toilet, bracing my forehead on the heel of my palm.

I didn't want him to call me ‘baby.’ I didn’t want him to tell me he'd take care of me. Riley was talking about the job. I was a client. I was trying, but I couldn't see him that way.

Since the day I’d left him, he'd been out there living his life. I'd been frozen in time, living on the run.

I'd never gotten over him.

Riley Flynn was still the only man I'd ever loved. I was already in too deep. If I slept with him, it would only be worse. He was going to leave me, one way or another, and when he walked away, I'd never be able to put the pieces of my broken heart back together.