There was yellow police tape strung across the entrance to his driveway. Brent pulled his car—complete with its mystery bullet hole on the passenger side floorboards—to the side of the road and tugged the tape away from his mailbox, rolling it up as he tore it from the tree on the other side of the drive. He lived deep in the exclusive suburb where Stone Security was located, his home hidden somewhere behind a lovely grove of trees that stood guard over the front of the property. I was curious, leaning forward a little in my seat to try to get a glimpse of the place. But I was nervous, too. This was his private home, the place he’d once shared with his wife and child. There were secrets here, memories we could never share. Madeline was here.

I felt out of place. I didn’t belong here. I’d told him before we got in the car that he shouldn’t bring me here. But he’d insisted. He didn’t want to look at the damage alone.

He climbed back into the car, throwing it into gear as he drove a little too fast up the narrow drive. Past the line of trees the property opened up into a wide, expansive lawn that rolled up a slight incline to a large stone home that stood like a sentinel watching over its empire. It was a contemporary Victorian style, two stories with gorgeous balconies everywhere. I could imagine how nice it would be to sit on one of those balconies on a warm summer night and read a book or drink a nice chilled glass of wine. It was like something out of a novel, something I could easily see myself inserted into.

But it wasn’t mine.

As we drove closer, we could see more police tape over the front door and strung from the front of the house to a bush in the front drive. The windows on the right side of the door were broken, the curtains dark with smoke stains. There was staining on the stone above the windows, too, showing the licks of the flames as they sought oxygen through the broken windows.

Brent didn’t speak after he pulled the car to a stop in front of the house. He stared up at it, his eyes dark. He took my hand and held it tight for a moment, then pulled away.

“I just need to see how bad the damage is.”

I nodded. I knew why we were there. I was just worried about the impact it was having on him. Hadn’t he gone through enough these past few years?

He got out of the car and I followed, staying back a few feet as he made his way past the first set of yellow tape and up to the front door. The door was damaged, but someone had managed to pull it back together well enough to secure it. He used his keys, shoving his shoulder against it to force it open. The entryway was marble, but it lacked the coldness some marble could suggest. There was a massive stairway in front of the door, one of those that had stairs on either side of the room and a sort of balcony that looks down on guests coming through the front door. Again, it could have been a cold place, but someone had painted it with warm colors and decorated with large family portraits that gave it a sense of comfort.

Brent marched right through this room to a doorway on the right. He paused there, his hand on the wall, bent over a little as he stared into the mess the Molotov cocktail had done. I stepped up behind him, sucking in a shocked breath of my own. I could see the hint of fine furniture—a couch over here, a table there, a television and other electronic equipment there—but it was just a hint. The fire had burned hot and fast, tearing through the room like a wolf through a steak. The walls were black, the floor was black, the décor just ashes in the debris.

Brent stepped carefully into the room and walked around, going to places where things had once been but weren’t anymore. He dragged his fingers through the soot and the ashes, dirtying his fingers but not doing much else. I watched him move around, seeing the grief on his face once more. But this time he wasn’t sharing it with me. This time he was locked in his own personal hell and he wasn’t coming out.

I needed to let him be alone, so I backed away and wandered across the entryway, touching the silky wood of the banister as I passed. The house reminded me of homes I’d been in as a child, homes that were so spectacularly built and maintained that they almost had a character all of their own. I’d always imagined what it would be like to be the matron of a home like that. If I’d followed the path my parents had set out for me, I would have achieved that goal by now. I even knew which house would have been mine.

People think that only people in the south believe in debutante balls and marrying your daughter off to the highest bidder. But those people hadn’t grown up in some of the most exclusive neighborhoods in Connecticut.

My father was the CEO of a well-known brokerage firm on Wall Street. He had a rival with a son about my age…he’d talked since I was ten of how convenient it would be if I were to marry that boy. Every party, every charity gala, he’d push me into that boy’s arms. And he was nice enough, that boy. He just wasn’t what I wanted.

But sometimes what we want and what’s best for us are two very different things. When I got what I thought I wanted, it turned out to be my worst nightmare. And Madeline…was this what she wanted? Had she fulfilled all her dreams? Did it matter? Look how it ended.

I was beginning to think that happiness was just a fantasy that people made up for themselves. It was a goal no one could ever truly achieve. I’d seen too much in my work, in my own life, to actually believe it could happen. Maybe a person could be happy for a while, but never for the majority of their lives. Fate just couldn’t allow that.

Even as those thoughts went through my mind, I could plainly see that there had been happiness in this home. The pictures on the wall, the love that went into decorating the place. It was obvious.

How could he stand to come home to this place every night? Didn’t the memories hurt? Wasn’t it just a little creepy living in the shadow of his dead family?

I knew I shouldn’t, but I climbed the stairs and wandered down the hallways, peeking into guest bedrooms that were fully decorated almost like suites in a fancy hotel, complete with cross-stitched pillows on the beds and framed family photos on the walls. There was a study up here, too, a room with a long desk and a sophisticated computer system, financial ledgers on a shelf along with dozens of novels and nonfiction books. It was clearly Madeline’s office. The books were mostly cheesy romances and family dramas, books Hollywood liked to turn into big screen productions. I couldn’t imagine Brent enjoying that sort of thing. And in a drawer of the desk was a pink daily planner filled with hair and nail appointments.

His daughter’s room was across the hall. I stood just inside the door and admired the collection of stuffed animals and the Disney princesses who looked down at the bed from the wall in this massive mural. It was a girl’s dream room, complete with the white toddler bed that was covered with a custom-made canopy. Someone had put a lot of thought and love into this room, someone had spared no expense to give the child who lived here everything she could possibly need.

The master bedroom was down the hall behind a set of double doors. I stood at those doors, but I couldn’t make myself go inside. I didn’t want to see the place Brent had shared with his wife.

As I turned to go back downstairs, I caught sight of another door I hadn’t noticed before. I assumed it was a bathroom, but when I touched the door it opened slowly to reveal another guest room that had been lived in for a significant amount of time. The bed was unmade and there were clothes scattered around the room, jeans hanging from the back of a chair, a pile of clothes sitting on top of a dresser instead of inside the drawers. And a gun, unholstered, sitting on the edge of the nightstand.

I walked to the bed and lifted the dark covered pillow, pressing it against my face. I could smell him here, could smell the light scent of his shampoo and that other smell that was unique to him. The sheets were tangled, the blankets shoved to the floor, sure evidence of a man who slept restlessly. My own bed often looked like this first thing in the morning.

It was the gun that bothered me, though. I sat on the edge of the bed, resting the pillow in my lap, and lifted it. I checked the magazine automatically just as my daddy had taught me. It was fully loaded, a round in the chamber. The safety was engaged, but it wouldn’t take much for this gun to be ready to fire.

Was it for safety that he kept it beside the bed? Or was there another reason?

My heart hurt as I considered those options. His daughter’s bedroom was visible from this spot, pictures of his happy family in frames on the walls just outside the door and in here, on the nightstand, an 8x10 portrait on the wall where a television would have been more appropriate. Memories were everywhere, even in this room.

How had he survived so surrounded by his ghosts?

“Thinking of stealing it?”

I didn’t even look up, didn’t want to see the lack of amusement in his eyes.

“Maybe I should. Might be better for you that way.”

“I have an entire arsenal of guns available to me down at the office. It wouldn’t make much difference.”

“How often do you think about it?”

“Every night.”

I bit my lip, the pain the only thing that kept the tears in my eyes. He came over and slipped the gun out of my hands, laying it on the nightstand again. Then he held out his hand to me, lifting me to my feet when I took it.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, his lips close to my temple.

I nodded, more grateful than I could express in that single gesture. He kissed me gently, then grabbed a bag out of the closet and began shoving clothes into it. I watched, slightly less amused than I would have been under different circumstances at the way he seemed to know where everything was despite the unbelievable chaos in this room. Not once did he press a piece of clothing against his nose to see if it was clean. That alone was pretty impressive.

He snatched up the gun and stowed it in the bottom of the bag, then took my hand and led the way out of the room, moving like the devil himself was behind us. At the bottom of the stairs, he picked up a trash bag that was sitting at the base of the stairs before leading me back to his car. He didn’t pause to secure the front door, didn’t stop to look back. He simply tossed his things into the trunk of the car and climbed behind the wheel, taking off like a bat out of hell.

I looked back. I watched the house disappear behind the line of trees, a silent prayer reciting itself through my mind.

Rest in peace, dear Madeline and Josie.

*

I sat Indian style in the booth, leaning forward over the plastic menu the waitress had set in front of me. I could feel Brent watching me, but I refused to look up.

“You never really answered my question.”

“It wasn’t really a question.”

He grunted as he pushed the top of his menu against mine. “How would you prefer I put it?”

I shrugged. “You don’t know that this guy is still after the girls. What makes you think that I’d be on his list?”

“Just because he hasn’t hurt anyone in the last week or two doesn’t mean he isn’t still after the girls. He’s just been busy with this other thing.”

“Other thing?”

I glanced at him in time to see him tilt his head to the side, clouds dancing in his eyes.

“Rage MC. They came to town looking for Rae. Mad Dog was helping them out.”

“Do you think they’re the ones who threw the Molotov cocktail into your house?”

“It’s a very good possibility.”

“Well, maybe after what Jack did to Rage’s clubhouse will cool them off a little.”

“People like this Trigger don’t just stop being who they are. He will come after another of Highland’s girls.”

“But not necessarily me. I never took him back to my room.”

“Did you ever take one of his brothers back there?”

I shrugged. “I don’t ask for club affiliation before I take someone on.”

“I’d bet you have, though. And we don’t know for sure it’s just Trigger.” He reached over and took my hands between his. “They know who I am. They’re not happy with me. If one of them finds out that you and I are seeing each other—”

“Is that what we’re doing? Seeing each other?”

He lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed my palm. “I think we’re seeing a lot of each other. And I’d like to see much more later.”

I blushed at the innuendo, but it was a blush filled with pleasure.

“I want you to stay with me until this is over.”

There it was again. A demand. He never asked, he just stated that he wanted me to stay in his hotel room with him. He’d moved into a luxury hotel not far from Highland after we left his house and he just made that announcement as we walked through the door of his suite, this massive suite that left me stunned as I stood at the long windows and took in the view of the city.

I didn’t belong in a place like that. Not anymore.

“You couldn’t move into a no-tell motel?”

He frowned, clearly confused by the statement.

“Would you feel better if I had?”

“Yeah, I would.”

“What difference does the location make?”

“The hotel is…”

Intimidating. That’s what I wanted to say. But I didn’t think he would understand.

“The security at the hotel is top notch. It’s better than having half a dozen of my men stationed outside your apartment.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“I did. For the past four days.”

“Without telling me?”

“I needed to not have to worry about you. And I didn’t think you’d appreciate being held in the safe room at Stone Security.”

I glared at him. “You could have told me.”

“What would you have done? Would you have allowed it?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Exactly what I knew you’d say.”

There was defiance in his eyes that probably matched the defiance in mine. We were too much alike, both stubborn to a fault.

I looked back down at the menu, not really seeing the words that spelled out the food they had on offer. I didn’t need a man telling me what I could and couldn’t do. I’d been there before and really didn’t want to go back. But, I had to admit, I was pleased to know he had been thinking about me while all that craziness was going on with his brother.

“How is she?”

“Who?”

“Your brother’s girl.”

He was quiet for a minute. “She woke this morning. The doctor says she’ll recover.”

“Good.”

“She’s going to need extensive rehab. Jack wants to stay with her, but if I know Rae, she won’t allow that.”

“How’s he taking it?”

Brent chuckled. “Not well. But he’ll survive.”

I glanced at him, loving the sight of amusement dancing in his eyes. But he grew serious as our eyes met.

“I want you safe, Dane.”

“Give me a gun and I’ll be fine.”

He hesitated. “You know I can’t do that.”

And that’s when I knew he hadn’t been lying when he told me he’d done a background check on me. I was a little surprised this was the first time it came up, though.

“It was him, right?” He cocked an eyebrow as he continued to study me. “He made you plead guilty?”

“It’s complicated.”

“You have a felony arrest on your record. You’re on probation and you’re working in a—”

“Don’t say it!” I pointed my finger at him. “It’s a legal business and you know it!”

“If the judge knew—”

“He does know.”

He studied me like he thought he could read the truth in the lines of my face. I could see he didn’t believe me, or at least he wasn’t sure he believed things could have happened the way it looked on paper. But it had.

“We were arguing. He came at me with this paddle he has, a wooden paddle that leaves almost no marks. He didn’t like to leave marks on me. Said it ruined the merchandise.” I shivered with disgust at the memory of it. “I couldn’t do it. Not again. I grabbed a knife and slashed at him, managing to get him across his bicep. He bled like crazy…it scared me. I called the ambulance. And when the cops asked what happened, I was honest. But there were no marks on my body and he’d managed to hide the paddle. They didn’t believe me.”

“What about your lawyer?”

“He was paid by Curtis. He said one thing to my face and another to the judge. I ended up pleading guilty in exchange for parole. They told me it would be expunged if I kept to the terms of the parole for the next five years, but in the meantime, I have a felony on my record. I can’t vote, can’t get certain jobs, and I can’t buy a gun.”

“And you suffer for what he did to you.”

I shrugged. “It got me out of his house for a couple of weeks. Even jail was better than that.”

Brent’s jaw tightened. “That’s not right.”

“Neither is throwing around your wealth and pretending it’s different from what he did.”

I hadn’t really meant to say it. It just slipped out of my mouth. But it was my truth and I couldn’t pretend otherwise.

He reached over and took my hands. “I didn’t think about it that way. I’m sorry.”

I pulled away as the waitress came to take our orders. Brent started to tell her to come back, but I talked over him, ordering a cheeseburger and fries. Then I slipped out of the booth and rushed across the small diner to the teensy bathroom. My stomach was cramping, but nothing came out when I bent over the toilet and tried to retch. I’d tried so hard to put everything about Curtis behind me these last fourteen months. But with him coming around again and Brent opening up these lines of communication, it was bringing it all back like a bad taste in the back of my throat.

I was shaking when the spasms of nausea finally passed. I stood in front of the sink for a long moment, staring into my own haunted eyes. Brent was wrong. I wasn’t just bruised. I was deeply damaged, damaged in ways he would never see. But I was determined to survive this.

I splashed water onto my overheated face, patting it dry with a couple of paper towels. When I walked out of the bathroom, I was determined to face this whole scenario with a different attitude. It wasn’t Brent’s fault I had a screwed-up past. He shouldn’t be punished for it.

“Don’t you look happy, my beautiful girl?”

I stiffened, half hoping that my thoughts of him were what brought his voice to mind. But his hands were very real as he gripped my upper arms and pulled me hard against him. I was just a few feet from the dining room, just a short distance from Brent. I opened my mouth to scream. He pushed me forward like he knew exactly what I was thinking, pulling me up hard just before I would have been visible to the few people in the dining room.

“Go ahead and scream, babe,” Curtis hissed against my ear. “You do that and I’ll make sure that pretty boy you’re running around with never wants to look you in the face again.”

“Please, Curtis, why can’t you leave me alone?”

“Because you’re mine. You made promises to me that I’m not going to let you renege on.”

He jerked me backward and turned me around, dragging me out a door at the back of the diner. His car, a hulking Cadillac Escalade, was waiting at the end of a narrow alley, the engine still running like he was afraid someone would try to stop him.

I thought about Brent sitting there in that booth, waiting for me to come back from the bathroom. I couldn’t just leave him there, alone.

I let my body go slack the way Brent had taught me, relaxing back against Curtis like we were still lovers and I still trusted his every touch. It caught him off guard, causing him to stumble a little as he continued to propel me forward. And then I jerked to the side, twisting and raising my knee. I didn’t quite hit him in the crotch, but I got close enough. He went down like a ton of bricks, like a man who wasn’t used to losing.

I kicked him hard in the stomach as he lay on the ground, kicking him again even as he rolled away from me, catching him perfectly in the kidneys.

“Asshole!” I screamed down at him. “How dare you think you can just walk in here and take me away with you! I am not your property!” I kicked him again to punctuate my words. “I never was!”

Brent was suddenly there, lifting Curtis off the ground. He set him on his feet and pushed him backward, planting his body between Curtis and me. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I could hear the low drone of his voice, could tell that he was saying something to him. Then he pushed him away, crossing his arms as he watched him come toward me.

My heart dropped a little as Curtis approached me, his eyes shifting all around like he wasn’t sure what to focus on.

“I’m sorry, Dane,” he said softly.

“Speak up!” Brent instructed.

“I’m sorry!” He was nearly yelling now. “I won’t come near you again.”

Curtis glanced back at Brent, then scurried around me, practically running to his SUV. Brent came up behind me, his hand skimming over the small of my back as he pulled me back against him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said on a sigh.

I was surprised at just how okay I was. I felt good. I felt powerful. I felt strong.

I turned into him, reached up and drew him down close to me.

“Okay,” I told him softly between little kisses, “I’ll stay with you until this is over.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” I looked up at him, tears running down my face for reasons I couldn’t begin to explain to myself, let alone anyone else. “I can’t imagine anywhere else I’d rather be.”

He kissed me roughly, drawing me hard against him. And then he laughed.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving now.”

I laughed too, laughed harder than I had in a long time. He just watched, amusement dancing in his eyes. Then he drew me inside so we could share our dinner in the safe quiet of the little diner. No cheeseburger had tasted quite as good as that burger did that night!