In the Air Tonight

Praise for Stephanie Tyler and the Shadow Force series

LIE WITH ME

“Crafty plot twists and cleverly intertwined relationships dominate book one of master storyteller Tyler’s Shadow Force series.… The fun, thrills, and romance never let up, and Tyler delivers on all her promises.” —Publishers Weekly

“The first book in Tyler’s Shadow Force series, Lie with Me hits the mark. Tyler constructs seemingly flawless romantic suspense plots rife with danger, intrigue, complicated heroes and strong heroines. It’s the perfect weekend getaway read.” —RT Book Reviews (four stars)

“Get ready for a high-octane ride. Lie with Me is fast, furious, and sexy. I couldn’t put it down.” —New York Times bestselling author BRENDA NOVAK

“Red-hot romance. White-knuckle suspense. True-blue military heroes who will leave you breathless. Stephanie Tyler writes with a rare blend of grace and power that will keep you coming back for more. Absolutely fantastic, and not to be missed.” —New York Times bestselling author LARA ADRIAN

PROMISES IN THE DARK

“Red-hot sparks [ignite] copious and satisfying fireworks.” —Publishers Weekly

“Tyler is a master of suspense. Book two in the Shadow Force series has the same intense level of steamy passion and gut-clenching suspense as its predecessor, Lie with Me. A gripping and complex plot mingles well with complicated and emotional characters.” —RT Book Reviews (four stars)

“Fans of action-adventure romantic suspense will thoroughly enjoy Promises in the Dark. Ms. Tyler has written an action-packed story filled with complex emotions and deep passions. Olivia and Zane, both wounded in their own ways, make an intriguing couple. Unresolved secondary plot lines will leave you eagerly anticipating the next book in the series, In the Air Tonight.” —Fresh Fiction

BY STEPHANIE TYLER

NIGHT MOVES IN THE AIR TONIGHT PROMISES IN THE DARK LIE WITH ME HOLD ON TIGHT TOO HOT TO HOLD HARD TO HOLD

BY STEPHANIE TYLER CO-WRITING WITH LARISSA IONE AS SYDNEY CROFT

TAKEN BY FIRE TEMPTING THE FIRE TAMING THE FIRE SEDUCED BY THE STORM UNLEASHING THE STORM RIDING THE STORM

ANTHOLOGIES

HOT NIGHTS, DARK DESIRES

(including stories by Stephanie Tyler and Sydney Croft)

Please visit http://www.Demonoid.me for more books from our generous members. Baileyd

In the Air Tonight is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. A Dell Mass Market Original Copyright © 2011 by Stephanie Tyler Excerpt from Night Moves by Stephanie Tyler copyright © 2011 by Stephanie Tyler. All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Dell, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York. DELL is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc. eISBN: 978-0-440-42304-1 This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming novel Night Moves by Stephanie Tyler. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition. Cover design: Lynn Andreozzi Cover illustration: Blake Morrow www.bantamdell.com v3.1

Chance, this one could only be for you.

Contents ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book was written during a very special—and very trying—time in my life. The following people helped to make it easier, so thanks to Mom and Dad, Lisa, Mary Beth, Katie, Steph G., Maria, Larissa, Jaci, Sharon, and Patricia … and, of course, Zoo, Lily, and Chance.

CHAPTER

1

The gun pressed to the side of Paige’s bare neck, the cold barrel barely registering against her skin. She’d gone numb. Her hands gripped the beefy arm across her throat—it was close to choking her, pulling so hard her feet were nearly off the floor. She tried to balance on her toes, but Wayne was moving backward, dragging her into the bowels of the ER and away from security. The smells accosted her. Stale air. Rubbing alcohol and air freshener. Fear and death. No matter how well it was cleaned, those odors would never cease, embedded into the hospital as surely as they were into her senses. In the background, she heard the cacophony—sirens and the screams of the patients and her coworkers—heard someone trying to reason with the man who’d taken her hostage. “Mr. Wallace … Wayne, please, you don’t have to do this.” Jeffrey, please—put the gun down, don’t do this. The echo in her head threatened to take over everything, even as she told herself fiercely that this wasn’t the same situation—that the man holding her wasn’t her brother and that none of this was remotely personal. Less than an hour ago, EMTs had brought in Cindy Wallace—she’d been beaten and at first insisted that she’d fallen down stairs. Paige had worked here long enough to recognize the signs, the excuses, the fear etched into the fine lines in the woman’s worn face. After a few moments alone with Paige, Cindy had admitted her husband had been abusing her for years. She hadn’t offered up much more than that, but it had only taken Paige one touch with a bare palm to know the full story, her gift of psychometry working overtime—and she’d called the social worker down immediately. And the police. And then she’d put on exam gloves so she wouldn’t have to feel more of Cindy’s pain. But she hadn’t realized the extent of Wayne Wallace’s anger, hadn’t taken it seriously enough when Cindy told her that Wayne had gone so far over the edge that he would do anything not to be separated from her. The police were searching for him. And Paige had been so intent on taking care of Cindy that neither of them had noticed Wayne sneaking into the curtained area. They’d noticed when he grabbed Paige and held his gun on her, though.

“I’m not leaving here without you,” Wayne was saying now as he dragged her, Cindy following along, until they reached an empty room where he herded them inside, ordering his wife to shut the door behind her. Time and space shattered inside Paige’s head when the door closed—everything slowed to the point of nearly stopping and her heart throbbed in her ears. You’ve done this before—stay calm. And suddenly she was fourteen again, the ER was the high school cafeteria and the man doing the shooting wasn’t an overweight bully who abused his wife, it was her brother, Jeffrey, and he would make headlines for the school shooting. She forced her mind to the present. One wrong move—by anyone—and things could get ugly fast. Especially because the police were here—she’d heard them calling out to Wayne to answer the phone in the room, which he ignored. Cindy was screaming at her husband, the three of them trapped together and Paige wished Cindy would be quiet, wished everyone would shut up and stop talking. But nothing ever stopped in the ER—especially when it was a matter of life and death. If she could get the examination gloves off her hands, she might be able to help herself. Or she might make things worse. But there was no way this could end well. She refused to let it drag on for hours. Her gift was both a blessing and a curse, sometimes both at once. She’d been using it for as long as she could remember—inadvertently when she was a child; later, when she’d begun to dread its intrusion, she’d taken to wearing gloves or pulling the sleeves of her shirts well past her fingertips as a defense. She’d even gone as far as to tattoo symbols of protection on the insides of both wrists, although they didn’t seem to be much help at the moment. She was alive, yes, but the symbols were there more to keep the evil she touched from invading her. This time, it might be her only hope for surviving. Sliding her hands along his arm as if trying for a better grip, the latex began to roll off her palms. Halfway off and the images came through—ones she didn’t want to see. Broken bones and blood and screams nearly shredded her with pain … this was all a part of Cindy’s daily life. Shoulda killed the bitch when I had the chance. God, was there anything Paige could see that would help her? “You beat her yesterday and again this morning,” Paige said, her voice hoarse and breathless, and his grip went slack for a second before tightening. “Shut up, bitch.”

She tightened her own grip on his forearm, letting her hands take in the violence and pain that threatened to shatter her. It was why she worked a job where no one considered it odd that she wore gloves all the time. “You lost your job again yesterday. And you were so angry that you came home to Cindy, tried to have sex, and then you hit her when you couldn’t get hard.” Wayne shifted suddenly so he faced her, and before she could move away he had her by the throat, his fingers wrapped tight around her neck, closing her windpipe. Her only recourse was to grab at his wrist with both hands, but he was remarkably strong—and dead inside. That’s all she saw, anger and death—no hope, no love. Nothing. She was light-headed, opened her mouth but no words came out. Wayne pointed his gun at Cindy as he slowly took away Paige’s entire supply of air. “Leave her alone, you pathetic asshole.” Cindy’s voice had gone from near hysteria to calm, and Paige recognized that tone. Cindy had decided she had nothing to lose. She would egg her husband on until he killed her. He keeps getting out on technicalities. His dad’s a cop—they always let him go, she’d whispered in response to Paige’s earlier question about pressing charges. “You don’t tell me what to do. If you’d listen to me, the way you’re supposed to, this never would’ve happened.” Wayne’s voice was furious, full of guilt and blame—all things Paige recognized. “You can’t get it up, and I can’t wait to tell everyone about your limp dick.” Cindy’s words were as deliberate and malicious as her husband’s fists had been to her face. They did the job, because Wayne released Paige by slamming her body against the nearest wall. She hit her head hard against it and fell to the floor. From there, she saw Wayne lunge forward to squeeze his wife’s throat, tighter, until Paige saw Cindy’s eyes bulge and her face turn reddish purple. One of the officers who’d slammed through the door earlier, when Wayne had crashed the bed he’d been holding Cindy down on to the floor, wouldn’t let Paige up, no matter how hard she fought. Then, a doctor came in, armed with a syringe. With the help of the officer trying to subdue Wayne, the doctor jammed the needle directly into Wayne’s neck. Finally, the drug worked its magic, shattering the insanity and everything went mercifully quiet. Wayne’s big body slumped down on top of his wife’s prone one, but it didn’t matter anymore. Cindy was gone; Wayne would go to prison for murder, and Paige was back in that awful time in her life when everything had suddenly turned from good to bad. The entire situation had taken an hour.

“Ma’am, it’s over.” One of the police officers was attempting to help her up from the floor. She wanted to stay there, on the cold linoleum, to curl up and sob, but her pride wouldn’t let her. At least not in front of strangers. She stood and allowed herself be led through the crowd. Her breath came in harsh gasps, part fear and partly because Wayne had held her neck so tightly. She would have bruises there by morning, as well as along her side where she’d landed when he’d tossed her. Her body ached, her head throbbed and her nerves were worn down to the nub. In the hallway, she was vaguely aware she’d passed by doctors, nurses and orderlies, heard their murmurs of concern. She didn’t want any of it. Finally, the officer escorted her behind a curtain where Carole Ann, a woman she’d known since she first started working here, was waiting for her. She was the charge nurse in the ER and dealt with the stress of the job easily. She didn’t play favorites and she was excellent at her job. She was also the one person Paige had given her personal information to, although she would hesitate to call Carole Ann a good friend. Paige had shared her cell phone number and a few meals with the woman—the barest slice of her life. And yet, it was far more than she’d let anyone in for a long time. “I’m fine,” Paige insisted to Carole Ann now, but her barely there voice said otherwise. “Yeah, I’ll let you know when you’re fine,” Carole Ann said with a smile—an old joke of theirs, as those were Paige’s first words to her when they worked together. She sat patiently as Carole Ann examined her. She knew the bruises on her throat were already showing, no doubt a deep purplish red. “I failed her,” she said finally. Quietly. Carole Ann crossed her arms and shook her head. “Paige, you were almost killed by that guy—he was out of control. There was nothing you could’ve done.” Nothing you could’ve done, honey, no way for you to know what your brother was capable of doing. They all said that at first, until their pain hardened to anger and the town began pointing fingers at Paige’s parents, at Paige. No one would ever be friends with her if they remained in that town. As it was, no one wanted to be her friend later, either, once they found out who she was. Except for her stepbrother, Gray—her fiercest protector. Her best friend. Her heart surged with loneliness, because Gray was gone. This time he wasn’t coming back the way he had all the other times he’d gone off on a mission for Delta Force. He’d died three months earlier—she hadn’t been informed until two weeks ago, when his body had finally been released with no explanation as to why it had taken so long to be told of the tragedy.

Gray’s body had been sent to her stepfather, Joseph—Gray’s father—out in Arizona and she’d flown out for the burial, stayed in his one-bedroom townhouse. God, that had been depressing. Joseph was in a wheelchair, attached twenty-four seven to an oxygen tank because of advanced emphysema. Everyone close to her was either dead or dying. “She started drinking again,” Joseph had said about her mother, who’d died a year earlier. They’d visited her grave after Gray’s service. “It was so hard on her. You understand that, right?” She did, although it always bothered her that her mother didn’t seem to think it was hard on Paige. But all of their lives had changed that sunny May afternoon; and now, her older brother, Jeffrey, was in a maximum security institution for life. “Maybe you should take the time you’ve got coming,” Carole Ann suggested as she wrote Paige a prescription for pain pills and gave her a shot of a steroid to shrink the swelling in her throat. “Take a vacation. They’re going to force the issue anyway, make you visit the shrink.” She knew that Carole Ann was probably right. Getting away from here and taking some of her accrued vacation time would be a nice way out for the hospital administration and would disperse the reporters who, like vultures, had no doubt been outside in the parking lot for the duration of the incident. “I don’t know where I’d go.” “Someplace not as heavy. Which is any damned place but this hellhole.” Paige couldn’t explain that she needed to be here, to feel the heaviness. Instead, she stared down at the tattooed stars on her inner wrists and wondered if they protected her from anything at all. “Thanks, Carole Ann—I’ll think about it.” “Good. Go home and rest. I don’t want to see you back here for at least forty-eight hours, and I’d prefer a week.” Carole Ann used her best nurse’s-orders tone, then stepped away from Paige and headed back to work. Business as usual. The dizziness had stopped. Her throat still ached—the hoarseness would take days to go away—but she hated being treated like a victim. She wasn’t in this case—Cindy Wallace was. And so she slid off the exam table and headed out to the main part of the ER. It was quiet—too much so—and tension bowed the air as she walked toward the main information desk. It was usually bustling, no one staying in place for very long, but they’d stopped taking patients and now all she saw were people’s backs as their faces remained glued to the television mounted on the wall above the station. She saw the front of the hospital and pictures of the Wallaces flashed on the screen. Next was the picture from her ID badge, looking humorless and sallow. She grimaced a little, but if that was her worst problem … It wasn’t.

Her face was still on the TV screen, but now it was a younger version—that file photo of her at fourteen that the press had used over and over again when the school shooting first happened. She knew the one they would show next—the one of her wearing a bloodied shirt, being escorted out of the school … and then her kneeling on the pavement. There had been a recent school shooting. Whenever that happened, it was inevitable that Jeffrey’s name would come up—as sure as it was that they’d mention Columbine. This time there was even more interest because of Jeffrey’s transfer to the mental health section of the prison. They claimed it was just as secure as the main prison itself, but she’d worked with her share of psych patients and, in her opinion, they could be far more devious than regular criminals, without being obvious about it. Often underestimated, they would appear catatonic and still steal your keys to the ward. It’s prison, it’s different, she repeated to herself. Her brother and what he’d done had been her secret since before she’d moved here to this large New York hospital. She was twenty-six and she still looked slightly haunted, some might say, and anonymity was something she craved, something she needed as much as air. Even though she used her stepfather’s last name, it would be easy enough to tie her to the horrible tragedy that had occurred. It was so far in the past for most people that she’d thought that by now it was safe. But she of all people should have known better. She would never be safe from any of it. Still, the news report signaled the first time anyone had found her since she’d gone off to college. She’d kept her identity hidden, cut her hair short and dyed it darker, wore glasses even though she didn’t need them and made up a fictional background that basically left her an orphan. Now she wore her hair long and back to its natural blond. She had also ditched the glasses because she was old enough not to be recognized as the girl she’d once been. But as of today, her security was gone. The entire staff was glued to the television—one by one, they’d turn surreptitiously to look at her, to try to see the resemblance between her and that young girl in shock. She could see the questions in their eyes, and she understood. Everyone wanted to know what it was like to live with evil. She would do anything in her power if she could only forget. Carole Ann snuck her out of the hospital, but a few members of the press followed her home. “Paige, do you have any comment about your brother’s transfer?” “Paige, are you going to allow yourself to be interviewed for the new book on your brother’s crimes?” “Paige, after all these years, are you ready to talk about what happened?”

She shut the front door without a word to them and locked herself in her apartment. The press continued to knock on the door, until her landlady threatened to call the police on them. Paige didn’t bother to open her door to thank her, didn’t want to face Mrs. Morris’s questioning eyes. No doubt she already knew. Exhaustion covered her in a sudden, debilitating wave. She felt as if she’d been on the move since the murders. In the beginning, before Jeffrey went on trial, it had taken exactly fifteen minutes before the first news crews camped out and seven days before the first hate mail showed up. There were news articles and magazine covers and books, which all tried to make sense of what had happened—all asking, How could the parents not have known? Anonymous death threats and accusations followed, resulting in six moves in that first year, until the trial was over and many people felt as though justice was served. Then some of the parents of the murdered teens had wanted to bring Paige’s parents up on criminal charges, but that hadn’t happened. Still, there were civil suits, and even though there was never a judgement found against her family, the trials had still drained them physically, emotionally and bled them financially. The saddest part of the entire ordeal was that neither Paige nor her parents blamed any of the victims’ families for anything they did. Their own guilt was too deeply imbedded in them to do so. Now that guilt became so all-pervasive that she didn’t leave her apartment—she wrapped herself in her quilt and stayed in bed. But nearly forty-eight hours after she’d left the ER, once the press had finally left her alone, she got a phone call from a man whose name she recognized from the recent newspaper articles. “I’m writing a book about your brother and I’d love to interview you,” he said, after introducing himself as Arthur Somberg and her skin began to crawl. “Don’t you ever contact me again,” she whispered, her voice raw, as if she’d been screaming for days. But really that had only been inside of her head. “Don’t you want your side of the story told?” he asked. “I’m interviewing the victims’ families and friends and I think your point of view would be invaluable.” She hung up on him and unplugged the landline. Mind made up, she packed as much as she could into two suitcases and figured the rest she could call a wash. She’d miss the landlady, a widow who often gave her homemade cake and cookies, especially around the holidays. Yesterday had been Thanksgiving—she had the half-eaten pumpkin pie and a plate of ham and mashed potatoes to prove it. Mrs. Morris had been kind enough to simply knock and leave them outside her door, as if she knew Paige still couldn’t face her.

She’d lived there two years, a tidy, furnished, one-bedroom apartment in the borough of Queens, close enough to Manhattan to get back and forth to work easily, without the ridiculous rent. In all that time, she’d bought herself only a new mattress, a small TV stand and some kitchen utensils, preferring takeout to cooking and extra shifts at the hospital to spending time at home. The most valuable things—the photo albums and Gray’s medals and letters—those she packed up and dragged down to the car with her, but not without checking first to make sure that no one was hanging around. It was dark and she appeared to be alone in the small driveway. She hoped her old car could make this trip to the Catskills. Sometimes it barely made it cross-town. She wore the thickest sweater she owned and still wasn’t warm enough. She suspected she never would be, jacked the heat up as high as the small car would allow and ignored her racing pulse and the butterflies in her stomach. Two hours of highway driving left her on the two-laned road that would lead her to the small town named after a cow, and she realized that her head felt clearer up here. Or maybe she was just light-headed from the change in altitude. Fingers tapped the wheel as the truck in front of her car lumbered slowly along. She peered at the sky and then turned off the radio, tired of hearing how the early-for-the-season snowstorm would be the worst of the century. She hadn’t called ahead—Mace, Gray’s best friend, wouldn’t know she was coming. Better that way. She’d always believed that the element of surprise was most effective—based on her own experience and hatred of surprises, she could say that with firsthand certainty. But if she ever wanted to find out what happened to her stepbrother, she’d have to speak to his teammate. The Army wouldn’t tell her anything. She’d waited for his friends to show up at the memorial service, but none of them had. It would be up to her to find them, and this seemed the perfect time. Everything happens for a reason, her mother used to say, and Paige wondered what this reasoning was, why Gray had been taken from her … why her face was plastered on the news again. Gray had always told her to go to Mace if anything ever happened and he wasn’t around. Mace will take care of you. She’d met Mace once, when she lived in Chicago. Gray and Mace had stayed at her apartment overnight—they’d been on leave and traveling to California for vacation. Could still hear Gray introducing him. Hey, Sis, this is Mace. He’s motorpool, like me. Translation—he’s Delta.

She’d been on her way out to work the night shift, but Mace’s eyes had haunted her the entire time. He was broad and handsome and seemed to take up the entire apartment. She’d hated him on sight. Maybe because he was so good-looking. Cocky. An asshole. And she’d labeled him all of that before he’d even opened his mouth. When he had spoken to her, it was all one-word answers. She’d been grateful that spending time with him hadn’t been an option. But the next morning the men were there later than she’d realized. She’d come in from work after having breakfast out with some of the other nurses on the night shift and dropped her stuff by the door. A pocketknife sat on the table next to the keys and jackets and she picked it up, assuming it was Gray’s. It hadn’t been. The images of fear came spiraling through the metal before she could stop them. She’d wanted to throw the knife down, but couldn’t. She saw a young boy. Saw fear and pain—and the word trust and then escape, over and over again. The man this knife belonged to had been through hell as a child. But even though she understood tough childhoods, she didn’t need to take on any more than what she had. But that wasn’t the end of their encounter. She’d walked in on Mace sleeping naked in her bedroom—in her bed. She had given him and Gray her room, despite their protests that they’d be fine on the couch and the floor. Gray had been in the shower. She’d wanted to tear her gaze away from Mace, but hadn’t been able to for a good long while. Although she was used to seeing the human body on a regular basis, she remembered thinking she’d never seen anything so exquisitely male. In the four years since she’d seen him, she’d been with a handful of men, none of whom really mattered. No, she’d never been able to shake the vision of Mace from her mind and, to be fair, she hadn’t really tried.

CHAPTER

2

Men had acted stupid over women since the beginning of time and tonight proved no exception. It wasn’t even midnight and Mace Stevens had already broken up three near misses and one full-blown fight. Caleb had nearly been the recipient of a chair to the head while trying to tend bar on one of the busiest nights of the year, the Friday after Thanksgiving. His grandfather used to say, When the weather gets bad around here, there isn’t much else to do but drink and make babies. Mace hoped the baby-making portion of the evening was going to start soon, didn’t care if it started happening right on top of the bar, because at least everyone would be too distracted to throw down. “Lighten up, man.” Caleb shoved a beer at him. “It’s almost over.” “No it’s not. Not by a long shot.” He shook his head and then took a long pull from the bottle. “Cut the gloom-and-doom shit, all right? Go get laid or something.” In Caleb’s mind these days, getting laid was never a bad thing—and once upon a time it hadn’t been for Mace either. Sex used to be a distraction. But that was before they’d been captured and tortured, before they’d come home on extended leave from the Army. Before Gray was killed. Tonight, like all the others since then, there were no distractions to be had. The storm bearing down on this region had even the most weather-resistant people resigned to waiting this one out. Plows would run as they could, but since the next day was the Saturday of a holiday weekend, no one cared much about the possibility of being snowed in. Now that the auto plant two towns over had closed, most of the locals were struggling. Friday night in the bar was a time for them to forget their troubles. But Mace’s were just beginning. He’d had the feeling in his gut all day, couldn’t shake it, had snapped at Caleb for no reason and now Keagen, the other bartender, was also giving him a wide berth. Cael, not so much. He was used to Mace’s moods—even with Caleb’s memory loss, he seemed to understand instinctively that his friend was, and always had been, a moody bastard. And then the door opened and his world tilted a one-eighty for the second time in three months. The woman framed there looked like an angel. Light from the parking lot shone in from behind her, illuminating her like some kind of protective aura and he most definitely wasn’t the only man who noticed her.

But he was the only one who knew exactly who she was. Paige Grayson. The woman he’d promised Gray he’d take care of if she ever needed anything. My little sister, Gray would call her when they first became friends, but even from the pictures Mace had seen before he’d met her, Paige hadn’t looked like a little sister. She was gorgeous, the stuff of fantasies. Seeing her in person that first time four years ago had only made him realize that the recent pictures Gray had taken of her hadn’t done her justice at all. He didn’t have to wonder what she’d thought of him the one and only time they’d met in person. Most people thought he was a suspicious asshole, and they were right. Paige had picked up on it immediately—and he’d had such a strong attraction to her that he’d hidden behind the great wall of defenses he had built so well. The morning he’d left, he’d known she’d walked into the bedroom where he’d been sleeping naked, had closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep, only because nothing was going to happen with Gray in close proximity. He’d waited patiently while she watched him, her gaze like hot fire on his bare skin. He’d already been hard just thinking about her, being in her apartment, smelling her on the sheets and towels, but the appraising look he could see through his lashes had made it worse. When she’d left, he’d jerked off, imagining what it would be like to do that with her next to him, what it would be like to have her hand replace his. And then he’d remembered she was Gray’s sister—off-limits—and he’d left her apartment that same morning with a simple Thank you. And now she was standing in his bar. There was an energy around her—it almost made her glow. Her eyes, big and brown, her blond hair pulled back. She looked young, younger than he knew she was. And way too freaking innocent to be hanging around here. Except that Mace knew she was tough as nails, at least from what Gray had told him. She’d worked inner-city ERs for years. Jesus, she did it for him in every single way. He couldn’t help but stare at the way the soft, old denim hugged her curves in all the right places. Her sweater was thin—definitely not warm enough—and she held the fabric of the sleeves fisted in her palms. He’d noted that the sleeves were worn and stretched, as though holding the sweater like that was a common occurrence. Gray had told him about Paige’s psychometry—magic hands, Gray used to call them. She could read people’s thoughts if she touched them, although that last part was a secret she didn’t like anyone knowing. Mace hated knowing everyone’s secrets as well. “Not the type of woman you could ever hold anything back from,” he’d noted at the time.

Gray had shot him a look. “She’s not the type of woman you’d want to. Not that you should get any ideas about my sister, brother.” Mace had ideas—both then and now—definite, inappropriate ideas. Hundreds of miles, sometimes continents, had separated them then. Now, maybe twenty feet and counting. “Who are you … ah.” Caleb had come up behind him. “Pretty. Not from around here.” Yeah, Caleb had a one-track mind when it came to women these days. He also had traumatic amnesia that wiped out much of his memory, one he was currently trying to rebuild. “Wait, that’s Gray’s stepsister.” Caleb often studied his past as one might a history textbook with the same fierce determination that brought him up the ranks and commanded Delta Force’s attention. “Something must be wrong.” He moved to go to her, but Mace put a hand out. “Let me—she’ll have questions.” Caleb glanced at him, and Mace saw the nerves take over the big man. He held it together well most days, but any mention of Gray—or their capture and Gray’s subsequent death—was enough to throw him off his game. “She’ll want to know what happened that night. I’m sure the Army’s not telling her shit.” Mace nodded in agreement. “We’re not telling her anything.” “But for Gray …” “For Gray, we’ll make sure she’s all right. And then we’ll send her back home,” Mace said, and Cael pushed past him to get behind the bar. The crowd was gearing up. Midnight. Witching hour coincided with Paige’s arrival. There was no way that was simply a coincidence. It only took a few steps before Paige found herself the object of unwanted attention, in the form of a tall man with a long beard and a big belly. He grabbed her around the waist, pulling her close while managing to pinch her ass at the same time. The recent attack she’d endured in the ER was too fresh in her mind—she was still reeling from it the way the bruising was still fresh on her skin, and so she jabbed her elbow back into his ribs while simultaneously jamming her heel into his foot. He howled and let go, but she didn’t, brought him down hard by flexing his own hand inward toward his wrist. He was on his knees in front of her; and she kicked him in the balls for good measure. And yes, of course that would cause all hell to break loose. What a great way to announce her arrival.

Within seconds, she was pushed and shoved along with a swaying crowd. No one seemed to know who they were fighting, but that didn’t appear to be the point of the riot. She tried to see her way clear to the bar—or the door—but she was being carried along with the wave, and just trying to keep from getting hit by the flying fists was hard enough. And then she lost her balance, found herself on her ass on the floor, about to be trampled. Just as suddenly as she’d fallen, she was being hauled to her feet and then off them again, held closely against a hard, broad chest and carried. She held on for dear life until she was placed on a stool behind the bar. She looked up to see who her savior was and her breath caught. Mace. Mace is larger than life, Gray once told her before she’d met the man in person, and now, with Mace towering over her once again, she remembered how true that statement was. It wasn’t simply his size, although he had to be close to six-foot-four, but rather, he exuded a presence that would’ve made the most jaded woman stand up and take notice. He was a man who could calm chaos or incite a riot, depending on his mood. Tonight, he appeared stoic. But like there was a small part of him that wouldn’t mind picking up a chair or two and brawling with the best of them. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice rough enough to make her tingle, and all she could do was nod. His eyes—they were the color of ocean—could be warm and inviting and then cold and ever changing. A shock against his dark hair and olive skin. He was as beautiful as she remembered, rugged—there was no other way to describe him. She was still pressed to his body … and she never wanted to let go. Until he demanded, “What the hell did you think you were doing back there?” Protecting myself. Looking for you. Finally, she found her voice. “Mace, I’m Paige, Gray’s sister,” was all she could say. “I know who you are. Stay here,” he told her. He’d placed her behind the bar and she did remain there for a few minutes, watching him regain control of the bar. He grabbed a few men by the scruff of their shirts, another couple he caught by the upper arms. For the most part, his voice and the big man with the baseball bat seemed to soothe the masses. Within the space of ten minutes, the room had gone from a sprawling mass of people to nearly empty. While Mace led another group out the door, telling them he would walk them safely to their cars, she noted the man lying on the ground, bleeding through his T-shirt.

She hopped off the stool, grabbed a few clean towels from the pile under the bar and a pair of gloves from the first-aid kit next to them and headed toward the injured man. Kneeling beside him, she went to work, quickly assessing his injuries by pulling up his shirt and noting that he’d been stabbed. He was also unconscious, but she was pretty sure one didn’t have to do with the other. His pulse was good—pupils were equal and reactive and so she concentrated on holding the towel to staunch the bleeding. She looked around then, because she didn’t hear any sounds of incoming sirens and realized Mace was standing over her, as if on guard. She hadn’t heard him return, but she tended to zone out everything but her patients. Not the best thing to do, considering her recent altercation. “I told you to stay put. Bad enough you caused this damned mess,” he told her. She bristled at his tone. “He was hurt. I can help. And, for your information, the guy who grabbed me started it.” Mace muttered something—a curse, maybe—and then called out, “Caleb, what’s taking so long?” Caleb was the one wielding the baseball bat—he had a man in a headlock in his other as he continued to usher the last remaining people out of the bar. He called over, “Ed’s here.” “The police,” Mace told her. “I hope the ambulance is right behind them.” “There is no ambulance. Just a doctor. He rides with Ed.” A few moments later, two men walked in and hurried toward her at Mace’s urging, one of them a man in his late sixties who carried a black medical bag. “Thanks, miss,” he said to her. “I can take it from here.” “She’s a nurse,” Mace offered to the doctor, who smiled and nodded as Mace led her over to the sink behind the bar so she could wash her hands. “I can’t believe there’s no ambulance.” She stripped the gloves off and disposed of them, then shoved her hands under the hot water and scrubbed. He shrugged. “The closest hospital’s an hour away in good weather.” “Where the hell am I?” she muttered. “Not in the big city anymore. You’ll probably want to get back there soon.”

She didn’t bother to tell him there was no going back for a good long while. Not until everything blew over—and even then, starting over would happen someplace new. She wouldn’t tell him anything until she got some answers. “Gray used to tell me that if I ever needed anything, I could come to you.” “And what is it you need, exactly?” There was no reason to dance around it. “I want to know how Gray died.” Mace’s face hardened, closed off more than it had been before. “He died the way it was reported to you.” “Nothing was reported to me. They just said he died in combat. They gave him a posthumous medal.” Gray’s dad had it hanging on the wall above his oxygen tank in Arizona. Mace nodded. “Well, you know everything, then.” “Everything? Everything!” Her voice rose and the officer and the doctor and Caleb turned to look at her. She lowered it as she spoke again but was unable to keep the emotion from spilling out with her words. “He died three months ago, I was just informed two weeks ago. They held his body for months. Months I assumed he was alive and well.” “That’s the way the Army works,” was Mace’s answer, but the look in his eyes told her there was so much more to the story. “I didn’t think you’d be like this. That you’d give me the same bullshit answer. I’m sure Gray didn’t either or he never would’ve given me your address.” He shrugged and looked toward the door—mainly, she supposed, so he wouldn’t have to look at her. She took that as a good sign. “I need to know more than, ‘the cause of death is classified’,” she continued. “You have to understand that.” He still didn’t say anything, his eyes on Caleb—who was helping move the unconscious man onto a stretcher—his fists on the bar, blood seeping between the fingers of his left hand. “Here.” She handed him a towel, pointed to his hand and he looked down as if he hadn’t realized he was hurt. He opened his hand to reveal the slice across his palm, a gash that would most definitely need medical attention. “I can take care of that for you.” “I can take care of it myself.” He took the towel from her and their hands touched through the cloth. The lights went up to full blast just then. Something forced her eyes from his hand to his face, catching first on the opened neck of the old flannel shirt he wore.

She clearly saw the scar, pink and fresh against his neck. Someone had tried to slit his throat—and recently. Unconsciously, her free hand went to her own throat, palm to Adam’s apple, as his gaze caught hers. And as badly as things had gone up to this point, they got immediately worse. He jerked his hand free from hers, wrapped the towel around it. “You need to go. Tonight. Right now. We’re expecting a bad blizzard and if you don’t leave now, you could be stuck here for a while.” “I wouldn’t mind that.” She looked at his throat and then dragged her gaze back up to his eyes. They’d gone wild and stormy again, but she realized that she’d have to face his wrath if she wanted the truth. “You’ll never get the answers you want from me, so you might as well go back home,” Mace told her. “She’s not going anywhere in this mess.” Caleb was back from helping load the stretcher into the police car, seemingly unbothered by the snow that hung on him in large white flakes. “Road’s already a sheet of ice. I took the liberty of moving your car away from the plow’s line of fire and grabbing your bags,” he told her as he carried the two bags with ease. Since she hadn’t given him her keys, she could only assume Caleb was also part of the Gray’s Delta Force team. “I’ll put them in the spare bedroom.” She swore she heard Mace actually growl. But when she turned back to him, he’d disappeared, the swinging door leading to the storeroom the only indication of which way he’d gone. Mace’s hand stung and his head throbbed and, dammit, Reid, his Delta teammate, was supposed to have let him know when Gray’s body was released to the family. Then he would’ve at least been prepared. Except who the hell was he kidding? He would never have been prepared for Paige. He had no idea what to say to her, except maybe that he was sorry. Because he was in mourning too, although he had two and a half months on her. He rubbed the outside of his hand where Paige had touched him. Granted, it had been through the towel, but still, had she sensed anything? She’d seemed more caught up in the scar on his throat and, yeah, that was a real conversation stopper. There was no hiding the fact someone tried to slit his fucking throat. He heard footsteps and the door opening. Cael. Even though he knew who it would be, he still swung around, prepared for a fight. Because that’s where his head was these days, even three months out of the jungle.

“What’s the problem, Mace?” Cael kept his voice down out of habit, even though there was no way Paige would hear them through the heavy closed door that separated the back room from the main bar. “She’s really gotten to you. Want to tell me why?” He turned to grab a first-aid kit from one of the shelves, opened it and prepped to stitch himself up. “She just found out about Gray a couple of weeks ago.” “No wonder she’s upset.” “It’s more than that,” Mace said as he poured the peroxide over the wound, the mild sting nothing in comparison to the headache that tightened around the back of his head. Cael took the supplies from him and began to stitch Mace’s palm as if he’d done so a hundred times before. He had, of course, and when he finished, Mace knew he’d have that vaguely amazed and slightly frustrated look of a man who wanted nothing more than to remember everything. Mace wished he could tell his friend that things were so much better this way, but that was bullshit too. Caleb began to talk then. “We have to help her, no matter what the problem is. I know Gray made you promise that … because I made him the same promise.” He paused and looked surprised that he remembered that. Mace cursed inwardly, not so much because it was true, but because Paige’s arrival heralded something he’d feared would happen sooner or later—and now appeared to be happening sooner. “I don’t know much anymore, but I know I’d never do anything to hurt Gray.” Caleb’s words were more effective than a knife to the gut … and ten times more ironic. And when Mace finally answered, his words were strangled. “I’ll help her. You shouldn’t be involved.” “I know you’re afraid of what I’m going to remember. I may have amnesia, but I’m not stupid.” Caleb ran his hands through his hair in obvious agitation. “She’s asking a lot of questions, Cael. About things she shouldn’t know.” “I won’t tell her anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.” “That’s not it. Paige is … psychic. Gray used to talk about it a lot. She can read people with her hands.” Cael blinked. “You believe in that crap?” For a second, the old Caleb was back and Mace smiled. “With Paige, yeah.” Because Gray had. And he’d been more levelheaded than any of them. “She uses touch to find things out. And we’ll be in a hell of a lot of trouble if she finds out anything more than what the Army told her.”

“So we don’t touch her. Something tells me that’s going to be more of a problem for you than it is for me,” Cael said as he finished bandaging Mace’s hand. Caleb was right—Mace was supposed to take care of Paige. He’d promised Gray, had always promised him, every fucking time they’d gone out together. But now he was taking care of Cael. The man had done so much for his country—for Gray and for him and for their other teammates, too, especially Reid. Reid had been the fourth man on that mission, had been held in another cell, didn’t know anything until the rescue—blamed himself as much as they all did. And he was out there somewhere, attempting to bury the failed mission by hunting down the remains of DMH and looking for Kell. Kell wasn’t on that fateful mission, but he blamed himself for what happened anyway. No amount of telling him not to feel guilty would stop that. Mace had tried to talk to both men and failed to stop their self-blame. The team was fractured and their CO, Noah Wright, was looking for them to pull it together. Cael with no memory was much freer than the old Caleb, which Mace found slightly unnerving and refreshing at the same time. And Vivienne, the woman Caleb had been involved with, knew nothing. She thought Cael was still on a mission or that he’d come home and fallen for someone else. Mace had no idea what the hell to do about that, but figured the last thing Caleb needed was girlfriend problems right now. Noah had agreed. He’d given the men extended leave and had all but ordered Mace to get Cael’s memory back. Noah had no idea what he was asking for. “She can stay the night,” he said, relenting because there was no other choice at the moment. “At least the weekend,” Caleb said. “If we don’t touch her, we’ll be fine.” We’ll be fine. Gray’s last words. Yeah, they were all really fucking fine. “I’ll go get her settled in,” Caleb said. “Just remember, I’m not running a bed-and-breakfast,” Mace muttered. “Right. Wouldn’t want anyone to know you’ve got a heart. I’ll keep that a deep, dark secret,” Cael said right before he left the room. Paige wouldn’t leave without some semblance of the truth. He’d tell her the sanitized version he’d told Caleb. And then she’d go back to her home and he’d head to the next town over, find some woman to help him get rid of the damned hard-on he’d had since Paige walked in.

He went outside, letting the freezing cold work its magic as he stood there in just his jeans and flannel shirt, the sleeves hiked above his elbows, hoping it would clear his brain. “Gray, man, you have to understand why I was such a dick to her … for her own good,” he said into the frigid wind and got a howl in return. “I’ll do better. I’ll fix it all somehow. But fuck, I wish you were still here.” Gray had been his sounding board, his go-to guy since they’d met in boot camp. The void in his life was indescribable—hadn’t been this bad since his mother had left him when he was ten and he’d been dragged up here, kicking and screaming. Amazing what a kid could get used to. He’d spent a lot of his childhood moving from town to town—and for a while state to state before his mom semi-settled in North Carolina. But he remembered a haze of drugs and booze and a pretty steady stream of assholes who’d treated his mom like crap, one-room shitty apartments and not a hell of a lot of food to eat. But it was all he’d known, until he came here to live with his grandparents. From the second he’d entered this place and met them for the first time, he’d felt a chill, which only left him when he left this house and this town. Whenever he came back here to tend bar, he found it lingered still, long after they’d both died. When he turned eighteen, he’d enlisted. He’d spent his entire life up until that point looking for an escape hatch every second of every day. When he joined the Army, that fierce need had dissipated almost immediately. There was a magic to the training, the orders, the command. The structure gave him exactly what he needed to free himself. The inherent suspicion didn’t go away as easily … or not at all. Mace found that it was better to assume everyone was guilty until they’d proven themselves otherwise. The Army was about obedience and discipline, two things Mace had never really taken to well. But somehow, it worked. It had been hard, but quitting had never been an option. Mace had always been a fighter and knew he had what it took to make it. Knew that he’d never let himself be helpless again. He’d simply always assumed he’d do all of that as a solitary man. That teamwork got left behind when the job was finished. He’d found out how wrong he was once he’d been placed under the watchful eye of Noah Wright. The man treated his teams with the utmost respect and dignity, while kicking their asses at the same time. He demanded teamwork. Showed them that being able to bond was really the key to survival. Making friends was a way to ensure insanity didn’t set in.

Mace had never really felt at home until he enlisted and found the core group of men he’d grow to trust with his life. Gray was the first one he’d met; and then Cameron Moore and Noah; and finally, Caleb and Reid, and Kell. Mace had always taken rules and regs in more of a meant-to-be-broken kind of spirit. He’d also been labeled the most suspicious of the bunch. To be called that in the group of men he was a part of … well, that was saying a hell of a lot. But, although suspicious by nature, he’d also never been one to pass up a good time. Partying was something he’d had in common with Caleb’s youngest brother, Zane, and he’d done a right good share of it. He hadn’t felt up to partying since they’d gotten back. Cael had taken over that role and picked up the slack. With the absence of memory and his struggle to feel something, he turned to the nightly crowds at the bar to pass the time. The thing was, Mace was pretty sure he hadn’t slept with any of the women who were crawling on him. Maybe he remembered somehow that he’d left someone behind, even though they’d only been together for a few weeks before he’d shipped out for the mission. Noah had said he’d handle Vivi so Mace could concentrate on helping Cael. “Doc’s convinced his memories will return. Better that when they do, he’s someplace safe, with someone he trusts,” Noah had said. “You up for this?” Of course he was. The team was on the verge of shattering if he walked away now. Putting his effort into helping Caleb made it easier to push down the pain of Gray. But many of Caleb’s memories seemed to be returning. And when they did, it was as if he wasn’t quite aware that what he remembered was important. Don’t push him. Just go along with what he says, Noah had told him. Mace didn’t believe for a second that Cael could’ve hurt him or Gray. He had only that belief, nothing else, for proof, but for him that was enough. The rest was locked up tight in Cael’s mind, and only time would heal him enough to release that. “How much would it take to alter a person’s mind once he’s been given hallucinogenics?” he remembered asking the doc, right before he was released from the hospital and given the okay to return home. His voice had been rough—more so than it was now—so rusty from misuse and damaged that he would never sound the same as before. It seemed fitting. “For some people, it happens the first time. Others can take them for years and experience only minimal effects. Caleb’s memories might never fully return … or he might see them as flashbacks, like

they didn’t really happen to him,” Doc explained. “Either way, he’ll regain something. He’s already had intermittent flashes of memories in the three weeks you’ve been recovering.” And Cael’s recovery was continuing. “I figure maybe if I’m relaxed, the memories will come,” Caleb had explained when Mace questioned him about his partying, feeling like an old man, but hell, Cael’s plan was as good as any. And in some ways, it appeared to be working. Mace wished he could throw himself into the crowd and lose himself in the people and the music, wanted to lose himself in booze and women until he was stupid with both. Until now, he’d resisted. With Paige this close, he wasn’t sure he could resist any longer.

CHAPTER

3

Caleb had left her bags on the floor when he’d gone off to follow Mace. Alone, Paige stared out the window, wondering if she could even make it to her car in this weather. But really, there was nowhere for her to go and something inside told her this was the best place for her to be. She stared across the scarred floor of the bar and could easily picture Gray here, laughing, drinking, having a good time in the rowdy crowd. Gray had been like that—able to fit in anyplace. It was why the secrecy of Delta Force had suited him so, why he hadn’t cared that his dad thought he was motorpool and kept complaining, asking, Why can’t you go any higher? No, Paige had been the only one Gray had told what his job really entailed, and she’d been through an extensive background check by the Army for that privilege. Just then, the door opened and Caleb came in, a small smile on his face. He picked up her bags and began walking across the room. “By the way, I’m Cael,” he called over his shoulder. “Mace forgets his manners when he’s in a bad mood. Follow me.” She did, through the bar and up narrow steps hidden behind a locked door. It was larger upstairs than she would’ve thought—the main room boasted a fireplace and some large couches and there appeared to be four doors lining the hallway. He stopped at the farthest one and opened the door, flicking on the light before stepping aside to let her in first. It was a cozy room, with a double bed and a large window that had an open shade, highlighting the fast-moving storm. He came in behind her with her bags, and dropped them in the corner. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine. You’ve got a really rough crowd to deal with,” she said. “Didn’t used to be. We’ve been trying to clean house in the bar and in town,” Cael explained. “A lot of it is drugs—buying and selling. The police don’t have the manpower to keep it under control. It seemed to happen overnight. We were gone for six months and the town went nuts.” “Why?” “Auto plant closed down. People started looking for easy work.” She nodded. In a downturned economy, the hospital saw an upsweep in violence as well.

Caleb stepped past her to close the shades and she noted a portable lantern on the floor by the bed. “I’ve never met you before, have I?” The oddness of the question wasn’t lost on her, but she answered anyway. “No, we’ve never met, but I’ve seen pictures of you—from Gray.” “Okay, yeah, I’ve probably seen pictures of you too, but …” He pointed a finger at his forehead. “I’ve got some transient traumatic amnesia.” “I’m sorry.” He shrugged. “The doc says I should get my memory back.” “Did that happen on the mission with Gray?” she asked, and he nodded. “I assumed Gray died in combat, but the Army’s pretty closemouthed.” Caleb nodded. “Gray was a hero. I don’t remember much, but I know that for sure. I mean, Mace has told me what happened. In the beginning, I asked him to tell me every day, hoping to spark something. It was hard as hell on him, but he did it.” Caleb paused. “He was hurt too.” “I saw the scar.” Her own hand went to her throat. “Yeah, it’s pretty bad.” He paused. “Gray stayed here sometimes. I mean, Mace told me he did.” Even with no memory, Caleb was far less closed off than Mace was. She’d expect a man with no memory to be jumpy and unsure—unless he was really good at hiding it. But she didn’t get that sense from him. She thought about asking him more, but didn’t. “Nice tats.” “What? Oh.” Her sweater sleeves were still pushed up, revealing the intricate swirls of the tattoos that encircled both wrists. She’d had them done in a place in New York City, had taken the week off from work to allow them to fully heal. She hid them with her watch and her sleeves, although she really didn’t need to. Tattoos were ubiquitous these days, and hers weren’t offensive by any means. In fact, they often garnered her unwanted attention, but still, she would take protection in any way, shape or form she could get it. Now she yanked her sleeves down quickly and held the ends of the sweater in her palms. “Are you sure this is all okay? I mean, Mace seems to want me to leave.” “Mace is acting like an asshole,” Cael corrected. “You can’t go anywhere tonight without four-wheel drive. Even then, it’s a tough ride.”

The wind railed against the window as if to prove his point. “Thanks.” “Mace says you know things. He doesn’t believe in all that crap—well, you know what I mean.” Caleb was leaning against the doorjamb now and of course he knew. Mace had no doubt warned him that she was a psychic freak. She’d heard the derogatory comments before. Didn’t you know? At least your freak curse could’ve helped, her mother had practically spat. She’d apologized a thousand times after that for her comment, but Paige knew she’d never meant it. Mainly because Paige blamed herself for what Jeffrey had done more than anyone else ever could. “I know what you mean, Caleb. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Do you believe?” “I don’t know. Maybe.” He shuffled a foot. “Do you, uh, did you ever help anyone get their memory back with that—” “Crap?” She smiled. “No, that’s something I’ve never done.” “Can you?” She stared at him. “I’d have to know some background first. I’m a medical professional, and I wouldn’t want to trigger something—” He was already holding up a hand. “Forget it.” And then, he muttered, “Same old bullshit I’ve heard before.” “Caleb, I’m sorry.” “Yeah, I know. I didn’t mean to press you like that. This just sucks, you know?” Cael looked frustrated. He was as handsome as Mace, but as different as summer from winter, light from dark, in terms of temperament. She supposed having no baggage to carry around would do that to a person, and she wondered what that would be like. “Sometimes, I wish my memory was erased.” Cael looked at her sharply. “Why?” He didn’t know. One of the few people her age who wouldn’t recognize her brother’s name, didn’t know what had happened—and yet, she was going to tell him. “When I was fourteen, my brother opened fire in our high school cafeteria. He killed several of my friends and classmates before the police stopped him. He was sixteen. He’s in jail now.” Cael was silent and she wondered if she’d upset him, as his brown eyes darkened as she spoke. But then he told her, “I can see why you’d want to forget. I’ve got a box of Gray’s things in the attic. I packed this room up, mostly because Mace kept getting upset when he’d come in here. I can get it down for you tomorrow—just don’t mention it to him, all right?”

“Thanks.” “Get some sleep. We’re both right down the hall if you need anything,” he said, before shutting the door, leaving her alone with the ghosts of her past. Caleb flexed his hands, stared down at them and thought about all the things he’d done for Delta Force … all the things he must’ve done and how instinctively those moves came back to him when necessary. Not that he’d had to kill anyone at the bar, but he was amazed at how quickly he could restrain and escort out angry patrons, effortlessly, with no real thought—or fear—behind it. Pure instinct. Mace had nodded his approval, but Cael could see his face hid something. Cael might’ve lost his memories but he wasn’t an idiot. Going back to Delta Force wasn’t possible without his memories and a doctor’s clearance. Was he supposed to work here forever? Not that it was a bad gig, but he was pretty sure he needed more. It had been damned hard for him not to force Paige’s palms to his skin, to make her read him, whether she wanted to or not, Mace’s orders be damned. Cael wondered if she would see anything inside his mind, or if she would only find the terrifyingly blank abyss he faced every morning, with only the barest of memories fading in and then out before he could grab them. It had been like that for three long months. Once his team had been rescued from the hellhole they’d been in for three weeks, they were brought to Germany to the military hospital facility—Gray, to the morgue, and he and Reid had been examined and questioned. He remembered their CO, Noah, asking him the same questions over and over, but it was all a fine mist he couldn’t penetrate. The doctors did their best to reassure him that the amnesia was from the large doses of hallucinogenic drugs he’d been given by the enemy, combined with emotional trauma rather than physical, and although Cael liked to think of himself as strong-minded, not having to deal with any physical limitations on his brain was a relief. Still, he waited for the memories to seep through—and they did, here and there. Since returning home with Mace, he’d found himself doing things he didn’t know he knew how to do, like driving a stick shift and hotwiring a car. The other night, Mace caught him jimmying the lock to the storeroom and had simply smiled.

It was both terrifying and liberating to have so few memories of the past, except Cael knew that Mace was holding something back. And so, in the beginning, he’d questioned Mace night after night about the mission they were captured on, taking careful notes and looking for inconsistencies. But Mace was very good—his story never changed about the days they were held … about the night Gray was killed and Cael had come to holding a knife and helping staunch the blood from Mace’s throat. And Reid, the other Delta operative who’d gone on the mission with them, had escaped mercifully unscathed because he’d been unconscious, thanks to a snake bite that nearly killed him. Damned puff adder had saved his life. Mace said Reid was away on another mission. But he’d get in touch as soon as he was back, the way he always did. Cael remembered Reid and Mace and Gray most clearly—Cam too. Everything about Delta Force and his time in the Army, except that last mission. His family was a blank, though. It was odd that he could remember how to prepare for bailing out of a C-130 and not remember any family dinners or the fact that he might’ve had a fully functioning goddamned life before all of this. “You have an older brother named Dylan—he was in Delta and now he owns a private security firm. And you have a younger brother named Zane. He’s Navy, a SEAL,” Mace told him, and he showed him pictures, entire albums. Cael would stare at the young man who looked nothing like him and the older one who definitely resembled him, but—at least for that first month—he had no recollection of growing up with them. It was as if his life began the moment he came to, standing over Mace with a bloody knife and then carrying him out of what he’d later learn was a makeshift, underground prison, courtesy of a terrorist group called DMH—Dead Man’s Hand. Try as he might, he didn’t know if it was the knife used on Mace. Who had wielded it? He should know … and no doubt did. He was as sure of that as he was, deep down in his soul, that Zane and Dylan were his brothers, that Mace and Gray were his best friends. He found himself wanting to call Zane at the oddest times, had asked him once, “Do I fucking smother you all the time, or what?” Zane had laughed at first and then grown serious. “You check in on me a lot.” “That must annoy the shit out of you.” There was a long pause and then Zane said, “S’not so bad.” His brother had sounded choked up and Cael had written that down, made a note to ask why later. They wouldn’t tell him anything that would stress him out now, but he could smell a story there.

And so Caleb continued with the check-ins, getting to know his past, getting comfortable with his present and not sure at all about his future. He wondered if Paige was a bigger part of Mace’s future than the man realized. Mace was worried as hell that Paige would discover something, and Cael was determined that he would discover it first. There was something so vulnerable about Paige. She was tough, for sure, judging by the fierce way she’d taken down Big Harvey earlier that night—the guy’d had it coming. But she was scared, running from something, and even though he was doing the opposite—solidly running toward his memories rather than away from them—he could understand. She’d be safe here, for as long as she needed the shelter. ——

After Caleb left, Paige stood in the center of the room for a long time without moving. She’d upset him with her talk of memories, and she hadn’t meant to at all. But why he had none, that was something she needed to find out. Because true amnesia was rare and the circumstances surrounding it needed to be extremely traumatic. Watching Gray get killed certainly qualified, she reminded herself, the dull ache returning with a vengeance. Whatever Mace knew, maybe it was better if she remained in the dark—but then, she’d learned her lesson long ago. Secrets could kill. She stared at the picture of the three men on the shelf closest to her—her brother, flanked by Mace on one side and Cael on the other. A good-looking group, despite the fact that they all wore their scary, grim soldier faces. Gray’s dog tags hung outside his shirt, as did Caleb’s. Mace’s were hidden underneath his T-shirt, but the outline was visible. She picked up the frame and ran a finger over his chest. Of all three, he was the most intimidating. Dark hair, blue-green eyes—the picture didn’t do them justice. No, in person, they were the color of the ocean and just as ever changing, depending on his mood. In the picture, his eyebrows were knitted together in a frown—it was the same look he’d given her when he’d first seen her enter his bar. The same one he’d given her when they’d first met. He was all hard edges. And she liked it, found herself pulled toward the danger that seemed to radiate from him. Wanted to know what it was like to be joined with all that fury.

A noise outside made her jump, and she put the frame back and tried to look out the window, but the snow was coming down too fiercely to see anything but the fluffy white flakes. It was probably beautiful outside. Crisp and quiet and she was in the middle of a storm with two elite, highly trained soldiers. Nothing could happen to her here. As if mocking her, the lights immediately slammed off. She felt for the lantern, not realizing for the first few seconds that she was reaching under the table on the wrong side of the bed. She heard voices and she panicked, moved blindly toward where she thought the door was. Instead, her hands met a body—a hard chest. When her palms made the connection, she caught a flash of something. Danger. Terror. Escape. Murder. Immediately, she was grabbed by the wrists. Her hands lost contact and everything faded. “Scared of the dark, Paige?” Mace’s voice was low and gruff and impossibly sexy. “I’m scared of you.” She hadn’t realized she’d spoken the words out loud until he said, “You should be.” He let her go and turned on a portable lamp. He handed it to her and she held it by her side as he remained in front of her, his eyes flashing in the dim light. “Don’t touch Caleb,” he warned. Yes, the man had secrets and her hands were more of a threat than any weapon. “Caleb told me about his memory loss.” Mace cursed and then muttered something she didn’t catch under his breath. “You have no idea what you’re up against,” he told her finally. “He asked me if I could read him, but I told him no. I wouldn’t, and not because you told me not to. His memory needs to come back on its own.” “At least we agree on something.” “You don’t want me here. I know that.” “You want to know things I can’t tell you, Paige. The Army has classification protocols for a reason.” “Yes, that’s what I was told when they came by my apartment to tell me Gray had been killed.” She shut her eyes to block out that memory and when she opened them again, he was staring at her, his bright blue-green eyes glittering with some emotion—but not the anger she’d seen earlier. “I just thought … he was your best friend …” After a long pause, Mace spoke quietly. “He was.”

She didn’t know what else to say. There was so much pain here, and all she did was bring more, dragging her wreckage behind her like the unwelcome visitor she was. God, she thought she was tougher than this, had forced herself to grow a thick skin, to shake off bad vibes, and still, here she was, shaking. She’d worked some of the roughest ERs on the streets of New York City, had her life threatened but she’d never been as frightened as she was now—only she didn’t know where the threat was coming from. “Paige?” Mace said her name softly. “Shit, you must be freezing. I’ve got a fire going in the main room.” “No, I’m fine,” she lied, but Mace took a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her, then led her through the halls to the main living room. She didn’t protest the warmth or the company. Instead, she set the lamp down on the coffee table in front of her and, still wrapped in the blanket, curled into a corner of the couch, attempting to be invisible while Mace poured her a glass of what she quickly discovered was brandy. The first shot went down hard, the second, a bit easier, and the third produced an almost immediate, pleasant buzz. She stared into the fireplace as the brandy settled, until Mace asked, “Better?” She nodded. And then, emboldened by the alcohol, she pointed to his throat. “Did that happen on the mission where Gray was killed?” He downed his own third shot, his eyes glittering with some emotion, but not the anger she’d expected. And he put the glass down on the table far more gently than she’d expected as well, shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and stared at her. “I can’t tell you things, Paige. Don’t you understand? It’s for your own good … and for mine. For Cael’s.” She stood, letting the blanket drop as she approached him. She reached out to touch him without thinking, to comfort him, but he held her wrists again so she couldn’t. Still, he didn’t stop her from standing on her toes and leaning in to kiss him, the way she’d wanted to when he held her earlier … the way she’d wanted to that morning in her apartment four years ago. He kissed her back immediately, pulled her close even as he pushed her hands down to her sides and then behind her back, even as she rubbed her belly against his erection. He tasted like brandy and man. She felt the danger lurking beneath the protective nature he’d shown her, and that only made her revel more in the feel of him. She never thought she could like danger, but Mace’s was deep and dark and so rich, and the way it beckoned her like a beacon in a storm, she knew there was no way she could ever resist it. Not for long anyway. Nor did she want to.

He continued to kiss her like a man who couldn’t get his fill and she matched him, her tongue dancing with his, the thrill catching her deep in her womb. His arousal was a hard column against her belly, proving his want, and she’d needed to know that. She wanted to be naked under him, wanted him to fill her until all she could feel was pleasure, because she’d had enough of the pain. Her pulse hammered and my God, she could unravel easily for him, detonate in seconds if he was half as talented with his other body parts as he was with his tongue. She was willing to find out. Wanted to let him take her with an unmatched frenzy; while her feelings scared her, she was more than willing to go along for his ride. But clearer heads than hers prevailed, because Mace tore his mouth off hers with a rough curse, then picked her up and carried her to the couch. She grabbed his shoulders, kept her hands fisted so she couldn’t read him. He placed her gently on the soft cushions, told her, “You don’t want to start this now, Paige. Because I’m going to want to finish it, and that’s not a good idea.” Funny, because it seemed like an excellent one to her. But the alcohol won as she settled in and didn’t push for more contact. He covered her with the blanket. Her nerve endings were still ablaze, but despite her unrelieved arousal, she drifted off, aware that there was more than one rough male voice near her. And she dreamed that she was back in the house with Jeffrey and she would see it all happen again while she slept, knew that as certainly as she knew she’d made the right decision coming here. There was nothing she could do to stop it; she wouldn’t wake until she relived it, start to finish, every horrifying moment as real as it was the day it happened. Early morning. She woke, sick to her stomach, as though the evil was emanating from Jeffrey and infecting her, no matter how much distance she tried to put between them. No one will believe you … no one ever has. Her girlfriends all had a crush on him. He was one of the cool kids, not a loner, no one you would pick out and say, This kid’s going to massacre students one day. She’d picked up on something, though, had tried to let her parents know and had been rebuffed. Jeffrey was an A student. Popular, handsome. And a sadistic son of a bitch. Her stomach hurt more. She pulled the covers over her head, curled up in a ball and tried to hide from the feelings. “Paige, hurry,” her mother called up the stairs, and Paige struggled from the bed. Through her opened window, she heard Jeffrey’s car rumble out of the driveway and away from the house, and relief unfurled in her belly. She wouldn’t have to ride with her brother to school that morning. She showered quickly, dressed and dried her hair. And still, the lingering evil remained unsettling as she headed down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Her mother, usually scattered, was beyond exasperated. “Come on, Paige—your brother told me at the last minute he had an early meeting at school and couldn’t drive you. Grab something to eat in the car or else you’ll make me late for work.” Neither of them had any way of knowing that it would be her last day of work. The last day close to anything normal they’d ever have again. “I’m not hungry,” Paige mumbled, picked up her backpack and followed her mom out to the car. She wanted to talk to her mother about Jeffrey again, to tell her he’d destroyed her homework last week. That she was sure he was the one who’d killed the neighbors’ cat and left it on their car the weekend before. That he was responsible for so much more destruction. But since she’d been shut down so many times, even sent to a psychologist last year to discuss why she was out to get her brother, she had given up. So she simply gave her mom a kiss and went to find her friends and start her day. Met up with her best friend, Mandy, in the parking lot and they walked into the caf, arms linked, giggling about something she couldn’t remember, no matter how hard she tried. What happened next, she would never forget. They separated, Mandy headed to a table and Paige to grab some food. That’s when things went from raucous to nearly silent in a matter of seconds and she was still holding her warm bagel when she realized how still everyone had gotten. Mandy was staring over Paige’s shoulder, terror in her eyes. “What’s wrong?” The words echoed in the room, and then she was being dragged backward, an arm across her throat, her feet barely touching the floor. She heard people screaming her brother’s name, but she would’ve known it was Jeffrey the second he’d touched her. A swirl of feelings and images hit her, a dark, decaying tunnel to the deepest recesses of his mind, leading straight to hell. It was terrifying that he hid all of that from the world. Combined with the massacre going on before her eyes, she wondered if the heart-wrenching pain would ever end. It was as if each shot he fired went through her as well. She expected that if she looked down, she would find herself bleeding. Mandy went down first in a hail of bullets from what Paige would later learn was a sawed-off AK-47 he’d bought from a local dealer. One by one, she watched her closest friends die, as Jeffrey hunted them down, under tables, behind chairs, all of that insufficient to shield them from the bullets or his rage. And he dragged her along for the ride, so she saw each killing, up close and personal.

Camillie. Sandra. Evan. Lori. Joe. Perry. When all was said and done, seven people were dead. But at the time, she wasn’t counting—was screaming inside her mind, praying, clawing at Jeffrey’s arm. And then Jeffrey released her, made her kneel on the floor facing him. “Look at me, Paige.” She didn’t want to, shook her head no, screwed her eyes shut tight, but he said, “Do you want more people to die because of you?” Said it so quietly that no one else heard. But she opened her eyes and looked at him. It was then that he put the barrel of the gun to her forehead and she went completely numb. He kept it there as he stared at her and she tried to remain upright, the dizzying combination of fear and the smell of blood overwhelming her senses. Finally, he spoke—his voice a low chuckle—as he removed the gun from where it had been pressed to her forehead. “It’d be too easy to put you out of your misery. It’ll be way more fun for me to know you’ll remember this was all your fault for the rest of your life. And all because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut about me.” “I did.” Her voice was barely a whisper and he simply smiled and she knew he was lying … and that no matter what she did, Jeffrey would still be as sick as he was now. “You’ll have to remember all of this for the rest of your life, unless you want to kill yourself. You and your stupid magic hands.” He’d laughed then, and it echoed in her ears, cut off sharply by a shot. For a second, she thought she was dead. But she saw Jeffrey falling backward, blood spurting from his shoulder, and she realized the police had taken him down. God, they should’ve killed him. Why hadn’t they killed him? Because the town would want justice. From Jeffrey. From her parents. From her. Her closest friends, her inner circle … they were gone. She’d only kept one secret from them, how truly sadistic Jeffrey was, and in the end that secret had taken them all in a sweeping blaze of bullets, blood and hatred, leaving behind a sleepy town unable to comprehend any of it. She was sobbing, still on her knees, unaware that she was repeating, “I knew he would do this …,” loud enough for everyone around her to hear. It was that phrase that would damn them all, in the media … the words used in headlines and sound bites.

“His Family Admits, ‘I Knew He Would Do This.’ ” Even the policeman who’d picked her up and carried her away from the chaotic scene had looked at her with unsympathetic eyes in civil court. “Don’t you mention that curse of yours,” her mother said, in a vodka-fueled rage. “You’ve caused enough damage.” She had, in more ways than anyone would ever be able to comprehend. But at least, for now, the memory was over. And she was running out of the house, down the street and away from her mother’s harsh words. Running as if she would never stop, as if her life depended on it. In so many ways, it did. ——

Mace had listened as Paige told Cael the story of her brother earlier as succintly as possible, and even though it was one he knew, the pain in her voice tore at him. And he did not want to be torn at or tugged, didn’t want to feel any more than he already did. He prided himself on not feeling—on tamping down any and all emotions all the time so he could do his job. Had done it for so long that the first time a feeling peeked through it surprised the hell out of him how much it actually hurt. His body had responded to her even before she’d come on to him. He wanted to lay her out on the couch or the floor or, hell, even the table. He didn’t know if it was his own willpower or the knowledge that Caleb was close or the fact that he still held too many secrets that could easily be revealed in the heat of the moment, but he’d stopped. Christ, it had nearly killed him. His erection pressed the soft denim of his jeans uncomfortably and he thought about going outside and rolling in the snow. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets and watched her sleep, even as Caleb wandered in. The man slept as little as Mace did this days, and they usually ended up on the couch watching movies until dawn. Like a fucking old married couple. Jesus, he needed a life. And Cael needed his life. “She’s dreaming,” Cael pointed out.

“She’s having a nightmare,” Mace said grimly, watching Paige shake in her sleep, her hands fisted safely inside the old quilt. He went over to her, was about to shake her awake, when he stopped himself. He wasn’t sure if it was the bow-shaped mouth or the dark fringe of lashes that threw small shadows on her cheeks, or the fact that those cheeks were flushed, but the response his body had was immediate—his blood heated and he forced himself not to stroke her face or her shoulder. The feeling was nice. And he almost laughed. It was the same reaction he’d had when he first saw her walking into the bar, before realizing who she was. What kind of trouble she could wreak here. “Leave her, Mace. You’re not supposed to wake someone when they’re having a nightmare.” “That’s for sleepwalking.” “Still, leave her. She’s calming down.” And she was. The shaking and whimpering had stopped. “You heard us talking before,” Cael said, and yeah, his senses were definitely returning. “Why didn’t you tell me about her brother? Did I know that at some point?” Did he? Gray didn’t talk about that part of Paige’s life much, as if it was too private to share. “Probably not.” “She said it was on the news a few nights ago.” Mace wondered if that’s really what propelled her here—if she’d received any threats. He’d ask her in the morning.

CHAPTER

4

Cael woke in a cold sweat, his hand reaching out for something … or someone. But who? The question haunted him. Fuck, everything did, no matter how hard he tried not to show it. Getting laid would no doubt take the edge off, but he somehow knew it wouldn’t satisfy the empty, gnawing feeling in his gut. He shoved the covers off, padded naked to the window and stared out into the blinding white blanket that coated the back lot and the familiar, not back in-his-own-skin feeling began again. Shit. Maybe Mace was right about Paige. Maybe her showing up here was the worst thing ever. He tried to remember if he’d had any dreams last night, but as usual, since the memory loss, there was simply a dark, gaping void where dreams should’ve been. It was then he noticed that the heat was still out. He remembered Mace mentioning a generator that wasn’t working and he decided to pull on clothes and see if he knew anything about fixing generators. These days, he had a better than fifty-fifty shot. As he yanked on a pair of jeans, he noted the legal pad that had fallen to the floor. Before bed last night, he’d been writing down memories of the days of the capture again, trying to put an order to them. But the page wasn’t filled with his lists. No, it was a picture—a woman’s face. The same woman he’d been drawing for the last month. Sometimes just her face … sometimes her body. Naked. He grabbed the newest sketch of her and stared, remembered now drawing it feverishly last night before he’d fallen into a restless sleep. These days, whenever he drew, it was in a kind of fugue state, like he was watching someone else’s hand unearth things he had no memories of. Sometimes, it was his brothers’ faces he drew—pictures of times he couldn’t have known about otherwise, like when Zane was twelve or thirteen. When he’d gotten his hands on a couple of family albums, Cael had been shocked to realize that he’d actually been re-creating a lot of the family pictures. He looked at the picture from last night again, tried to focus on a name, but nothing came. Who the hell was she? Her hair was chin length, with bangs that didn’t hide her eyes. She looked a little worried, her brows drawn together as if she was concentrating hard on something. She was really pretty; he’d made the bottom pieces of her hair darker, as though they were dyed. He had no sisters. Not his mother—he’d seen pictures of his parents. An old girlfriend, maybe?

He ran his fingers around the perimeter of the picture and knew it wouldn’t be the last time he drew her. No, all his sketches brought out new memories, each one opening the door a little farther, inching it maddeningly slowly, when he’d much rather just kick the damn thing in and reclaim his past. But it wasn’t working like that, and he had to at least be grateful he was getting things back. He contemplated showing the drawing to Mace to see if he’d get a reaction and decided against it for now. Mace’s problems were racking up rapidly and he hated being one of them. Paige took precedence now—for Gray. Cael wondered how long it would take before she and Mace ended up in bed. He didn’t want Paige—not in the obvious way Mace did—but he was jealous that they could both feel, when he was still mainly numb. Parts were defrosting a little, but far too slowly for his tastes, and he didn’t want to take his frustrations out on these two. Dylan Scott flew commercial into JFK and immediately made the rest of the trip to the Adirondacks by car rather than waiting out the night at some hotel. He had been too worried about his brother Caleb for too long—and finally, Caleb was remembering his family, remembering him and Zane enough that Dylan felt a visit wouldn’t do him more harm than good. But first, he had another stop to make. It was close to four in the morning, but he didn’t feel bad at all about slamming on the door to wake up his best friend, Cameron Moore. The men had saved each other’s lives. More than once. Cam felt a little bad about it, had come at Dylan with a shotgun at his chest until he realized who was at his door. “Should’ve known. Asshole,” he mumbled, stumbled back through the living room into the kitchen and flipped on the switch for the coffeemaker. Skylar, Cam’s girlfriend and soon-to-be wife, padded out of the bedroom briefly for a quick hug and to ask about Riley before heading back to bed. Dylan’s girlfriend was finishing a job in Florida, but she would be here to see Skylar tomorrow night. The two women had become extremely close, despite a rocky start. And even though Skylar wasn’t on DMH’s radar any longer, Cam refused to take chances. So did Dylan. So he would bring Riley here to stay with Sky while he convinced Cam to take the trip with him to see Caleb and Mace. One that was a long time coming. And so he sat across from Cam, whose back was to the picture windows that highlighted the privacy of his Adirondack home, a hideaway he had built years earlier to help him ease out of the life of Delta Force and black ops. Correction: out of a life he had no control over. He still ran black ops missions, but now he and Dylan called the shots. Things had really worked out for Cam, and the man deserved his happiness.

“They’re all fucked-up, not just Cael,” Dylan said after he’d mainlined two cups of coffee. His younger brother had been on his mind for months now; he blamed himself for not helping more, which Riley continued to point out to him was ridiculous. At the time, he hadn’t known about the capture of the team—he hadn’t learned about it until they were rescued. Typically, the circles he ran in would let him catch wind of such a kidnapping, especially of American military, but DMH had kept it under wraps. Caleb and the other Delta operatives by rights should be dead now. They should all be, hundreds of times over, and it was only by the grace of something bigger than themselves that most of them had survived. Gray had not. “Reid’s running around the Amazon jungle on the tip of another merc, looking for the last of the DMH guys,” Dylan told him. “Reid’s not going to be happy you found him,” Cam commented after a long gulp of his coffee. “Reid got found because he was sloppy. That’s not like him at all.” Dylan’s temper rose hot. “So what are you saying?” Cam asked. “They need out.” “And you’re going to go gather them up under your wing and, what, comfort them with a great big hug?” Cam raised a brow. “Don’t be an asshole.” “It’s just fun watching you get all soft and cuddly.” “Use the word soft around me one more time, buddy, and see what that gets you.” Cam grinned, and then he grew serious. “Noah’s never going to let you take his whole team. Not without skinning you first and then doing the same to me for fun.” “He might not have a choice.” “Caleb’s not remembering?” “He is, but slowly,” Dylan said somberly. “These guys need something more than orders. You and I both know that. So does Mace.” “You told him?” “Not yet.”

“And you haven’t found Kell, I’m assuming,” Cam said dryly. The man went more rogue than Dylan, if that was possible. “I called, but he’s not answering.” Cam snorted because that wasn’t unusual at all. If Kell had answered, they’d probably have something far greater to worry about. “We’ll head to the bar in a few days and see what’s what,” Cam agreed finally. “That’s all I’m asking.” But that wasn’t true; Dylan was asking for a whole hell of a lot more. And he would be giving the men a lot more too. More risk, for sure, but also stability the military wouldn’t necessarily be interested in doling out. Old soldiers never die … they simply fade away. His soldiers wouldn’t be allowed to fade unless that was their choice. Working together, they would be secret. Silent. Not for hire per se, but they would choose their own jobs. They would be deadly. No one would ever know the number of men and women involved, or their names. All locations would be kept separate. No paper trails, no bank accounts to be traced. Dylan would see to all of that. They would be unstoppable without the bullshit red tape. And if the men he wanted weren’t ready now, that was all right. The door would always be open for them, no matter what. Jesus, Dylan, your timing sucks.” Everyone’s timing did these days, but the thought of having to explain to Caleb that the team would all be leaving the Army and working with Dylan and Cam on their crazy spy-for-hire shit made his head hurt. “I’m not asking you to do it now, just mull it over.” Dylan paused and Mace held the phone tightly, the tension building inside him. “Cam and I will come up this week and talk to you guys about it.” Come work with me, with me and Cam and Riley. There’s plenty of work, not a lot of structure. We take on what we want, we leave behind what we don’t. He wondered if it was too soon to talk to Caleb about Dylan’s offer and decided yes. It was intruiging, would give them all more freedom than they’d ever had in the military, but it would also leave them flying without a net … except for one another. “He’s going to get his memory back,” Mace told Dylan now. “And you know he’ll want to stay in if he does. He’s Army, through and through—he’s never itched to get out.” Neither had Mace, until recently, when he began to chafe at the thought of being sent in somewhere semi-blind. It was why Kell typically slipped off on his own, because he’d grown tired of the sit-around-and-wait crap … and Delta sat around far less than the rest of the Army.

“You’re as obsinate as he is,” Dylan said. “His memory’s not the point. It’s not an either-or situation. No matter what, I want you both working with us.” “And Reid and Kell?” “I figured I’d let you talk to them about it. They might not be as hard of a sell as you think.” “Yeah, okay.” The two were as close as brothers, except these days, Kell had disappeared off the face of the earth, leaving Reid more lost than he’d been after the mission. Mace stared down at the paper with the phone number Dylan had given him—Reid’s sat-phone. A way to get in touch with the man without contacting or alerting their CO. For now, he folded the paper and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans. The timing wasn’t right. He wasn’t sure it would ever be. Coffee. It smelled good, inviting, and made Paige stir reluctantly from sleep. She’d slept better on Mace’s couch than she ever had in her own apartment—despite the lingering remembrance of the nightmare, better than she had in years, if she was honest with herself—and it had nothing to do with the brandy. The few times she’d tried to drown the memories with drink, her nightmares had actually gotten worse—monsters she hadn’t known were there crawled out, and she’d finally understood that the memories were what had killed her mother. She shifted and sat up, the heavy blankets falling off of her. The fire had been kept up all night, and from the looks of things, Mace had slept—or not—in the chair directly across from the couch. Deserted now, there were blankets still strewn around and the feelings that coursed through her told her she liked the idea of him watching over her. Watching her. She glanced at the window—the blinds were up but it looked like evening. Hurriedly, she checked her watch. It wasn’t morning at all, but after two in the afternoon. She took up one of the blankets and wound it around her shoulders, padded to the window and realized all she could see was the snow on its ledge; the wind still howled outside, the storm far from over. “Coffee?” She turned at the sound of Mace’s voice. He was barefoot, in sweats and a sleeveless undershirt, his hair wet from what she assumed was a recent shower, and he held two mugs. Gratefully, she nodded and accepted one—light and sweet, the way she liked it. “I took a chance, that’s how Gray liked his,” was all Mace said before taking a gulp of his own. She smiled into the mug, wondered how they could mention Gray’s name so freely and it didn’t fill her with sadness. “Where’s Caleb?” “He’s out.”

“In this weather?” Mace frowned. “We don’t let things like storms stop us up here.” In the light of day, he looked all the more dangerous … and that much more handsome because of it. The coffee and fire began to warm her, so she dropped the blanket onto the couch, leaving her in the T-shirt she’d stripped down to before bed last night. “What the hell?” He was on her before she could stop him. She’d forgotten about the myriad of bruises from the attack. The ones on her arm caught his attention first. Handprints and dark, irregular shapes from when she’d been thrown against the wall stood out from her pale skin as Mace held her arm out for inspection. He followed the trail, pushing the T-shirt sleeve up and then lifting her hair to check her neck and upper back. “Lift your shirt,” he said, and there was simply no refusing. She turned her back to him and obeyed, and he helped lift the fabric to get a better view of her badly bruised back. She heard him hiss through his teeth and then mutter under his breath. “It’s nothing. It happened on the job,” she told him over her shoulder. “You’re a nurse, not a stuntwoman.” He dropped her T-shirt and she pulled it down completely and turned to face him. “Sometimes the ER is rough.” “So nonchalant.” He stroked her jaw with a single finger and she jutted it stubbornly despite the warm feeling in her belly. This time, it had nothing to do with the brandy. “Shit happens.” “Who did this to you?” “A patient’s husband.” “If he touches you again …” Mace didn’t finish the sentence but she knew how he would. The fire in his eyes was lit in a way she’d never seen and for some reason, it made her just as angry as he was. “Now you’re going to protect me? If I’d known showing you a few bruises would make you listen to me …”

She trailed off because he’d moved on to her neck, running two fingers lightly over the circle of bruises there, the ones masked last night by her hair and sweater, and the darkness. “You should get these checked out.” “I did. They’re fine, they’ll heal.” He grunted something, as his fingers trailed her throat and the necklace of bruises fading there. He stared at them and then into her eyes and it took everything she had not to do the same to his scar. She kept her eyes steadily on his but he knew, somehow, tilted his lips into a smile as if to say, Touché. Hers would fade into oblivion. His would be a constant reminder. “Hey.” Caleb’s voice cut through the tension as though he was oblivious to it and she wasn’t sure if she was upset or grateful. It pulled Mace’s eyes from her and she turned to face the big man as well. “I got the generator running.” He turned on the light switch next to him to prove his point, and sure enough, it worked. “The boiler should kick on soon too.” “Thanks. I’ve been meaning to get the generator hooked up for years,” Mace said roughly. “Yeah, you can put together an M14 blindfolded but you couldn’t handle hooking up the gas pipe and some simple electrical wiring,” Caleb said with a laugh. “I’m headed out to plow the roads around us—be back in a couple of hours.” He didn’t wait for a response before he left, which was good, since Mace had frozen at Cael’s words, was still staring where the man had been standing, although Caleb was already long gone. She heard the heavy thump of Cael’s boots descending the stairs, said to Mace, “You don’t want him to remember.” Mace leveled his eyes to hers, his face hard again, the way it had been last night when he’d first recognized her, and his words came out as a growl. “You don’t know me. Don’t tell me what I want and don’t want.” He pushed past her, his feet as silent on the stairs as Caleb’s had been loud, and yes, she’d hit a nerve for sure. Mace needed to keep busy—goddamned, mind-numbingly busy—contemplated going for a ride on the ATV, until the liquor truck came skidding up the road, toward the bar. Cael was busy plowing, so Mace and the driver unloaded cartloads of boxes into the storeroom and Mace gratefully took on the task of unpacking the bottles and sorting through the inventory. It was a time-consuming, boring-as-shit task he normally detested, but for now it was just the kind of distraction he needed.

He blasted music in the hopes of drowning out his thoughts and began to rip open boxes. Every time he paused for longer than a few seconds, he saw Paige’s bruises dancing in front of his eyes. Christ, between her and Caleb, when the hell had he started running a home for wayward souls? When had things spun so far out of control? You’re a wayward soul yourself, Gray would tell him with that lopsided smile that always drew the females to him easily, that and his shucks, ma’am shrug. His friend had always been more willing to bullshit than Mace was and had always been much better at it too. “Mace?” Paige’s voice, hesitant but not wavering. She was in the room with him and he cursed himself for leaving the door propped open, because he could’ve used some warning. He didn’t like being caught off guard. “Yeah?” He didn’t turn around, continued stocking the bar the way he’d done every spring, summer, fall and winter when he was growing up after he’d been shipped here from the wilds of North Carolina, after his mother left him home alone once too often to take one of her trips to see a boyfriend. Six weeks. He’d made it six weeks before some goddamned teacher turned him in to CPS. And that was the end of his freedom. Sometimes, when the missions dragged, he thought about this, the bar, and he realized that no matter how much he sat on his ass in one of the Stans or Africa or where-the-hell-ever-else they sent him, it was a hell of a lot better than running a bar full-time. He shoved the Jack Daniel’s onto the shelf viciously, the bottles clanking, and no, he didn’t give a shit if they all broke. Was ready to chug a bottle and let it all hang out the way Caleb had a few nights earlier, dancing on the bar and practically fucking a local right then and there. He clenched his teeth and turned, since Paige hadn’t said anything else. “What do you want? I’m working.” She’d been waiting patiently, watching him. It made him uncomfortable to know how well she read him without actually putting her hands on him. She probably knew that too. “I wanted to ask—can I work tonight?” It was the last thing he’d expected to hear. Her face wore an earnest expression and he still wanted to tell her No way, that after last night’s disaster, he needed her to hide out upstairs in her room until all the customers went home. Paige should be going home. The roads were okay for four-wheel drive, but her car had bald tires and was the biggest piece of crap he’d seen in a while. He had no idea how she’d made it here in the first place.

“Not a good idea.” He tried not to look at her neck—she’d put on a long-sleeved shirt but with her hair pulled back from her face, the bruises were very visible. “I can’t sit around and do nothing. I’m not good at it,” she protested. Join the club, honey. “You’ve bartended before? Because I can’t let you out into the crowd after what happened last night.” “Okay, yes, I agree—I wouldn’t feel right doing that. But I think I can handle it behind the bar.” He shook his head. “I’ll have Cael show you some basics. It’ll be busy. People will be stir-crazy from being cooped up in their houses all day.” “That’s okay, I like busy. No time to think.” Yeah, well, she was a woman after his own heart. “I’ve got to finish up here.” But she was already moving behind him, pulling bottles from the cardboard box and holding them out to him impatiently. “Did you come here because of the assault?” he asked after a long moment. “No, it was what happened after.” She told him about the news report. “It’s all dredged up again, especially with the recent school shooting.” From his curt nod, she could tell he’d already heard about that—it had been widely reported two weeks earlier. “What about your job?” he asked. “I gave my notice,” she said bluntly. “I gave up my apartment too.” Shit, she really had no place to go. No place, and everyplace, and both were equally as dangerous for the headspace she was in now. Gray would never want her traveling around, aimlessly searching for some kind of peace and security she might never find. And he would kill Mace if he tried to send her back out now. “You’re sure that was a good idea?” Mace asked. “I couldn’t take it—they all know now. They’ll be looking at me, wanting to ask questions about what happened. Everyone wants to know what it’s like to live with evil.” They continued to stock for a few more moments in silence, until he asked bluntly, “Is there a problem with your brother?” They both knew which brother he meant.

She stopped, pulled her half-extended arm back, the bottle cradled against her, looked like she wouldn’t mind taking a shot or two. “I don’t know yet.” “But since you were on the news …” “An author called, wanted to interview me for a book on Jeffrey. Wanted me to be able to have my say. I left because I didn’t want to stick around and let the hate mail start, blaming me and my parents for what happened. I can understand why on a rational level—on every level, actually. I’ve always felt responsible.” I knew he would do this. Gray had told Mace that too—she was sure of it, because he didn’t seem surprised at her statement, didn’t try to tell her that wasn’t the case. The non-rush to reassurance was oddly comforting. “With Jeffrey … I knew he was bad. I’d known it forever. He scared the hell out of me when he was just in the room, never mind when he was torturing me by cutting up my toys, stealing anything I valued and generally terrorizing me with his stories and drawings. He was mutilating neighborhood animals and no one knew he was doing it, except me. I stopped telling my parents because they didn’t believe me. Didn’t want to. He passed for normal, everywhere but my house. I think maybe my parents were afraid of him, worried what people would think. Worried that no one would believe them.” She paused. “It was easier not to believe me. If they didn’t believe what I said, then none of it was real and they had the perfect family. And then I went out of my way to avoid him. He tried—he knew I could see things when I used my gift, and he tried to make me see inside of him.” She rubbed her covered arms as a sudden chill blasted through her, the way it always did whenever she talked, thought or dreamed about her brother. “The irony was, if I’d just done what he wanted, if I’d laid my hands on him, I would’ve known what he planned. I could’ve stopped everything.” “And maybe you couldn’t have. He’s a sick guy, Paige.” She nodded. “Yes, he is.” “You were a kid. You should’ve been worried about getting invited to the freshman dance, not stopping your brother from opening fire on people in the school cafeteria.” “Not just people—my friends,” she whispered. “My best friends in the whole world. He made sure, from that day on, that I wouldn’t be able to have any close friends, just like he couldn’t.” He was charismatic, sure, always had a crowd around him. He was popular, well liked. But he’d once told her, in a surprising moment of self-reflection, I’m never going to be able to connect with anyone. I feel dead inside, even when I know I’m supposed to feel happy or sad … or just feel anything.

“Maybe you can talk to someone,” she’d urged. His sneer had come back immediately, coupled with a threat to keep her mouth shut or else. She’d never wanted to find out what the “or else” was, and so she had. “I didn’t think he was capable of doing what he did to my friends. I thought … if anything, I thought he’d kill me. If I’d put my hands on him, they might’ve had a chance.” “You feel responsible because of your psychometry?” he asked. “Yes,” she answered quickly, to yank herself away from the memory of that night. Not that it was ever very far from her psyche. “How does that work, exactly?” She knew he was asking more for self-preservation than anything else, but that was okay. By not touching him—or anyone—she was in self-preservation mode herself. “I absorb feelings and images from people. And objects, sometimes, although I’m able to block that more. I always have been, which has been a small blessing,” she explained. “It’s not like this with every person who has my ability. It’s not that cut-and-dried, although some people try to make it like that. Sometimes, the reality is very different from the descriptions in textbooks or articles on the Internet.” “You’ve dealt with this a lot.” “I’ve tried to learn about what I have. Wanted to find ways around it, ways to deal with it. Wondered if there were other people out there like me.” “And there are.” “Yes.” She’d met another psychic or two in her life, mostly when she would try to find ways to shut her own gift off or get rid of it. It was only then she realized that she was truly lucky. Some of the people she’d spoken to could never turn it off—they didn’t like to go out in public and they were plagued by other people’s feelings—or spirits—all the time. She could just wear gloves. “Still, that must make it tough to touch … everything,” Mace was saying. “It’s not bad unless the object has a history,” she said. “I can pick up a box of cookies from a grocery store shelf and it’s not a big deal. But if it’s something like a gun used in a crime, maybe.” Mace seemed relieved at that—but no less than she was. Her ability could be a nightmare—if she were able to pick up feelings from every inanimate object she touched, she was pretty sure she’d go insane.

Technically, insane was what he brother wasn’t. He’d been born without a conscience, the same way she’d been born with her gift. He had been formally diagnosed with anti-social personality disorder by the court-ordered psychiatrist. But she hadn’t needed the gift to feel the evil inside of Jeffrey. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name. It’s not your fault no one listened. She told herself that a lot. It would help if she could truly believe it. “You picked a tough line of work,” he said. “Although I get it. You wanted to save people because you couldn’t on that day.” He made it sound so simple—and he was so completely right. “Most days, knowing I can save someone helps a lot.” Most days, she convinced herself it was enough. It was at night when the doubt reached in, took her by the throat and told her that it would never be enough. She could atone for a lifetime and she wouldn’t make up for the carnage. Gray—protective, fun, handsome Gray—was so very young to be dead and buried. The ultimate truth was that people close to her died violently—some, like her mother, by their own hands. Staying away from people, preventing intimacy, was something she always did now. Sure, the touch thing was a big barrier. It was also a wonderful excuse. “Were you with Gray when he died?” she asked, and watched Mace’s face blanch. “I lost my best friend, the guy I trusted most in this goddamned world. Don’t try to play me with guilt, all right?” She’d been doing just that—she would stop at nothing to learn the truth. Whether or not it would alienate the man helping her was something she couldn’t worry about now. All she knew was that while Mace had healed physically after what happened to him, he was nowhere near healed emotionally. Murder. Fear. Danger. All of it radiated from him … and from her as well. He emptied the last box and threw it toward the back door, into the pile of the other empty ones, raked a hand through his hair. “About the thing with Caleb. Look, I want him to remember. Need him to. But when he does, nothing will ever be the same.” “It never is,” she said quietly.

CHAPTER

5

Caleb brought in a late lunch from a local restaurant, laid out the round foil trays and some plates and utensils. “Dig in,” he told her. “You must be starving.” He obviously was and her stomach began to growl from the smells wafting from the food. It looked good and fresh and she made herself a plate and sat at a table near the bar where Cael had parked himself. She looked around as she ate slowly and watched Mace working behind the bar. He had finished in the storeroom and gone straight to work, not stopping to eat like her and Cael. It felt … normal and comfortable. Safe, despite the fact that Mace was still not letting her in much. “Gray loved it here,” she said suddenly, without thinking. Mace turned to her, and at first she didn’t think he’d answer, but then—“Yeah, he did. More than I do,” he said, but there was no rancor in his voice. “The whole team liked coming here, gave them a chance to unwind.” He spoke in the past tense. If Caleb noticed, he didn’t say anything, just continued eating. She wasn’t even sure if he was really listening, as he had a paperback book—lying open because he’d broken the spine—next to him. These men were a family, one Gray had belonged to. By extension, they would become her family too. If Mace could accept her … if he could stop viewing her like a ticking time bomb. Even though, in so many ways, she was. “How did you and Gray meet?” she asked. Mace gave her a look. “Gray never told you?” “He kept his Delta life pretty close to the vest.” “Gray … ah, he got into a bit of trouble in boot camp.” There was laughter in Mace’s voice. “Let’s just say that his computer skills definitely improved over the years. But he hacked somewhere he shouldn’t have and he got caught. Got put back into the training class I was helping with at the time. Wasn’t happy at all.” “What did he do, exactly?” she asked, and was surprised when he told her the story. “He kind of borrowed a credit card number.”

“How do you borrow a credit card number?” “He ordered strippers to go to the CO’s house. He rationalized that the man got what he paid for, so no theft.” Cael grinned. “He didn’t know the CO could trace him. But that made Gray more determined than ever to do better the next time.” That sounded just like Gray. Mace hadn’t stopped stocking the bar as he spoke, the fluid movement of him handling the heavy glass bottles nearly mesmerizing. He was wasted here. Those hands were capable of so much more. They could save people. So could yours. But he was here saving Caleb now, and her, whether she’d let herself admit it or not. “Gray saved my life once,” Caleb said suddenly, and then stopped cold. Looked at Mace with a question in his eyes. Mace nodded, questions in his own eyes. “He did, Cael. It was a long time ago, on the firing range. He pulled you out of the way of some backfire set off by a new recruit.” “And you guys didn’t get along when you first met,” Cael continued. Paige listened with interest and Mace tried to act nonchalant. “He hated me at first,” Mace agreed. “Told me I was too fucking suspicious of everyone and everything. Said I was an asshole.” “So what happened?” she asked. “I told him I thought he was an asshole too. Then we went out and got drunk.” She waited for the end of the story and realized that she’d gotten one. “And that’s it? Just like that, ‘You’re an asshole, have a beer, we’re friends’?” “That’s all guys need, Paige. We’re not all that complicated.” But she didn’t buy that for a second. Mace was way more complicated than she’d anticipated. “You hated me when you first met me too,” Mace said, without the hint of a smile on his face as he waited for her answer. “Pretty much,” she agreed. Both Caleb and Mace snorted at her answer. “No one likes Mace when they first meet him,” Caleb said. “Although that’s never stopped him from hooking up.” “I’ll bet,” she said.

“Thanks for that, Cael.” Mace’s face was deadpan as he watched Paige for her reaction. She tried not to give him one but she wasn’t sure she succeeded as Cael answered, “Anytime, my friend. Anytime.” Then Cael grabbed his empty plate and the book. “Got some stuff to do.” With that, he disappeared into the stockroom, leaving Paige to finish eating alone while Mace kept working. “Did me mentioning Gray bother him?” she asked. “I didn’t mean—” “It’s good for him to talk about Gray,” Mace assured her. “I gave Gray a hard time at first,” she admitted. She’d rather talk than think about what Caleb had said, because it caused more than a tinge of jealousy, and that was pretty ridiculous. “I can see that,” he said. “I guess the last thing you wanted at that point was another brother.” Mace was so right. Her mom and Gray’s dad hadn’t been dating that long—the marriage happened quickly and she’d been told about her new stepbrother over dinner. She’d refused to meet Gray the first time he came home, right after their parents got married, and her mom hadn’t pushed. But the next time he was on leave, Gray himself had stomped up the stairs to her room and knocked on the door. “The faster we get this over with, the better,” he’d said with an easy smile and a grace most nineteen-year-olds didn’t have. He’d stuck out his hand and would later tell her that he knew about her hands, from his dad. Even then, he wasn’t afraid of very much. And after that first tentative handshake, she knew she didn’t have anything to fear from the tall, good-looking man in front of her. He was as open as he’d appeared to be. As brave too. In the months to come, she would admit to him that she’d known Jeffrey was bad. He’d tell her that she had nothing to feel guilty about, something he would repeat often. “We didn’t have all that much time to spend together. Gray was already in the Army when our parents married,” she said. “I guess we met him around the same time.” “Sounds like it. We weren’t in basic together—I enlisted a year ahead of him. Already in the LRS unit. Recon,” he added. “And so you knew everything about the shooting before you met me, right?” “Yes.”

“And Gray had already told you that if anything ever happened to him …” She couldn’t finish and he just nodded into the silence. “Gray was a damned good man,” he said after a few moments. “You’re a lot like him.” Mace shook his head. “He was better than me, any day of the week.” “I’ll bet he would disagree with you on that.” Mace didn’t answer, stared out the window as if the parking lot held all the answers. “He was really good at listening. Women loved that about him.” “Was there anyone special?” “No, not really. He wasn’t ready to settle down. Neither am I, if that’s the next question.” “It would’ve been. And Cael?” “Right before all this happened, there was a mission … and a woman.” “Where is she now?” “I don’t know. Our CO is dealing with her.” “Don’t you think she could help?” “Maybe. She could also hurt too. Doc said it’s important for Caleb to remember in his own time,” Mace explained. “As a medical professional, I’m sure you’ll agree.” She did. It was the reason she’d refused to help him with her hands in the first place and Mace knew that. But still, the thought of the woman who loved him waiting and wondering … well, that tugged at her heart. This whole place did. Mace did. “Look, Paige, Gray was my best friend. Always there for me. No bullshit. He also didn’t ask a lot of questions.” His last statement was aimed directly at her. She shrugged it off, knowing Gray could be a bulldog with questions when he wanted to be. “What about Caleb’s brothers?” “He’s just starting to remember them. I’m the only one he feels comfortable around right now—the only one he really remembers. Me and …” Gray.

The unspoken name floated in the air between them. Gray’s death hit her like a freight train every time she thought about it. It had to get better someday, but certainly not today. “That must be really hard on them.” “They’ll live. They know this is the best place for Cael to be now.” “And when he remembers?” Mace’s face darkened. “I’ll be here to help him pick up the pieces.” Power was restored to the town sometime after four o’clock, just in time to get the beers cold for the evening rush—the generator had kept the boiler and the main fridge functioning, but it wasn’t attached to more than the kegs behind the bar. Cael had walked her through the basics for a couple of hours while Mace moved around, ignoring both of them, but even though she was a quick study, Paige was nervous when people started trickling in. She looked over at Mace, to find him watching her. One glance was enough to ground her. It wasn’t necessarily the friendliest look, but it smoldered, made her tingle with possibilities despite the anger he barely kept sheathed. She understood anger. And secrets. Given time, she would understand Mace too; she knew that with an inevitability that should’ve scared her, but didn’t. Not yet anyway. The bar was more crowded than the night before, if that was possible. Even so, Paige fell into a rhythm quickly—it wasn’t exactly a mixed drinks kind of crowd, mainly beer and shots and with Cael’s help, plus that of a third bartender, Keagen, things were moving along. It was nice. She didn’t really have to touch anyone—could mingle from behind the bar without the threat of reading anyone. The music played constantly, but it seemed to grow louder sometime around midnight. She realized she’d been at the bar for only twenty-four hours. It seemed like far longer. She couldn’t really get a handle on the patrons as individuals—they were crowding the bar, their faces blending. She caught snippets of conversation—men hitting on women, flirtatious laughter, the breaking of bottles—an accident rather than part of a fight—and she began to relax. She’d missed this growing up. College was never about partying for her—it was about staying in and studying and holding her breath and praying no one made the connection between her and Jeffrey. She’d wasted so much damned time because the past always caught up with her. She had a feeling that here, none of that would matter. “Come on, honey.” Keagen, a tall, lanky blond, hauled her onto the bar, where he was dancing, and before she could really protest she got an immediate reading on the smiling man in front of her. Keagen knew nothing of her gift and therefore held nothing back.

He was no saint, but he was relatively honest, and right now that was more than enough for her. She was relieved and they danced and it didn’t matter whether she was any good or not. People applauded—really drunk people—and she was laughing, really laughing for the first time in ages. Cael was at the other end of the bar, dancing much too close to a woman, and Paige knew without any psychic gift that there was a higher than likely possibility that they’d end up in bed together, if they didn’t end up doing it right on the bar. When she glanced over by the front door toward Mace, she saw he was smiling too. Gray would’ve loved this, must have. And that thought didn’t make her sad or wistful … it actually warmed her. Could she have really found a place she belonged? It seemed far too good to be true. But when she glanced up and saw Big Harvey, the smile immediately left her face and her stomach roiled in anticipation of an altercation. “He’s definitely going to recognize you,” Cael had said earlier when she’d asked. “Just play it cool. Don’t say anything to him. Let us take care of it, okay? Harvey may look like a psychotic Santa Claus, but he’s a serious biker.” She’d definitely messed with the wrong person last night, if the glare aimed in her direction was even a slight indication. He cut through the crowd easily and grabbed her calf, hard. “I remember you,” he called over the music. “I bet your balls do,” she called back as she tried to kick her leg free. Playing nice wasn’t part of her makeup. Fighting back came instinctively, and Big Harvey wasn’t feeling it. “Bitch.” Harvey grabbed her by the thighs and brought her off the bar. She ended up pressed to him even as she heard Keagen yelling behind her. He carried her farther into the dense crowd, which seemed to swallow them up. “Do you know what I do with bitches like you?” he asked, his beer breath fanning her face. She did—she saw them more than she wanted to in the ER. And even though they were in the middle of a crowded bar, with Mace and Caleb and Keagen close, a thread of fear raced through her. She didn’t want to react, but the words spilled out. “Do you know what I do to assholes with little dicks like you?” She tried to jerk away from him as he laughed at her like she’d told him the best joke in the world. He ground his erection against her and she felt claustrophobic, needed to get away from him. “You’re a real little hellcat—I’m going to like wearing you.” Harvey’s hand went to her ass and she was jammed so hard against his body she couldn’t get a knee up. Instead, she put her hand on his face, shoving the brunt of her palm against his nose, hard, the way Gray had taught her.

“Let her go. Now.” Mace’s voice carried over the crowd and the music. He took her wrist and pried her hand off Harvey’s face. Calmed by the feel of Mace’s hard body behind hers, she complied, but Harvey still kept his arms around her in a death grip, staring at Mace the entire time. “She killed my fucking balls last night,” Big Harvey said, but reluctantly released her. As soon as he did, Mace pulled her behind him. “It’s not like you didn’t deserve it. You actually got off easy. From now on, in my bar, keep your goddamned hands to yourself,” Mace said. Big Harvey was not feeling it. He looked at Paige over Mace’s shoulder, pointed, said, “We’re not done,” and Cael, next to her, actually growled. Mace went one better, took Big Harvey around the neck and escorted him out of the bar. Big Harvey easily weighed fifty pounds more than Mace, but Mace walked out with him like he was carrying nothing heavier than the trash. And still, Paige couldn’t shake the trouble she felt as she heard Harvey yelling, “You’ll pay for this, Mace. You fucked with the wrong guy.” “Don’t worry about it. Harvey’s been a troublemaker for years. You just did the women who visit this bar a public service,” Caleb told her. She looked toward the door, where Mace was coming back inside. “I think maybe I’ll get some of the bottles we need from the back room.” Caleb nodded, and she felt both his eyes and Mace’s on her as she walked through the crowd and pushed open the heavy door. The quiet of the back room was instantly soothing. It wasn’t soundproofed by any means, but it helped to muffle her overstimulated senses. “You’re okay—Big Harvey’s gone and you’re fine.” Maybe if she said it enough, she’d believe it. Maybe if she had a drink, she’d believe it. She headed to the shelves, realized that the bottle she wanted was just out of reach. Just then, the door opened, momentarily letting in the sound full blast before Mace closed it behind him. He was going to yell at her. Tell her to leave—or tell her to forget working, at the very least. Instead, he asked, “Everything all right?” “I’m okay.” But she knew she sounded irritable. “With all this alcohol to drown my sorrows, I’ll be just fine.” He didn’t say anything, but the disapproval was plain on his face.

“You run a bar—how can you be around all of this and not want to drink?” “I stopped doing that a long time ago. I’m done running from my problems. You’re not solving anything when you bury it. You’re just opening yourself up to more nightmares.” She stared at him defiantly. “What do you care? You don’t even want me here.” He didn’t answer and she turned away, now on her tiptoes and the bottle was still out of reach. The step stool was in the corner, and before she could move to grab it, he was behind her. So close, his chest pressing her back lightly. “I’ve got it.” He reached over her head and easily pulled down the bottle. Don’t get close. That had been the refrain in her mind since the murders. And nothing had changed, had it? What made her think she could get close to Mace without consequences? There were always consequences. But she was so incredibly lonely that she actually ached. And Mace looked so good—wet and sexy and she was still turned on from last night … this morning … years ago … “I need some space,” she said quickly, and he backed up. She immediately missed his closeness. “Sorry. Sometimes the chaos is just too much. Most of the time I’m fine, but …” “You don’t have to explain.” He unscrewed the top of the bottle and reached behind him for a shot glass. Poured the whiskey and handed it to her. “It gets rough out there.” She downed it, coughed out, “Everyone seems … happy.” He looked at the ceiling and gave a short laugh before glancing back at her. “The Jack Daniel’s will do that for a little while. The tipping point to ugly happens fast, though. Most people can’t tell when they’ve crossed that line.” “Can you?” “Most of the time.” She nodded, wondered if her body’s swift and sudden reaction to him whenever she was in his presence was her personal tipping point. And when he walked forward and put his hands on the metal shelf above her head, he effectively trapped her in and her body surged with anticipation. He hooked his foot on the nearby office chair and dragged it toward them. He positioned it behind her and set her down on it, put his hands on her knees and separated her legs so he could get close again.

She rested her hands on the shelf as he pulled off his own T-shirt. Slowly. And then, “Put your wrists together.” She did, with a sharp intake of breath as he wound the fabric around them and moved them to one of the shelf dividers. Tied her arms in place so she was helpless against him—a game of trust that should’ve been too soon, but somehow wasn’t. He leaned in and kissed her, a mix of rough and sweet, and dear God, a pure burst of pleasure blossomed in her womb. One of his hands came down to cup the back of her neck. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she wanted to do the same. Didn’t worry about what she would read. But she tightened her fingers together, arms pressed to the cold metal even as her body heated. His hand played over her shirt, brushing an already taut nipple, and he quickly slid his palm under the cotton, under her bra, pushing all the fabric out of the way so he could use his mouth. She wanted to hold his head, run her fingers through the thick, dark hair, but she squeezed the shelf again as he played with the stiff peak, rubbing it gently between his teeth, making her see stars. “Mace …” She couldn’t say anything else around the small moans escaping her throat. The air was heavy with lust, and she squirmed against the chair because she wanted more. It had been a long time for her—over a year for sure, and even then it was more about scratching a quick itch than anything real. This was real. Mace made her feel safe. Mace made her feel. He continued to play with her breasts, his knee separating her thighs, and then he was kneeling in front of her, first unbuttoning and then yanking her jeans down over her hips. “Mace, what if …?” They were facing away from the door and he didn’t seem worried. The music from the bar made the floor under her feet throb … and then her feet weren’t exactly on the floor any longer. “Yeah, what if?” The back room of a bar wasn’t her idea for something like this, but her hormones had stopped arguing about ten minutes earlier and the rest of her quickly followed suit. Her underwear was next to come off—before she could stop him, Mace had spread her legs and went for the kill, buried his face in her sex as she arched helplessly against the cold steel shelving, holding on for dear life, and oh, my God, the man had talent. His tongue took her relentlessly, and his fingers joined in, opening her up, filling a need that was fast becoming an aching scream.

It was hot and dirty … and it made her climax far faster than she wanted to. She was loud too—moans spewing forth, his name and who knew what else. “I’m going to make you feel so good, Paige. I’m going to make you feel.” She wanted to do the same for him. Would too, when he let her. And she was sure he would. Without releasing her arms, he kissed his way up her body, his mouth on her breasts and then her neck, his hands on her hips, and she wondered if he would take her right here, if he would keep her tied and move her to the desk or the floor. Suddenly, the light hit her eyes and the music from the bar got louder. She looked over her shoulder to find Cael framed in the door, although she couldn’t see his face, thanks to the light. Mace was covering most of her body but it had to be apparent what they were doing. She buried her face against his neck as if that would stop the exposure. Heard Cael mutter, “Shit, sorry,” and then there was a quick step and the sound of the door closing. “Dammit,” Mace muttered, and she lifted her head as he began to untie her hands. He rubbed her wrists and massaged the tingling muscles for a few moments as she asked, “Did Caleb—” “He didn’t see … you,” he finished, and then muttered something that could’ve been a laugh or a prayer or anything in between. “Really, he knows but he didn’t see.” “And that makes it better.” “He’d know anyway.” “Because you’d tell him?” “Because I’m attracted as hell to you, and I can’t hide it, Paige. None of this is good, but I can’t goddamned help myself—and I don’t like losing control,” he told her roughly. “Join the club,” she muttered. “Come on, let’s get you dressed and someplace more private,” he said, his tone slightly more gentle than before. He rustled on the floor and found her jeans and underwear, and she scooted behind the back row of shelving to put them on, just in case someone else came in. As she buttoned her shirt, she glanced down and saw a drawing in a spiral-bound notebook that had been left open on one of the lower shelves. She reached down and touched the page, because it was Gray’s face staring back at her, a perfect likeness done in a simple pencil sketch. She stared at it for a few seconds, until Mace came over and saw what she was looking at. She swore he paled slightly, but he recovered quickly.

“Did you draw this?” she asked him. “No, not me. Cael.” “He’s a good artist,” she said. “This is the first time he’s drawn since … since it happened,” Mace said. “That’s good, right?” “Honestly, Paige, I don’t know. I really don’t know.” She paused and then, “How do you know it’s the first time?” He turned to her, his eyes dark. “I don’t. I just know he usually draws when he’s trying to work out a problem—or he did, before he lost his memory.” Mace flipped through the pages of the notebook cautiously, like his fingertips were burning. Stopped when he got to a page with two faces on it … two male faces. There were several pages of the same men, and whether Mace knew them or not, he didn’t comment but he gripped the notebook so tightly she feared the paper would rip under his touch. But the drawing of the woman—so beautiful—made her ask, “Who’s that?” “Someone Cael knows.” “You know her too, right? It’s the woman you told me about earlier. The one he loved?” Mace nodded, and she continued, “So he’s beginning to remember.” “Looks that way.” “Maybe you should fill in the gaps.” “What if …” He stopped, shook his head. “Fuck, Paige, what if?” Mace watched Paige retreat up the stairs and closed the door again, locked it and grabbed the bottle of whiskey she’d taken a drink from earlier. He opened it again and took a nice long swig, and then another, and another—the first time he’d allowed himself to drink like this or have any kind of fucking pity party since he’d returned from the mission with Caleb. But now Caleb was really starting to remember the important shit and all bets were off. He grabbed the notebook and flipped through the pages, taking his time studying Caleb’s sketches. Staring at the faces of the two men who’d repeatedly ordered the torture—the two men they’d been sent to kill.

Kell, another member of his Delta team—and Reid’s best friend—had taken it upon himself to recon them … and hadn’t been heard from in three months. This was getting out of control faster than Mace was ready for. But hell, no one promised it would be on his time line. He turned the pages until he got to the one of Vivi’s face. Vivi smiling. Vivi serious, hunched over a computer … Vivi sleeping, hair spread across the pillows. The guilt welled up inside of him again as he thought of her, and of Paige. Closed his eyes and thought about her tied up and at his mercy and opened them and took another drink. Paige. What the fuck had he been thinking, taking advantage of her like that? It’s not that he hadn’t wanted her, that he didn’t want more. He knew, from the second he saw her take down Big Harvey, that he could love her. That he would. And that it would be the most dangerous thing he could ever do. He also knew that he had to push her away before they got any closer. If he told her the truth, she would run. There was no way she could handle this shit. He could barely handle it himself and he’d lived it. She’d have her truth, she would leave and he’d be alone again. Wouldn’t have to worry about keeping his own secrets from her fucking magic hands. He kept the bottle pressed tightly to his side, unlocked the door and checked in with Caleb. Cael, who had a shit-eating grin on his face and called, “I’ll close up if you’re still busy.” Asshole. Mace climbed the staircase, and the farther he got from the pounding music, the faster his own thoughts came rushing back to him. He fought an urge to search his friend’s room to see if he’d drawn anything else but resisted, turning the knob to his own room instead. He’d taken over the master suite after his grandparents died—it had a bedroom, a small side room and its own big bathroom. Lots of space for a guy used to living out of a bag. The door to the master bathroom was closed and he heard water running. Under different circumstances, he’d be in there with her, but not tonight. And so he went into the guest bath and washed up and met her as she came out of his bathroom, wearing his T-shirt and a pair of his sweats, and dammit, he liked her in his clothing. The first thing she did was look at his face and the bottle of whiskey he still clutched. He took a defiant swig and then another before he sat on the edge of his bed, wishing he could pass out before they had this conversation.

“You’re not okay, Mace, so don’t try to pretend with me,” she said simply. Not unkindly, and it was all he could do not to tie her to his bed and not keep there until neither of them could see or walk. But that would be easy … and for him, easy was never the best option. Easy made him suspicious, and he was too hardheaded to change now. “Can’t tell you, Paige. I can’t, and I want to … need to. Fuck.” His voice rougher than it had been before. “I’m good at keeping secrets, Mace,” she whispered. Yeah, usually so was he. But he wanted to unburden himself so badly. How was that fair to her, though? She already had so many burdens of her own to bear. And still, she wanted to know everything. “Those pictures … the two men Caleb drew over and over …” “You know them too.” “Yeah, I know them.” He laughed softly, even though there was nothing funny about it, closed his eyes for a second and wondered if he could simply drift off to sleep and put this conversation off completely. When he opened his eyes and saw her still waiting patiently next to him, he realized there was no escaping this time. Maybe it was better this way. Hell, it couldn’t be any worse. “The guys in Cael’s pictures are two terrorists who captured me, Gray, Cael and Reid.” The remaining higher echelon members of DMH, the ones his team had gone there to hunt. Instead, they’d been turned into prey as easily and efficiently as amateurs. It made Mace sick to think about it. “They’d kept a really low profile. We had no pictures, no idea who they really were. So we walked into a trap. By the time we realized that we didn’t really have food poisoning from the hotel dinner, it was too late.” He saw the two faces in front of him in his nightmares, and when he let his mind wander during the day—both far too often. Caleb obviously had the same problem. His friend just hadn’t put two and two together yet. “We’d gotten some intel that they had some kind of underground compound, but we knew we couldn’t just storm it, or even recon it.” It had been far more rudimentary than they’d expected, given DMH’s resources. They quickly learned how effective the stark, primitive space could be—dark, dank, alternately sweltering and freezing, depending on the time of day and the weather. Sometimes, it was the only way Mace was able to keep track of the passage of time. Part of the earth and never coming out …

He would get out of this if it was the last thing he did. And it damned well might be. He stood, his shoulders and head hunched since the ceiling was shorter than his six-foot-four frame, looked through the bars and saw darkness. He pressed hard with his upper body, and the grating groaned and gave slightly. And then he was hauled up by rough hands, his body protesting from the many beatings he’d endured over the past three days. At that point, it had only been three days—seventy-two hours. He’d counted, refused to lose track of time. He shook his head to rid himself of the memory and instead told her, “It was all a mind fuck. A damned good one.” But it hadn’t ended there. “We were tortured.” His words were quick, clipped—the torture hadn’t been. Day after day turned into weeks as Mace desperately tried to keep track of the time—the hours—and his men. He’d been in charge of the op, had been separated from the rest of them—somehow, their captors had known he was the man in charge, even though he’d never told them. And Gray and Caleb never would have, that Mace knew for sure. Except the drugs they’d given Caleb … No. He shook his head again so that he could banish the thought. Caleb had been drugged simply by luck of the genetic draw. Reid had been down for the count and the three of them that were left—himself, Gray and Cael—were equally capable, but Caleb was broader, definitely the biggest of the men, and DMH had figured they needed brawn. Mace still shivered when he thought about what they’d wanted Caleb to do, what he may have done to one of his best friends in the entire world. How in the hell would he ever survive knowing that? Mace could barely hold it together on the mornings that followed the particularly rough nights filled with nightmarish renditions and endless replays of the twenty-four days, four hours and seven minutes before he woke up with his throat slit. “Was it over quickly for Gray?” she asked, and fuck, he wanted to tell her yes, that Gray had bled out quickly. Truth was, Mace hadn’t been anywhere near him. “Yes, it was quick.” She didn’t believe him, he knew that, but she didn’t press. “You were hurt.”

“I healed fine.” His shoulder still ached most days, his vocal cords sustained some damage, giving his voice a low rasp at times. The bruises had long faded but the scars that ran along his back and the backs of his thighs from the strap they’d used hadn’t faded as well. Why don’t I have those marks? Caleb would demand. Because they broke you … But You were lucky, was what Mace would tell him. “How much does Caleb know, then?” Paige pressed on. “He knows we went in. But we were separated from one another—at least I know I wasn’t with the rest. Reid says he was unconscious shortly after they put him in a cell and he woke up in the same position on the floor, right before Caleb ran out with me. I can only tell Caleb what happened to me.” “But you haven’t told him everything.” He stared at her. “I couldn’t.” “You can tell me.” He looked like he wanted to break her gaze, but he didn’t. “I woke up gasping for air.” He was sucking wind. The hand he pressed to his throat came back covered in blood and it was then that he saw Caleb coming into the room, holding a bloody knife. As Mace watched helplessly, Caleb moved forward and only when he reached Mace did he seem to remember the knife he held. He stared at it for a second before he threw it on the ground. “It’s okay, I’m getting you out of here,” Cael told him, then pressed a cloth to Mace’s throat and picked him up. Everything was hazy. He shifted his eyes, refusing to let panic take over when Caleb carried him out … and that’s when he saw Gray’s body, prone on the ground where Caleb must’ve left him. Gray had sustained the same injury as Mace, but hadn’t been nearly as lucky. Lucky. He laughed as he finished talking, a sharp, bitter sound after he told her what he remembered about those moments, as bitter as the whiskey that now burned in his gut. Paige looked worried. Scared. And fuck yeah, she should be both of those things, and more. He heard the explosions next—grenades. AK fire. Shouts. And then Reid burst in, with other men behind him. “Mace, we’re rescued. It’s all right.”

Was it? Mace wouldn’t know for sure for a damned long time. “It was twenty-four hours before Caleb spoke a single word. Even then none of it made much sense. He was freaked. The only way they could calm him down was to put him in the hospital room with me. Guarding me seemed to ground him, but he didn’t remember anything. He just knew he wasn’t supposed to leave any of us behind.” “And he didn’t.” “No.” Despite the massive amount of drugs that lingered in his system, confirmed by various blood tests. “What DMH told me they were doing to him … well, let’s just say they weren’t lying.” “Why did they target you?” “They were looking for Kell. He killed one of DMH’s major players last year. But he wasn’t on the mission.” And since then, Kell had been MIA. Though if Mace had to guess, Noah knew exactly where the man was. No doubt making sure that the men who did this to his team were ripped apart, limb from limb. Mace wished him all the fucking luck in the world with that task. Wished he could’ve joined him, but realized that his job at the present was of equal, if not greater, importance. Paige blinked, hard, fast, as if to keep tears at bay. Crying would do neither of them any good, but he wouldn’t blame her if she broke down. “We were there for three weeks. The DMH men kept telling me that Caleb was doing well with his indoctrination. Fuck, we still don’t know what they fed him, don’t know the long-term effects beyond the memory loss. Or if the memory loss is from the drugs or the trauma or a combination of them.” He ran a hand through his hair in obvious, heartbreaking frustration. “What does he remember?” “He remembers carrying me to safety. There’s no way he would’ve done that if they’d somehow brainwashed him.” Mace sounded more like he was trying to convince them both. “Cael told me later that when he carried me out, he saw Gray and that Gray was already cold. And he kept asking me, What happened, Mace? What the hell happened in there? Was I next?” Mace scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I know he knows on some level what really happened. I know he didn’t hurt any of us, wouldn’t care if he never remembered the hell he went through. Except he’ll never rest until he does.” She wasn’t going to rest easy either—he could see it in her eyes, the shift of her body as she said, “I want to know, with Caleb, what he did …” He knew exactly what she couldn’t fully articulate. “You want to know for sure whether or not he tried to kill us. Whether he killed Gray. But if you knew Caleb the way I know him, you’d never

question it,” he told her fiercely. “Caleb saved me. It was too late for him to save Gray, too late for any of us to. Reid is so freaked that he didn’t help anyone, he’s gone—disappeared.” He couldn’t talk about this anymore. “So now you know what happened to your brother. You know as much as I know, and I’ve risked my career telling you.” “I won’t tell anyone that you told me.” “Was it worth it? Does it help you to know? Because it doesn’t help me at all.” She hung her head for a few long moments and he lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, remembering the bars and the dark sky above, the rank smell of the earth. In so many ways, he’d never really left that hole. Not yet. It was a slow climb, and he was still reaching for the surface. When he finally looked at Paige, she was staring at him, and he couldn’t tell if she believed him—or if she was just in shock. He was probably in shock himself, and he’d lived through it. She swallowed hard. Blinked back tears. And then surprised the hell out of him by saying, “I’m sorry, Mace. So sorry for what you’ve been through.” “Me? I don’t want your sympathy. I’m here. I’m alive,” he said. “But you’re not okay.” “No, I’m not, and neither are you. Right now, I don’t really give a shit,” he said roughly. “Does that scare you?” “I don’t want to think about any of this right now.” “This is why you came here, Paige,” he told her. “You don’t get to pull that head-in-the-sand shit. You wanted the truth, now you have to handle it like a big girl.” “I’m not a girl.” She moved to stand but he stopped her easily. “No, you’re not.” His hands held her arms to her sides. Slid down to grasp her wrists. “You’re all woman, and I want to tie you up again. Want you naked and spread out for me, just like I promised you downstairs. How does that sound to you?” Mace’s words made her shiver, made her blood boil and her sex grow wet, and she wondered if she would always have that reaction to him. It was all too much to process. Gray’s death, Caleb’s amnesia … Mace’s near-death experience, his torture. The scars on his back that she’d seen but not touched. Before she could open her mouth again, he was letting go of her. “I want you, but I won’t do this. You have your information. It’s what you came for.”

It was. But watching Mace amble out of the room holding the bottle by the neck, she realized there was so much more she wanted to know. Mace stalked to the couch and slammed the bottle of whiskey onto the side table, then reconsidered and threw it into the fireplace, watching it smash among the burnt logs. That would make for a nice fire later. For now, he laid out on the couch where Paige had slept last night and listened to the wind try to rip the house from its roots. This storm, like so many others before it, would pass. It would claim power lines and landscaping, but hopefully not lives. Maybe it would get named like a few others, for the simple reason that it went beyond the scope of the meteorologists’ guesses or got the weary upstate New Yorkers talking about bad weather. In the beginning, when he first moved here, each storm like this one had scared the shit out of him. He’d dreaded the freezing cold, the hail that slammed as if trying to break in and just about every nook, cranny and creak in the place. He had dreaded his grandparents more. Over the years, the storms would pass and he’d barely noticed. But now this one threatened to take his defenses, which he couldn’t afford to lose. And maybe he already had. “Sorry, Gray. I didn’t mean to.” Ah, that was bullshit, complete and total, and Gray would’ve called him on it too. But he wasn’t here and the wind screamed as if looking for some kind of mercy. Mace wondered if he’d ever find any for himself.

CHAPTER

6

Cael ran along the snow-encrusted paths through the backwoods behind the bar in the early morning light. He did this daily, a ritual he knew must’ve begun long before he’d come to live with Mace. It felt as right as breathing as he skimmed the icy surface with heavy boots, his air in white puffs as he tried to remain as silent as possible. Sometimes, when the bar closed early, he’d run through the woods at night instead, testing to see if his reflexes were where they needed to be. He was remembering some of his early days as a Ranger—the bone-crushing training, the mental and physical exhaustion, the thrill of making it when you didn’t think you could. It was all a good reminder, a way of making him feel closer to his past. But instead of running last night … last night the woman he’d been dancing with wanted him to come home with her. He’d driven her home, hadn’t even been sure of his own intentions until they were at her front door, kissing. And, as it had the last few times he’d tried this, it hadn’t felt right. He didn’t know why, but he’d gone home and he’d slept. Or tried to, but instead he ended up in the storeroom, drawing pictures again. The two men and the woman. When he came to, he was slumped over, with his head on a shelf. He dragged himself back to bed for a while and woke at dawn. Noted that Mace was sleeping on the couch, while Paige was in Mace’s bed, alone. And that was odd, considering the position he’d literally caught the two of them in last night. He shifted his weight now to avoid crashing through the thick trees, maneuvering around instead to an open patch that began the path back toward the bar. But something stopped him in his tracks. A body, lying across the path about forty feet ahead of him … he took in the jeans and a black leather jacket. The body was so still that Caleb knew the person was dead and had been for a while. He knew he’d seen enough dead in his life to know. He moved quickly anyway, until he stood over the man lying prone in the snow. Big Harvey had nearly been decapitated. His chest was sliced open and his eyes stared up at Cael in a way he knew he’d seen before, but couldn’t place. He checked around the immediate area until he saw the blood in the snow. Cautiously, he moved closer, saw a knife. Recognized it.

He wasn’t alone anymore … someone was sneaking up on him. He could hear the footsteps like they were crashing cymbals in his brain—lately, everything was too loud, smells were too strong. It was all distorted, and even though he knew that, he couldn’t stop it. He would kill them all. When a hand grabbed at his arm, he moved fast, took hold of the wrist with the intention of breaking it—until he found himself slammed to the ground, hard. He fought for breath and struggled to rise, but a foot on his chest stopped him. He looked up and saw Mace standing over him. Mace. Dressed for his own morning run through the woods—often, the men would run together. “What the hell, Cael? I’ve been calling your name for five minutes.” Caleb licked his lips, his throat dry as he realized the last part of his flashback hadn’t been a flashback at all. “The knife …” “I saw it. I told you not to touch it, but you kept moving closer and closer.” Mace stuck out a hand and helped Caleb up from the snow. “Sorry about that—I didn’t mean to freak you out.” Cael wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, but long enough for him to cool down considerably, for his muscles to ache from not being stretched properly. “I’ve seen that knife before.” Mace didn’t say anything. Shoved his gloved hands under his arms and waited. “It’s got a broken handle. It was in the trunk of Paige’s car the night before last when I grabbed her bags and brought them inside,” he said. “Shit,” Mace muttered. “Let’s go call Ed.” “Yeah.” He glanced back at the knife. “I’ve seen a knife like that before this too, Mace. There was a knife when I found you,” he said slowly, his voice pained. He looked down at his hand and then at the knife. “I was holding the knife. There was blood on it.” Mace nodded, his face equally pained. But Cael couldn’t stop now, the words coming as fast as the images. “They told me to kill you guys. They showed me your pictures. Brought me to your cells. Made me work out. Train, over and over. Tried convincing me that you and Reid and Gray were the enemy.” “You never believed them.” “How the hell do you know that?” he demanded harshly, got right in his friend’s face.

Mace blanched, but didn’t move. “Because I know.” Caleb took a step back. “None of it makes sense, but I was so foggy all the time. I wasn’t myself.” “It was the drugs,” Mace reminded him. “Right.” Cael’s hands fisted tightly as his voice choked on that single word. “I don’t … I don’t remember why I had the knife. Where I’d come from. But I had a knife. That’s all I remember. And I know your throat was cut. So was Gray’s.” He paused. “What about the knife, the blood?” “Mine and Gray’s, plus another type that they couldn’t match,” Mace admitted. “And they never found a trace of the two DMH guys; they haven’t been heard from since.” “That means nothing,” Caleb said. “I just want to remember more about the knife.” “Did you see someone using it on me?” Mace prodded. Cael thought hard, blinked hard, then leveled his gaze on Mace. The ground shifted beneath his feet as he clawed for the memories that were hidden by a shroud of fog. Everything he needed to know—things he had to know, for his own sanity—were out of his reach still. And the realization of what Mace had been holding back hit him like a bullet to the heart. “Do you think … fuck, Mace … do you think … did I …?” Cael couldn’t say it. Mace hadn’t been able to give voice to it either—he refused to speak about an option he would never believe without solid proof. Even then he would question it. That was his nature. “You didn’t, Cael. There’s no way they broke you.” “But you don’t know for sure. You weren’t conscious when it happened.” “No.” “So you don’t know anything for sure.” “I know who you are. You saved my life. And Reid’s.” Cael had a wild look in his eyes, like he’d been thrown completely off balance. He gripped Mace’s sweatshirt and shook him. “Is there anything else you’re not telling me?” “As of now, you know everything I do.” “You should’ve told me.” “What, Cael? That I woke up with my throat slit? That you came into the room carrying a knife? I assumed you killed the men who tried to kill me.”

If there were bodies, Cael had hidden them well and Mace could only hope he would remember that eventually. That would go a long way toward his healing, toward clearing himself of any wrongdoing if he was the one to take down their captors singlehandedly. Mace wouldn’t put it past him. But Cael was still freaked. “How the hell … you brought me here not knowing if I tried to kill you? Or if I’m responsible for Gray’s murder?” “I brought you here to recover. To get your memory back. I’ve never thought you’d hurt any of us.” “Correction, you didn’t want to think that I could.” “Don’t put words in my mouth,” Mace shot back and Caleb finally released him. “Does Paige know?” “She knows.” “Jesus.” Cael rubbed his hands together. “You should’ve told me.” “The doctor told me not to plant memories. He said you’d have a hard time differentiating between the true memories and the stories. When you remember things, I’m allowed to confirm that those memories are real.” “I can’t see beyond the knife. How do you know I didn’t try to kill you, and realized what I was doing halfway through?” “Cael—” “You said yourself that I’ve been different since the mission. Wilder. Not like myself.” Mace nodded. “You were pretty much on the straight and narrow. Now you’re sort of like … like your brother Zane. He used to never leave a party early.” “Olivia really changed him,” Cael agreed. “At least that’s what he told me.” “They saved each other. They found each other. I guess after you find the right woman, you want your parties to be more … private.” Cael gave him a pointed look. “Did you and Paige have your own party?” “No.” “Because of the hand thing.” “I guess. Gray knew a lot of my secrets. I don’t want anyone else to, not without my consent.”

“Gray. Jesus.” Cael shook his head and stared at his hands. “Cael, you didn’t do it,” Mace told him. “There’s no way.” “Right. There’s no way you know that for sure.” “I know. So do you.” “What if, Mace. If those drugs fucked me up enough. Maybe it’s not that I can’t remember. Maybe it’s that I don’t want to.” Mace stared up at the storm-threatened sky for a long moment and then looked at his friend again. “I should go,” Cael said. “Since Paige knows she won’t be comfortable with me here. Not after this. This”—he pointed to Harvey’s body—“is enough to spook anyone.” “She doesn’t believe you’d harm Gray any more than I do,” Mace said fiercely. “You’re not going anywhere. You need to be around people you trust when you do remember. What they did to me wasn’t pretty, but what they did to you …” Unspeakable. And yet, he was still standing. “I need to … I need to run for longer,” Cael told him. “That’s not a good idea. I’m sure Ed will want to talk to us,” Mace said quietly as he dialed the number and waited for Ed to pick up. “Come on—come back into the bar and we’ll deal with everything, the way we’ve been dealing.” “The way we’ve been dealing isn’t going to work anymore,” Cael said as Ed’s voice said, “Hello, police,” over the line. Caleb was right, of course. But there was a killer in this town, in these woods, and Mace needed to catch that person, for all their sakes. Paige hadn’t gotten much sleep at all—tossed and turned with the horrors of what Mace had shared on her mind. She’d asked for it, couldn’t blame Mace for telling her what she’d wanted to know. And she replayed his story over and over, the way Mace had obviously been doing for the past months. Thought about the way Gray died. The way Mace almost did. The way Caleb couldn’t remember anything about it. She felt so incredibly helpless, had sensed the same emotion from Mace. Something terrible had happened to all of them in that prison camp, something far worse than the story she’d imagined.

“Gray, I’m so sorry you suffered,” she said quietly. Thought about how much this information could hurt Caleb. He was the one who could truly fill in the gaps about what happened. More than once, she thought about ignoring Mace’s instructions—and her better judgment—and telling Caleb she would use her ability to help him. Although that was more out of a selfish need to know. Would she be comfortable staying here with Caleb now? Mace didn’t think he could’ve harmed any of them; she wished she could be as sure. So many times during the night, she’d wanted to pad out of the room and find Mace, bring him back into bed, exorcize their demons together. But they’d gone too far, too fast, at a time neither of them were ready. Whether he would continue to push her away—and eventually out of his house—remained to be seen. For now, no one was leaving. She rustled around in her suitcase and pulled out a T-shirt and leggings, along with fresh underwear and a new bra, and headed to the shower. Let the hot water wash over her, banishing all traces of Mace from her skin. A fresh start. After her shower, she grabbed one of Mace’s flannel shirts for warmth and headed downstairs. She was at the coffeepot behind the bar when Caleb pushed through the door, his face frozen with tension. Mace was right behind him and it was obvious that something had happened and she swallowed hard as Caleb continued walking toward her. “I need your help, Paige.” His words were a determined growl and she knew exactly what he wanted. She shook her head. Tried to back away, but before she could stop him, he had her by the wrists, was pushing her back against the wall hard, pressing her with his body even as she heard Mace’s shouts in the background, felt Mace trying to pull Caleb away from her. On instinct, she pressed her hands hard against his chest because he was smothering her, and in those seconds she realized what a mistake she’d made. Flashes came—brutal enough that she became instantly sick to her stomach. She struggled, attempted to stop the images, but Caleb had far too much weight and experience on her. Not to mention a will that cut her to the bone. “Caleb, please …” Danger. Fear. Murder. All those things she’d felt a quick flash of when she’d first touched Mace the other night … but beyond that, nothing was clear. And still, she felt as though she’d been as broken as he’d been.

“Tell me what you know, Paige,” Caleb said as Mace succeeded in pulling him away. “Tell me.” “I don’t know anything,” she said, her voice sounding strangled. “I couldn’t see … not what you wanted me to see.” “You were drugged out of your fucking mind,” Mace told his friend as he held Cael by the shoulders. “Don’t do this to yourself.” “Why the hell did you bring me back here? How the hell can I look at you now, see that.” He pointed to the long scar across Mace’s throat. “How can I see that every day and know I might’ve done that to you?” He pushed Mace off of him and went out the back door. Mace stood there, then sagged against the bar as if the responsibility of what he’d just done might take him right down to the ground. She wanted to go to him, to comfort him, but she was shaking. Shivering, even with Mace next to her, telling her to breathe. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped, but the panic attack was coming on swiftly. She’d thought she was fine. In control. But her hands still vibrated with Caleb’s danger and confusion. “He shouldn’t have done that to you,” Mace told her. “I don’t know if I can stay here with him, not like this,” she whispered, her voice ragged. “What the hell did you see when you touched him? I saw it in your face—there was something.” “Of course there was. Fear. Confusion. Death. And murder. But how am I supposed to pick it all apart? How am I supposed to tell the difference between the men he’s been ordered to kill in the line of duty and the men he hasn’t?” she demanded, and he recoiled as if she’d slapped him. “I can’t ask Cael to leave. Won’t,” he told her, his voice tight. “I wouldn’t ask that,” she said. But she’d grown up living in a house with evil all around her. Avoided it as much as she could, but after a while, the cloying nature was just too oppressive to escape. She’d felt as though she was being strangled. She couldn’t go through that again. “Cael isn’t Jeffrey,” Mace told her. “No, he’s nothing like him,” she agreed. “But he was given a lot of drugs, from what you say. Some people never come back from that.” “He did. He is,” Mace said with the easy conviction of someone who truly believed.

Caleb’s energy was nothing like Jeffrey’s. There was no evil there, just confusion and fear—although there was death. Things a man in his position as a Special Forces soldier might experience. And it still terrified her. “I know Caleb’s not evil. But what if—” “Don’t go there.” She didn’t want to. She would try to believe what Mace did. Another time and place, she would’ve crumbled harder than she had from those images, it could’ve taken her down for days. But for Gray’s sake, for Mace and for Caleb, she’d keep herself together. Still, she felt useless. If she didn’t start using her gift to heal, it would just continue to be a burden to her. There’s a reason for everything, Paige, Gray used to tell her. Sometimes the reasons suck, but they get us where we need to be. Why she’d needed to be in the cafeteria, in the ER when Wayne came in, why she needed to drive up here and let Caleb try to find his memories through her … Maybe all would be revealed. “I keep feeling this sense of evil but I don’t think it has anything to do with Caleb.” She pressed her palms together. “It’s following me. For a while, when Gray was alive, it stopped. But now it’s back. And I feel like I’m losing my mind.” “Nothing’s going to hurt you while you’re with me, Paige,” Mace promised. “Whatever it is, I don’t know if even you’re strong enough to stop it.” “That’s because you don’t know me very well.” Even as Mace spoke, sirens whined up the hill, the flashing lights casting shadows as they passed the bar’s windows and headed toward the back of the parking lot. Paige scrambled to the window quickly and Mace followed. His head throbbing in time with the noise, he watched Ed park the police car at the edge of the woods, which was county property. He and the doc got out of the car and headed right into the woods, despite the foot of heavy snow. In this town, Doc doubled as coroner when the need arose. “What’s wrong?” Paige asked quietly. She was wearing one of his flannel shirts, her hair was loose—she was barefoot. She looked like a fucking angel and he was well beyond salvation already.

She brought all this on by coming here. And as much as he tried to hate her, he couldn’t. “Big Harvey’s dead.” “What? When?” “Sometime last night—Caleb found his body in the woods behind the bar. He was stabbed. That’s why Caleb came in completely freaked out. The knife triggered his memory. Not enough, though.” “It felt like enough to me. And that man … murdered.” She moved away from the window and into the bar area and sat down at the closest table, visibly shaken. “Paige, the guy was a member of the Outlaw Angels—he lived a rough life. This was probably just gang justice.” Even he didn’t believe his words, though he wasn’t sure why. “While we were … Harvey was being killed. Right near us.” “Just a shitty coincidence,” he told her. “I’m guessing he had a lot of enemies,” she said finally, staring down at her hands. “I’d have expected someone to do this when he was more active in the OA.” Still, it might be a message to the local chapter. Keagen could for sure find that out. It didn’t change the fact that the murder was way too close for Mace’s comfort—and Paige’s too. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” she said. “What do you want, Paige? You don’t like the truth when you hear it.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “That’s not fair.” “None of this is fair, all right? Let’s just try to keep it together until after Ed leaves.” Caleb came through the back door then, before she could answer. “What’s up?” Mace asked his friend, who still looked unnerved. “Ed’s got some questions, sent me in here to tell you guys to sit tight.” Cael didn’t say anything else, just headed toward the kitchen as Ed walked in. “Hey, Mace,” Ed said, and Mace nodded. And then Ed directed his gaze toward Paige. “Ma’am, I didn’t catch your name the other night.” “It’s Paige Grayson,” she said, her voice steady, her eyes meeting Ed’s. “Miss Grayson, I need to ask you about the knife found at the scene,” he said.

Caleb came out from the kitchen with a mug of coffee just then, and Mace told Paige, “The knife found by Big Harvey was one Cael saw in your car the other night.” Her mouth dropped open. “The KA-BAR with the broken handle?” “That’s the one, ma’am,” Ed said. “When was the last time you saw it?” “Two nights ago when I was packing my trunk.” “Was it there when you unpacked it?” “I did that,” Cael broke in. “Night before last. The knife was in the trunk. I locked it up and that’s the last any of us have touched the car.” “The lock to the trunk’s been popped,” Ed confirmed. “Any particular reason you keep a knife in your car?” She tucked some hair behind her ear and Mace wondered if she’d talk about Jeffrey. “It was my brother’s—Gray’s. He gave it to me when I started working the night shift at the ER in Manhattan. I’d kept it in my car for so long I’d pretty much forgotten about it until I was packing up the other night.” “You’re Gray’s sister?” Ed said, and Mace saw a moment of softness in the man’s eyes. But only a moment, and then he said, “I’m sorry about your brother.” “Thank you.” “I’m going to have to run the knife for prints,” Ed told her. “My fingerprints are on file—I’m an RN,” she said, and he nodded. “I’d expect to see your prints on the knife, then?” “I can’t tell you the last time I touched it, but I’m guessing they’d be there,” she said. “Can you tell me where you were last night?” Ed continued, and Mace felt his muscles tense. “What’s going on, Ed?” Mace stepped in front of Paige so the man was forced to look at him, not her. Caleb hadn’t moved from where he stood, just processing it all. Waiting. “I heard Paige had a confrontation with Harvey—that’s what started the fight the other night, when we were called here. And again, last night—all three of you.” Mace wanted to strangle Ed rather than talk, but he forced patience into his voice, pretended his CO was right behind him, making sure his ass toed the line. “Harvey threatened Paige two nights ago when she first came to town. Touched her inappropriately. She defended herself. When he saw her last night, he started something again. She told him to back off and I stepped in and escorted him out of my

bar, explained that he wasn’t welcome back here until he treated women respectfully in my establishment. End of story.” “What time was that?” “Around midnight. And that’s the last any of us saw him.” Ed rubbed his temple with the side of his hand thoughtfully before he said, “Doc says Harvey’s been dead for at least six hours—the time line fits.” Mace ground his teeth to keep his mouth shut. The less said the better—so far this was purely circumstantial. And then Ed reached into his pocket and drew out two plastic evidence bags, which he laid on the table in front of Paige. One contained a small medal like you’d wear on a necklace. The other contained a pair of light pink, lacey underwear. “So what? Harvey found religion and pussy at the same time?” Caleb asked. But Mace was watching Paige as carefully as Ed. Her face was slightly paler than it had been, and she reached forward to touch the medal through the plastic. “St. Christopher,” she whispered. “Is that yours?” Ed asked, and she shook her head no. But then she pointed to the other bag. “Those are mine, I think.” “You think?” She gave an annoyed glance at Ed, the color coming back to her cheeks in force. “I can check my bag.” “Why don’t you do that?” There was dead silence as Paige went upstairs. Mace fought the urge to join her, knowing Ed would read into that and think Mace was coaching her. Caleb caught Mace’s eye as Ed asked, “Any idea how Harvey would’ve obtained them?” “Maybe he went upstairs when we were busy,” Caleb offered, not doing a great job of holding back his annoyance. The agitation from earlier was still coming off him in waves and Mace knew there was just no way for him to tamp it down. It was still too raw. “Door’s usually locked, right?” Ed asked.

“I’m sure Harvey had his ways,” Mace muttered, because that was a bigger concern than Caleb’s instability. Harvey—or whoever killed him—had been upstairs in his goddamned house, right under his nose. “I’ll make sure to dust for prints upstairs, then,” Ed told him. Moments later, they heard Paige’s footsteps on the creaky stairs and she was back with them. Cheeks still flushed red as she confirmed that they were missing from her suitcase. “Since when?” Ed asked. “I don’t know. I just got here … I’ve been living out of my suitcase and it’s messy. I wouldn’t really have noticed if someone had taken my underwear.” “That’s the only way Harvey would’ve gotten them, from your suitcase?” Ed asked, and she narrowed her eyes. “You bet your ass that’s the only way. I wanted nothing to do with that man.” “Maybe he wanted something to do with you, maybe he didn’t want to take no for an answer and you told Mace and Caleb that Harvey hurt you. It’s understandable—” “That didn’t happen,” Paige said firmly, her voice snapping in the already tension-filled air. Ed wouldn’t turn his attention away from Paige. “Ma’am, can you tell me where you were last night after Harvey was escorted from the bar?” “She was with me,” Mace interjected. “All night? You didn’t lose track of her?” “After I escorted Harvey out for grabbing her, I followed Paige to the back room. Later we went upstairs and she spent the night in my bed.” Paige’s cheeks flushed slightly with that confession, which was actually perfect. Ed pressed his lips together for a second while he chewed on that, then said, “And she couldn’t have snuck out?” “No.” “Not even when you slept?” “I don’t sleep, Ed.” “What about Caleb?” “What about him?” “Were you with him all night too?”

“No, sir,” Mace ground out. “But he walked in on me and Paige in the back room sometime after midnight. He closed the bar for me.” “So neither of you saw Caleb after that time,” Ed said quietly. Mace swore he heard Cael growl but then his friend said, “I drove Lucy home. Walked her to her door and came back to the bar. That was around two A.M.” “Lots of trouble when you boys come here,” Ed muttered. “None of you should plan on leaving town.” He started for the door and Mace caught up with him. “Ed, there’s no way Paige is responsible for this. She couldn’t handle Harvey.” “If he was drunk enough, anyone could.” “You don’t believe it’s gang business? Big Harvey pissed off a lot of people. Or maybe it’s just as simple as him touching the wrong woman.” “I don’t know what to believe, Mace. But you three have had problems with him—he touches your girl and he ends up dead.” “She’s not my … Ed, you’ve been trying to lay everything that’s gone wrong in this town on me for as long as I can remember. And I keep telling you, my hands are clean,” Mace said evenly. “Technically, the woods behind my bar are county property. I’m running a business. I don’t need a gang war, and your accusations and suspicions are going to bring the OA down on my head pretty quickly.” “I’ll do my best, Mace,” Ed said before he walked out the door. Mace closed and locked it behind him, turned back in time to see Caleb addressing Paige. “I’m sorry, Paige. I’m just …” “I know, Caleb. I wish I could help more.” He nodded, backed off as if he sensed he wasn’t doing anything but making her more nervous and then said to Mace, “I’ll call Keagen and see if he’s heard anything else.” It made sense. Keagen was their bartender only part time during the winter months. When the weather got warm, he took off on his Harley and they didn’t see him again until just before the weather got cold. He’d never been part of Harvey’s gang—hell, Harvey wasn’t even part of his gang anymore, having gone rogue years earlier because he couldn’t seem to get along with anyone. The man lived a pretty solitary existence. Mace remembered that years ago Harvey fucked with his gang’s gun running, and someone’s old lady. Mace didn’t know what punishment the man endured in order to stay an OA, but it couldn’t have been easy.

“I can do that, Caleb.” “I need to do something, Mace. If I don’t, I’ll just keep thinking and I don’t want to goddamned think anymore. Not now. You just take care of Paige—later, we’ll figure out how the hell Harvey got upstairs without either of us noticing.” Mace nodded mutely and Caleb headed upstairs. When Mace heard the water running through the old pipes, was sure Caleb was out of earshot and in the shower, he made a fist and punched the bar, hard … hard enough so that the stitches Cael had given him the other night pulled, and he didn’t give a fuck. He yelled a few choice curses too, and none too quietly. And then he just stared at the bar for a long time, his life growing up here flashing before his eyes. He’d come full circle and it sure as fuck hadn’t been enjoyable. And then he addressed Paige, who’d been watching his little show. “You freaked when you saw the St. Christopher medal, but it wasn’t yours. What’s the deal?” Paige flicked her eyes to his face briefly and said, “Jeffrey collects St. Christopher medals. My mom gave him one and then Jeffrey got angry when they revoked Christopher’s status as a saint. They gypped the guy, he used to say.” That hung heavily in the air between them, and no, none of this was a coincidence. And it was then Mace noticed the blood seeping through the gauze bandage on his hand, went to tear it off but stopped at her words. “Let me fix that—I’ll wear gloves.” He nodded, too worn out to argue. “Kit’s in my office. Check the shelf behind the desk.” She disappeared into the back and he scanned the empty bar, looking for a ghost. A shadow. Anything. “Gray, what the hell should I do?” “Does he ever answer you?” Paige asked from the doorway of his office. When he didn’t say anything, she admitted, “I talk to him too.” With that, she walked over and sat, draping a clean towel on the table between them. He put his hand down, palm up, and after she pulled the gloves on she went to work unwrapping the bandage and inspecting where he’d blown a few stitches. “Not bad,” she murmured, applied some disinfectant to clean the new and dried blood and then stitched way more efficiently than he ever could. “I understand why Caleb freaks you out. I do. But I meant what I said before—I can’t tell him to go. I don’t expect you to understand. No one will, I’m sure, but we’re more than just a team. For us, it’s like the only family we’ve ever really had. And we don’t want to be split up so …”

“All for one,” she said quietly. “That sounds nice.” It would be better if he could find Reid, drag him back with a net. Kell was MIA, which wasn’t all that unusual for him, post-mission. But since he’d been on a single-man mission when they were all captured, who the hell knew what he was thinking. Kell had always been dark—darker even than Mace, which scared all of them. There was something inside of Kell that had yet to be exorcized. It burned so deep that Mace swore the man was possessed. God, he was sick of talking about it, thinking about feelings. Paige placed a fresh bandage on his palm, covered it with enough tape to keep it dry. “There. This should hold, but try not to make a fist, okay?” “Yeah, I’ll try.” He paused, and then, “Are you okay?” “No,” she said honestly. “There’s a dead man killed with my knife, my underwear in his pocket. But something good’s come out of all of this—now Caleb knows what might’ve happened. He can finally move forward and focus on remembering specifics.” “He didn’t do anything wrong.” Mace rubbed his face with his hands. “But seeing that knife was a huge trigger.” She cocked her head and looked at him and then said in a low voice, “You’re worried that Caleb might’ve … with Harvey?” “No,” he said, fast and too loud. “I don’t know what the hell to think. You touched Harvey too. Did you feel anything?” She shook her head. “I barely touched him. I used my knee and my palm grazed his arm but he was wearing leather.” “Harvey had a lot of enemies in this town. In a lot of towns,” Mace said. “His feeling you up isn’t reason enough for you to go after him. And you have a strong alibi.” Her cheeks reddened. “I never thought being caught naked like that could come in handy.” “Yeah, lucky us,” Mace said as the door opened and a woman peeked inside. Pretty and blond and Mace decided that the word luck should never come out of his mouth again as he recognized her, and then pretended he didn’t. “Can I help you?” “Yes, I’m looking for Caleb.” She stopped, stared. “Mace, right?” “Hi, Vivi,” he said while mentally cursing Noah, the only one who could’ve possibly given her this address.

CHAPTER

7

Mace didn’t look happy to see her at all. Noah had warned her this would be an uphill battle. But Vivi hadn’t worried, had driven for hours, into a blizzard. By the looks of the sky, she could be stuck here for a while, and she hadn’t bothered to research hotels or motels in the area. Her need to see Cael, her hope that things would magically correct themselves when she saw him overrode everything. God, she was an idiot. “Mace, please. I have to see him.” “You have no clue what a bad idea that is.” “I know what’s going on. Noah filled me in. I’m here with his blessing.” Mace muttered something about giving Noah his blessing, but she ignored it. “I had to come. Before he left for that last mission, I promised Caleb my loyalty. I don’t give that lightly and I won’t go back on my word.” She paused. “From what Noah tells me, Cael needs help.” Mace glanced at the woman next to him and back at Vivi. “This is Paige, Gray’s sister,” he said pointedly, and Vivi’s stomach twisted. “I’m so sorry,” she said to Paige, who simply nodded and murmured, “Thanks.” And with that small statement, Vivi let Mace know that Noah let her in on the mission gone to shit. “I’m here to help.” “Help? Help.” He laughed, a harsh bark, and then he got up and started walking toward the back room. “Fine, Vivi, you want to help, he’s all yours.” She hadn’t expected Mace to give in that quickly—or at all. But Noah’s influence held a lot of weight—and Mace wouldn’t go toe-to-toe with his CO’s orders. Noah had told her as much. But still, within minutes, she would be seeing Caleb. It had been three long months, one of which she’d spent in Quantico, training with the FBI, letting them pick her brain while she did the same, getting to know the new team in cyber crimes. With her background in computers—thanks to her father’s literal genius with numbers—she’d been told she was a huge asset to them. And ever since DMH had targeted and nearly killed her to get their hands on her and her programs, she’d needed to find a way to survive, to protect herself. The FBI had been touted as the best way. Caleb didn’t know about her decision, as she hadn’t been able to talk to him since he’d gone on his mission. Now she knew why—how it had gone so horribly wrong. She couldn’t even imagine what he’d been going through.

He had to be okay. Had to be. He was the strongest, most morally grounded person she’d ever met. And she wasn’t prepared to lose him, not when she’d finally found him. She also wasn’t prepared to tell him she’d withdrawn from the FBI’s program last month. There was time for that. She had nothing but time on her hands these days. She put her hands on her hips, stared at the ground and drew a deep breath. When she looked back up, she saw Paige watching her carefully. “I’m not here to hurt Caleb.” “I know. I’ll leave you guys alone.” Even as Paige spoke the words, Caleb was slamming through the back door. Vivi’s knees felt weak at the sight of him, although this wasn’t the way she’d dreamed their eventual reunion would be. When Noah had first called her to tell her Caleb was back in the States, she’d been thrilled, had been ready to finish up the FBI’s grueling version of boot camp, and her training for their cyber crimes division. But after a couple of months, Noah called again, this time admitting to her that he needed her help—that Caleb did. The details of the mission he’d given her were bare bones. The most important part was that Cael had lost many of his memories—of the mission … and of her. She’d lain awake every night after that, curled in a ball, trying to remember the feel of his arms around her. He’d protected her, and she’d fallen in love with him in such a short period of time that it made her head spin. She’d been waiting her whole life for a man like Caleb. She wouldn’t lose him now. “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice impatient. He looked the same—maybe more tired than she’d seen him last, but still so broad and strong and handsome. “Caleb, it’s me, Vivi.” Her voice nearly broke with that sentence and she waited for what seemed like an eternity for him to answer her. Be strong, Vivi. You knew it could be like this. She couldn’t lie, though—she’d had visions of walking in and Cael’s face lighting up with instant recognition. She’d wanted to be the one to bring him back to himself. He stared at her expressionless … nothing.

But the Caleb she knew didn’t show emotion at the drop of a hat. His training wouldn’t allow it—and although the details of his last mission were classified, Noah had confided simply that he’d been to hell and wasn’t all the way back yet. So maybe there was something … anything … She stared at his face for any hint, looked into the deep, dark eyes that had made her feel safe all those months ago, and saw not even a flicker of recognition. She wanted to sink to her knees, to bang the floor with her fists at the unfairness of it all. She mentally cursed Noah for telling her, even though she was grateful he had. Because Cael was still here, still alive, and he could still be hers. “I don’t know you,” Caleb said finally. “What do you want from me?” “I’m the woman who’s been waiting for you to come back. I lived in your apartment for a while. You saved my life, and you had to go away. You told me you’d come back to me. I told you I’d wait.” “Did you?” She swallowed, hard. Thought about the way she’d left for the FBI’s training. She’d left a letter on his bed—Noah had known where she was. So physically, no, she hadn’t. But in her heart … “Yes, I waited.” She was still waiting. His face hardened. “You shouldn’t have bothered.” The pretty woman with the blue-tipped blond hair looked like she’d been slapped at his last words and fear and frustration welled up inside of him. All Caleb wanted her to do was go away. She was a painful reminder of every lost memory that he still couldn’t grasp, like a gaping, sucking chest wound that wasn’t allowed to close. “You should leave now.” She didn’t say anything. He could see she was trying to stay tough. Trying … and failing. He couldn’t blame her for that. But he had to get rid of her, had to try to process whatever memories were escaping. The only thing he’d been able to see in front of his face all morning was the goddamned bloody knife. He’d drawn it, over and over, along with the faces of the two men he couldn’t place. The pictures of this woman—Vivi—standing in front of him that he’d drawn over the past month were safely locked away in his room with the others. And Vivi stared at him like she was trying to unlock the secrets of the world and he wanted to tell her, Good luck, honey.

He also wanted to kill Mace for not telling him that there was a woman he’d left behind, but he knew his friend was following doctor’s orders. When Mace had stormed into the back room where Cael had been on the phone with Keagen, he’d recognized immediately that no good could come of this meeting with Vivi, new FBI agent and the woman he’d saved—and fallen in love with. “I was in love?” he’d asked his friend a few minutes earlier and Mace had nodded. He repeated the name Vivi to himself a few times before he came through the door—like some kind of magical chant that could bring back his memories, was almost angrier at her than at himself for not being able to conjure up an instant memory. Which was ridiculous. So yeah, he knew her but he didn’t know her at all—who she was to him, what she was doing here. She could answer all those questions but when he saw her in person, the only thing that jumped was his cock, not his heart. Of course, Miss FBI noticed that, and when her eyes dragged back up from his crotch to his face, she wasn’t blushing. “I guess I should take that as a compliment.” “Take it however you want.” There was an edge to his voice, a challenge and a dare—if she wanted to try to fuck the memories back into him, he wasn’t going to stop her. “I know what you’re trying to do, but it won’t work, okay? I don’t know you from Adam, and you staring at me isn’t going to change that. I’m not a goddamned zoo animal.” “No, you’re not. And I’m sorry for staring, but I haven’t seen you for months. And you look really good. And I missed you.” She was pouring her heart out to him and he couldn’t deal with it. “Just go, okay.” “I’m not leaving.” The pretty blonde stood her ground, and no, she wouldn’t go. He’d known that from the second he’d walked in. “I don’t know what you want from me. I’m not the same person I was three months ago. I’m not the same person you knew.” “Neither am I, Cael. But I think we can still find some common ground again. We were different when we first met too, and that didn’t seem to matter.” “I didn’t wait for you, Vivi. So if you’re hoping that I was all celibate and pining away, you’re mistaken.” The celibate part was a lie, because he had been. And, reflecting on the pictures, he guessed that in some way he had been pining—for her, for his old life, for something.

He couldn’t let her know that; he had too many weaknesses already. And so he left her standing in the middle of the bar and walked outside into the inclement weather, because anywhere was better than staying in there with her. A few minutes later, Mace came outside and leaned against the cold wall next to him. They were under the metal overhang, but the sleet was still beating at them, the cold numbing Caleb, just the way he wanted it to. “She’s staying,” he called above the storm. “What, payback for keeping Paige here?” Caleb asked. “If a woman drove all that way to make sure I was okay …” “A woman did,” Caleb pointed out. Mace shook his head, muttered as he stared out into the snow. And then, “I saw the pictures you drew of Vivi.” “Yeah, I drew her. But I don’t remember anything beyond her face. She’s hot, Mace. And I’m supposed to remember loving her … I don’t even know myself. How am I supposed to deal with this?” “Try.” Cael turned to him. “You’re suspicious as shit—didn’t want Gray’s sister here, and yet, you let Vivi in easily.” “I have no reason to be suspicious of her anymore. She proved herself before we left for that mission.” She must have for Noah to give her the address. “Now what?” “Now it’s up to you to prove something to yourself. We’re not opening tonight,” he said. “County’s called for a state of emergency.” So the four of them were staying here, together. Like a giant slumber party. “I shouldn’t have done that to Paige earlier—forcing her hands on me. I have no fucking impulse control.” “Get some.” Cael grunted at Mace’s words. “Maybe she can help you remember more,” Mace continued. “What if I remember something you won’t like?” Caleb asked. “It’s a chance we have to take, man. What else is there if we don’t have the fucking truth?”

When Paige heard one of the doors slam, she looked out the window to see Caleb storming across the parking lot, despite the wicked weather. Horizontal sleet mixed with freezing temperatures and a sky that looked like night made her shiver, despite the fact that she was warmly dressed. Mace was following right after him. They would have to make up a guest room for Vivi, because Paige doubted anyone could drive out of here tonight. She headed down the stairs to find a pretty woman sitting at a table with her head in her hands. Not wanting to intrude, but knowing she needed to intervene, somehow, Paige cleared her throat and Vivi picked her head up. “Do you want something to drink?” “Need is more like it.” Vivi managed a smile but unmistakable pain was etched into her face. Vivi had blue tips dyed on her blond hair. Paige noticed it only when the woman turned her head—her hair was gathered into a low ponytail. When she’d heard Caleb’s footsteps, Paige noted that Vivi had pulled the band out of her hair, shaking it loose as he walked into the room. It was pulled back again now, like she’d given in to defeat. Paige went behind the bar and poured a strong coffee and a shot of whiskey. Both would warm Vivi, and the whiskey would calm her without making her fuzzy. Vivi did the shot fast, coughed a little and then took a sip of the coffee. “Thanks.” “We’re all a little on edge.” Paige explained about the murder. How Harvey had threatened her. She left out the part about Caleb freaking. “And I came right in the middle of it. Great timing, Vivi,” the woman muttered, more to herself than to Paige. “I’m not sure when the timing would’ve been good—not until Caleb gets his memory back. But he did have a breakthrough today.” “I guess that’s supposed to be a good thing,” Vivi said, and yes, she knew about what had happened on that mission. Paige could see it in her eyes, etched there with a pain Paige understood all too well now. She didn’t know what else to say on the subject, so she didn’t. “Mace told me that you can stay here tonight. The storm’s getting worse and it’s too far to a motel.” Vivi nodded. “That’s nice of him. I don’t know this part of the state very well.” “I’m new to the area myself.” “How long have you been here?”

“Coming on forty-eight whole hours now,” Paige said, and Vivi laughed softly. “I’m sure they love this—two women busting in on their man house.” She wanted to say Mace hadn’t minded, but he had. He still did, even though he’d let her in. “I came here for answers too.” “Did you get them?” “Yes.” “Did you like them?” She couldn’t do anything but shake her head no. The two women sat silently for a few moments, both their burdens weighing on them heavily. Finally, Paige asked, “Were you and Caleb together for a long time?” “No. It seemed like it, but it was less than a week. That’s all it took.” She met Paige’s gaze. “He saved my life. And now he’s in bad shape. I can see it in his eyes.” Vivi paused. “Do you know about the mission?” “Yes.” For a long moment, the two women remained silent. Vivi didn’t try to defend Caleb to Paige at all, which she appreciated. She wondered if she should tell Vivi about the sketches Caleb drew of her, let the woman in front of her know that Caleb did remember something about their time together. But that would be an even bigger violation of privacy, and she of all people understood that, so she kept her mouth shut. “I knew this would be difficult, but I didn’t think … he’s been with other women. Lots of them, it sounds like.” Vivi wiped her eyes and took another sip of the coffee, then wrapped her hands around the mug as the wind rattled the front window. What could Paige say to that? Even one was one woman too many, but she hadn’t actually seen Caleb doing anything but dancing in her short time here. Vivi continued, “Even if they don’t mean anything to him, the problem is, I don’t either.” “But you said … he fell in love with you once before.” Vivi gave another soft grin. “Yeah, he did. I guess I have to hope that lightning can strike twice.” Mace left Caleb outside to freeze to death, and found the women talking in the bar. He headed straight into the back room, not wanting to deal with them either. Took his time restocking shelves, until Keagen walked in a couple of hours later.

Mace had heard his truck’s rumble from half a mile away. Sneaking up on people is not your forte, Mace had once told him. “I don’t need to sneak—it’s way more effective when they know I’m coming,” Keagen had shot back, and Mace didn’t question any further. “What have you heard?” Mace asked now as the man stomped inside. Keagen shrugged. “It’s not good. I’ll have to pay a call to Harvey’s old charter.” “I’ll go with you.” Keagen held up a hand. “Better I go alone. I’m going to owe them a favor anyway for doing it—better only one of us carry that burden.” Keagen had long ago gone rogue from the gang. It meant he could travel where he wanted to, but when a local gang called him for help, he needed to respond. No, he’d never be truly free of them, but it was the closest he could come. “I’ll represent the bar, man. I’ll make sure trouble doesn’t come this way,” Keagen assured him. “It’s getting ugly out there. Stay safe, man.” Staying safe wasn’t something Mace counted on all that often. He realized that he and Paige were pretty damned alike in that regard. Both had to deal with danger on a regular basis, and both had to live with what they’d seen and done. She was so vulnerable, using long sleeves, and tattooed symbols on her wrists, as though they could protect her. What must it be like, not being able to touch another person without fear of repurcussions—both to her and the other party involved. He felt like a complete prick for not allowing her hands on him, but he couldn’t. Not yet. When she touched him—if she touched him—she would see everything. She’d said she couldn’t turn it off. He couldn’t bear the thought of burdening her with memories she didn’t choose. But how am I supposed to pick it all apart? How am I supposed to tell the difference between the men he’s been ordered to kill in the line of duty and the men he’s not? Gray told him how bad it got sometimes. If she’d had a rough day in the ER, had touched someone without gloves, she’d be exhausted for days. Takes a toll, Gray had said. And Mace had always wondered how Paige could ever be in any long-term relationship without reading that person all the time. She would always have to be on guard, always closing her hands into tight fists …

His mind flashed to the way she’d looked, clothing half off, wrists tied to the shelves, her body swaying with his touch. She hadn’t seemed to mind being forced to keep her hands off him—offered it easily and had seemed to expect it. What else did she expect? He sat wearily on the stool, the events of the past days crashing around him like an angry ocean, threatening to pull him under. He wanted his friends back. Was tired of all the secrets that never seemed to end. Nothing good had come from them and he was pretty sure nothing ever would. All he knew was that with Cael remembering, it was time to call the team in.

CHAPTER

8

There was no way in hell Harvey—or anyone here was no way in hell Harvey—or anyone else—got upstairs without his knowledge. Mace refused to believe he’d been that sloppy, but he went over the bar and the apartments with a fine-toothed comb that afternoon while Paige napped. The memories of this place were slowly getting under his skin. Staying for months, instead of his usual week here and there, was dangerous. Having Paige here was equally so. He shook off the doom and gloom and tried all the windows and doors—Caleb was outside checking the gutters to see if anyone had tried to climb them. And then Mace stopped in front of one of the two doors leading to the unfinished attic. The attic—his refuge, his hiding place, his escape, all rolled into one. His grandparents had sealed it off long ago, or so they’d thought, as the door in front of him was plastered over. Somehow, they’d missed—or forgotten about—the entrance through the crawl space in his old room. He could still fit through it, even now. His grandparents didn’t believe in collecting things, so they hadn’t needed the storage, and Mace always knew he could stay up there, undisturbed. Now his breathing harshened as he climbed the steps into what used to be freedom. And still he kept going, because that’s what he did these days. What he’d always done. He kept moving until his feet were on the dusty wooden floorboards, his body ducked until he passed the slanted part and was able to stand up straight. He hadn’t been up here in years. In forever. And it felt like he was still twelve and thirteen and fourteen and so fucking miserable he wanted to be anyone but himself. Anywhere but here. In the corner were the books he’d brought up here. Bottles of water. An old candy bar. Lots of damned dust and he could blame the lump in his throat on that and not the memories. Would the photo album still be here? Did he really want to look at it? He decided no, didn’t want to see his own sad face staring back at him, didn’t want to see his mother, who’d been younger than he was now the last time he’d seen her. But he checked for it anyway. Hidden behind a panel was one of the free sleeves the photo stores gave out. It had room for ten pictures but there were only three there—he’d taken the book from his mother’s drawer when Child Protective Services had let him go back to her apartment to get his clothes and personal items. He’d come out with a small bag full of clothes and this photo sleeve. All of it was his past. How close to the edge he’d really been as a young man.

He didn’t like to think about the family he’d come from. He knew he came across as more disciplined these days, but when he was younger … well, there’d been no stopping him. His impulse control left a hell of a lot to be desired and the only thing that kept him on the semi–straight and narrow was wanting to prove he was nothing like his biological dad, or his mother, for that matter. No, he hadn’t wanted to be like any of them, wondered most days if he’d been dropped into the wrong family. When he’d arrived here, he’d run, but mainly to the old cabin on the bar’s property, sometimes to Doc’s house, because the man seemed to understand without ever asking any questions. Doc had served in the Army for a long time, had been Special Forces as well, and had been Mace’s deciding factor in enlisting. Now Dylan and Cam—men he respected and had served with—wanted him out, working with them, without controls or limits beyond the ones they set for themselves. He wondered if he could do it. If he wanted to. The thought of being his own boss was intriguing. He could leave this place for good, start over. He would have before if Gray and Cael and Reid hadn’t insisted he keep it. He shoved the photo sleeve back where it belonged when he heard Paige rustling around in the bedroom, but stayed in the attic, not ready to face her yet. If she touched him, she’d know all about him. More than he ever cared to reveal to anyone, so why the hell did he want so badly for her to know? Why did it hurt so damned much that she didn’t try harder to touch him? More questions than answers—there were always more questions than answers these damned days. Paige wasn’t sure where she was supposed to go after last night’s disaster and today’s string of events. But the only logical place for Vivi to sleep tonight was the room Paige herself had first slept in rather than the couch, where she had no privacy, as the upstairs only boasted three bedrooms and the two baths, and so she went upstairs while Vivi went to her car to grab her things. As Paige did so, Caleb followed her—quietly, for such a big man, and he kept a large distance between them, for her comfort, stayed in the doorway but somehow managed not to block her exit. “I have no excuse for what I did,” he started, looked so contrite during his second apology that she wanted to cry for him. “You were upset. Not yourself.” He gave a sharp laugh. “I don’t know who I am. But I freaked you out. I don’t know what else to do but say I’m sorry, and I know that’s not good enough.”

“It is.” “But you don’t believe I didn’t kill Gray.” He said it so bluntly that she winced. “I don’t know the truth, Caleb. I wish I could give both of us the clear-cut answer we’re looking for.” He nodded and she wondered if it was possible for her to use her gift for good. Letting Caleb know he wasn’t responsible for the tragedies of that mission was something she desperately wanted to do for him. But she was too afraid to try. “You’ve remembered so much—there’s every reason to believe you’ll remember everything.” “Whether I want to or not,” he added with a deep resignation that made her ache. He turned away before she could tell him that secrets were never good, but decided that would sound trite anyway, even if she knew it to be true. She pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail and pushed the sleeves of the flannel shirt up. There really wasn’t much choice about where to move her things and so she packed quickly, with the intention of bringing them into Mace’s room. Found herself drawn inexplicably to the window—the storm was showing its power now, had its teeth fully embedded, like a dog shaking a toy. She shivered as cold air leaked through the old wood. She touched the frame, pushing down to make sure the window was firmly closed and the flash took over. Escape. She pulled her hand away, and then put it back. Felt the need for escape again and opened the window. Felt someone … Mace, maybe … Yes, Mace for sure, a much younger version actually going out the window. She ran her hand over the scarred wood. Again, there was fear there. Anger too. And danger. Growing up here hadn’t been fun for him. She yanked her hand away. Didn’t want to learn more about him like that, didn’t want to get more attached to this extended family of Gray’s, but she knew it was too late. With Mace especially—she’d connected with him on a level beyond that of any other man she’d been intimate with, and that scared her. Staying here would only prolong the inevitable. She had her answers—most of them. Soon, she would leave, find a job in a hospital in another city and hope her past stayed hidden this time. She’d leave Mace behind because she couldn’t move forward with him, maybe not with any man. Maybe things could be different here, with him.

But she already felt guilty about the knowledge she had of him. He hadn’t wanted her to touch him last night because he was afraid of what she’d learn about Caleb, but based on what she now knew, he was also afraid she’d find other things out about him too. She was afraid of that as well, and Caleb’s memories were still too fresh in her mind. How these men lived with that … The same way you do. She walked away from the window, dragged her suitcase into Mace’s room, heard his shower running and saw the bed, still rumpled, the way she’d left it that morning. Slowly, she smoothed the sheets out, pulled the covers back. She didn’t want to talk or think—and she needed to make sure Mace knew that. She needed his touch, needed an escape from everything and everyone, and he was the only one who could give her that. By the time he walked out of the bathroom after showering, she knew without a doubt they needed to finish what they’d started last night. The unfinished moments were simply hanging between them and she didn’t want any more loose ends. If she needed to leave this place, she had her answers about Gray, but she didn’t have the satisfaction of Mace’s body on hers. Mace, however, eyed her with the same trepidation he had the first night she’d entered the bar. Somehow, somewhere, they’d gone backward today. He was slick from the shower—the only thing keeping him from being exposed a thin towel tied low on his waist. Very low. Her eyes noted the light dusting of hair leading down below the towel. “You’re staring.” “Yes.” “I’m sure you’ve seen it all before, being a nurse and all.” “You’d think.” Her fingers played with the buttons on her borrowed shirt absentmindedly, unbuttoning, seducing, praying it would work. Another button—he couldn’t tear his eyes away now and that was what she’d wanted from the second she stepped into the bar and laid eyes on him. “Paige …” “I like the way you say my name.” With the final button undone, she slid the big borrowed flannel shirt easily off her shoulders and let it drop to the ground. Her bra came next, too fast for him to

think about protesting, thanks to the front clasp, and she could see by the strain on the front of his towel that nearly all protest had left him. But he waited, so still, watching to see if she’d go all the way. And yes, she would. She skimmed her stretch pants off, kicked them out of the way. She leaned in, letting her body press against his, even as she was careful to keep her hands off him. “Paige, I can’t.” But his arousal told her otherwise. “You can tie me up,” she murmured against his ear and his erection jutted against her belly as his breath quickened. “Do you like that, the idea of me all spread out and naked for you?” It was so easy to talk to him like that. She’d stirred him up, and these consequences she could easily live with. “Jesus, Paige—yeah, I want you like that.” “Then go ahead, finish what we started last night. Please.” He caught her wrists and her body surged. “Last night was a mistake. I shouldn’t have pushed you. You were upset and vulnerable and I—” “You owe me this,” she interrupted. “I want this.” “Gray asked me to protect you, not take advantage of you.” She wanted to wind her fingers through his damp hair and made fists instead. “You’re not.” “Giving you an orgasm isn’t protecting you. I’m not putting either of us in that position again.” He let go of her wrists and backed away. She felt her face flame. Bent to grab the shirt, slipped it on, buttoned a few buttons. “But you’ll put me in other compromising ones when it suits you, when it’s to your advantage, right?” “What are you talking about?” Anger struck, pure and fierce, and more than partially because he was rejecting her. “For all I know, you told Caleb to touch me.” “Why the hell would I do that?” “Because you want to know what happened that day as badly as I do!” she shouted and then lowered her voice again. “Admit it, you’re disappointed that I wasn’t able to help more.” “Do I want a clear-cut answer about Caleb? Sure, I can’t lie about that. Now we’re stuck in a worse kind of limbo than we were before, because Cael feels guilty about what he did to you, guilty about something he doesn’t even remember. So yes, I wish that his forcing you to touch him had yielded

some goddamned answers, for all our sakes. And I’m sorry he put you through that. But I’m holding back to protect you because of what you said earlier—you asked how you were supposed to tell the difference between the men Caleb was ordered to kill in the line of duty and the men he wasn’t.” She nodded and his recognition grew. “You think touching me could be the same. Was touching me when you first got here the same?” “Yes,” she heard herself say. The surprise on his face was unmistakable—he recoiled slightly, the same way he had earlier, as if she’d actually pushed him. “You were so worried about hiding your secrets from me. It never crossed your mind that maybe I don’t want to know everything about you—what you’re thinking, what you’ve done. Maybe I’ll never be able to have any kind of true intimacy with anyone because I’ll always worry about invading their privacy during an act that pretty much requires touching. And I do want to touch you, Mace. Not to find out what’s in your head, but to make you feel good. I want to hug you and stroke you … feel your muscles under my palms. I want that. But what you do, the life you lead—just that brief touch the other night scared the hell out of me.” The look on his face told her everything. He hadn’t thought about it at all. And he shouldn’t have. “I scare you, but that doesn’t stop you from wanting me, does it?” She shouldn’t have hit him with all of this. She’d revealed far too much too soon. “I’m still so angry. Confused,” she said. Didn’t get how the chemistry between her and Mace continued to blossom like a hothouse flower under these circumstances, but the heat swelled inside of her as he took a step closer to her. “Join the club.” Her throat was tight. Mouth dry. “You’re full of secrets, Mace. I feel them, and I don’t have to be psychic to know that,” she said. He closed the gap between them. “What did you feel when you touched me?” Murder. Fear. Danger. “I don’t want to think about it. But that’s not the only thing I know about you.” She swallowed, wondered if it was too late to back out of this, because she’d pushed it way too far. “What else do you know, Paige?” “I know you used to sneak out the window of your old room,” she blurted out. “You thought of it as escaping. I felt your desperation to leave. Your pain.” His expression went tight. “I thought touching objects didn’t work that well with you.” “The window has a history embedded in it. Your emotions hang so heavily in that room. I couldn’t help it.”

“Yeah, you could help it. You want to know, you don’t want to know. You can’t have it both ways, baby. Scared of the danger, yet that’s what you like about me. You know it’s there under the surface and you’re still here, wanting me. Wanting more. And I can’t do this now, Paige. I can’t. I’ve laid my job on the line for you—for Gray. That should be goddamned enough to satisfy you.” But it wasn’t, not by a long shot. She wasn’t sure why she needed him to ache as badly as she did, why she wanted to see him bleed, but she did. And so she pushed again, harder, fully aware of the consequences. “You were in the news once.” She swore the flash of anger in his eyes was strong enough to push her back a couple of steps. He didn’t say anything, though. He would. “You were scared a lot when you were younger. Passed around to a lot of people. Didn’t really have a home. And trust—I keep feeling the word, trust.” His fists tightened at his side. “How long have you known this shit about me?” “Since the first night we met—at my apartment.” “You didn’t touch me then.” “But I touched your knife.” She paused. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I thought it was Gray’s. I didn’t have to block out anything with him because I knew him so well.” “What else do you see?” he taunted. “If you touch my mattress, will you see the last woman I screwed?” “Maybe.” Reeling, he dug in his pocket and tossed the familiar black pocketknife—the same one she’d touched years ago—on the bed between them. “Go ahead. Take your time. Cop a feel.” She simply stared between it and him, unable to take him up on his dare. Mace took the small black penknife everywhere except on missions, because it reminded him of what he’d accomplished, what he’d been through. It wasn’t a talisman or a good luck charm. No, it was more of a warning to himself, one he heeded on a regular basis. Don’t trust anyone. A few people had gotten in—he told himself that his team had out of simple necessity, but that was bullshit. He hadn’t let anyone else in beyond those few people. Made life much less complicated.

He’d gotten that knife from one of the many men his mom let hang around their shitty motel room in whatever town or state they were living at the time. This guy claimed to be former military—Mace would later find out that wasn’t the truth at all—and he gave Mace the knife. Said he got it in combat. Said Mace could trust him. The next thing he remembered was a backhanded slam and a locked closet. He’d held that knife all night long, knowing he could use it to get the hell out of the space, knowing it was much easier to stay put, stay quiet and let the storm pass. He’d never seen that guy again, but he couldn’t bring himself to give up the knife. Paige continued to stare at its scarred black surface and he wondered if she was remembering what else she’d learned when she first touched it. Not that what she’d told him hadn’t been enough to turn his stomach. He didn’t like being vulnerable in front of anyone. In front of her, it made him feel helpless. And he hated that feeling most of all. “You’ve proven your point—we don’t trust each other,” he said finally. “I never said I didn’t trust you,” she shot back. “You’re just too scared to touch me. Right, big difference there.” “I didn’t come here to sleep with you.” “No, you came here to use me for information!” he roared. It was true, there was no way she could deny it—and she didn’t. “You got what you came for. Maybe you came for more than information, though. Maybe you came here hoping I didn’t know about your gift.” “I wouldn’t do that,” she protested, but he ignored her, continued walking to her like a predatory animal stalking his prey. “So now, tonight, you want us to use each other. I just want to make it clear. That’s your intention, so we don’t end up with any crossed wires.” They would end up with far more than that, but her needs were too far gone for her to argue any further. “I want you, yes.” “So if it’s all about—or only about—sex, then why should I bother fighting it,” he asked, caught her arms and held both her wrists behind her back in one of his hands. “Besides, I think you like it this way, like to be tied and helpless. It’s easier to avoid the guilt of wanting me so badly. This takes away your choice.”

God, there was so much truth in what he said, no matter how much she denied it. Fighting Mace’s grip would do no good and yet she struggled anyway. He ground his pelvis against her. “Feels better when you fight, doesn’t it?” A low moan escaped from her throat, even as she flushed. “You don’t have to pretend anymore, baby. You want it hot and rough, you’ve got it.” His mouth caught hers in a punishing kiss, one that threatened to take the breath from both of them, more a fight than anything—and so appropriate between them right now. Push and pull and he didn’t know who would win this round. All he knew was that he was prepared for the battle. He took his mouth off hers, satisfied when he heard her protest. He eased back from her slightly. She’d only put on her shirt loosely, remained bare otherwise, and he easily reopened the few buttons she’d managed by ripping each one off. She drew sharp breaths as each gave way and clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent space. And then he drew her bare chest to his, because it was way too late to stop any of this. He kissed her again and again as he continued to grind against her until his towel dropped and his cock made contact with her sex and he nearly lost it. Wanted to push her down and drive into her until she was incoherent and blind with wanting him. But he would make her beg for it this time, no matter how badly he wanted to move fast. A knee went between her legs, spread her thighs without finesse. She nearly lost her balance but he had her firmly wedged against him—and within seconds she was on the bed under him. Pinned. She gazed up at him with wide eyes, her mouth swollen from his kisses. He took a nipple in between his finger and thumb and rolled the tip back and forth until she arched into him, and then he did the same to the other. “I want you to tie me so there’s no way out,” she whispered. “Not a problem.” Using his flannel shirt—the one she’d been wearing—he tied her just as she’d requested. She struggled briefly, perfunctorily, until he took a nipple into his mouth, tonguing the velvet nub into steel, hearing her cry out above him. It was a cry of pleasure, of that he was certain. He would pleasure the hell out of both of them, leave her wrung out and exhausted … and wanting more.

He gave her one final out. “Do you want me to stop, Paige? This is your last chance, because after this, there’s really no way out.” She shook her head as if she didn’t trust her voice. Since touching her wasn’t out of bounds, he made sure his hands, his mouth were everywhere on her skin, until she didn’t know where she’d feel a touch or a tongue next. She was writhing under him, and he’d never felt more like banging his chest and howling than he did at this moment. Because he could handle everything about her. Never felt more like claiming and marking, and he did, leaving red marks on her beautiful skin. The marks would fade. How he felt? He didn’t think there was a chance in hell. He could be fucking everything up tonight by doing this—but the thought of not taking her wasn’t an option. When he first flipped her over onto her stomach, she gasped. Then his fingers found her core—and then his mouth, hot and wet to the lips of her sex, and she shifted to give him better access … and practically screamed. His tongue speared her, then flicked the swollen nub of her clit as he slid a finger inside her, and then another, until she was rocking back into them. Begging him for more. Asking him to fill her, and he almost lost it, had to pull away and get back a small semblance of control. He was safe because her hands were tied—and so was she. He wasn’t happy about that at all, but he was hard as hell. And he needed to be inside of her. The swell of her ass, perfect, heart-shaped and lifted in the air, her sex, wet and ready for him, nearly drove him over the edge. His cock twitched as he stroked it along her folds. She pushed back as if she could capture it, but he didn’t allow that for long. Teased her until she was nearly sobbing and only then did he enter her, a long, slow stroke until he was inside her so deeply, it made him shudder. He laid his body over hers, and he began to rock in earnest. He would not lose control before she did. But it wouldn’t be easy—her moans filled the air around him, incoherent words he didn’t need to understand. It didn’t matter. He’d brought her right to the edge and now he would push her over. And only then would he let himself follow. ——

Paige spread her legs farther, arched her back to allow Mace complete access to her. Pleasure radiated through her womb, a tightening sensation that begged for release … and then began to burst in a steady spiral of intense contractions that radiated through her sex. She turned her head, to find Mace watching her intently. His face was flushed, his eyes glazed. Her legs trembled from exertion, but he wasn’t letting her off the hook. His hands were firm on her hips, controlling her movements. She wanted it faster. Harder. He had his own ideas, was totally in charge unless she told him to stop. She had no intention of doing so. Instead, she gripped the sheets so hard they pulled off the mattress. The bonds on her wrists remained firm, but stretched to their limits as he took her. She’d invaded his privacy, he was invading hers, claiming every part of her with hands and mouth and cock, thick and long and as beautiful as the rest of this rugged man who had her bent and at his mercy. And yet, somehow, gentleness pervaded above all else. He wasn’t taking her to the point of pain. Not even close. This was his way of torturing her, ensuring her nerve endings were on sizzle, even as he turned up the flame. It was what she wanted, to be taken so she wouldn’t have to think—she wanted the sex to block out everything else. Sex with Mace was both peaceful and rowdy. Off the charts hot. “Spread your legs wider, baby,” Mace urged, and she did as he requested. Pleasure rocketed through her until spots swam in front of her eyes. She was vaguely aware that she’d collapsed against the sheets, with Mace partially inside of her. He was still hard. His body covered hers—they were both sweat-slicked, breathing hard. When he turned her over onto her back and entered her again with one long, hard stroke, there was nothing left to say, except … “Make me come again, Mace. Please.” She didn’t have to ask twice. After he apologized to Paige, Caleb stayed downstairs in the bar area, avoiding the inevitability of seeing Vivi as long as possible. Goddamned coward.

And still, that hadn’t stopped him from sitting in the office with his sketchbook, drawing the same two men over and over again. As he’d been doing over the past months, he’d sketched the faces so they appeared … fuzzier. Almost like they were distorted somehow, which was odd since all the earlier pictures of their faces were crystal clear, the features sharp and sure. He stared down at the recent, muted sketch until his head hurt. Paged back through until he got to the pictures of Vivi. He’d been right on the money, down to the hair, the way her lips parted as she worked on the computer. The way she looked back at him as if she could see right through him, both on the paper and in person. Of all the times for her to arrive, right in the middle of a murder investigation. When would be a good time, Caleb? Instead of trying to answer that, he sketched, watching the image form on paper as if he was watching a movie of someone else’s life. It had taken everything he had not to react when he saw her, because he’d drawn her for the first time last week. It would take everything he had to continue to keep it together around her. He checked all the doors and windows, stared out into the parking lot and saw nothing out of the ordinary, then set the alarms and headed up the stairs. He kept a few of the lights on in the bar, just in case. As if light could keep out the bad shit. Vivi was sitting on the edge of the double bed in the second spare room—Mace’s old bedroom—her partially opened door an obvious invitation. There was no way for him to pass by without at least making eye contact. So he did. “I’m not leaving,” was the first thing she said to him. “I know—there’s a blizzard.” “That’s not why. Stubborn asshole.” She muttered that last part under her breath, but obviously loud enough for him to hear it. A small part of him wanted to laugh, since she’d hit the nail right on the head. A deeper part gave a darker laugh and wondered just how far this woman wanted to push things. “How did we meet?” he asked suddenly, instead of continuing on toward his room. Goddamned impulse control—he blamed it on being that much closer to remembering everything. Somehow, he knew patience had never been his strong suit.

“You kind of kidnapped me,” she said, and he frowned. “It was part of your job. The Army thought I was involved in something really bad.” “Were you?” “Yes. But it wasn’t my fault. I guess everyone says that.” She shifted on the bed. “I came here at a bad time—I know that. It’s just … I don’t think there’s a good time for this.” It was true. Even if he did remember her, he wasn’t the same man. Couldn’t be sure that the feelings he’d once had for her would ever return. All he knew was that he was definitely attracted to her. “I’m not the man you knew.” “I don’t believe that.” “You knew me for, what? All of five days?” “They were some pretty intense days,” she said. “I can tell you about them, if you’d like.” He shrugged. She took it as a yes. “I’d had everything taken from me. I was broke, trying to erase my father’s debt, and I might’ve died if it hadn’t been for your quick action.” None of that seemed familiar at all. His whole job was about saving lives—it didn’t sound like anything out of the ordinary, but obviously it had been. He moved farther into the room, closed the door for some privacy. His need for knowledge of his past outweighed his fears at this point. Maybe Mace was right, and he should just give in to this. She shifted on the bed as she watched him, her eyes wide. He sat next to her, leaving space between them. “Tell me more.” She did. Explained how their time together had been a whirlwind of work and danger, how, in that short span, they’d gotten close. And sure, he could see that happening, with the proximity alone. Except … “I stayed in your apartment after you left for your mission,” she said. “You wanted me to. You wanted me to be there when you got back, but you also knew that the FBI wanted me to work for them. You said you’d understand if I chose that, and that it wouldn’t change anything between us.” “So you left.” “I did. But Noah knew where I was. I wrote you a letter and I left it on the counter. I wish I had it with me now.” “So I’m guessing we, ah …?” His eyes roamed over her body. Her face reddened. “Yes.”

He nodded, continued staring as if trying to force those memories back. He saw a flash of something cross her face and then she pulled her T-shirt over her head. Moved closer to him. Really, really close. Hands on his shoulders, and he could smell her shampoo, feel the softness of her skin as she settled onto his lap, straddling him. “Vivienne, what are you doing?” “Vivi,” she murmured. “I told you, you always called me Vivi.” She hadn’t told him that this trip … but he knew she’d told him that before, when they were first together. He wanted to hold that small memory tight to him. “But … you can’t do this.” “Not without some cooperation from you. Best-case scenario, you have a memory spark. Worst case? You enjoy yourself and we make a new memory.” She smiled and then seemed to pull back. “Unless … If you’re not attracted to me …” “That’s not it at all. If you couldn’t tell.” His cock bulged and he shifted so it pressed between her legs. “Pretty unmistakable.” His hands moved with a life of their own to trail along the lace cups of her bra. “Pretty,” he echoed, and she shivered as his thumbs brushed her nipples through the fabric. “More, Cael … please.” He would oblige. Wanted to feel. Wanted to believe he could have his life back. Wanted to find out if Vivi really did believe in him. But she was too damned trusting. And so he took his hands away and, as gently as he could, he got her off his lap. Her cheeks reddened again, this time for an entirely different reason, the rejection written plainly on her face. She snatched up her shirt and pulled it over her head, ran her hands through her hair to smooth it and then bit her bottom lip. Something felt strange here. Like a déjà vu, except he knew that it could actually be a memory. As he stood, he realized he’d pushed her away before, just like this. Wanted to ask her about it, but couldn’t. Because he wanted to remember on his own, didn’t want to hear a Reader’s Digest version of his life from someone else’s point of view. “What do you really want?” “Everything. I want to know how you’re feeling—what you’re feeling. I want to spend time with you.” She rose to meet him and he ended up just inches from her, his hands on her shoulders, holding her so she couldn’t move from his grip. He wanted to scare her, shake up her perfect belief in him.

He wanted to remember everything and if he couldn’t, the next best thing was getting her out of here before she could watch him self-destruct. “Do you want to know? Do you really want to know what I know?” “Yes.” His laugh was a sharp rasp and he moved his hands to grip her hips, pushed her against him. “Do you want to know how Mace got that scar across his throat?” She drew in a tight breath, but she didn’t avert her eyes, didn’t look disgusted or shocked, but she was. Had to be. “Do you want to know they fed me drugs for days until I hallucinated so badly that I might’ve thought my friends were my enemies? Maybe I didn’t finish the job on Mace, but maybe I did on Gray. You remember Gray, right, Vivi?” She nodded wordlessly. “I might’ve killed one of my best friends—and almost succeeded a second time, with Mace.” “You don’t remember—it’s all speculation. Mace doesn’t believe it or he wouldn’t be here with you. And I still don’t believe it.” “How could you not?” he roared, tore away from her. Then spoke in a tone that was quieter but no less tortured. “How could you believe in me when I don’t believe in myself?” “If I don’t, you don’t have a chance.” “You’re so unprepared for all of this, Vivi.” “I know you want to scare me. You’ve done that before, you know. I remember your hands on me, all over me. And you told me then that you’d scare me—and you did.” “How did I scare you then?” “You wanted my trust. My loyalty. And I’d sworn never to give that away again. And then you broke down every defense I had when you made love to me that first time. And did the same every single time after that.” He tried to remember, to picture his hands roaming her body … he knew her intimately, because he never could’ve drawn what he had of her, the way he had, without that knowledge. Those pictures were safely locked up, because they’d made him feel like some crazy, dirty old man. But now he understood them. You’re not the same man you were.

The wind howled and the lights dimmed, finally letting darkness settle between them. “I can’t, Vivi. Whatever we had—” “Could still be there. Maybe you’re not the same man I fell in love with. He was a fighter. I’m not sure you are.” She pushed at him, hard as the generator kicked in and her face moved from shadowed darkness to light. “You can leave now. I need to get some sleep.” Paige had drifted off to sleep but Mace couldn’t. Stared at the stupid ceiling and the walls and even Paige until he was ready to jump out of his damned skin. They’d fought each other for every orgasm and he still wasn’t nearly satiated. Now, a couple of hours later, he was still restless, headed out of the room, shutting the door behind him. It didn’t surprise him to find Caleb on the couch in the main room. The storm raged, the lights remained off and the fire sparked and spit. Caleb had been drawing—the pad was opened next to him and Mace recognized a picture of Zane and Dylan, and it made him smile. “I drew it from memory. Real memory,” Caleb said. “We went on a trip to the Florida Keys after Zane finished Hell Week.” “I remember that.” “You weren’t there.” “No, but you had to call Cam to get you guys out of some trouble. Cam wouldn’t let Dylan live it down that he couldn’t talk his way out of getting stuck in jail overnight.” Caleb smiled. “Yeah, those were the days. Of course, it was Zane’s fault.” “Always is.” He moved away to sit on the couch opposite Cael, falling into the deep cushions heavily. “Vivi?” “Yeah, that went real well.” Caleb shook his head. “How’s Paige? Probably still pissed as hell at me.” “She’s okay.” “I don’t know what I was thinking. No, I wasn’t thinking. Harvey threw me for a goddamned loop.” “Seems like you’re back together now.” “Smoke and mirrors, my friend.”

“Yeah, those come in damned handy, don’t they?” He ran his hands through his hair. His body felt like it had been through a brutal workout and he was drained and relaxed and tensed and ready to go at the same time. “How are you?” Cael asked after a few minutes. He’d gone back to sketching, the scratch of his pencil competing with the hail slamming the house. He shrugged. “Seems like things are going all right between you two.” Mace snorted. “She doesn’t want me, Cael. Not really.” Cael tapped the outer edge of his ear with the pencil’s eraser. “Walls are thin, buddy, and trust me, that’s not the way I’m interpreting the sounds I heard.” “That’s just sex. Fucking,” he said roughly. “That’s all she wants. She doesn’t want to get involved any further.” “And, what, you’re mad because that’s usually your line of defense?” “Ah, fuck you and your memory, Caleb.” Mace really wanted to throw something at the man—or punch him—mainly because he understood the situation a little too well. And because he was right. “The question is, why does it bother you so badly,” Cael continued. “You said yourself you were going to let her go. That you didn’t want to have to open up about your past. So now you don’t have to.” It bothered him because … why didn’t she want to know? Was she really that afraid of him? And if she did touch him, would she be upset and disgusted? He couldn’t tell Caleb what she’d told him earlier, about not being able to pick apart the job versus that specific mission. “I’ll keep her safe until everything dies down, and then I’m done,” he said. “Right. No harm, no foul,” Caleb said quietly. “You and I are way too much alike.” “Always have been,” Mace agreed. “As Kell would say, True that.” Mace stared at his friend. “You remembered more.” “Some. A lot of it’s pre-mission shit.” He paused. “I remember Kell wasn’t involved. They knew him?”

“We couldn’t be sure if he’d been made by DMH so we didn’t chance it,” Mace confirmed. “He was pissed. He’d taken down a major DMH player months earlier.” Cael sighed. “So we’ve got another guilt-ridden member of the team off sulking somewhere. And he was a moody son of a bitch to begin with.” Mace smiled for the first time in what seemed like forever. “We’re a fucking sorry bunch.” “We’re getting better,” Cael said with an assurance Mace hadn’t heard in a long time.

CHAPTER

9

Caleb left the warmth of his bed and headed outside to check the generator at first light. He’d already been to the basement an hour earlier and there was no problem there with the gas pipe or the cutoff switch. The storm could’ve dislodged the pipe, but only if a large enough branch had fallen on it. If that had been the case, the chances of the house being damaged were too high. As far as he could see, the house was status quo, but he couldn’t shake his feeling of unease, not until he surveyed the situation himself. Dressed like the goddamned abominable snowman against the brutal temperatures, complete with a face mask, he headed out the back door of the bar. He could barely see through the last remnants of the storm but he stayed close to the house, cutting a path with a shovel in front of him until he found the pipe leading from the house to the generator, which was buried. Had it been working, it would’ve been warm enough and strong enough to keep the snow from piling up around it. Now he began pushing the snow away to see what the hell the problem was. After ten minutes of digging, he saw it, plain as day. The heavy flexible pipe that brought the natural gas from the basement out to the generator had been cut with a sharp knife, sawed through and left on the ground. There was no way any fingerprints would remain in this kind of weather—and he could only estimate that this had happened between three A.M. and five A.M., before the snow began to pile up again, because he’d dug a path to the pipes just yesterday. The generator had kicked off as the storm started in earnest and the new snow began to pile up. Whoever did this was here before the snow. No matter when it happened, it spelled goddamned trouble. He had no doubt that the person who did it was the one who killed Harvey … maybe even the person who’d snuck upstairs to go through Paige’s things. Although, that might have been Harvey himself. Dammit, there were too many what-ifs. He had to make sure the generator was in working order before the next storm. He had extra piping inside the bar. When it slowed down out here, he’d fix this, but for now, he cut the length of pipe with his own knife and held it carefully. Maybe it would hold some clue. As he got close to the side lot, he noticed Vivi standing by her car, a broom in her hand. At least he thought it was her car—it was pretty much buried up to the roof. And she was in no way dressed for this weather.

What the hell was it with women and not dressing warmly enough? Most of them were always cold to begin with, and now she was out here in jeans and a sweater, although she’d been smart enough to put on gloves and a hat. You could help her with whatever she’s doing. He wondered if she was thinking about going, or if she just needed something in her car. But hell, she wasn’t even talking to him anyway, and so he left her outside and went back into the bar. It took Vivi half an hour to dig out her car. At least the remote start had worked—by the time she could actually climb inside, it was warm and toasty and she sat there, alone and soaking wet and shivering, trying her best not to put the car in reverse and skid all the way down the driveway. She hadn’t slept much. Hadn’t stopped thinking about Caleb and his demeanor and the fact that, just like he and Noah had told her, he might not be the same man. Was she only meant for tragedy and trouble? It had seemed that way growing up, the feeling brought home hard by the events of a few months ago, when DMH put a hit out on her. Well, they wanted her alive for a while so she could fix a computer program her father had built, but after she’d outlived her usefulness, they most certainly would’ve killed her. The storm gave her the perfect excuse to stay, to relinquish control over the situation. Had it been bright and sunny, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t be on the road right now, her bags back at Mace’s bar. Leaving Caleb to wonder about her. You should’ve let him come to you. But she’d always been stubborn as hell, had to see things for herself. Before Caleb, she’d trusted the wrong man—two wrong men, if she included her father—and found herself in trouble. But Caleb had shown her that she could trust and not lose herself. Noah, Caleb’s CO, had also been someone she’d depended on over the past months. And her mentor at the FBI was a woman who seemed inherently trustworthy. She’d come so far, although Caleb wouldn’t know that. He’d only accept what he saw in front of him … and she was different. Still scared at times—trust was hard for her and no doubt always would be. But Caleb had busted in and forced the issue when they’d met. He’d demanded the truth and, in the process of giving it, she’d fallen in love so quickly it had made her head spin. It still did. Whether she stayed here now depended on what her heart told her when the sun finally came out. When Paige woke late the next morning, the power was off and it was cold in the room—and Mace had covered her with an extra quilt.

She wondered what had happened to the generator as she pulled clothing from the floor and dressed under the covers. She’d slept dreamlessly, a true blessing, considering everything going on around her. But the knot in her stomach came back quickly. She rubbed her wrists and thought about how good she was getting at losing herself in Mace’s expert touch, despite the fact that he’d been so angry with her—she’d felt it vibrating off him in waves. She’d violated his trust without meaning to, had breached his emotions, and she would have to pay the price. Of course, paying it meant she could keep her distance from him emotionally. She kept her barriers high so no one could get in, and she’d just doubled the price of admission. What would happen after this, she didn’t know. For now, she was here, in his town because he said he would help, and because the police had told her to stay put. In his bed because … The murder. She shivered and pulled the covers around her. Her body felt sore and used and she didn’t mind the feeling. She had surprised Mace with her honesty about not wanting to touch him. Better he knew her bottom line right off the bat. If they were simply meant to comfort each other through a difficult time, so be it. Keep lying to yourself, Paige. She’d gotten damned good at it over the years. She closed her eyes, wondered if she could drift off to sleep again. But her phone was beeping—she realized that’s what had woken her up in the first place. At first, she thought it was because the battery was low, but when she flipped it open, she realized there was a voice mail message. She hadn’t remembered it ringing, but reception around here was spotty. Maybe it was from Carole Ann. She sat on the edge of the bed, resisting the urge to crawl back under the covers as she dialed voice mail and brought the phone to her ear. She immediately dropped the phone when the caller spoke his first words—words that burned through her as though they physically touched her—and then she stared at it on the floor like she was waiting for it to explode. “It can’t be,” she said. “There’s no way …” Hi, Paige—it’s been a while …

It didn’t feel long at all. Jeffrey’s voice bridged a long gap of space and time, and she was fourteen again with blood literally on her hands. How had he gotten her cell phone number? God, of all the people who’d spotted her on the news, she’d hoped against hope that he wasn’t one of them. Of course, it was a pipe dream to think he’d ever forgotten about her. No, she knew his hatred for her burned inside him like a red-hot poker, that he would wait his jail sentence out patiently, looking for ways to continue to hurt her. He’d told her as much. Promised he’d find a way to make good on it. She would either need to hide for the rest of her life or confront this head-on. But how could she, when she couldn’t even deal with listening to the full message? With shaking hands, she picked the phone up and replayed the message in its entirety. Hi, Paige—it’s been a while. Remember the time Mom came in and caught us playing? I was tickling you and you were yelling at me to stop … if I close my eyes and concentrate, I can still hear you. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. And about the Kettering twins. Remember them? I do … such a shame they were never found. She was clutching the phone so hard she feared it would break, and she heard herself cry out. It might not even sound like a threat to anyone but her. But she knew what had really happened when her mother had walked in on the day in question—Jeffrey had torn her clothing and was preparing to make you mine. He kept repeating that, over and over. Told her later that he intended to finish what he’d started, that he loved hearing her scream. And the twins … God, at the time she hadn’t thought he’d had anything to do with them, hadn’t thought him capable … not until he proved to her in the cafeteria how wrong she’d been. The Kettering family—two girls, twins, two years behind her in school, had gone missing when Paige was in eighth grade. “It couldn’t have been him,” she whispered now, even as she knew it could’ve been. And even though he was threatening her life, threatening to rape her the way he had tried to the week before the school shooting, she knew her brother was sick enough to tell only her the location of the twins’ bodies. She owed the town that, if nothing else. It was all starting again, the pervasive, crippling, all too familiar fear … the prickling of the hairs on the back of her neck and, yes, as much as she tried to push Jeffrey out of her life for good, he was like a boomerang. And she would always pay the price for that. She sank to the floor, hugging her knees with her arms, wishing she could curl up tightly enough to disappear.

Mace found Paige sitting on the floor next to the phone, staring at it like it was a land mine. Her face was pale, her body motionless and he immediately crouched down next to her. “Hey, Paige, talk to me.” She didn’t, but she met his gaze. Her desperate look made him want to hold her, but first he needed to figure out what the hell was wrong. And then she shifted her gaze back to the phone. Watched as he picked it up and looked at it. She’d been calling her voice mail. “Is it a message that’s upset you?” “Yes. It’s …” She bit her bottom lip and couldn’t say anything more beyond repeating a number he assumed was her pass code. He dialed in, entered the code and put the phone to his ear. He tried to keep his face as emotionless as possible as he listened to the hateful message delivered in a calm, placid voice, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded. He couldn’t count on keeping a poker face when it came to Paige and her safety. That wasn’t a good thing. And she was watching him expectantly, not saying anything, sitting still like a statue. He saved the message and shut the phone, even as Paige began to speak. “He used to tell me, You’ll never get away from me. We’re blood. And who knows—maybe deep down inside, you’re more like me than you care to admit. I told him that I was nothing like him, but he told me, You have to be. We share the same genes.” “That’s bullshit, Paige,” Mace said fiercely, and then he took a deep breath. “What’s he talking about in the message? I need to know.” “He cornered me before I could get to my room—I’d put a lock on the door so he couldn’t get to me when we were alone in the house. Most of the time, I went home with a friend and stayed there until dinnertime, but that day, I was left alone. And I was almost there, safe, when he came out of nowhere and grabbed me. He pushed me to the ground and he ripped my clothes and held me down … If my mother hadn’t come home …” She choked the words out with a deep sob, literally shuddered as she spoke. “I was touching him—I knew what he planned to do to me. It wasn’t an idle threat. And I was so distracted by that, I didn’t get a hint of what he was planning to do at school. But when he couldn’t get to me—because I told Mom and said I was going to the police if they didn’t do something about him—he moved up the time line. He agreed to see a therapist. Apologized to me, even though he didn’t mean it. And then, the next week, he murdered my friends and ruined my life.” “And the Kettering twins?” he asked quietly. “Sounds like Jeffrey’s taking responsibility for their disappearance.”

Grabbing the quilt off the bed, he started to wrap it around her. It was only then that she moved, shifted to allow him to drape it behind her back. She grabbed the edges and held them tight and seemed to snap out of the daze. “Is this the first time Jeffrey’s contacted you by phone?” he asked quietly, trying desperately to keep the rage out of his voice, because she didn’t need that now. She needed him calm. In control. “Yes, the first time in years. Since I left home. Mom always used to accept his calls,” she said, her voice sounding far away. “It’s happening, Mace. Just like he warned me all those years ago. He told me his plan was to take everyone I loved from me. And he did.” She pushed up from the floor. “I’ve got to leave.” He gently pushed her back down and sat across from her. “Yeah, much better that you run from two trained soldiers who can kick your brother’s ass. You’re not going anywhere. And I’m keeping this.” He held up the phone. “I’m saving the message to play for the warden of Jeffrey’s prison. I want his phone privileges revoked.” “He’s not supposed to have them in the first place. I don’t get it.” Prison culture was an animal most people thankfully didn’t have to understand. But anything could be bought or sold for the right price—Mace had no doubt Jeffrey could’ve called in some favors to get Paige’s number and place the call. “I’ll fix it so it doesn’t happen again.” “My number’s unlisted.” “We’ll get a new one,” he promised, because bringing her back from the dark place she’d gone was most important now. “Come on, Paige. You’re stronger than this.” “No, I’m not. I put on a hell of a good show.” She looked at him then, her eyes glazed with fear, and his heart was tugged in the same way it had been when she’d walked in that first night. “That’s bullshit and you know it,” he told her fiercely. “Gray would never let you get away with that shit and neither will I.” She blinked several times. Nodded. Pressed her lips together and then said, “I try so hard. Then I close my eyes and I know I can’t forget. And I certainly can’t ever forgive.” “No one expects you to forgive him.” “Not him. Me.” “You don’t need to forgive yourself because you didn’t do anything wrong,” he told her, meaning it completely, while knowing that the words would be hollow comfort. He’d never be able to forgive himself for the mission, even though he knew he’d have to be Superman to get out of that situation.

Problem was, they’d trained him to believe he was Superman, that he could—and should—do anything necessary. That made failure so much damned worse. “He’s back, Mace. And there’s nothing I can do to stop him.” “Of course you can. I’ll help you. Trust me. Please.” “You’re doing this because you promised Gray. That’s all.” Mace growled. “Stop telling me how or what I feel.” “You’re suspicious. Don’t bother denying it.” “I never deny that—I live by it. But I’m not suspicious of you, okay? I didn’t want to … Shit.” He backed off. “Did you give anyone this address?” “Just Carole Ann, my old supervisor from work. I opened a P.O. box in New York near the hospital when I first moved there—that’s where most of my mail went anyway—and she’ll collect stuff from there and send it to me when I tell her to. I put a forward on everything to go there.” “I’ll have Caleb look into her background, just to be certain you have nothing to worry about.” She nodded. “I’m so sorry, Mace. You’ve got enough to deal with here. I didn’t mean to bring more problems down on your head.” “You’re my best friend’s sister, and you’re in trouble. That makes it my problem too, okay?” She licked her bottom lip and nodded tentatively. It was enough for now. And then she couldn’t hold back any longer. Grief and terror overtook her, and she leaned into him and started to sob. He gathered her in his arms and she grabbed him, comfort the only thought on her mind. She held him through the thick sweatshirt, hands balled into fists so she didn’t intrude on his feelings or invade his privacy. This time it didn’t bother him. She didn’t need any more burdens. He’d seen a lot of shit in his lifetime, but this took the wind out of him. The filth and utter hate Jeffrey spewed was enough to make his stomach turn. No one deserved that. “I’ll fix this, Paige. I promise you.” “No one can do that,” she told him. Mace came down the stairs pretty silently, but still at top speed, holding Paige’s phone. “What’s wrong?” Caleb demanded. He’d been sitting at one of the tables, sorting through the mail and dealing with the weekend’s money, the remnants of a PowerBar next to him.

Mace noted that the heat had started up down here, heard the rumble of the generator that had been missing earlier and glanced back at the stairs to make sure Paige wasn’t coming down. “Jeffrey—Paige’s brother—left her a message. A threat, really … but he was smart about it. To anyone else, it’ll sound like a brother telling a sister things he remembers from their childhood.” Cael’s expression was the same as when he was mission-ready and the man Mace knew as his teammate was in front of him now, sharp and ready to go. Cael reached under the table and pulled something off the empty chair across from him. He showed Mace the piece of cut tubing. “Big Harvey was killed with Paige’s knife, someone cut our generator line and then Paige’s psycho brother calls her, all only days after she shows up on the news. And I know you’ve never been a big fan of the coincidence theory,” Caleb said, and yes, he was absolutely correct, Mace didn’t believe in that or stars and planets aligning or any other bullshit of that nature. He didn’t trust enough to believe in it, because in his life and his work—hell, in all his experiences—if it walked like a duck and quacked like a duck it was a motherfucking duck. Going in on both the offensive and the defensive made you much less likely to get burned. He called the prison. Asked to speak to the warden and was told he would need to make an appointment to do so and hung up, frustrated as hell. Noah could no doubt get him into that prison, but calling his CO was akin to dealing with a human lie detector, and Mace wasn’t ready to give up the ghost on what was happening around here just yet. He needed to get his own handle on things first. Caleb was watching him carefully, like this time it was Mace’s turn to detonate. And it was. “Call Dylan,” Caleb said just then. “He’s kind of like a career criminal, except he’s on the right side of the law. Usually.” Mace put his phone on speaker, dialed Cael’s brother and cut off Dylan’s hello with, “I need a favor.” Dylan would for sure recognize Mace’s number. “Is my brother okay?” Dylan demanded. “He’s fine. Relatively speaking,” he said, and Caleb rolled his eyes and said, “Dylan, I’m fine.” “Yeah, define fine.” “I don’t have that kind of time,” Caleb said. “Just help him.” “Name it—I don’t have time for bullshit.” Mace told him succinctly about Paige and her situation. Dylan listened intently and then said, “Send me the message so I can play it for the warden and give him Paige’s explanation.”

“I’ll do that.” Caleb took the phone and headed to the office, where Mace’s laptop was open on the desk. In the quiet of that space, he looked around the familiar room and was grateful for the chance to help Paige. He had to pay her back for having tried to force her to use her gift when she didn’t want to. Maybe he’d always been a stubborn bastard. He grabbed the iMac’s mouse and logged in. Connected the phone cord. A few taps on the keys and he was shaking his head. He checked the connection again, muttered a few curses. Pounded some keys. “I forgot that this was Gray’s territory.” “And mine.” He looked up to find Vivi standing there, framed in the doorway. She’d come in from the outside, snow still clinging to her jean-clad legs. “I can help you with that,” she said. He leaned back in the office chair. Wondered if his attraction to her had been there from day one, because it called to him now like a goddamned beacon. Then again, it had been a long time since he’d gotten laid. “Right. Computer genius.” “I’m not a genius,” she said, her tone clipped. “But I can transfer a voice mail message, if that’s what you’re trying to do, so move before you screw it up and erase it.” He pushed off of the chair, giving it up to her. She sat down, took the phone and tapped the keys quickly and efficiently. She’d done this before. He had a picture of it—her head bent over a keyboard, her face a mask of concentration, and then a small smile when she succeeded. In this case, success meant the message began to play through the speakers. When Jeffrey’s laugh finished the call, Vivi moved away from the desk as if she’d been physically pushed and Caleb leaned in and pressed the mute button on the keyboard. “Sorry about that. I should’ve told you not to play it,” he said. “Do you want to let me know what’s going on?” she asked, looking shaken. “The message seems innocent enough, but his voice …” “Mace, it’s done,” he called out the open door before addressing Vivi’s question vaguely. “It’s Paige. She’s in trouble.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice as she said, “No shit.”

He ground out, “Her brother was in jail—and hopefully still is. That’s what Mace is confirming now with the help of my brother.” “Dylan or Zane?” she asked. “Dylan. Do you know him?” “Not personally. But you talked about both him and Zane when we were together. You were really worried about Zane while you were helping me. You were stuck with me while Zane was in trouble and—” Suddenly, she stopped talking and bit her bottom lip. Couldn’t look him in the eye as a sudden swell of emotion swept over her face. “You’re going to have to work on your poker face for the fed job,” he pointed out, because he didn’t know what else to say. Didn’t want to be responsible for making her look so damned sad. At his words, something flashed in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place, and then it was gone and she shot back, “You’re going to have to work on being less of a jerk.” She looked at the computer again. “If she gets another message, I can try to trace it.” That would be helpful. But it also meant she would be staying. “What were you doing outside?” “Trying to dig out my car.” “Again, you’re going to have to work on your ability to lie. Important part of the job.” She pressed her lips together and then said, “I was trying to dig out my car.” This time, he believed her.

CHAPTER

10

Mace didn’t want to disturb whatever was happening in his office between Caleb and Vivi, and so he waited—his phone in one hand, coffee in the other—for Dylan to call him back. It took thirty minutes. “I spoke to the warden. He personally went to eyeball Jeffrey himself. He’s on lockdown now—they searched his cell and found a throwaway cell phone. Guard I spoke to said the guy’s crazy. They’re always confiscating letters from him that were supposed to go out to his sister.” Mace’s throat went dry. “Threats?” “Yeah, I’d say so. Guy’s a psycho—unrehabilitatable, the warden said. He doesn’t understand how he got transferred to the psychiatric wing of the prison.” “He obviously has a hell of a lawyer.” “The warden said it’s just as secure, if not more so,” Dylan continued. “But he also said that all prisoners have their ways …” “Yeah, prisoners and Delta Force,” Mace muttered. “Listen, the warden said he could question Jeffrey about the Kettering case, but he thinks … Shit, I hate to say this.” “Then don’t. Paige isn’t going to see him for what might be total bullshit,” Mace said. Dylan sighed, but it was with understanding. “If Paige gets any more calls from him, call the warden immediately. I gave him your name, and Paige’s. He said he’ll take your calls without an appointment.” Mace wrote down the name and number and stuck it in his pocket. He wanted to ask Dylan how he’d gotten access to the prison warden and the guard, but figured some things were better left unknown. “How’s my brother?” Dylan asked finally, and the fact that Dylan had segued from Jeffrey to Cael wasn’t lost on Mace. “He’s all right. Starting to remember even more.” “It’s probably not the time to ask …” “It’s not.” “Fuck, Mace, just tell me you’re considering our offer to work together.”

Mace rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Dylan, I can’t give up now.” “Ah, fuck, Mace—this isn’t giving up. This is moving on. Look, you call me if things get out of hand. Zane and I will be there in a second if Caleb needs us.” Mace knew it killed the brothers to have to stay away from Caleb, but in the beginning, it had been the best move. Even now, it probably helped not to have Caleb’s family hovering over him. “I will,” Mace told Dylan before hanging up, ready to deal with the suddenly more pressing problem of Paige’s brother. Jeffrey was most definitely up to something and he was smart enough to mastermind whatever the hell was going on. Mace just needed to figure out the pattern—and who was helping him. He walked into the office, tapping on the door. Caleb had been staring out the window and Vivi was working on the computer. She looked upset. That seemed to be the theme of the week around here. “I’m just—” “She’s setting up the phone so incoming calls can be traced,” Caleb interrupted, and Vivi glared at him. Yeah, getting better every second. “So you know what’s happening?” he asked her. “Cael filled me in on the bare bones.” Caleb continued to look out the window. Mace closed the office door and lowered his voice, “We don’t tell Paige about the generator line being cut. Not yet.” Caleb turned then, his expression dark. “She’s not stupid—she’s probably already figured out the connection between Jeffrey and Big Harvey’s murder and she’ll be worried enough. You and I both know that nothing good comes from secrets.” “Think of it as protecting her,” Mace reasoned as he ran a hand through his hair. “Is that what you’re doing with me? Protecting me?” Cael asked. “Every chance I get,” Mace told him and a corner of Cael’s mouth quirked up. “You’re getting soft, Mace.” “Fuck that. Fuck you,” Mace shot back and Cael’s smile got even wider. “I said, fuck you. I’ll tell her. Will that make you happy?” “No. But it’s the right thing to do. You tell her and then you and I will catch whoever this asshole turns out to be.” The smile was gone from his friend’s face now, the familiar predatory gleam in his eyes. The same one that had saved Mace’s life.

And still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were all in more danger than they could possibly know. With that thought hanging over him, he went back upstairs to reassure Paige that Jeffrey was still safely locked behind bars in Pennsylvania, and now in solitary confinement for the next forty-eight hours, at least, but when he knocked, the sharp, “Come in,” surprised him. He’d expected her to be upset. Crying. Maybe even sleeping. But Paige was showered and dressed. And packing. “Paige, what’s going on?” She turned to him, a sweater in her hand that she viciously stuffed into her suitcase and then took out and threw on the bed. “I have to visit Jeffrey. I have to find out what he did to the Kettering twins.” “The police can do that.” “You and I both know he’ll deny it. He wants to share the horror with me, face-to-face, the way he did when he told me exactly how he’d murdered the neighbor’s cat. How he tortured it for days, enjoying its pain.” “You don’t have to put yourself through that. Caleb’s brother called, spoke to the warden—one of the guards. He’s behind bars. The warden knows about the calls and he said they’d make sure it doesn’t happen again—his phone privileges were still revoked, but the warden said—” “He said, Prisoners have their ways, right?” Her eyes blazed, the earlier fear gone, transformed into an anger that had her nearly shaking. “That’s what they kept telling us every time he called the house and tormented my parents and me. He also called the victims’ families too. All the time.” His face must’ve registered the shock because she nodded. “Yes, that’s right—it was disgusting and horrible. Beyond comprehension. And all this time, I’ve avoided going to see him. I told myself I never would. But now I have to, to show him I’m not scared of him. I have to show him he didn’t win, that I’ll never let him win. I have to stand up to him and his threats or I’ll never be able to sleep again. He knows I’ve been hiding from him—I’ve got to show him that I can take care of myself now. If he’s going to haunt and threaten me, I’ll make him do it face-to-face, so I can show him he doesn’t affect me the way he used to, I won’t let him. I can’t expect you to understand.” No, she couldn’t, but he did. Gray had wanted to take out Jeffrey with his bare hands, to protect Paige with a fierce, pure familial love that Mace understood. “He’s behind Harvey’s murder somehow. He’s trying to implicate me with the weapon … and you too. Because I’m with you.” “He’s behind bars.”

“That means nothing.” She was right. Inmates used people on the outside all the time to do jobs for them. Jeffrey was either using someone … or they were facing another situation entirely. “Is there anyone else you can think of who’d want to hurt you?” “No, not really.” “I checked on that Wallace guy—he didn’t get bail, so he’s locked up until his trial. He’s not anyone with connections,” Mace said. For a minute, she looked angry that he’d pried into her life and then her expression softened. “I’ll go with you.” “That’s not necessary.” “If Jeffrey’s in prison, then it’s someone else threatening you, with his guidance. If he thinks you’re headed to see him, don’t you believe he could have something planned? I’d never forgive myself for not helping you.” She swallowed hard, and as much as he knew she wanted to refuse, he also knew she wouldn’t. She was proud and scared, but by no means was she stupid. They’d leave for New Jersey later that day. In the meantime, he needed to shore up the house and bar against the yet unseen enemy and make sure neither of them got arrested for leaving the state against Ed’s advice. And so he placed a call to Ed. After five rings, the sheriff picked up and Mace barely said hello before telling the man, “I’ve got something that might be connected to Harvey’s murder, but I need it kept quiet.” There was a long pause and then, “You’re telling me how to do my job now? I expect you’d be pretty pissed if the tables were turned.” Yes, he would be. “If you can come to the bar when you get a chance, I’ll explain. It’s important. For Gray’s sister.” Gray was the only one Ed had really liked out of the whole group, but that wasn’t unusual. Everyone had liked Gray, almost instantly. He’d been one of those people who drew everyone to him. Mace was always too busy shoving them away. For the first time in his life, he felt as if someone other than his team—Paige—could change that. “I’m down the road—I’ll be up to you directly,” Ed told him before he hung up. Mace closed his phone and sat at one of the tables in the middle of the bar, tapping his fingers and going over the night Paige arrived at the bar and the night she’d worked. Closed his eyes and tried to picture the crowd, cursed himself for letting his guard down because he’d thought of this place as safe.

You can’t stay on a hundred percent of the time or you’ll lose your mind, Gray would tell him. “Why did I listen to you, Gray? Dammit, you let your guard down and bad shit happens,” he muttered. He didn’t remember seeing anyone out of the ordinary at the bar that first night, except for the woman who was wrapped around Big Harvey before he spotted Paige. That in itself wasn’t unusual—Harvey was always bringing women back from his travels, OA groupies. Harvey wasn’t much to look at and yet there was the persistent rumor that the moniker Big in front of his name didn’t stand for his belly. By now, the entire town would be talking about Paige. He couldn’t blame them. He just hoped they didn’t identify who she was, for her sake. She didn’t need any more shit to deal with right now. A heavy knock on the front door and Ed walked in without waiting. “Thanks for coming,” Mace told the officer, motioned for him to take a seat at the table with him. “I was going to call you anyway,” Ed said, and no, this couldn’t be good. The man sat heavily in the chair across from Mace and Caleb, who’d emerged silently out of the back room when he heard the door. Mace noticed Cael had shut the office door, no doubt so Vivi wouldn’t hear this conversation. “I did some investigating on Paige Grayson,” Ed started, held up his hand when Mace began to ask why. “You know I had to. I just checked out her background, and yes, I know who she is. Who her brother is. Everything she said about her work and former address checked out too.” “So what’s the problem?” “Her landlady was found murdered after Paige left. ME’s report said the woman had been killed around the same time Paige took off for here.” Mace didn’t know what to say to that, but Caleb did. “Someone’s got it out for her, Ed. Someone working with her brother.” Once again, he explained what Jeffrey’s message meant and then he pulled Paige’s phone out of his pocket and played the message for Ed, who winced as he listened, then muttered, “Monster. I’m assuming she’s contacted law enforcement about Jeffrey’s possible part in the Kettering twins’ disappearance?” Mace nodded, then leaned forward. “Is Paige a suspect in the landlady’s death? Wanted for questioning?”

Ed shook his head. “No. Actually, a witness was having coffee with the landlady when Paige left—she saw her car pull away. Whoever did it waited until the apartment was empty.” “It could have nothing to do with Paige at all,” Mace said, but he couldn’t deny that his gut told him otherwise. “She needs to go see her brother. I know we’re not supposed to leave the state, but you know I’m coming back, Ed. Cael will stay here. Twenty-four hours.” Ed sighed. “She’s less of a suspect than you and Caleb are for Harvey, Mace.” “Do you think we’d ruin our lives—our careers—over Big Harvey?” “It doesn’t matter what I think, there’s an investigation. I’m coming back here tomorrow night, and you two better be here or I’m putting out an APB.” “Fine.” “And you’ll let me know if you learn anything. We’ve got a big problem on our hands here. Looks like trouble’s following that girl.” With that, he stood and began to walk out of the bar. “Hey, Ed,” Mace called to him. “How was the landlady killed?” “She was stabbed. Same as Harvey.” With that, he left, and Mace and Caleb sat silently for a few minutes at the table, the clock on the wall in the empty bar echoing loudly. “Are you going to tell her about this?” Caleb asked Mace finally. “Fuck, I don’t know. How much can one person handle?” “As much as they need to, Mace. You know that as well as anyone.” Paige felt the weather echoing her feelings, watched the clouds, with their underbellies of dark gray, nearly black in some spots, stretching endlessly across the sky. A sign of foreboding, a warning she couldn’t afford to ignore. They would get out before the next band of snowstorms. Had to. But if Jeffrey was in prison, who was here? Who’d killed Harvey? Mace wasn’t bringing that up, but she’d made the connection herself as soon as she’d calmed down enough about the phone call. Still, she didn’t bring it up to him. If he wasn’t telling her, it was because he was trying to protect her, and really, she couldn’t fault him for that. She’d become like a delicate hothouse flower, someone he needed to care for with kid gloves, and she hated that. Hated that her brother could twist her life so far out of control she’d need a crane to rein it all back in. Where was she supposed to go from here? Could she hide with Mace in this town forever? You can’t think about that now. Focus on the immediate future. Gray would tell you that.

Going to see Jeffrey had turned into a necessity. Making the trip when both she and Mace were on the short list of murder suspects could be a real problem, but Mace assured her that he had explained the situation to Ed. So now Ed would know about her past. She knew how that worked, how the gossip would spread, especially in a town as small as this one. Mace refused to let her go alone. Had pretty much refused to let her go anywhere inside the bar alone, never mind the next state. She was tied in knots at the thought of going. “At least the warden got to hear the phone message,” she said finally, after Mace took her packed suitcase off the bed and put it on the floor, next to his own duffel. She sat on the bed, picking at the quilt, tracing the intricate patterns with her fingers, knowing they were leaving soon. “Yes, he heard it. And I spoke with Ed.” “He knows.” “Not because I told him.” Mace paused in a way that made her tense up. He looked at the ceiling and she wondered if he was talking silently to Gray, asking him for help. When he met her gaze again, he said, “He was checking into your background. Routine, because of Harvey. He told me … your landlady was found murdered.” Already numb, she felt her stomach plummet. “Mrs. Morris? How? Why?” she heard herself say before she put it together in her mind. “It’s because of me.” “We don’t know anything for sure.” He sat next to her. “Can you please breathe?” He put a hand on the back of her neck and rubbed lightly as she did what he asked—deep breaths taking away some of her nausea. “Thanks, Mace. I’ll be okay.” “You do know that Jeffrey’s in the psych ward of the prison, right? His lawyer wanted him in a less restricted environment,” Mace said, as if trying to prepare her. Even though she didn’t keep in touch with any of Jeffrey’s many lawyers through the years, she’d known this. It had made the papers. “He claimed that his anti-social personality disorder stems from childhood abuse—he says he didn’t want to talk about it while our parents were alive. He was hoping I would back him up on that claim, but it simply isn’t true. He told the new psychiatrist that he was molested, and that’s what started to make him so angry—that the murders weren’t his fault, that he wasn’t like this before that. And the scary part is, he appeared normal to everyone but me.” She shook her head. “He’s a master manipulator. It all happened before I could do anything about it—and I

would have too. I would’ve gone there, fought to stop it. If he comes up for parole, I’ll be there.” She felt the pain of the memories taking a heavy toll on her. Her shoulders slumped and she frayed the edges of her sweater with her fingertips. The menace in Jeffrey’s heart had been like a beacon, warning her to stay away. Her mom and dad hadn’t shared that trait. When Paige touched them, she simply felt confusion and sadness. Their burden had been a great one, but forgiving them had been difficult for her. It still was. All that time she’d tried to tell them and they’d refused to hear it. She’d failed, she knew that, but so had they. “I don’t want to go back there, but in a lot of ways, I guess I never really left it behind.” She rubbed her palms along her thighs as she stared at Mace. “It’s time. Come on.” Mace held out a hand to her and they both stared at it. “Shit. Sorry.” He was about to pull back but she tugged her sweater down over her palm and then accepted his hand. For now, that was enough. ——

Vivi was still behind the computer when Caleb stepped back into the office. Mace told him he and Paige were leaving. He had a favor to ask from a woman he had no right to ask anything of, and if their last encounter was any indication, Vivi was going to enjoy his groveling for sure. “Just ask,” she said finally, her tone curt, her gaze meeting his over the monitor. He’d been standing silently in the doorway, studying her as if she could disappear at any moment. And a deeper part of him didn’t want that, although he couldn’t be sure what that was about. Her eyes were clear and calm, because this—computers—this was her world. And she’d helped him before. That was a truth he knew in his bones. “When I was with you, last time …” “You needed my help then too,” she finished for him. “But I still needed yours more, and I hated that. I didn’t like being dependent on you at all. On anyone.” The admission poured out of her, as if she’d made a decision to stop holding back. He walked farther into the office, pulled up a stool and sat across from her at the desk. “You know about the murder and the threat. This morning, I found the generator line cut.”

“So, not an accident, then,” she murmured. “Not by a long shot. And we just found out that Paige’s landlady was murdered, right after Paige left.” Vivi’s jaw dropped. “What now?” “Paige wants to go visit her brother in prison.” “What did her brother do?” Caleb hesitated a minute, knowing Paige liked to keep her brother a secret. But in this case, when Vivi’s life was possibly in danger because of it, he felt she had a right to know. And so he said the name and her eyes widened, because Vivi and Paige were about the same age, and the school shooting had been huge news at the time. “I can’t imagine,” she began, and then stopped. “She thinks Jeffrey will tell her where he buried the twins. But he would never admit to sending someone to kill Harvey and her landlady.” “I doubt it, but that doesn’t mean he’s not behind it.” He paused. “Mace wants to make sure that he and Paige aren’t followed.” “So we need to find a way to keep the person behind all of what’s happened over the past twenty-four hours here with us.” Us. A good sign, and still he needed to remind her. “If you’re staying here, you’re most likely in danger too.” She pushed back from the desk and swiveled the chair to look at the sky. The latest storm had lifted, but the news had been promising another band of them within the next twenty-four hours. And then she turned back to him. “Is the bar opening tonight?” “Yes. I’ll be here to make sure you’re safe,” he said quickly and the familiar feeling she’d had around Caleb months earlier flooded her. They’d somehow gone back in time and she had a murderer to thank for it. “I’ll stay.” “You don’t have to, you know. I can make sure you get to the next town. I’ll have Keagen here with me tonight—we’ll feel out the locals, see if there’s anyone new hanging around.” She shook her head no. “Look, if someone’s targeting Paige, they need to think she’s still here. It’s the only way she can reach the prison safely. So we make it look like Paige never left and see if we can draw out the person who’s behind this.” It was his turn to nod. “Mace will wait until after dark and sneak Paige into the car—whoever sees him leave will think he’s alone. And you and Paige are close in height. If you borrow one Paige’s

sweaters, it could work. Business as usual. You’ll stay in the back room half in view, except for your face. Tie your hair back. People will think she’s hiding out because of what happened to Harvey.” He was asking a lot, but she owed him a great deal. He mistook her silence for misgivings. “I know I’m asking you a lot, and you have every right to say no. You can back out now. I understand.” “I’m not backing out,” she told him. “I owe you.” He looked at her incredulously. “You owe me? What are you talking about?” “You believed in me when no one else did. You risked everything—your job, your life—to prove I wasn’t in bed with a terrorist organization.” “Just because you weren’t guilty doesn’t mean I’m not.” “Caleb, please. Whatever it is … whatever it turns out to be, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.” “Don’t do this if you think it’s going to get you closer to me,” he said roughly, before he could stop himself. The look on Vivi’s face told him he’d nearly pushed it too far. She stood and walked over to him. “It kills you that you want me, doesn’t it?” “Purely a physical response.” “You keep telling yourself that.” A knock on the door halted any more conversation for the moment. Mace came in, followed by Paige. Vivi saw past them to the bags on the floor of the bar, assumed they were getting ready to leave. “Paige, I need to borrow a sweater or two,” Vivi said. Paige looked at her, a question in her eyes, while Mace flicked a glance at Caleb and asked, “You okay with this?” “For Gray, I have to be,” was all he said, and with that Mace and Paige left him alone with Vivi again. Vivi, who was putting herself in the line of fire. Jumping in to help out his friends. And she wasn’t doing it for him, or simply to get his attention. No, he would’ve smelled that bullshit from a mile a way. Somehow, she’d connected with him enough to know that her loyalty to him had to extend to his team. No exceptions. “Are you scared?”

“Yes.” She looked at him with wide eyes and he flashed back to another time and place—Vivi sitting in front of another computer, wearing that same expression and answering that same question in exactly the same way. “I’ve got your back. No matter what else is happening between us, I’ve got your back.” The men remained in the back room while Paige and Vivi stayed in the bar area, Paige rooting through her suitcase for a sweater to leave behind. She handed one to Vivi, who pointed toward Paige’s exposed tattoos. “Those are cool.” “Thanks.” Paige liked Vivi. She was smart, didn’t pry. Didn’t seem all that comfortable around people, which made her that much more endearing. “I’m sorry things are so hard with Cael.” “Yeah, well, I honestly never expected it to be easy but this is … well, much harder than I expected,” Vivi said. “I can’t give up, it’s not time yet. He’s close to remembering me. I’ve never believed in fairy tales, so I don’t know why I was picturing one,” Vivi said. “But Cael’s saved me in so many ways. I just wanted to be able to do the same for him.” “I guess we both have men we want to save.” Paige managed a smile. “Don’t give up on him.” “He’s given up on us already.” “He doesn’t want to get hurt.” “Who does?” Vivi shrugged, and looked away as if to signal the end of the conversation. She’d tied her hair back so the blue tips didn’t show. “The hair shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll be kind of hiding in the back room anyway—just letting people get a quick glance of me now and again.” “I guess they’ll figure I’m hiding out because of what happened.” “Yeah, probably.” Vivi tried on the sweater, the stretched-out sleeves flopping around her hands. She held up her arms. “What’s this all about?” “If you’re trying to pass as me, pull the fabric all the way down and catch and hold it in place over your palms with these two fingers.” She indicated her index and middle fingers and Vivi did what she was told. “Do you do this because you’re trying to hide your tattoos for work or something? Or are you just always cold?” “You don’t know.” “Apparently not.”

“I’m psychic. Psychometric, to be exact. I can read people and objects by touching them.” She held up her hands like they were foreign objects. “That’s pretty cool. Except it probably gets in the way of, say, life.” “Hence the stretched-out sleeves.” She shrugged. “It’s different, I know.” “I’ve always been different. Never really fit in anywhere. I still don’t, but I started to, with Cael.” Vivi shrugged the sweater off and held it tight against her body. “I know what it’s like to be isolated.” “Did you hear about the school shooting when it happened?” “Honestly? No. But I was being homeschooled by then and we didn’t have a TV and we didn’t get newspapers. My dad was a conspiracy theorist to an incredible degree and he didn’t believe anything that was reported. And after what happened a few of months ago, I know what it’s like to have people after you,” Vivi said. “To suddenly lose the sense of safety you had, no matter how tenuous.” “Are you still in danger?” “Not the way I was, but enough so that they changed my name. I’m hidden from the person I used to be, to the outside world. Inside … well, that’s all a work in progress.” Paige liked that Vivi had no problem admitting to—and accepting—her flaws. “Are things any better today with Caleb?” “Maybe a little. Getting to know him the first time wasn’t all that easy either. This time …” She trailed off and Paige zipped up her bag again. “Please don’t take any chances on my account.” Vivi gave her a small smile. “I’m careful.” “I know. That doesn’t always help, I’ve realized. I’ve been so careful. I don’t give my cell phone number to anyone, really. And I change it every year, just in case.” She frowned. “Probably sounds paranoid to you.” “Not after growing up with my father. And, in your case, it sounds like a necessary step for keeping your personal life private.” Vivi shrugged. “Before this, I was basically a hermit. Self-imposed for the last few years. It was just easier than trusting anyone—or trusting the wrong person.” “I guess we’ve got a lot in common.” Paige felt her stomach tighten at the thought of having actual friends again. Because she wanted friends desperately, but she also knew how dangerous it could be. And the danger was already following her.

“It’s going to be all right, Paige. If there’s one thing I’ve learned spending time with these men, they make sure it’s all right.”

CHAPTER

11

After Mace and Paige left, Vivi remained at the computer, trying to see if she could find out any information on what could be triggering Paige’s brother to make contact now. Something about the phone call didn’t sit right with her, beyond the obvious threat, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She listened to it a few more times, then glanced at Paige’s sweater, which was on the desk next to her, and wished she had asked her more questions about her brother. But time had been tight and Vivi knew that wouldn’t have gone over too well—Paige was shaken enough as it was. She could ask Caleb more about Jeffrey. Cael. She heard him moving around in the bar area and the flutter of nerves began swarming her belly again. They were alone here. Totally alone. And that could be very, very good or very, very bad. She forced her focus back to the computer, the phone lines and attempting to trace the call. She also Googled Paige’s brother and found out more than she’d ever wanted to know about him. After an hour or so, she pushed back from the screen and rubbed her hands, surveyed the neat desk in front of her. Her eye caught on a spiral notebook, opened and partially hidden under some envelopes, saw a drawing and knew it was Caleb’s. She felt guilty looking at it without asking, but not enough to resist, because this had somehow turned into trench warfare and she needed to up her game in a major way. She turned a page and saw the familiar pencil sketches he used to do in the days they spent together. She wondered if he’d left it out on purpose for her to see and decided she didn’t care. Many pages showed a man she didn’t recognize … and then another man. Sometimes, they were drawn together on the same page, their faces blurry, like they were being seen through a mist. Then there was a picture of Zane, and one of Dylan too, and those made her smile. She’d never met either man but she’d seen many photos in the album in Cael’s apartment. She wondered if he’d remembered them at the time, since the drawings were dated two months earlier. A couple of pages later her breath left her. She stared at the drawings and then touched them tentatively with a single finger, as though they might disappear if she did so. But they didn’t.

Caleb had drawn her, and they were dated within the last few weeks, well before she’d arrived. The sketches were similar to the ones he’d drawn of her when they were together—in the safe houses, in his apartment. He had the shading correct on her hair … her bangs, which were now grown out. There were six of them altogether, and the last one showed her sleeping, the sheet half off her. He’d drawn the outer curve of her breast, her hip … it was at once innocent and erotic and she ran a finger lightly along the penciled edges, tried to picture Caleb drawing these. Was he confused? Was he dreaming about her? She’d wanted him to be. What would happen if things didn’t work out? Never regaining his memories was one thing, but if he wasn’t able to fall in love with her again, what did that mean? Maybe it was only the danger—and the sex that came with all that fear and adrenaline—that had drawn them together in the first place. Maybe forever wasn’t in the cards. But, God, he’d drawn her. That had to mean she’d meant something to him. She would hold on to that. Reluctantly, and with shaking hands, she turned the notebook back to the page he’d left it open to and she slid it back where she’d found it, only to look up and find Caleb framed in the doorway, his broad shoulders a reminder of the nights she clung to them as he pressed inside of her. She was pretty sure her face flushed, and so she focused on the screen in front of her, ducking her head slightly, forgetting that her hair was pulled back and she couldn’t hide behind it. She knit her fingers together so he wouldn’t see them tremble, said, “You’re still drawing,” lamely, because there was no way to deny she’d been spying. “Why didn’t you tell me that you remembered me?” “Because I didn’t—I don’t,” he answered sharply enough to make her wince. “You’re still getting into places you don’t belong.” Caleb, when he was on a mission, was an unstoppable force. After last night’s debacle and this morning’s uneasy truce, he seemed to accept the fact that he wasn’t getting rid of her anytime soon. Now he appeared calm, but she knew she was on extremely thin ice. And still, she pushed. “You drew me. Naked. When I came here, you must’ve recognized me from the pictures, and you still tried to push me out the door—why?” He ignored the question and shot back one of his own. “So, you’re working with the feds,” he started, and she nodded, refusing to admit to her lie after he’d lied to her. “Where will your home base be?”

“I’ll work out of a field office. I can work anywhere I have a computer,” she explained, felt the tension filling the air as he walked around the desk and planted himself pretty much in front of the computer—and her chair. But he left some space between them and she put her hands in her lap, still twined together. “That means trusting people,” he said, leaned his ass against the desk. She looked up at him. “Right.” “And you don’t trust easily. I’m right about that, aren’t I, Vivi?” “Very.” “But you trusted me.” “One of the few,” she agreed. “I need to know more,” he said gruffly. That surprised her, threw her off balance even more than she already was. Whatever they’d had before this was still so new, so fragile. It might not have survived under the most normal of circumstances his job allowed. Under circumstances like these, anything would most likely crumble into a thousand pieces. The question, How can this work? ran over and over in her mind. “I’m supposed to spew out my whole life to you now because you’ve decided it’s time?” Caleb cocked a brow. “Yes.” “God, you always were arrogant. I shouldn’t have expected anything different.” She reminded herself that she loved this man. That she came to help him, even if the outcome wasn’t them together. She owed him. “Were you always this opinionated with me?” he asked. Had she been? “I was comfortable with you, even though I was scared. I was pretty innocent in a lot of ways. I was sheltered because my dad didn’t trust anyone. That meant I didn’t either.” He wasn’t sure what she meant at first and then it slowly dawned on him. Because, with him, as with most men, it went right back to sex. “You were a virgin?” “No. But I was pretty close to it.” “Did I take advantage of you? Because it sounds like you were in a vulnerable situation.” “No,” she said firmly. “No way. You’re not like that.”

“I’m so tired of hearing what I’m like, what I’m not like, from you and from everyone.” He stood up fast and she tried to get up too, but he was too quick; he leaned over her, forcing her to stay put, trapping her with a hand on either armrest. “Did I trust you completely?” She didn’t answer him immediately and he touched the pulse point on her neck with two fingers. “I can tell how nervous you are. Don’t bother trying to deny it.” She didn’t. “You didn’t trust me much in the beginning. By the time you left, you did. And you were right to.” He nodded, as if her answer satisfied him. She thought he would allow her to stand, thought the questioning was over. She was so damned wrong. Instead of moving back, he reached for her wrists, separated her hands easily and pulled her out of the chair. Kicked it away and pressed her up against the wall so she was trapped between him and the paneling. “You’re lying to me, Vivi. And I want to know why.” Please,” Vivi whispered and Caleb didn’t know what she was asking for but his hands held her wrists, his body pinning her to the wall, one of his thighs pressed between hers. It was an oddly sexual interrogation, but since Vivi had arrived, all his urges—sexual and otherwise—were magnified, even as distrust and frustration with his memory loss came flooding back. “You’ve lied to me before.” “No. You thought I did.” “I might not know much … but I know when someone’s keeping a secret.” His face was inches from hers, his cock was hard and his adrenaline raced. He wanted the truth from her, but he also wanted her naked, on the desk, writhing under him, and the image was disconcerting considering the current circumstances. She licked her bottom lip. Her breath came fast. She would kiss him back, he knew that. “You’re just mad I looked at your sketches.” That was part of it, yes, but his instincts still screamed. He might not remember Vivi well, but his subconscious seemed to. Intimately. “Tell me what you’re holding back,” he demanded. “I’m not with the FBI,” she blurted out, nervousness making her voice a higher pitch than usual and he caught flashes of her. In a chair. Tied. Naked. An interrogation. And she’d been scared.

He released her as if he’d been burned but he wouldn’t let it go that easily. “This happened before,” he blurted out. “You tied me to a chair and interrogated me when we were together,” she told him. “This wasn’t about you losing control, Caleb. It was about you remembering. Re-creating.” “I don’t want to re-create … not like this.” He shook his head. “Please, Caleb, you have to believe me, quitting the FBI is the only thing I lied about. And I was going to tell you when it mattered. If it mattered.” “So all that shit you talked about earlier, about loyalty—” “Wasn’t shit, you asshole.” She pushed her body toward his, posturing and angry and, no, that wasn’t a lie. He almost kissed her then, but was distracted by a tall shadow moving across the back window. A quick glance back at Vivi told him she’d seen it too, which meant the person wasn’t trying too hard to remain hidden. Still, he wasn’t taking chances. “Move to the storeroom—don’t come out until I say it’s okay,” he barked, was out the door with a baseball bat in hand in seconds. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.” Caleb sighed, turned to find his teammate leaning against the side of the building like it was perfectly normal for him to be standing outside in the middle of a snowstorm. “Goddammit, Reid.” Reid took a drag of his cigarette, then dropped it and ground it out with the heel of his heavy black leather boot. “What the hell are you going to do with that?” Caleb dropped his arm, letting the bat hang loosely at his side. “There’s been some action around here.” “I could see that. That’s why I was waiting out here.” “Asshole.” “Yep.” “Mace called you in, didn’t he?” Cael asked, and when Reid nodded, he motioned him inside, saying, “I’ll fill you in.” Mace no doubt called him because Caleb’s memories were coming back so quickly now. Having Reid here to help them with the Paige situation would be an added bonus. “Vivi, everything’s okay—you can come out. It’s just Reid.”

As Vivi came out of the storeroom, Caleb asked Reid, “Where’s Kell?” “Fuck if I know.” Reid abandoned his bag in the middle of the office with a quick glance at Vivi before turning his attention back to Cael. “You don’t expect me to work here, do you?” “Just come have a goddamned drink and stay under the radar, okay?” He pointed to Vivi. “Reid, you remember Vivi Clare, right?” Reid cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, I do. I just didn’t think you did.” “Don’t go there,” Caleb warned, and Reid looked between the two of them. Vivi gave a small wave and went back to the computer and Reid followed Caleb into the main part of the bar. It was time to open the place up. Just then, Paige’s cell phone, which had been sitting on the office desk, began to ring. The three of them stared at it like it was a ticking bomb. A pretty apt description. Vivi picked up the phone and checked the screen. “It’s the same number Jeffrey used before,” Vivi said. “Should I pick it up?” Caleb nodded. “Speaker, though.” She did as he asked, said hello softly, trying to imitate Paige’s voice. There was a pause and then, “Hi, Paige.” Before Vivi could say anything else, the familiar voice of Jeffrey continued to talk. And the same, familiar message from yesterday. She said, “Is this Jeffrey?” but the voice continued along without missing a beat. It was a recording. Still, she hoped the message would be long enough this time to trace the call, watched the time with baited breath as Caleb’s face tightened with anger, because he was paying attention to the message. It was hard not to. When Jeffrey said good-bye, the phone clicked off. The call had been under thirty seconds, so Jeffrey obviously made sure it couldn’t be traced. The whole damned country knew that, thanks to all the police procedural shows. “Did you record it?” Caleb asked. “Yes, I’ve got it on the computer. And there’s a record of the call on the phone so you can report it.”

“I’ll have Dylan call the prison. Someone close to her is giving out information.” “There’s no one close to her,” she pointed out. “There was Gray. And now you guys. But before that, she was nearly as solitary as I was, even with her work. As I still am.” Caleb turned to stare at her when the last statement slid out of her mouth, but she’d already turned away. Mace drove the wintry roads toward New Jersey. They would get there quickly, giving her time to rest overnight before the morning’s visit. Paige agreed—she would need all her strength, and right now she simply felt strung out. Jittery and restless, wondered how she’d sit through the long drive. Wondered how she’d sit next to Mace, because even though he’d been nothing but supportive and strong since she’d listened to the phone call, there was still so much hanging between them. How had things gone so very wrong in such a short period of time? She couldn’t think about that now—had to focus on what lay ahead. She needed to see Jeffrey to find out about the twins. That was the goal of this trip. And as she buckled herself into the now warm car with its leather seats, Mace scraped away ice from the windshield and then got into the car himself. “The sky looks dark again,” she noted. “The radio said another storm’s coming through.” “We’ll be there before it hits,” he assured her as he drove out of the lot on a backwoods road that was bumpy and unplowed, although in his SUV, she wasn’t worried. “Dylan is calling the warden to arrange for your visit outside of normal visiting hours.” “Good, that’s good.” She was beginning to understand the intricate web of bonds between these brothers in arms. Appreciated it as much as she feared it. “It’s early for these kinds of back-to-back storms, isn’t it?” He glanced at her briefly. “Nothing surprises me anymore.” For the first half hour or more, he checked his rearview mirror carefully as they drove along, making sure no one was following them. And then he turned the radio on low and she pushed her seat back, too tired from the stress of recent events not to let the car rock her into a dreamless sleep. When she woke, it was a few hours later and they’d crossed into Jersey. They had left earlier than necessary, long before the bar would open. She had a feeling he didn’t want her to have to spend another night at the bar, just in case. She didn’t like the idea of leaving Vivi in the line of fire for her, but she’d be with Caleb and Keagen, and the sheriff would be in the area too, checking for anything that looked suspicious. “You don’t think the OA will do anything while you’re gone, do you?” she asked. “I don’t want you to worry about that.”

“Just because you tell me not to worry doesn’t mean it won’t happen,” she said, aware of how stupidly stubborn she sounded. “You need to eat,” was all Mace said and she was too tired to argue. Tired, no doubt, from low blood sugar, but he already knew that and she saw no point in confirming that he was right. Again. Instead, she sat across from him in a dark, cozy steak house he’d found and let him order the porterhouse for two, her mouth watering as the waiter brought them bread, quickly followed by appetizers. His smirk said, Told you so, but she ignored it in favor of stabbing another shrimp and dipping it into the spicy cocktail sauce. They ate in relative silence, with her enjoying the comfort of having him near, of being someplace safe and happy. “Is the hotel close?” He nodded. “I already booked us a room before we left.” A room, as in one. He didn’t look apologetic at all about not booking two separate rooms. Maybe he’d even try to say it was for protection. She didn’t bother to ask. And then the waiter brought out the steak and the sides and served them. When he left, they both began to eat. Mace took a few bites before he said, “I was a bastard last night. Par for the course for me. But you don’t deserve to get the brunt of it.” “I asked for it, Mace.” “No, you wanted answers. You got my burdens.” “I guess we’re pretty even, then. And I don’t think you’re a bastard.” “Yeah, you do. It’s okay, I am. Literally and figuratively,” he told her, and she realized that he hadn’t exactly apologized for it, just simply stated a fact. “Have you ever looked for your father?” “I know who he was,” he said shortly. “I visited him once, in a place similar to where we’re headed. Different state, same bars and barbed wire.” “What did he do?” “Murdered a store clerk during an armed robbery, when my mom was pregnant with me. He was the first person she met when she ran away from home.” “Is he still in prison?”

“He’s dead,” he told her bluntly. “He was killed on the inside by another inmate after he’d been in for ten years. Prison justice.” She wanted to tell him she was sorry, but she knew Mace wasn’t sorry about it at all. And so she said nothing, took the small scrap of information he’d shared with her and was grateful for it. “And here I thought I had the only screwed-up family.” “Some hide it better than others.” She pressed her lips together and then she admitted, “After the shooting—the trial—everything fell apart. Mom started drinking and so did Dad. Then Dad left—he died of alcohol poisoning a few years after that. Then Mom pulled me out and homeschooled me. I was grateful, because news had already traveled to our new town about who we were … what Jeffrey had done.” She paused. “My mom met Gray’s dad about two years later and they got married.” Gray had been the only bright spot in her teenage years, had carried her through nursing school and her mom’s death—her stepfather moved to Arizona for the climate to help with his asthma and emphysema. Mace took a few more bites of his meal before he said, “Gray wished he could’ve done more. He didn’t like leaving you in the house with your mom and his dad—he said they both drank too much. Said he told you to leave when you were eighteen and not look back. That you deserved better. And he was right.” “I’m glad I left when I did,” she agreed. “He helped me a lot. Even if I didn’t see him all the time, he was still there for me.” “He was,” Mace agreed. “You didn’t come home with Gray much, my stepfather said.” “You asked about me?” He raised his eyebrows. “I was curious. I know you didn’t come the next time he visited me.” Even though Mace didn’t comment on her admission, they finished the rest of the meal in comfortable silence. Mace ordered them dessert, and even though she protested, she still ate some when it was served. She took it as a good sign that she wasn’t too nervous to eat. Mace had managed to take her mind off tomorrow, even though they hadn’t avoided talking about it. His presence was calming. And he looked really good. Rugged and handsome. The waitresses—and other patrons—had taken note of that too. Several women had passed by their table in hopes of catching his gaze.

If he noticed, he didn’t let on. Just drank the red wine he’d ordered them and spooned chocolate mousse into his mouth, looking wicked and decadent, and yes, there was something between them. More than danger, more than sex, and she wasn’t sure if and when she’d admit it to him. If she kept up with the wine, it would be sooner rather than later. She put down her wineglass, rested her arms on the table as she leaned in to let him spoon a bite of dessert into her mouth. Mainly to annoy the woman who kept glaring at her, like Paige had stolen her Prince Charming. Mace was watching her like she was the only woman in the room. “You must have a lot of women after you, all the time,” she said, picked up her glass and took another big sip of wine, quickly forgetting her vow not to drink more. He filled her glass again instead of answering. “Do I take that as a No comment?” “I’m not sure you really want me to answer. Besides, I’m sure you’ve had your share of men after you.” “There’ve been some,” she said quietly, stared at her glass. “I tried to use sex to forget far too many times.” “Did it work?” She looked up to meet his gaze. “Not once, even with my hands protected.” “It never worked for me either. Sex is just sex … it should be about feeling good, not about trying to replace something else.” He put down his spoon and took her wrists in his hands before she could move them off the table, gently tugged so their arms were stretched out toward one another on either side of the table that separated them. “Why these?” He rubbed his thumbs over the tattoos on both wrists, the motion sending a buzz through her nervous system, the small shocks reminding her she knew just what kind of damage those fingers could do. “Protection,” she said. “I figured I need all the help I can get. I know it might seem silly to you.” “It doesn’t,” he said. She thought about the small knife he’d carried with him from childhood—far too small for protection, and yet for Mace it provided protection of some sort just the same. That same small knife that had caused so many big problems between them. “What did Gray say when you got a Navy symbol?”

“Nautical stars aren’t only naval symbols,” she protested and he just cocked a brow. “What? Should I get an Army insignia to make up for it?” Mace didn’t stop stroking her wrists. “You know, that’s not a bad idea at all.” “You’re kidding, right?” But he wasn’t. As Caleb tended the busy bar, the storm clouds returned, bringing a few more inches of light snow topped with a layer of icy hail. Plows ran nonstop, clearing and salting, and Mace had finally called him from the road to say they were safely in Jersey and hadn’t been followed. Good for them, not so good for Caleb or Vivi or anyone in this bar. As he worked, he kept an eye on Vivi. She’d paced the back room restlessly after he’d walked away with Reid, stared out the windows and finally settled behind the computer. The only difference was that she now wore Paige’s sweater pulled down to cover most of her hands. He had no doubt she was pissed at him—and a little scared too. Shit, he’d scared himself for a minute there. And being that close to her had been too much for him—his blood had been set to boiling since last night and the fact that he’d been close to taking her against the damned wall hadn’t helped. This dance was part fear, part seduction; she was playing a necessary game, one he understood, but she was straddling a really thin line with him and he wasn’t sure how ready he was to cross it further. By midnight, despite the weather—or because of it—the crowd was in full swing. He and Keagen and Vivi were all jumpy as hell, and the mood of the bar was a little off—people were talking about the murder. Some were spooked and a lot thought it was OA-related business, but the consensus was that they were all starting to get a little snow crazy, and it was damned early in the season for that. The back parking lot was covered with police tape and everyone who walked in wanted to know if it was Mace or Caleb who found the body, who Ed suspected, and whether the town was about to be in the middle of a gang war. Cael didn’t answer with much detail, and he noted that they didn’t ask Keagen too many questions. He was usually eyed with a bit of suspicion by the locals, as if he alone could bring a swarm of motorcycle-riding men like Harvey into town anytime he wanted. Granted, that was true, but Keagen liked his freedom more than being ordered around as part of a group. I was young and dumb when I joined, and now I can’t back out completely, he’d told Caleb once. In between drink orders, Keagen filled him in on the information he’d gotten from Harvey’s ex-charter.

“They don’t like him, but they had nothing to do with it,” Keagen said. “Red said if they were going to kill him, they would’ve done it years ago when they first kicked him out for sleeping with a few of the guys’ women without permission. They beat the shit out of him when they pushed him out, but he got off a lot easier than a lot of other members, truth be told.” “You believe them, then?” “I never believe anything any OA says one hundred percent, man, but this doesn’t feel like OA justice at all. And trust me, they like people knowing when they’ve performed some justice. They’re not all that broken up, but they’ve got to do something to save face, in case it’s a rival gang,” Keagen continued. “So far, no one’s taken any responsibility.” “Not so good for us,” Cael muttered. “It’s not. Especially since you and Mace were the last ones to see him alive. Plus, all the guys know you have the means a hundred times over. And he threatened Mace’s old lady. Guys in the OA have killed for a hell of a lot less.” “Keagen, smooth this over.” “I’m doing what I can.” Cael passed a tray of shots across the bar and looked back at Keagen. “You know, Cam could probably help you get all the way out if you wanted.” Cam had once been a member of the OA. Former Delta Force, he now worked with Dylan as a private contractor on black ops missions of their choosing. “The only way that’s going to happen is if I disappear, brother.” Keagen clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll be all right. The OA respects me and I do the same and it’s all good.” That it’s all good line was probably one of the biggest lies of the goddamned week but Caleb let it go because Keagen’s personal life wasn’t the biggest issue on the agenda at the moment. Thankfully, none of the OA gang was in here tonight, but a few of their old ladies were. Caleb recognized them as regulars from the past few months. Before the mission, it had been at least a year since he’d been here. “Where’s Mace?” one of them called to him. She was a tough-looking woman, not exactly pretty but not ugly either. She wore too-tight jeans and a tank top under a fake-fur-lined leather jacket and she’d been belting back drinks like nobody’s business. “He’s in the back room,” Caleb said with a smile. “He’s busy.”

“With that girl who kicked Big Harvey in the nuts?” she asked with a wry smile and Caleb just shrugged a little and scanned the room and saw nothing different from how it had been every night since he’d arrived here. He turned to the sink to grab a rag to wipe down the back counter as Reid walked through the crowd and ducked under the bar. Cael didn’t have to ask where his teammate had been—the man had the remnants of lipstick and a shit-eating grin on his face. “Tell me you didn’t use my bed,” he groaned. “No comment.” Reid wiped his face with a wet napkin. “Dude, and I thought the Amazon was out of control. Tonight’s like spring break in a trailer park explosion.” Reid took a corner seat and was once again surrounded by women almost immediately. He was a goddamned pretty boy and he knew it, but he was usually more abrasive than a flirt. Not nearly as abrasive as Kell, though, if memory served. That guy was rude as hell and the women still went for him. Speaking of women … “Come on, Cael, let’s warm up the bar.” The pretty brunette named Lucy motioned to him to dance on the bar. Reid and Keagen both looked between him and Vivi, who was at the half-opened door to the back room, still dressed in Paige’s sweater, her hair tucked up so the blue tips didn’t show. He told himself he needed to put on a show, to make things as normal as possible. And so he joined Lucy, feeling Vivi’s eyes on him, especially when Lucy pulled him close. “I hope you’re going to make up for the other night,” she whispered against his ear. “It’s not nice to tease.” When the song ended, Caleb looked toward the back and saw that Vivi was gone. “She went upstairs,” Reid told him, and Cael couldn’t blame her, since Lucy had been grinding on him like a polecat in heat. He hadn’t felt a thing. The only rush in his veins had been with Vivi, and in his dreams he hadn’t stopped, pushed her away. No, in his dreams, he’d taken her on that old twin bed upstairs and the floor—slid inside of her to a place that felt as warm and familiar as anything he’d ever known. He hadn’t remembered that until just now. Wondered why the good memories were as hard to find as the bad. Finally, it was last call, and after half an hour, the last patrons were ushered out of the bar pretty unceremoniously by Reid, who slammed and locked the door behind them. As Keagen worked on cleanup, Caleb sat with Reid and filled him in on what had been happening. “This is so not good,” Reid muttered.

“Have you always been this articulate?” Reid simply smiled. “What’s up with your girlfriend?” “She’s not my girlfriend.” He kept his voice low, even though Vivi was still upstairs and Keagen was listening to his iPod as he cleaned up around them. “Sure, Cael. You fell for her the second you spied on her,” Reid said with a smirk. “Kell and I took bets on how long it would take you to sleep with her. I won.” “Kell’s not here to verify that,” Caleb pointed out, and Reid’s face darkened. He played with the half a beer he had left—Reid was never a big drinker, usually holding on to a drink just so people didn’t continually offer—and finally said, “He’s not answering any of my calls.” “He does that once in a while, flies off the radar, and then he’s back, same old moody pain in the ass he always is,” Caleb said. “Why are you staring at me like that?” “Nothing. It’s just, Mace did say you remembered a lot of stuff.” “Some. Lots about you guys and the missions. My brothers. Growing up.” “You remember her?” “No. And I still managed to hurt her worse than if I did.” “Nearly fucking that woman on the bar in front of her didn’t help. I’m glad I’m not you right now.” Cael sighed at his teammate’s brutal and inappropriate honesty, knew he would have to smooth things over with Vivi. Again. It was like putting a Band-Aid on a bullet wound. Last night, he’d been unable to fall asleep, afraid of the dream that he slipped into every time he let himself drift off. He heard the voices—two male voices he didn’t recognize—then the two faces he’d drawn over and over again in the notebook. You have to kill them before they kill you, they would tell him. They’re out to get you. Stop them from talking. You know how you stop someone from talking, right? You slit their throat. The knife, in his hand. The men laughing, nodding. Cael slashing the air in front of him. Gray, dead in front of him. Mace, staring at him wordlessly. “Cael, where did you just go?” Reid asked, bringing him back to the present. “You don’t want to know, man. You don’t want to know.”

CHAPTER

12

Caleb sent Keagen home, locked up and left Reid downstairs, grumbling about playing guard dog and setting up a sleeping bag on top of some tables in the corner, out of view of the windows. Vivi was indeed waiting for him. She’d been pacing, pulled up short when she saw him, and he attempted to stop the tirade he knew was coming by saying, “I had to dance with her. That’s what I’ve been doing when I work—we’re supposed to keep things business as usual.” “Business as usual means practically screwing a woman on top of the bar?” She shook her head. “What are you doing, Caleb? What the hell are you trying to prove with that?” Damn, this was bad. Really bad. “Nothing. I’ve got nothing to prove.” “Right, not to me anyway.” “I’m trying to find out who’s behind Harvey’s murder. Trying to regain my memory, my job—my life. I don’t have time for this jealous bullshit stuff.” “But you have time to grind against women you’ve only known for the past few months, if that, right? So why didn’t you invite her up to your bed?” When he refused to answer, she continued, “You know what, Caleb, I’m beginning to think you’re all talk. I’m beginning to think you haven’t been with anyone since you were with me.” She’d hit the nail right on the head and it pissed him off. “You’re pushing it, Vivi.” “Good, because someone has to.” Her eyes blazed now. “You’ve been dancing around everything between us and I’ve been playing it your way. So let’s keep the ball in your court: Tell me what you want.” “I just want to fuck you,” he said roughly. “Do you like hearing that?” “But you keep trying to push me away.” She was walking toward him, pulling off her sweater to reveal a tank top. “So if you want to fuck me, go ahead.” He didn’t move. “You’re scared. Maybe if you take me, you’ll feel something. And that scares the hell out of you. Because if you start feeling again, you might just remember.” She leaned in close. “I’ll let you in on a secret. It scares the hell out of me too, but I’ve got enough balls to go there.” “Vivi …” His voice held a warning even to his own ears, but she was too far gone to take heed.

“I think you can’t get it up anymore. I think you’re pretending you’re fucking everything that moves but you can’t do it. Something’s stopping you, and I think it’s the memories of us. And it bothers you, more than anything. It bothers you that I got in.” He hated that she knew him better than he knew himself at this point. Resented the hell out of all of this. “I told you not to push.” “That’s all I want to do. Don’t you understand? That’s the only way I can get you to react.” “You’re not going to like the reaction. Don’t tease me, Vivi.” “I’m not teasing. I offered to let you have me—more than once. You’re the tease, Caleb.” With that, she walked into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. Locked it too, because she realized she was shaking. She’d never spoken to anyone like that in her life. Never felt strongly enough about any one person to fight that badly. And you lost. Knowing she couldn’t go back out there and face him, she decided to take a bath—a long, relaxing one, and give Caleb some time and room to calm down. His face had been tight with anger—she’d hit on some truths, and yes, she’d pushed him. Too far, she acknowledged, as the running water steamed up the mirrors and she dropped her pants and pulled her tank top off, leaving her in just her underwear. It was only then she truly assessed her vulnerability. She’d made a tactical error coming in here. She was trapped. And as she pressed her ear to the door, she heard his footsteps. She held her breath and waited for them to grow fainter. Instead, they grew louder. Because they were heading in her direction. She backed away from the door, looked around as if an escape hatch would magically open, and then asked herself what she was so afraid of. She had been so busy trying to convince herself—and him too—that he was the same man, she’d refused to entertain her own fears. Caleb might not be the same, might never be, for better or for worse. In so many ways, he was still a stranger to her. Unpredictable. And she’d poked at him, insulted him. Offered herself to him.

The doorknob moved and then stopped. The lock held and she stared at it, hoping he would walk away. And then Caleb opened the door. The locked door, which admittedly must’ve been child’s play for him. She swallowed hard, crossed her arms over her breasts as he moved toward her, his intent unmistakable. Unconsciously, she backed up until her ass hit the sink. She swore she heard him chuckle, although his expression didn’t change. There was need in his eyes—different than what she’d seen before his capture and escape. He was right, he was a whole different man now. Harder. Tougher. Cael hadn’t been gentle the first time they’d been together all those months ago, hadn’t touched her like she was some kind of fragile flower—apparently, that was something deeply ingrained in him. Did she want him like this? You said you wanted him, any way you could have him. Too late to take that back. And even though she was shaking, the second his bare skin touched hers, her body responded, damp and hot between her legs, nipples puckered with the threat and promise of sex and danger. His hands went to her hips, forced his pelvis to hers, and her own memories stirred. I’m going to scare you, Vivi. He didn’t say a word now, just brought his mouth down on hers while at the same time reaching between them to remove her arms from her chest. He pushed them roughly back to her sides and molded their bodies together, his arousal already pressing her belly. His kisses weren’t angry—far from it. His tongue’s penetration was a lazy, swirling, mesmerizing force. Her hands gripped the porcelain sink behind her, unable—unwilling—to move a muscle, and she responded to the kiss as if it quenched every thirst she’d ever had. She was still shaking. And he didn’t care, simply took his time kissing her, harder, until she forgot everything but the feel of him. He felt exactly the same as before. His kisses, his touches … this was the Caleb she knew. He pulled away and her lips felt bruised. She wasn’t sure what he would do now, if he would leave her the way he had last night, or if he’d respond to her taunts of being unable to get it up by proving her wrong.

“You offered. You said you’re here for the taking, Vivi. So I’m taking.” His voice was a rough growl that penetrated her as surely as a touch. She had no words, no defense. “Face the mirror,” he ordered, and she hesitated, long enough so that he physically turned her. She couldn’t see much until he wiped a hand across the mirror, revealing her face, with his above it. Her mouth dropped, a low whimper escaping, and then the steam encased the mirror again and she was gone. His hand found her, fingers entering her. She tried to get onto her tiptoes, but he wouldn’t let her. “You’re wet for me. You like this, like being scared. I think you got addicted to the danger.” “No, that’s not—” She was unable to finish the rest of the sentence, her words wrapped up in a moan as his thumb found the bundle of nerves with an expertise she’d tried to re-create herself. Tried and failed. “Spread your legs. Farther.” She did, felt his arousal brush her, softness and steel, and then the tip was inside of her, the familiar stretch threatening to push her over the edge much too soon. She was drowning in a sea of her own pleasure, her emotions spiraling out of control—every intention to tell him no disappeared as if she was completely powerless against his touches. She was. Had been from the first time he’d touched her. And on some base level, he knew that. “I want this. Need this. I’m going to take you, Vivi. Going to take you hard and fast and any other way I want to.” Her only response was a guttural moan from deep inside her throat, a sound she didn’t recognize because she’d never heard herself make it before. If the old Caleb had made her scared, this one terrified her, and somehow—somehow—her body accepted the inevitability of the act, lusted for it. Craved it, as evidenced by the way she’d run wet at his words. His cock replaced his fingers then, a hard stroke entering her, forcing her on her toes until he pulled her hips into him, forcing her body to accept his thick, hard length. She did, her sex pinching with the familiar pain—and pleasure—that followed the initial thrust. Slowly, he pulled out and then pushed into her, again and again, until she was slicker and hotter and following the pace he set.

“Is this how you remember it?” he asked, his voice a harsh murmur. “Did you used to beg me for more?” Images of her tied to a chair, Cael’s head between her legs, hearing herself calling his name and please so loudly she was sure the entire world could hear her. In those moments, she’d been alternat ely embarrassed and so turned on that she didn’t care about being his prisoner. “I don’t want anyone else to have you, Caleb. No one.” He responded by speeding up the pace of his thrusts and her world shrank to only a throbbing ache of pleasure, an absolute need to take Cael over the edge with her. “Did you beg me, Vivi,” he demanded again, so hard inside of her, so deep—forcing her to rock her hips to his rhythm. “Y-yes,” she managed, wished she could see his face in the fogged mirror in front of her. “Did I make you come?” “You did.” “And now?” He pumped into her faster, held her hips still so all she could do was clutch the sides of the sink and hang on for dear life. “Now. Right now … Caleb … Cael …” His name rang from her lips; his cock, buried deep inside her wet heat, throbbed, begged for a release. But instead of pushing them over the edge with him buried inside of her, Caleb pulled out. She opened her mouth to protest, to beg—but she realized he’d sunk to his knees. Her breath came in short pants that sounded like whimpers, filling the small space. When he pulled her hips out and spread her legs, she gripped the sides of the sink, harder than before. When he sank his tongue deep inside of her, she felt as if she could rip it off the wall. Her entire body went taut as the hot, wet drag of his tongue took her as his cock had. She was so hungry for him, for every touch and taste, she was pushing back against him, letting the rush of pleasure consume her as he had his way with her, her sex swollen and aching for release. He wouldn’t let her—took her to the edge with his tongue on her clit and then he pulled back to lick and lave her folds, even as his fingers penetrated her. “Cael … I can’t … I want …” She came then, with no prelude, a hot, hard orgasm that tightened her womb almost painfully as she convulsed around his fingers, against his mouth. Chills tore through her, her pulse riotous as he held her through the tremors.

When he finally released her, she was limp with pleasure. She pushed herself up off the sink—just in time to watch him walk out of the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He hadn’t come. That felt more like a failure than anything. The rest was so good … and so not good, all at once. She was too overwhelmed to think. Instead, she sank to the floor of the tub and let it fill and remained there for a very long time. Still very aroused, Cael leaned against the wall outside the bathroom where he’d left Vivi, the closed door between them once again. He wanted to come so badly—as he drove into her, taking pleasure and giving it, flashes came through that he couldn’t process correctly. He’d taken Vivi before, scared her and excited her all at once—tonight he’d laid claim to something that was already his and it both frightened and exhilarated him. But he’d pushed harder than she had. Vivi had trusted him with her body … her life. And he’d taken that. He felt his body shake, the way it had when he’d crashed from the drugs. It had been like he’d supposed hitting a brick wall would feel. The doctors refused to sedate him through the withdrawals because they were afraid of interactions—and he’d toughed it out, but strangely didn’t remember much at all. It was a haze of pain and doctors. Then Noah’s face … and Reid’s. And then Mace’s, the bandage still around his throat. “What the hell happened to you?” he’d asked and Mace’s face had darkened—he’d looked as confused as Cael felt. At that point, Cael and the rest of his teammates knew that something was really wrong. But the remaining members of the team were thankful to be alive. They were being sheltered from the world for debriefing and evals from both medical and psych. Slowly, memories filtered in—before he left, he remembered Noah and Reid and asked for Kell too. But his memories of the woman on the other side of the door remained achingly out of reach, even though the woman herself wasn’t. The water ran for a while and then stopped—he heard some splashing and a few soft sniffles. If you go back in, what will you say? Actions, not words, had always been his strong suit. With that in mind, he walked into the small bathroom again. The air was still steamy. Vivi was sitting in the middle of the filled tub, her back to him, curled up with her knees to her chest.

She didn’t turn around or give any indication that she knew he was there. He knelt by the edge and used the sponge to rub her back with the hot, soapy water. He moved her hair off her neck and washed there too, and down her arms, making it a gentle massage. “I’m sorry, Vivi.” Without lifting her head, she said, “Please don’t say that. You enjoyed it. So did I.” His bare hand touched her back. “So why are you upset?” “Because you don’t remember me. You don’t know me. And you have no interest in learning more. I can’t live in the past, Cael. I have to move forward.” “I can’t do that. Not until I remember everything.” “And if you don’t?” “Then it sounds like I’ll lose you before I’ve gotten the chance to know you.” She didn’t say anything for a long time after that and then finally she asked him for a towel. He helped her up and she accepted the hand—he wrapped her in the towel and she stood there while he dried her off and then led her into the bedroom where she’d slept last night, where she grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt and dressed in them. She didn’t ask him to leave or to turn away and so he didn’t. Wasn’t sure what any of that meant, wasn’t sure what he wanted it to mean, but it had to mean something. And then she curled up at the head of the double bed and watched him. “Can you talk to me, instead of at me?” she asked finally. He’d been doing just that, talking at her, hitting her with a barrage of questions and answering her with facts, trying to keep her out so badly instead of embracing the fact that he’d fallen in love with a smart, beautiful woman … and admitting to himself that he could most likely do it again. “I’ll try. I know you asked me what I’m most afraid of.” “I know what you’re most afraid of,” she said, moved forward to put a cool hand on the back of his neck when he bowed his head. “We don’t have to talk about that again.” “I scared the shit out of you in the bathroom. I’ve been trying to scare you since you got here. I scared Paige when I made her touch me and I’m freaking Mace out too.” He turned his head, stared at her for a long second. “Me too. Instead, I ended up scaring the shit out of myself.” “How did you scare Paige?”

“You know she’s psychic, right?” he asked, and she nodded. “I forced her to touch me after I found Harvey’s body and remembered some things. She flipped, said she saw a lot of shit, but she couldn’t pick it apart because of what I do for a living.” “I was scared of you when we first met. Now I’m just scared for us. Scared for me that maybe a week of happiness with you is all I was meant to get.” “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m goddamned sick of apologizing to people.” “I don’t want apologies, I want the truth.” “Me too,” he admitted. “I’m getting closer. There’s no permanent damage, as far as the doc could tell. My brain didn’t swell or bleed, so the specialist’s assumption is that the fallout—the amnesia—is from the drugs.” “What kind?” “Strong mixes of hallucinogenics. A cocktail meant to subdue me enough so they could plant their influence.” “Do you ever hear them now, talking to you?” “No. Not since …” He stopped then, like he wasn’t sure what he was about to say. “Damn, that’s what happens. I’m so sure of something, I start to say it and then it slips away. So goddamned frustrating.” “But Mace said … you said, when you saw that man’s body, you remembered things.” “That triggered a lot. It was like a minor avalanche.” In the days since finding Harvey’s body, the memories had come fast and furious, settled innocently in his mind as if they’d never been errant bastards. “But not enough. Not everything. Not me.” Her voice was soft and held no reproach but he felt it anyway. Wasn’t sure what to say, but the lights slamming off stopped any and all conversation as they waited together in the dark for the generator to kick on. After a full two minutes of waiting with Vivi in total silence, and total darkness, Caleb knew the generator wasn’t coming on. It had to have been tampered with again, and recently, since he’d checked it just before he closed the bar. He heard a door slam downstairs—one of the few benefits of the place being poorly insulated. “Stay up here,” Caleb told her before he went down the stairs with the benefit of the lantern Mace always kept at the top of the stairwell for nights like this. Reid was already out the back door, tackling someone in the snow, dragging them up and toward Cael.

A woman. A knife gleamed in the snow where Reid had forced her to drop it, clean as a whistle, and still it made Caleb pause. He stared at it for a few seconds longer than was necessary, hating that something like that could now throw him off balance. But there were no memory flashes this time, and he quickly followed Reid as he pulled the squirming woman inside. She was yelling, until Reid told her to shut the hell up, and his tone must’ve scared the shit out of her, as it was meant to, because she did. She was closer to a girl, really. Probably no more than twenty years old, if that, medium build, wearing jeans and a coat, with a black T-shirt underneath. Her hair was blond—Paige’s hair color, but from a bottle—and pulled back from her face, and her cheeks were red from the cold, as were her bare hands. She had on too much makeup, which made her appear much older than she was—her face was drawn, as if she’d seen things, had a tough life. “You’ve got her?” Caleb asked on his way out the door to check the rest of the area, waited until Reid nodded. Before he retrieved the knife, he did a search of the immediate area, his own gun drawn, Reid watching him from the doorway in case he needed backup. There was no one—no car even. The woman appeared to have come from nowhere. He moved to collect the knife from the snow, did so carefully, with his shirt pulled over his hand to avoid screwing up fingerprints, brought it in and put it on the desk. Reid still held the woman, one arm twisted behind her back. It wasn’t taking much to restrain her and there was no way she could’ve killed Harvey by herself unless he was passed out drunk when she did it. “What the hell are you doing here?” Reid demanded of her. Caleb watched her face carefully, shining the light in her eyes so that she was mostly blinded. “Answer me, dammit.” “I’m looking for Paige—do you know her?” she asked in such a calm manner it was goddamned creepy. “Most people just knock,” Caleb told her as he dialed Ed. “I’m calling the police.” “You can’t hold me like this. I didn’t break in. You came after me.” “Sure, darling, you keep thinking that,” Reid drawled in her ear. “Until then, I’m going to ask you some more questions and you’re going to answer me.” “I’m not saying a word.” “Guess I’ll have to tell Jeffrey how badly you failed him.”

She didn’t say a word. “You’re ready to go to jail for him? What the hell has he ever done for you?” She glared at him. “He’s my man. I’ll do anything for him.” “You’re dumber than you look,” Reid muttered. “I followed her here. Wasn’t that hard—her car’s for shit,” she burst out, and then bit her bottom lip hard. “How did you know where to find her?” “She was on the news.” A shrug, like none of this scared her at all, but that couldn’t be true. She obviously wasn’t a career criminal, but if she continued doing Jeffrey’s bidding, she would be. “What’s your name?” Reid asked her, but she shook her head and refused to answer, no matter how many times Reid continued to ask. He even slid his hands into her pockets as she protested—loudly—but came up empty. “I know who she is.” Vivi was standing in the doorway, holding a flashlight of her own. “Vivi, you should go upstairs.” Caleb started to tell her, but Vivi held up a hand and talked over him, a trait he found kind of endearing—which was … odd. “Adrienne Brite,” Vivi said, and the woman struggled against Reid’s hold like she wanted to go after Vivi. “Her nickname on the site is Star.” To Vivi’s credit, she didn’t even flinch. She hadn’t been with the FBI long enough to learn a whole lot, so the toughness had to have been born and bred into her. “I saw her on a website devoted to Jeffrey. The best I can do now is show the police a screenshot—the Internet’s out and there’s no wifi around here.” “Great,” Caleb said. “That message board’s private,” Adrienne spat. “Nothing’s private on the Internet,” Vivi told her calmly as she moved closer to her. “Look at you—Jeffrey has you dyeing your hair to look like his sister—you don’t see that you’re just a poor substitute for her? And you’re running around doing his dirty work, for what? You’re going to go to jail for him and he thinks of you as disposable. God, you’re an idiot.” The woman attempted to lunge but Vivi held her ground, smiled even, and then turned her attention back to Caleb just as Ed entered the back room. He asked Adrienne a few questions before reading her her rights; she gave him nothing but a “Fuck you, you’ve got nothing to hold me on,” and Ed simply shook his head and said, “Breaking and entering’s a crime, so we’ll start with that.”

Leaving Vivi inside, Caleb and Reid walked Ed to his car. Ed locked Adrienne in the backseat and turned to the men. “Did she tell you anything of interest?” “One of Jeffrey’s women, according to this website devoted to the asshole. She was breaking in,” Reid said. “We don’t know where she’s staying. There’s no car, and it’s too cold for her to have walked far.” “Old man Stanton’s cabin,” Ed said. “I thought that burned down,” Caleb said. “It did. Stanton’s kids had it rebuilt.” “Shit.” Caleb shook his head. The cabin was a perfect hiding place. “After I book her, I’ll come back and check the cabin,” Ed said. “How about I get a head start?” Reid asked, and Ed stared at him. “Suppose there’s more than one person out there?” “Don’t touch anything. Don’t move anything,” Ed warned. “And wait for me there.” Caleb had his doubts that Reid would obey, but he was good enough that Ed would never notice. Ed was no slouch, couldn’t afford to be in this environment, where he was the only cop, but Delta had taught the men tricks that even the most discerning of law enforcement officials couldn’t pick up, and he knew it. “Thanks, Ed,” Caleb told him, and Ed nodded, got into the car and drove Adrienne away. The men walked inside, neither of them feeling exactly at peace that she’d been caught. “She’s the tip of the iceberg,” Cael muttered, and Reid grunted in agreement. “He won’t get much more from her. She’s not organized enough to do any of this on her own. She couldn’t keep her cool when she was talking about Paige,” Reid pointed out. “But she was definitely part of the harassment.” “I didn’t see signs of anyone else, no tire tracks. Maybe you’ll find something at the cabin.” “If I can, I’ll get the generator up and running before I go, and I’ll call you from the cabin.” He took off at a light jog around the side of the house and Caleb went back inside, shutting the door against the cold. Vivi was quiet now, as if all the adrenaline and anger she’d shown toward Adrienne had left her drained.

“Are you all right?” “I’m fine.” Her arms were folded tightly around her body, and he tried not to think about what had happened between them just an hour earlier. Because he wasn’t fine and he suspected she was nowhere close to it either. The hum of the generator broke through the silence, and yes, the Adrienne woman had simply turned it off, which was good news. Seconds later, the lights went on, lower than normal, and he heard the old boiler kick in. “Great—if the cable’s not out, we should have Internet access again.” She leaned across the desk, tapped a few keys and nodded in confirmation. Then she moved behind the desk and pulled up her chair. “The FBI’s probably really sorry you left.” She narrowed her eyes. “Is that a backhanded compliment?” “It’s a real one.” She went back to her work, not convinced. “I should’ve delved into this website more thoroughly when I first found it. Dammit. There are a lot of screwed-up women in the world and most of them appear to be on this message board. Jeffrey’s got these women obsessed with him. He’s trying to be like Manson, getting these women to prove their love by doing who knows what.” “Like killing Harvey and trying to frame Paige for it?” he asked, more to himself than her. “We’ll have to track them down, one by one.” “There are so many of them—it would take too long to find them all.” She turned the monitor and showed Caleb the full website devoted to Jeffrey, paging through the various features, all of which were supposedly locked unless you were a member. “If you’re not with the FBI, are you utilizing resources you shouldn’t be?” “Don’t ask, don’t tell, right?” “Way to twist that slogan,” he started, but she shushed him, actually waved a hand at him, completely dismissing him in favor of the computer, and a strange sense of déjà vu rocked him. He went to the window and looked out and then he went back to the desk, lost in some kind of strange time warp, his mind going a hundred miles an hour, trying to connect everything that was happening, until Vivi’s voice broke through his consciousness. “You’re pacing—stop it.” “This has all happened before.” She looked up, blinked. “We’ve had conversations like this, yes.”

“If I stop pacing, can I help with the names?” “I’d have to let you in on a few secrets,” she mused, and Christ, forget the secrets—all he wanted to do was kiss her, finish what they’d started. It had nothing to do with the past … no, this attraction was all in the present. “Are you willing to do that?” he asked. “Let me in?” After a moment’s pause, she told him, “I think I always have been.” And he really wanted to kiss her then, would have, if Reid hadn’t chosen that exact second to call in. Worst timing ever. Reid started talking right when he answered. “She was definitely staying here. I found her bag, her ID—Vivi had the name right. There’s also a couple of audiotapes, the same message on Paige’s voice mail, and then another.” Reid paused. “It’s more intense.” “A threat?” “Unmistakably so.” Reid sounded angry as hell. “I’ll play it for your voice mail in a second so you can send it to Mace. There are photos too, of Paige. I took pictures of them, or else Ed would have my ass—those can be forwarded to Mace now.” Yes, Mace needed to be told about this development, because Cael had a feeling this storm was far from over.

CHAPTER

13

Mace took the call as Paige buried her head in her arms, the tattooist working the tender skin of her shoulder while he flirted like hell with her. For the moment, Mace was grateful she was distracted, because he knew the news wasn’t going to be good just by the tone of Caleb’s voice. “I’m here with Reid—we caught someone breaking into the bar. She’s one of Jeffrey’s … girlfriends, I guess you’d call her. She’s a member of this website devoted to him. It’s like he’s re-creating the Manson family, except he’s doing it from inside jail.” “Shit. Is everyone okay?” “We’re fine. But listen, Vivi broke into the message board on the site. They know Paige is visiting Jeffrey—there are messages about it.” “What are they planning?” “Nothing. It says that Jeffrey told them not to do anything.” “Doesn’t mean they’ll listen.” Mace watched as the tattooist rubbed a thin sheen of ointment on the finished tattoo. “There’s more,” Caleb said, told him about the audiotapes and the pictures. “Vivi uploaded the files—the pics should be there and the voice mail too.” Mace’s head began to throb, and he wondered if he should just take Paige straight back to New York and the bar, but he knew she’d never go for it. Mainly because she felt an obligation to the Kettering family, and he understood that. The rest, well, she’d be playing right into Jeffrey’s hands. “Keep me updated.” “Will do,” Caleb confirmed. When he hung up, Mace didn’t cancel their hotel reservation, but he called a different one and booked a room there too, just in case. Gave Reid’s name and gave a glancing thought to what Reid’s reaction to all this would be before listening to the message and looking through the pictures. Paige was all done about five minutes later. Mace insisted on paying, since it had been his idea, and she walked out of the shop behind him, glancing over her shoulder the way he always did and he hated that she had to worry now. She waited until they were in the truck and driving before she spoke. “I saw you on the phone. What happened?”

And here he thought she hadn’t been watching him. He’d planned on waiting a little while to share the intel with her, hated to ruin her tattoo high. “Reid came to the bar tonight and he caught a woman trying to break in—she was looking for you. She said she has a message, but refuses to tell it to anyone but you. Vivi found her listed here.” Mace took out his phone and pulled up the website while they waited at a light. “Her name’s Adrienne Brite—do you know her?” Paige stared at the website, opened to a picture of Adrienne, and shook her head. “I’d heard about these women but I’ve never actually seen this.” “The Internet allows them to be way more organized than they would be otherwise.” “Jeffrey’s not supposed to have access to a computer, let alone the Internet, right?” “I don’t know. He’s probably got an illegal phone.” He pulled into the underground parking lot of the new hotel. “Jeffrey always liked to collect things. Medals. Girls in high school—he was a real charmer. Most of my friends had a crush on him and I had to fight like hell to keep them separated. Thankfully, they were too young for him … or so they thought.” She paused. “If there’s more, tell me now, before we go upstairs. Because once we do, I want to shut it all off.” He kept the car running and pulled up the pictures Vivi had sent to his phone, watched as Paige scrolled through them. “This is from after the news report,” she confirmed. “How do you know?” She pointed to her neck in the picture. With her jacket blown open from the wind, you could clearly see the ring of bruises around her neck. “That was the last time I went inside the apartment—I stayed there and then I left late at night about forty-eight hours later.” “Because of the news report?” “I left right after that author called me—the one writing a book on Jeffrey. He asked to interview me. It’s what finally pushed me out the door,” she admitted. Mace tried to wrap his mind around what Paige had been going through when she walked into the bar. And he’d been such a dick. “These followers, they’ve never bothered you before?” “No.” “His plan is to get you in front of him so he can manipulate you.” “I know. I have to manipulate him right back. He probably won’t be expecting that.” She paused. “I have to figure out his … what would Gray call it, his end game? Jeffrey never did anything without a reason. This time’s no different.”

“We’ve got to talk it through, then. I want to see your poker face. You need to know what to reveal—what not to.” “You’ll teach me some interrogation techniques?” “Sure—I’ll compress all the training into an hour.” She gave him a wry grin. “In this case, I’m something of an expert on my subject. Is there anything else happening at the bar I need to know?” “There’s another recording. I don’t know when Adrienne was going to play it for you. I don’t know if you even want to hear it.” “I don’t, but I need to. So go ahead.” She looked so strong and determined, but she no doubt died a little each time something like this happened. It was with a heavy heart that he played the second message, watched her face carefully as Jeffrey’s voice filled the interior of the car. “Hi, Paige—I was wondering if you’d made any new friends yet. I’m hoping you have, so I can do what I promised all those years ago. Come to think of it, I should’ve finished what I started that day in your room, really marked you. Made you mine. If you’d given in, I wouldn’t have snapped like that. And I’ve never stopped thinking about you … I’m going to finish what I started, and this time you have no one to help you. Be prepared to scream, Paige. I love hearing you scream.” There was a chuckle, almost boyish, and then, “See you soon, sis.” Mace clicked the message off and waited. Paige simply stared straight ahead, blinking hard. Finally, she turned to face him, her eyes liquid, but she hadn’t let any tears fall. “I don’t want to think about this any more tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll have to deal with it, but not tonight. You have to help me.” He could think of nothing he wanted to do more. He could think of something he wanted to do less, though, and that was answer Noah’s incoming phone call. As he escorted Paige out of the car and through the parking lot, he picked up the call. Before he’d finished his greeting, his CO was barking, “You tell that asshole I know what he’s trying to do.” Mace knew the asshole in question was Dylan—there hadn’t been much, if any, love lost between the two men when Dylan was under Noah’s command. Correction, when Dylan was supposed to be under Noah’s command. Dylan was pretty much uncommandable, claimed he’d been born that way and planned on dying that way.

Much to Noah’s consternation, the dying part proved damned elusive. “He’s worried about Caleb,” Mace said, in an effort to placate the situation. He felt Paige’s eyes on him but refused to look in her direction as Noah told him, “It’s more than that, Mace. Don’t bullshit me.” Mace wondered, for a brief second, how badly Noah would string him up if he knew just how much potential trouble both he and Caleb were in at the moment. “Look, Noah—” “No, you look. I didn’t send you away so you could work for some merc.” “I know,” he said quietly. It was all he could think to say, because it was the truth. Noah obviously knew that too, because he hung up, leaving Mace with a dial tone and Paige staring at him. Mace was practically vibrating with tension as he led her into the hotel room. “Do you need to go back now?” Paige asked, praying the answer was no, and he shook his head. Relief flooded her. “That was my CO,” he said finally, after he put their bags down. “He’s pissed.” “Why?” He sat on the edge of the bed, hung his hands in between his open knees, staring at them. She noted the scars on the knuckles—they were a working man’s hands, and she remembered the way they’d handled her and she blushed as her body heated, despite everything. When he finally looked up at her, his eyes were dark, glittering. “Cael’s older brother Dylan wants us to work with him. My CO knows, and he’s not happy.” “What business is Dylan in?” “Private contracting,” he said, and she looked confused. “The mercenary business.” “Oh,” she said. “Oh.” That made him give her a lopsided grin. “What we do in Delta’s not all that different.” “I guess not. So are you going to work with Dylan, then?” He shrugged. “We’ll see. After ten years of working for the government, it’d be nice to call my own shots.” “But what about the bar?” She wondered why she’d felt such a visceral tug in her gut when she thought about him abandoning the bar. Somehow, she’d come to think of it as her refuge. “I could hire a manager to run it when I’m gone same as I’ve been doing.”

God, she didn’t want to think about him being gone. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he told her. “Come on, let’s take that bandage off so you can get some sleep.” Getting the tattoo had been just what she needed. It had relaxed her, taken her mind off everything and everyone—except Mace. It was one of those odd things that happened with tattooing—the pain became almost pleasurable. She wanted to feel that way again, wanted to pretend those phone calls he’d received didn’t exist. “Toby gave me some sample ointment,” she told him, dug in her jeans pocket for the packets the tattoo artist had given her. “He was flirting with you the whole time. Annoyed the shit out of me,” he muttered as he followed her into the bathroom, where she stripped off her sweater and he began to peel the black-backed bandage off. “You scared him.” “Good. I meant to.” He examined the tattoo. “Looks good.” She looked over her shoulder at it once again. “I like it—it honors Delta. And Gray,” she said of the special symbol Mace had drawn for her and the artist had copied, resisting the suddenly strong urge to touch Mace—really touch him, not to read him but to strip him out of his clothes. It had to be the wine. And the tattoo. “It makes me feel like one of you, makes me feel invincible.” “You are one of us,” Mace told her, without adding that none of them were invincible at all—something she appreciated. “I’m sorry, Mace. I’ve been so—” “You’ve been fine. I haven’t exactly been an angel. I guess we’re both pretty scarred.” His eyes flashed and the double meaning wasn’t lost on her. She turned and found herself face-to-face with him. Couldn’t resist going up on tiptoes to kiss him. He obviously had the same idea because he’d bent his head to her—his lips pressed hers in a strong kiss, full of longing. Her hands fisted against his jeans and she pulled his hips to hers. He pressed against her too, and for a few minutes, they were molded to each other, their kisses heating her to a frenzied level. She’d wanted to kiss him like this all night long. Judging by the way his arousal pressed her belly, he felt the same, but he pulled away, put his forehead against hers. “Let’s finish up here first,” he said. “And then …”

And then … She stepped back and turned to face the mirror again, letting him wash the fresh ink and then put on a thin layer of the ointment. “It’s pretty red,” Mace commented. “It’s always like that. By morning, it’ll look better. It’s just … raw.” “Yeah, raw,” he murmured as he ran a finger over her bare shoulder, staring at the ink. “Damn, it looks good on you, though. Sexy as hell.” His mouth went to where his finger had just traced along her shoulder and she shuddered as he nipped her skin and then licked up the side of her neck. It was primal. Predatory. And really, really hot. When he lifted his head and gazed at her in the mirror, it was the same look he’d given her that first night, a cross between total distrust and a more than grudging respectful acknowledgment that she was the sister of his best friend. He was as torn about dealing with her as she was with him, and because of that, he pushed forward. “When I saw you …” he began. “Which time?” “Both times,” he clarified. “I wanted you to get the hell away from me. And I wanted you to come closer.” “I wanted the same thing.” “And now?” “I’ve stopped wanting to run,” she said, and he smiled—a smile she’d really started to love. She went to wrap her arms around him—glanced at her hands and saw that she’d kept them fisted. “I’m sorry. I’m not ready …” she started. “Me either,” he said bluntly. “There are things neither of us need exposed right now.” “I don’t want to be scared of you, Mace. Or of what I might see if I touch you.” “I know that.” His voice was gruff but he didn’t seem angry about it. “I don’t want you to touch me tonight, not like this. There’s too much out there to figure out. Too much shit between us. I don’t want to add to your burden—I want to take some of it away.” “Why?”

“Because it’s important to me. Because you’re beginning to matter to me as more than just Gray’s sister, okay?” He seemed genuinely confused about that. “I didn’t expect it to happen. Didn’t necessarily want it to. But it has. So can you just let me make you feel really damned good?” She smirked at his tone. “I can do that.” “Good. Finally.” He picked her up, slung her over his shoulder caveman-style and walked to the bed while she giggled uncontrollably. Giggled. God, how long had it been? She was enveloped in the warmth of his body on the bed in seconds. He smelled so good—like soap and man and sex … hot, dirty sex. “Love hearing you laugh,” he murmured against her cheek, his body covering hers. “We should both laugh more.” “Let’s work on that,” he agreed. “Although right now, I’d like to hear those pretty moans you make when you’re coming.” Her cheeks flushed at his words. “I fucking love making you blush like that.” He stripped her tank top and she stretched her hands over her head, grabbed the metal headboard rod and waited. Watched as he retrieved two of his own shirts from his bag and bound her wrists to the slats, and for a second she felt very much like a sacrificial lamb. It was similar to last night—had it just been last night? But it was so different. This was not just about sex and she couldn’t lie about that any more. Not with the way he was gazing at her. “So pretty, Paige.” He took a nipple into his mouth, hard, sucking, and she jumped, moaned so loudly she was sure the people in the next room could hear and figured she needed to get used to a permanent blush when she was with Mace. The sensation pricked and her body arched, welcoming the contact. “You drive me fucking crazy,” he murmured as he glanced at her, then flicked a nipple with his tongue, catching the other between his finger and thumb and rolling it until she felt a shot straight to her womb. Moisture dampened between her legs and she wanted all her clothes off. Now. “Mace, please … I want …” “Taking my time,” he told her. “You’ll need to be patient.”

But she wasn’t, never really had been. And his slow torture of her nipples was making her writhe under him. She found herself grinding against him in hopes of relief, but he pulled away. “You’re a bad girl, Paige.” “Very. Now take off your clothes,” she begged. “I want to see everything.” “Demanding, aren’t we?” But he didn’t protest, pulled off his shirt and his jeans while she watched. He hadn’t bothered with underwear and his cock jutted out, heavy and hard, and she couldn’t stop staring. “I want to explore you … with my mouth,” she told him. “Everywhere.” “First, you need to be naked.” He slid down her jeans and her thong and gazed at her again. She used her legs to pull him forward and he moved until he was over her face. She licked the head of his erection and heard him draw in a sharp breath. He supported himself on the headboard above her as she took him into her mouth. “Jesus, Paige,” he muttered, and she used her tongue to swirl the dark head, which was swollen and throbbing. “Oh, yeah, that’s it …” He tasted like salt and musk and she loved having this control over him—even with her hands tied, she was calling the shots. He didn’t seem to mind at all, willingly gave himself to her … let her tease and taunt him with her mouth until he was groaning, telling her he wouldn’t last if she kept it up. She wanted him to come inside of her, and so she stopped. “I want to ride you,” she murmured. “Untie me.” “Give the lady a tattoo and she gets bossy.” But he undid the shirts quickly. “Lay down,” she told him, and he complied, never taking his eyes off her. She was beyond foreplay and so she straddled his body, fisted her hands in the sheets on either side of him as she slid herself down on him. His hands held her hips and he pushed her down all the way, hard enough for a surprised gasp to escape her throat. He was so deep inside of her, filling her in the most exquisite way possible. For a moment, she remained still, letting herself adjust to his girth, and then she began to move, up and down, contracting around him, watching his face light with tight pleasure. He bucked his hips up into her, claiming her the way he had last night. But this was different. The hard column of flesh penetrated her more deeply and she leaned forward and bit his neck as he moved faster, the sensations building inside of her, her belly tightening in anticipation of her orgasm.

When she came, it was with a lightning-force rush that had her clamping down on him, drawing out his own orgasm, milking it from him. She only realized, at that moment, when he spilled inside of her, that they didn’t have a condom. Didn’t care, really, only focused on the incredible high she rode with the swell of her climax. After a few minutes, Mace muttered, “Fuck.” He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths as she collapsed against him. “I’m sorry, Paige—I wasn’t thinking.” “Me neither. Didn’t want to,” she admitted. She’d been tested recently and she knew he had been too—for work. “We’re both clean. And I’m on the pill.” “If anything happens …” He didn’t finish his statement, didn’t have to. He’d be there for her. And she’d never thought that would happen, never mind adding kids to the mix. She was used to a solitary existence. She chose it because, after a day spent atoning for her sins at work, she needed the solitude. She wanted to think that making love with Mace was only about safety and pleasure and comfort, but she was lying to herself. She wanted more, so much more … and she always had. Had been pretty sure she’d never be able to get it, though, so she’d given up on the idea. “Now what?” “Now we face tomorrow and then you come back home with me.” “And be your bartender?” “You can be anything you want,” he promised her, and she believed him. After a few moments of silence, he asked, “So this touch thing … it’s only through your hands, then?” “You mean, if I touch you with my mouth when we’re making love, can I read you?” She lifted her head from his chest and gave a wan smile. “It’s never worked that way for me. I’m glad.” “Why? I can promise I’m feeling really damned good.” She pressed her cheek to his chest again. “Hearing what you’re thinking—anytime I hear someone like that—it’s exhausting.” “Because you don’t love those people,” he said, and she picked her head up again and stared at him, the realization that she did, indeed, love him flooding her with warmth. “How did you …” she started, and he smiled as she trailed off. “I don’t have to be psychic to know that. But don’t you want to know if I mean it when I say it?”

When he says it, not if. “I’ll know for sure without touching you.” God, she already knew, just by the way he looked at her, held her. He nodded, but he didn’t say it, didn’t give voice to the sentiment. He would do that in his own time, she guessed, his own way. He’d simply been preparing her for what was coming … and letting her know that she’d fallen in love with him too. Whether he actually ever said the words was just a formality.

CHAPTER

14

Paige didn’t say much the next morning when she woke in Mace’s arms. The night before, she hadn’t been sure she’d be able to sleep, but they’d made love until the early morning hours and then weariness had won out. She showered groggily and then she and Mace made their way out of the hotel and into his truck. It was only when they began to drive, the bright sunlight shining through the sunroof, that she began to feel awake enough to talk. The large coffee Mace had stopped and bought for her helped, as they zoomed toward the prison. They were outside of the maximum-security compound far sooner than she’d been prepared for. The trip could’ve taken a year, and she still wouldn’t have been ready. She surveyed the more than half empty parking lot, was glad the warden had approved her coming on a non-visiting day when there would be no crowds. She didn’t think she could bear watching the people heading inside, their bodies heavy with grief, with the knowledge that they would leave without someone they loved. What must it be like to visit here with love in your heart? She certainly had none. Mace finally broke the silence. “The warden’s going to give you a list of all the people who’ve visited Jeffrey over the years. Caleb’s brother asked him to do that.” She nodded. “I wonder who I’ll see on that list.” “You’ll see Gray.” She turned toward him in surprise. “Gray visited Jeffrey? When?” “A couple of times a year for a while. It was hard trying to find the time, but he did it.” “Why?” “He wanted to see the guy for himself, behind bars. He trusted a lot of people, but he felt that since he’d been trained to break out of enemy prisons, anyone could.” Mace shook his head at that statement and the sickening irony didn’t escape her. “He didn’t tell me he’d been doing it until we were flying over for the last mission. I don’t know why he suddenly brought it up. But he told me that he went in, tried to divert Jeffrey’s anger from you to him.” “It wouldn’t have worked.” She shrugged. “In Jeffrey’s mind, everything he does is a show put on just for me to watch … to cause me pain.” She’d become a nurse to balance out the karma of the deaths Jeffrey caused. “The lives I’ve saved can never, ever make up for the ones lost because of me.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t keep trying.” Her voice held a desperate edge to it and she hated herself for that. “And now I find out I was on Gray’s mind during that mission. I distracted him.” “He always worried about you, Paige, for sure, but not when he was on a mission. The reason he died had nothing to do with his being distracted. You need to stop blaming yourself for everything.” “A lot of people blamed my parents, said they should’ve known that my brother was a monster. Who wants to know that about their own kid? Who could admit it?” She shook her head. “With my friends, I couldn’t go to their funerals. I never got to say good-bye, really. And I feel guilty that it upsets me. I think about their parents and their families and I have no right to worry about myself.” Jeffrey had ruined her family beyond repair in so many ways. She’d gone into a prison of her own making when Jeffrey got sent away. It didn’t have bars or locks—but she was bound, just the same. “Do you ever feel trapped?” “We’re all trapped, one way or another.” She knew she had a lot of guilt, that she believed she could have stopped her brother, somehow. She’d also been living with the shame and the stigma of the crime. Because of that, she’d unconsciously—and consciously—kept all potential friends and lovers at arm’s length. But Mace was threatening to break through. “Is this the first time you’ve seen him since …” Since that day in the cafeteria when he’d laughed—a maniacal sound that bounced off the walls at a level that somehow overtook the screams of the panicked students hiding under the tables, as if the flimsy wood could save them. After what they’d witnessed that day, it often felt nothing ever could. “Yes, it’s the first time I’ve seen him.” She pictured the last of her friends dropping to the floor, Jeffrey’s gun pointed toward her. And when she heard the shot, she thought she was dead. She didn’t find out until later that a sniper had taken Jeffrey down, hit the hand that held the gun. Jeffrey had lived—and so had she. But seven innocent people had died. Even now she looked down at her hands as if expecting to see splattered blood on them, the way they had looked that day. “I don’t want him to see you. Whenever he thinks I have something, he tries to take it away. At least, that’s how it’s always been.” “I’m not afraid of him.”

“But I am. Scared of making you a target somehow. Please, don’t come inside. Stay out here.” He muttered something—she caught the word stubborn—and then, “I’m walking you to the main check-in, and I’ll wait there. But I’m not happy about it.” “Me neither. But thanks. For this. For everything.” Together, they walked toward the main visitors’ entrance of the prison. “Just be safe in there. Keep a poker face. Don’t give him any extra information,” Mace shot off before they got inside the main gates. The saving grace was that Jeffrey wouldn’t have the opportunity to touch her at all. This visit would be strictly conducted through glass, in a private room. Still, it was close enough to her brother to make her want to insist Mace take her away from the prison immediately. Instead, she walked inside and let him shut the door behind them. The vibe of sorrow was so pervasive even here, the outer reaches of the prison, she felt like she could shower for days and still not be free of it. “You sure you don’t want me in there with you?” Mace asked one final time. “I do. But I need to do this alone. And I need to keep you safe,” she repeated and he gave a half smile, as though the thought of her protecting him was amusing as hell. Reluctantly, she walked through the thick glass door, which shut hard behind her, walked for what seemed like forever, following the first guard. She lost track of time, having left her watch behind in the car. She’d dressed in comfortable, easy-to-search clothing, as Mace had suggested, and sure enough, when it was her turn she was checked thoroughly and led through a passageway with two large orderlies. This was a terrifying place, fraught with dangers that weren’t so hidden. It was like a funhouse of terrors. She shoved her hands in her coat pockets as she was led through a maze of hallways, an intricate labyrinth that brought her closer to her nightmare. When they passed a new checkpoint, another guard asked who she was visiting. She felt the gaze of the guard who’d been escorting her when she said her brother’s full name out loud for the first time in a long time. Met his eyes, and they shared a look she wouldn’t soon forget. Part sympathy, part empathy. “Wait here, ma’am. I’ll see if the warden’s ready for you.” The guard went into an office, leaving her in a secured area—she saw him talking on the phone, nodding, and then he hung up and came out and had another guard escort her to the warden’s office. After waiting a few moments outside, she was ushered in to meet the warden, Charles Roy Lester.

“Thank you for arranging this visit today,” she said as she shook the man’s hand. “When my brother contacted me, he insinuated that he had information on some girls we grew up with who disappeared and remain missing to this day,” she said quickly, before she choked up. “He’ll probably reveal their location to me today when I talk to him. It’s the only reason I agreed to see him.” The warden already knew that information, but she felt it bore repetition, maybe to convince herself, if nothing else. The warden was kind but firm with her. “Ma’am, this is not our usual way of doing things. But I agree that you have the best shot of getting information that could put a family at peace.” He continued, “The room is wired—he’ll know that. There’s also a guard posted beyond a glass wall. Ma’am, do you really think you’re okay to do this? I know what he’s put you through.” “I have to be okay. I have to show him I’m not scared. He wants me to hear it when he talks about it.” She knew that as surely as she did her own name. The warden looked at her with such pity in his eyes that she nearly screamed. Had to look away in order to restrain herself. She was ready to bounce off the walls. “I need to get this over with. If I don’t get the information, you can call in a detective.” The warden nodded and called out for the guard to come in and escort her to her final destination. As they walked, the guard reiterated what the warden had said about his being in the room with her. That she shouldn’t try to pass Jeffrey anything over the glass partition or let him pass anything to her. That there was absolutely no contact allowed. She almost laughed out loud with relief that it was more than just her own rule. “You go right through these doors, Ms. Grayson, and you’ll see where you’re supposed to sit and wait for your visit,” he said, pointed to the next set of locked doors. They unlocked as she approached and another guard opened them. She saw the table where she was supposed to sit, the sheet of glass that would separate her from Jeffrey. It would only be the two of them. How Caleb’s brother had arranged that, she had no idea, but she’d be forever grateful. There was no way she could do this with a crowd of other prisoners and visitors around her. She sat in the hard plastic orange chair and stared through the dirty scratched glass. The phone she would speak into was on her left. There was an identical one on the other side for Jeffrey. Doors clanged open then shut—a sound she’d heard on countless television shows. In real life, it was far more sinister—there was a finality to it, a feeling that once locked in, you were never getting out. And even though she was far from claustrophobic, she swore she could feel the walls closing in, wondered how the prisoners lived with this daily, and remembered that they lived with far worse, most without any kind of real remorse beyond the fact that they’d gotten caught.

In the beginning, her parents had hired the best lawyer they knew in order to get Jeffrey the help he needed. He was so young, her mother had pleaded with the judge. He needs help, not prison. The judge and jury hadn’t agreed. Neither had Paige. She’d never been as relieved as she was on the day of the sentencing, learning that Jeffrey wouldn’t be eligible for parole until he was a very old man. Even then, he would still be a danger, and she prepared to make it her mission to make sure that he was never released. Various appeals had surfaced throughout the years, only to be scrapped. The transfer to the psychiatric section of the prison was viewed by some as simply the first step. “He’s coming now,” the guard told her, as if sensing she needed the warning. She fought the urge to escape the room, to run out of the prison, into the fresh air and Mace’s arms. Instead, she remained glued to the chair and tried to breathe calmly. Stared at the scarred tabletop in front of her and tried to imagine how many other people had sat here. How they’d felt. She could know if she allowed her palm to rest on the cold surface, but she wouldn’t. As it was, she’d have enough stimulation today to exhaust her for many hours to come. When the door beyond the glass opened, she forced herself to look up. Show no fear. Keep your face devoid of emotion. Don’t let him get to you. Once again, she wished Mace were here, but at least she had the comfort of his words. Her first thought was how Jeffrey’s face looked basically the same. Young, almost innocent, if you didn’t know what he’d done. What he was still capable of doing. His brown hair was longer than it had been in high school, his face was smooth, his eyes clear. He was handsome, and that didn’t seem fair. He wore a red jumpsuit. From what she’d read about the prison, that signified he was one of the most dangerous prisoners here—a reminder to the guards to be careful around him at all times, despite his pleasant demeanor. He sat on the chair and pulled close enough to the table to make her jump back. That made him smile and she pulled her chair close again, as defiantly as she could. She picked up the phone first, but couldn’t get any words out. Jeffrey didn’t have the same issue. “Missed me, little sis?” “No,” she said evenly, but that didn’t get any response beyond another easy smile. In so many ways, he was still the young boy who could charm anyone out of anything. In every way, he was still the young boy who committed murder without a speck of conscience. And he would do it again in a second if given the opportunity.

“You know, your new brother didn’t like me very much. Came here to tell me in person a few times. But now that he’s dead, I figured you’d show.” “Why’s that?” “Because I was finally able to get your phone number without his interference.” “I’m surprised you didn’t try harder earlier.” “I’m patient.” “You’re a monster.” Something dark flickered behind his eyes for a moment, and then it was gone, replaced by the placidness she knew so well. “I just want to again be the family we once were.” Stay calm, Paige. The bile rose in her throat at the thought of his release. “You’re not my family.” “Then why are you here?” She smiled although she was sure it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m not the same scared little girl, Jeffrey. You don’t have that kind of power over me anymore—you never will. And I’m going to make it my life’s work to make sure you never get out of here.” “Why? It’s not like any of your friends’ families will care what you do. They won’t forgive you.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “I knew he would do this,” he said in a falsetto tone. “That was perfect, really. Better than I’d hoped.” She was chilled but resisted the urge to cover her palms. This was not the time to show fear. “I hope you’ll be at my appeal hearing,” he said. “But I know it’s hard for you to face all those people you let down.” Damn him. “Stop sending your stupid girlfriends my way.” He stiffened slightly, an imperceptable movement to anyone who didn’t know him as well as she did. But now she certainly had the advantage … and she wouldn’t lose it. “And if you’re planning on sending any boyfriends, don’t bother. I’m sure they’ll be as easy to catch.” Jeffrey relaxed then, and smiled. The old calm-and-cool psycho was back. “You know I always keep my promises, Paige. I just wanted to make sure you had plenty of notice of what I plan on doing.” “Kind of hard behind these bars.” He put his hand up flat against the glass. “Touch me, Paige. I know you want to.” “Wrong again.”

He took his hand down and leaned in, spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “I saw you on the news. I’m glad you’re okay. That guy did a number on you. I can still see the bruises.” He was staring at her neck. “Don’t pretend to be concerned.” “But I am. I’m a different person now. The new drugs help,” he said, with the easy conviction of a career liar. Drugs couldn’t help someone grow a conscience. “What about the phone call with the taped message?” “I wanted your attention.” He shrugged. “I hear you brought a boyfriend with you.” She forced herself to ignore him and hoped he was only fishing for information. “I’m surprised—with your curse, it must be pretty hard to be intimate,” he continued, his eyebrows raised. How such evil could hide behind such an attractive face stunned her. She’d expected him to look haggard, older. Instead, he looked rested and handsome, as if this was all some giant joke and he was really enjoying himself. “But if you weren’t putting out, I doubt he’d be looking at me like he wants me dead.” She turned then and saw Mace staring through the glass at Jeffrey—he’d followed her in here after promising not to—and he was watching Jeffrey, his face made of stone. When she turned back to Jeffrey, he’d tilted his head to watch her. Made a slashing motion across his own throat and laughed. She moved to leave, furious, when Jeffrey said, “Wait—what about the bodies, Paige?” The twins. For them, for their family, she remained seated. “The Kettering twins went missing when I was in eighth grade. What do you know about that?” “Quite a bit.” “I wasn’t even friends with them—what was the point of hurting them?” she asked, her teeth clenched, her composure torn to shreds. And Jeffrey, of course, loved that, leaned back and twined his fingers together like an armchair shrink, ready to analyze her. “It was a warm-up. A quiet one.” “Where are they?” “You know.” Did she? She racked her brain, trying to think of things she’d long ago forced out of her mind … but there weren’t that many places in her old town, and Jeffrey hadn’t been driving yet. Two bodies … my God …

“I always stayed away from you, Jeffrey. I didn’t go to the places you did.” “Sure you did, Sis. Just not at the same time—you were always careful, worried I’d touch you or hurt your friends. So I started with two you didn’t know well, because you wouldn’t have thought to protect them.” Her stomach turned. The idea of Jeffrey hanging out at the mall and the movie theater, the local diner she’d frequented with her friends—no wonder she’d always felt followed. Haunted. But where else? She looked at him and he held her gaze, his eyes managing an innocence she knew he’d been born without and then she knew where he’d hidden the bodies. It was a place he’d continued to visit long after the twins had disappeared, a place they all had at one time or another growing up, a local spot where kids would hang out to kiss in secret, drink a little, smoke cigarettes. She tried not to shudder outwardly. “Why?” was all she could manage. “Why tell you? That’s easy. Because you know,” he said. “You’ve always known.” She had to leave immediately. “Don’t contact me again. Ever.” “You should’ve known I would,” he said, and then hung up the phone, ultimately getting the last word in. Jeffrey strolled back out with the guard while Paige sat in the chair, still clutching the phone and trying not to crumple. She turned to look at the guard who’d been behind the glass wall. He was staring straight ahead, trying to give her privacy as she put the phone in its cradle and pushed out of the chair. “I’m ready to go,” she told him, and he nodded and opened the door for her. She stared at Mace for a split second before telling the guard, “What he said, about where the bodies would be—he’s talking about the old golf course, thirteenth hole, where the creek runs along the backside of the course,” she said, and told them the town even though she was sure the authorities knew where Jeffrey had grown up. “Thank you. We recorded his confession as well, Ms. Grayson. Local law enforcement will be notified.” All she could do was nod, and hope it would bring some sense of peace to the Kettering family like the warden had mentioned earlier. The guard led her down a corridor, with Mace following, wisely not saying a word. She passed through a set of doors, and heard, “Ma’am?” She looked up to see the same guard who’d regarded her with such sympathy earlier, ready to escort her the rest of the way. “Yes?” He glanced at Mace before handing her a fat manila envelope. “The warden said to give you this before you left. It’s your brother’s list of visitors over the past year. You’ll see many female names on

there. He’s got a lot of women who visit. Prison groupies. They want to be his girlfriend. If you need us to go further back, let the warden know.” “This should be fine. Thanks.” “Also …” He looked around and lowered his voice. “There was a camera crew here recently. For Jeffrey. His lawyer set up some kind of interview.” Her stomach dropped. “He’s going to be on TV?” “Yes. Soon, I think. I wasn’t sure if you knew. If you’d want to know even. But I didn’t want you to be surprised.” She was grateful for the heads-up. She was also confused as to why the warden had conveniently left this out when he’d spoken with Dylan. “Thank you,” she said, held out her naked hand purposely to shake this guard’s hand. Since he knew who she was, he could’ve been the one to tip off Jeffrey about her arriving with Mace. As his slightly moist palm came in contact with hers, she fought the urge to panic and pull back and instead let herself feel it all—the complete horror show that went on behind these walls, and the way the man who’d helped her suffered because of it. He wasn’t helping Jeffrey, he was for real. His thoughts rang through her mind clear as day—it was rare for that to happen, but it was almost as if this man was trying to transfer his thoughts to her. Not knowing she was psychic, he was actually trying to get his meaning across as hard as he could without saying anything inappropriate and risking his job. Poor girl—doesn’t deserve a bastard brother ruining her life like that. Has a lot of them fooled, but not me. Has them eating out of his scum-sucking hand. “Ma’am, are you okay? You look … pale.” Tell me the bastard did something so I can put him in solitary and make him never come out. “It’s been a long day. Thanks. For everything,” she said, took her hand away, but the feelings of despair didn’t go away as effortlessly. They covered her like a thick blanket, making her steps heavy and her eyes blur. She wanted to hold her breath until she got outside, settled for wrapping her arms tightly around her body, hands fisted until she got to safety. At least you’ll be someplace hidden when the interview runs. But the question was, how long could she remain there? No, the question is, how long do you want to stay there—and why? Mace kept his eyes straight ahead, a hand on the small of her back, marching both of them forward.

“Why would you do that? You let him see you.” “Because I’m not afraid of the bastard.” Mace stood ramrod straight as he spoke. “I also don’t take orders from you. I know how to keep you safe.” This meant a chance at redemption—he hadn’t been able to save Gray, any of his teammates, from danger, and none of them would ever be the same. But if he and Cael could save her from her demons, they had a small chance at redemption. A way back. She was their chance, but still, “He takes everything from me.” “He didn’t take Gray.” “And neither did you,” she said fiercely. “That wasn’t your fault.” Mace didn’t answer. Wouldn’t. And so she embraced him, winding her arms around his waist in the familiar hands-fisted hug. Buried her face against his chest, and he carried her out of the main doors and into the fresh air. It was only then he put her down, but he still didn’t let her go. “I had to see him. But never again,” she said as he cradled her in his arms. “Never,” he repeated. To her horror, the tears she’d been successfully holding back began to roll down her cheeks and Mace pulled her to him again, holding her tightly until the sobs subsided. He continued to rub her back with one hand, told her, “You bring all the trouble you want to me—I’ll handle it all for you.” Vivi woke to actual sunlight streaming through the window. She pushed up, confused to find herself on a cot in the corner of the office. Last she remembered, she’d been at the keyboard, eyes heavy, hands aching, and thinking, Just a few more minutes. She’d been intent on helping Paige—on helping all of them—and that had been all that mattered. Caleb was already awake, looking down on her from where he was seated at the desk, sketching. He’d no doubt carried her from the desk to the cot and she should be grateful, because her neck and shoulders would’ve ached far more than they did now if she’d slept facedown on the desk. “You should’ve woken me up.” She sat on the edge of the cot, mouth feeling like cotton. “What for?” Caleb set the notebook aside and went to pour her a cup of coffee from the coffeemaker behind the desk. He handed it to her, cream only, just the way she took it, and she fought a

smile—he remembered—as he said, “Everything’s under control, for now. Reid’s setting up surveillance at the cabin. And Mace called in and gave me a list of Jeffrey’s visitors for you to check.” “That’s why you should’ve woken me up.” “You’ve been out for an hour, Vivi. I wouldn’t have let much more time pass.” “How did the visit with Jeffrey go?” she asked. “Paige got the information on the twins—the local police in her hometown are searching for the bodies now,” Caleb said quietly and Vivi let the weight of that news sink in. She checked Paige’s cell phone as she drank her coffee—no new calls, which was good—and then she glanced at the list Caleb passed her, started with the first name, Arthur Somberg, because it was a little familiar. When she pulled his website up, she knew why. The true-crime author had been turning the lives of killers into bestsellers for years now—her father had read just about everything the man had written. She’d avoided those books—the covers alone creeped her out. But there was something about this place, especially when all the men were around, that kept her from being scared. The dark paneling, the pictures … it was warm. Comforting. She didn’t often feel at home immediately in a new place. She’d been in the apartment in Washington for two months and it still looked new and stark. Impersonal. Next, she went to a recent article written on Arthur. Scanned it, found out that the author wasn’t exactly well liked. Originally a tabloid reporter, he’d gone the true-crime route. And while there were many other true-crime writers out there who were well respected, this one made his living by sensationalizing cases that were already far too sensationalized to begin with. Often blaming the victims, he tended to side with the criminals he interviewed. What a pig. “It says Arthur Somberg was in the Marines,” she offered, and Caleb rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “What?” “Nothing, maybe. But he’s trained.” “You think he’s in on this?” “It would make for some great chapters in his book, for sure, but probably not. I still don’t trust him.” Caleb leaned in to look at the monitor and she rotated it so he could see more easily. “He actually doesn’t live too far from here. Well, his second home. I guess this author shit pays pretty well.” “I wouldn’t want to get paid for exploiting someone’s misery,” she muttered, punched the keys viciously. “It looks like he’s been sued a few times by families of the victims—they claim he’s sensationalizing murder. He was even tried criminally, because someone used one of his true-crime books to do a copycat killing, although he was found not guilty.”

“Reading about a crime doesn’t make someone a psychotic killer,” Caleb said. “You have to have that in you already.” “True,” she said softly. “You don’t have anything bad inside of you, Caleb. You have to know that.” “I’m trying.” “Things weren’t exactly easy with us,” she said suddenly. There had never been baggage between them. When Caleb left, she was still in danger, but they’d been in the early stages of falling in love. She wished she could force the old memories back into his brain, but as she had recalled last night, those early memories were fraught with land mines too. There had been mistrust and accusations on both sides. “When it’s right, it’s probably not supposed to be.” Caleb reached for her hands—she’d been massaging them and he took up the job, the way he had before, months earlier, and she let the warmth of the memory wash over her as he worked. Reid entered the room then. “Any news?” “The author of the book that’s being written about Jeffrey—we have his address,” Vivi answered. “He doesn’t live far from here.” “I can take a run to his house and see if there are any copies of the manuscript laying around,” Reid offered casually. Vivi glanced up at him and frowned and Caleb explained, “In his past life, Reid was something of a …” “Thief,” Reid finished bluntly. “Damned good at it too. Still am.” “Let’s not get into any more trouble than we’re already in,” Caleb told him, and Reid shrugged, said, “Have it your way,” and left Vivi and Caleb alone in the office as he stomped outside into the snow. Paige looked like she’d seen a ghost—and in many ways, she had. This trip had taken a toll on her mentally and physically, and Mace wanted to hold her for longer—the fact that he could actually give her a small measure of comfort made him feel far less useless than he had when he let her walk into the room with Jeffrey alone. Still, he understood that sometimes you had to take that trip alone in order to finally be free. She wasn’t, not completely, but she was a hell of a lot closer than she’d been. Earlier, when he’d led her past the guard on the way out who looked to be part stone, part sympathetic—man, that must be a tough fucking job. He couldn’t imagine dealing with the men held behind these bars on a daily basis.

He’d been young when he visited his father—but old enough to remember that it felt like hell. Like he couldn’t breathe, and how he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. And even though this prison was well above-ground, sometimes just looking at bars could bring back the mind-numbing, sickening feeling he’d had for those weeks he was trapped. He’d never had a problem with small spaces—still didn’t, really … but the fucking bars. He shifted so he could stare out at the rolling field beyond the high walls, breathed and told himself to calm the fuck down. “Come on, get in.” He kept one arm firmly around Paige as he steered her into the relative safety of the tinted-windowed SUV. As he walked to his side, he got the list out of the envelope and studied it as he slid behind the wheel and started the car. “Lots of female names,” he said. “Probably the girlfriends that guard was talking about.” She glanced at it, pointed to the name Arthur Somberg. The only other male name was the attorney Jeffrey had retained a couple of years back—Mace had done some digging on him. An up-and-coming criminal lawyer specializing in high-profile cases, he used Jeffrey and other killers like him to up his profile in the media. The drive back to New York was tense and quiet, although the tension wasn’t between him and Paige. No, everything they’d learned today, and the days before, were a big jumbled mess and both of them were trying to sort it out and process it in their own way. By the time he pulled into the long driveway that led to the bar, Mace had no more answers than when they’d started the trip. But he had a hell of a lot more questions. The night was in full swing, the lot crowded, music blaring. Paige had worn her knit gloves the entire ride back, even though she claimed she wasn’t cold. She was in full-on self-protection mode, shutting him out so hard he could practically hear the doors slamming, whether she meant to or not. If he wanted them back open, he’d have to kick them down. He also had to make sure he was ready to deal with the consequences of that action. He wanted to ask her if she was with him now because she had nowhere else to go, but he bit it back. She didn’t need any more of his shit now. “Come on, let’s get inside.” He grabbed both their bags and walked behind Paige into the back room of the bar. She stopped short when she spotted Reid coming out of the storeroom with a case of beer, but Mace told her, “He’s one of our teammates,” and she relaxed.

Reid walked over to Mace and the men shared a handshake, and then a fast hug with a back thump. “Good to see you, man,” Mace told him. “This is Paige Grayson. Paige, this is Reid.” Reid gave a somber nod in her direction. “I’m sorry about Gray.” “Me too,” she said quietly. “It’s nice to meet you.” Then she turned to Mace and tugged at her bag. “I’d like to crash for a little while, if that’s okay.” “Good idea.” “Vivi’s upstairs too,” Reid told her. “Great.” Paige took her bag from Mace, despite his protests that he’d carry it, and headed up the stairs muttering, something about being strong enough to carry her own bags. Reid snorted and Mace tried to get in a punch, but Reid was out the door too quickly, into the main bar area. Mace followed, sat in the corner of the bar with his back to the wall while Reid ducked under the counter and shelved the bottles. Caleb and Keagen were busy tending bar—Caleb nodded in Mace’s direction but couldn’t do much more. But Reid came out, not giving a shit how busy the bar was. No, the man clearly had something on his mind, and when he got that way, there was no deterring him. Reid took a slug of his beer before asking bluntly, “I know there’s a lot of shit going on, but why did you really call me here?” Mace leaned forward so he could be heard over the music. “I needed the whole team here. We have to make some decisions together. Dylan and Cam are arriving this week, or next—they have an offer for us.” He described the job and Reid remained silent, his expression unchanged. “Mercs for hire,” Reid said, no judgment in his tone but no acceptance either. “You know, sometimes I think the only thing that holds all of us in line is the military.” “I think that was true once, but it’s bullshit now.” Reid gave him a sideways glance and didn’t comment further on that. Told him instead, “Kell’s not coming.” “Any clue where he is?” “Looking for those last two DMH guys,” Reid said. “He won’t rest until he finds them, dead or alive.” Mace felt Caleb tense up beside him. Both men knew Kell felt responsible for the entire mission, thought he’d brought DMH’s focus onto the Delta team. And yes, DMH had identified him after he’d

killed a major DMH player, then traced him back to Mace and Cael, Gray and Reid. “He was doing his job. Could’ve been any one of us,” Mace pointed out. “But it wasn’t. It was him. He’s moody as shit to begin with, but this brought him to the edge.” Reid put the nearly full bottle down. He’d never been a big drinker, always said he’d rather stay sharp than buzzed. “What about you?” Mace asked. “Worried about me, brother?” “Damned straight.” Reid pushed the bottle away from him. “Me too.” “You spent three weeks wandering around the Amazon, mercing on your own,” Mace said mildly. “Would’ve made sense to have backup.” “And now you’re spying on me.” Reid might’ve grumbled, but he was more abashed at being caught than anything. “Dylan was. Were you looking for DMH?” “Right now there’s no one else in my line of vision. I’ve got nothing to remember from those weeks, except that I damned near died and couldn’t do anything to help anyone. It shouldn’t have happened. We’re a good team. The best. It shouldn’t have happened.” All Mace could do was nod, because Reid spoke the truth. But if Reid couldn’t get past it, if none of them could, they were all in trouble. “What’s going on between you and Gray’s sister?” Reid asked, probably to get the focus off himself. “I’m helping her.” “Out of the goodness of your heart?” “Because Gray asked me to.” “From the way you look at her, it’s much more than that.” Damn Reid, too observant for his own good. “This wasn’t something I expected to happen.” “Sometimes it’s not about getting what you thought you wanted,” Reid said. “Most of the time, it’s about finding what gets you through. And whatever that is, that’s the most important. That’s the thing you hang onto for dear life.” Sometimes Reid had some scarily good goddamned unsolicited advice.

Then he retreated back into Reid-dom. “Of course, sometimes getting what you want is more like a fucking punishment that will dog you the rest of your miserable life.” Mace laughed, a sound he hadn’t heard from himself in a long time. And he knew he’d made the right decision in summoning the team. “Call Kell again. For Caleb.” ——

Call Kell. Yeah, Reid had a hell of a lot to say to his friend, for sure, none of which Kell would want to hear. It was the first time the men had been separated without Reid knowing exactly—or marginally—where Kell was. It pissed him off, worried him … and he didn’t know what the hell to do about it. They always shared their locales, no matter what. The thing was, Kell wasn’t hurt or captured. Reid would’ve known. So that made it a million times worse. Kell had shut a lot of people out of his life for various reasons along the way, but never Reid. First fucking time for everything. “You’ll be all right.” Kell’s last words to him, standing over the hospital bed, with Reid still barely conscious. And Kell had left before Reid could do anything; he’d still been intubated, unable to speak, and fuck, he might not know exactly where Kell was, but he knew what his friend was trying to do. The man harbored more guilt about the attack than any of them. Telling Kell there was no reason for it was an exercise in futility. Reid was doing better now because there was something to do, people to help. Imminent danger always made him put his pity party away pronto, and this time was no exception. For Caleb, for his entire team, Reid would do pretty much anything. And as he watched Caleb pouring shots for last call, he thought about the last time he’d seen his friend and teammate. And the first time. The first time was years earlier, when he and Kell and Caleb had competed for spots on the Delta team. Dylan Scott had just left and Cam was the team’s leader. Mace and Gray were members. The men knew one another peripherally, as they’d all been handpicked for Delta training. They were all leaders. They were all overachievers, men whom their superiors belived were destined to rise to the elite ranks. They were the last men standing, literally. And then they’d collapsed and spent the night in the infirmary, but hell, they’d made it.

Then the last time … Caleb had looked at him with utter confusion. But finally, before they’d all been discharged, he had called him by name. Now Reid dialed Kell’s phone for the umpteenth time, all the while knowing he would get shunted straight to voice mail. His friend would get the message, though—he always did. Reid just had to hope Kell wasn’t so far gone he couldn’t be pulled back. Especially because it was usually Kell who was the one doing the pulling for Reid, and Reid didn’t like this reversal shit at all.

CHAPTER

15

The sharp knock at the door pulled Mace away from the office, where he’d been for the better part of the morning and half the afternoon. Reid and Caleb were down the road, attempting to free the liquor delivery truck from where it had gotten stuck in the snow. Paige and Vivi were upstairs. And he’d been stewing about everything. Had a shitty night’s sleep, tossed and turned for a bit, then left Paige in bed so he didn’t disturb her further. Played cards with Reid for a while, with neither man saying anything more than necessary. That, at least, felt comfortable and right. After Reid kicked his ass at War, Caleb came inside from where he’d been securing a perimeter around the bar and they played more cards and bullshitted and avoided any subjects of importance. Now Mace checked through the peephole—saw a guy, short, stocky. Shaved head, sunglasses. Military bearing. He opened the door. “Who are you and what the hell do you want?” The man gave a small smirk that Mace wanted to remove from his face. “And here I thought all small-towners were friendly.” “You thought wrong.” Mace frowned, crossed his arms and waited. After a long moment, with the guy appraising the hell out of him, he said, “I’m here for Paige Grayson.” Mace had him in a death grip, cheek against the door, before he said another word. Leaned in close, breathed, “Who the fuck are you?” “Hey, man, I’m not going to do anything.” The guy hadn’t been expecting Mace’s reaction. “I tried to call her once to give me an interview. I’m writing a book on her brother.” Mace went cold. “What’s your name?” “Arthur Somberg,” he choked out. There had been no picture of the author on his website. Mace took the glasses off Somberg’s face so he could look directly into the man’s eyes. “Hey, watch it, those are expensive.” “Like I give a shit. When you contacted Paige, what did she tell you?” “She said no—she hung up on me.” “So you’re following her now? Stalking her to get her to do what you want? Because that’s a crime, you know.” He eased up a bit on his grip so the asshole could answer him.

“I haven’t been stalking her. She invited me here.” Mace pressed hard against the man’s throat. “Yeah, I’m not buying that bullshit.” “I went to do a final interview with her brother. He gave me a note from her—it had this address. He said she asked me to come here.” Fuck. He shoved Somberg away. “You’re not to speak to her. Touch her. Come within thirty feet of her or—” It was Somberg’s turn to cross his arms. “You military?” “What does that have to do with anything?” “I thought brothers helped one another out.” “I’m not in a helping mood where Paige is concerned, got it?” “I’m just trying to do my job in the most responsible manner possible.” Somberg sounded like he’d rehearsed that one a thousand times and still didn’t believe a goddamned word of it. “How the hell can you do this, write about these fucking monsters?” Somberg shrugged. “It’s fascinating.” “I doubt their victims—the victims’ families—would describe it that way.” “The public has a right to know. Half the time, we create these so-called monsters,” Somberg said easily. “Spending time with them, especially Jeffrey, has really opened my eyes.” “You’re a son of a bitch. Don’t come near Paige again. Don’t call, don’t write. Don’t talk about her in your book.” “I’ve already written about her. After all, she was there. Said she knew, right? She wishes she’d done something.” Mace knew he needed to let the guy simply leave or else this would end up being some kind of footnote in the goddamned book—if Somberg wasn’t planning that already. “I’ll leave her alone. But she can’t bitch that her side of the story’s being misrepresented. I gave her a chance.” No, he hadn’t given her a chance at all—Paige deserved one, for sure, but not this way. As Mace took a step toward Somberg to force him down the path, the man told him, “The police found the bodies of those girls, you know, the ones Jeffrey killed before the shootings.” The police found the bodies of those girls, you know, the ones Jeffrey killed before the shootings.

Paige stopped short at the bottom of the stairs when she heard the words, saw they’d come from a man Mace had grabbed by the throat. “Wait—I want to hear what he has to say,” she called out, caught Mace’s death glare and ignored it. The bald man spoke, his voice strangled. “They were buried in the creek. On the thirteenth hole, just like Jeffrey said. They were mummified.” She drew a shaky breath, because Jeffrey had told this man the truth about the twins as well, and probably before Jeffrey had told her. “Who the hell are you?” “This is Arthur Somberg.” “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Paige, get upstairs—do not engage in this conversation,” Mace commanded, the tone unmistakable. But she wasn’t in any mood to take orders. “How do you know the bodies were found?” she asked Arthur. “Police scanner. Your brother mentioned you’d been talking to the police about the twins.” “He told me about them.” “Paige, stop. Now,” Mace said, and she bit her bottom lip. Caleb had come up on one side of Somberg, Reid on the other, and Mace let go of the man. Somberg took a step back and stood toe-to-toe with Mace. “Put your hands on me again and you’ll be sorry,” Somberg said, and Mace laughed, a harsh sound, his stance cold and unyielding. “You come back in here, you come anywhere near Paige, you give this address to anyone, and you’ll be the sorriest man alive,” Mace told him. Somberg didn’t say another word, simply began to back up and then walked to his car, fast, looking over his shoulder. “I’ll follow him to make sure he gets the hell out of here,” Reid offered, and Mace handed him his keys. “I can’t believe—” Paige started, but Mace interrupted her. “What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded. “What?”

“This is a dangerous situation you’re in.” Mace had focused all his attention back to Paige. “Which means you need to listen to me when I tell you to go upstairs and not engage. You shouldn’t be making a move without checking with me,” he finished, and yes, he’d pushed it much too far. Every fiber of her being was bucking his protective bullshit, no matter how necessary. Without saying another word, because she knew it might be something she would regret, she turned and walked away. As she sat, curled on the couch with her laptop, Vivi heard the end of the fight between Mace and Paige, and Paige’s subsequent slamming of her door. Vivi wanted to check on her, but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. She wasn’t used to having a girlfriend, didn’t get the boundaries. All she knew was that Paige felt completely helpless, out of control in her own life—and oh, how Vivi could relate. Mace and Paige were walking a tightrope; much in the same way she and Caleb were. Such a delicate balance, which led to explosive emotions and fights. Now she brought her fingers back down to the keyboard to do yet another background check on one of the women Jeffrey was using when Caleb told her, “Dylan said to be really careful.” She looked up, confused, and he pointed at the computer. “With your hacking.” “I know how to cover my tracks,” she said, with a little more force than was necessary. “It’s just a friendly reminder that you need to watch yourself,” Caleb said. “You quit the FBI and you were already on their radar. I’m sure they’re going to keep an eye on you.” He paused. “Or did they let you go because you couldn’t stop hacking?” “Just to remind you, this hacking I’m doing is to help your friends—it’s not for my own benefit or enjoyment. And I left the FBI on my own accord,” she shot back, unable to keep the anger out of her voice and the sense of betrayal out of her heart. “I wasn’t kicked out.” No, on her progress notes, she’d been called one of the most promising new recruits for cyber crimes her instructors had seen in quite a while. “So why did you leave? Seems like a perfect job for a hacker like you.” “I’m not—” A hacker. Or like them. Like anyone. At first, she’d thought she wanted to fit in … and then she realized that she only wanted that because she’d been told she should. It was only after she’d taken stock of her own feelings that she’d decided to ditch the program. Probably, she should’ve shared that with Noah, but she’d been afraid that if he knew she’d quit the feds, he wouldn’t let her see Cael. “In the end, the FBI wasn’t for me.” “You gave it, what, a whole month?”

“Two months,” she retorted. But she’d known from day one it had been a mistake, known from the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “You didn’t … did you quit to come find me?” he demanded. “I quit for myself,” she spat. “You were the reason I joined in the first place—I thought it would make you happy, I guess. You were so worried … and so I gave it a try. And then I realized that if I couldn’t make myself happy, whatever we had wasn’t real.” Caleb didn’t say anything for a long moment and then, “What will you do now?” “Continue to develop software on my own.” “Continue to put yourself in harm’s way, leave yourself open to the same danger I rescued you from in the first place.” Was that from memory or from what he’d been told? Did it even matter anymore? “What do you care?” “I don’t know.” “Well, then, I guess this discussion’s closed.” She shut her laptop, stood and started to walk out of the room, but he caught her by the elbow, forced her to face him. “You came here to me. What is it you really want?” “You,” she blurted out, and then more softly, “That’s all I want. I thought maybe you’d want me too.” She extracted herself from his grip, and this time he let her walk away. The only place she could go, beyond out the front door, was her bedroom. Seething, she paced the small room and wondered if leaving was an option. You don’t owe these people anything at all. Just Cael, and he was the one who was pushing her back and forth. He was the one who’d asked her to seriously consider the FBI’s offer. She had done it much more for him than for her. The prospect had been daunting enough to make her want to lock herself away again. The progress—driving herself to open up, to get hurt, wasn’t at all worth it. Not yet. A knock on the door made her start. Cael. He didn’t wait for her to invite him in before he took it upon himself to enter. “You can’t isolate yourself every time I say something you don’t like,” he told her roughly. “We haven’t known each other long enough for you to make those kinds of generalizations.”

“You’re right, we haven’t.” “But since you want to try to analyze me, I guess it’s okay to do the same to you. You have so much guilt, Cael, because you don’t think you were strong enough, good enough. Your world was black and white, right or wrong, and you were forced into a gray area.” “If you see everything in shades of gray, how do you know what to fight for?” Cael asked. “With black and white, you know your own personal line, what your battles are and why. And that makes it easier to tell good from bad, makes it easier to pick your battles instead of fighting for everything, or for nothing at all.” She’d never thought about it that way. Then again, there were really no shades of gray in her world either. And rarely was there any white. Everything and everyone was someone to be suspicious of, although she’d always wanted so badly for that not to be the case. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken those last thoughts out loud, not until Cael told her, “You’re a lot like him … like Mace. He’s a suspicious bastard. I could separate goo